From the dark beneath the earth, a man emerged. He was an old man. Age was a sign of power, where he came from; weak men did not get to grow old and yet here he was- older than many of his generation could have hoped to grow; old in a way that mirrored the trees, growing gnarled and twisted but wise with age. He had a face that was simian in nature; his mouth was surrounded by a wide valley of wrinkles, and his lips were small, his nose long, his teeth yellow.

In one hand he dragged his master. In the other he carried the corpse of the assassin who’d come for his master’s life.

The latter he flung aside; the former he propped carefully against a tree.

He crouched at his master’s side, waiting. Slowly, the boy’s eyes flickered open.

Old 13 felt a traitorous moment of relief.

The boy was his son, in many ways. Nobody else had picked up the boy when he fell over as a babe. Nobody else had stood by him when he struggled as a child. Nobody else had believed it when, finally, the boy had grown into the weight of his family name as an adult.

By then the high and powerful had all turned their backs. They saw only disappointment; only the old man had cared to look deeper, and see the strength, the resilience, the refusal to surrender. They were one of a kind…

The boy was the old man’s son.

But the old man was only the boy’s faithful slave.

Rakdhat groaned and said, “What happened?”

His slave faithfully reported, “Talqua escaped. All the others are dead. The parasite fled in Rhathmet’s body. The assassin…”

He nodded to the corpse that lay a ways distance from them.

“His berserking pill failed not long before yours did. I cut him down easily after.”

Rakdhat tried to rise, and the slave pushed him back down. It did not take much force. After consuming the poison of the berserking pill, his master was as feeble as a child again.

“You cannot.” Old 13 said sternly.

“Do not order me…” Rakdhat protested, but his arguments were weak, like the rest of him. He tried to stand once again and failed. “I…”

“You overtaxed yourself.”

“I should have been able to deal with an assassin. On my own strength…” The master shifted, pushing himself further up the tree so he could sit with dignity.

“Strength is fleeting. Life is life.” Old 13 said. It was his one truth; he had never been the strongest among his generation, but he was the one who survived, and so he was the one who grew to outshine them all.

“Still.” Rakdhat was a burning fire of ambition. He had always been so, and always would be. Every humiliation and defeat had only stoked his flame to grow brighter; there was no surrender in his soul, and Old 13 loved that in him. It was the pride a slave could never have. “What of the wretch? And Winterhome, the interloper?”

“They were both carried into the sky.” Old 13 said. “I believe they both live, and do battle in the city of Winterhome.”

“Then…”

Rakdhat’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, but Old 13 did not fear the worst. The lad was merely thinking. When his eyes opened, they had a clarity and a purpose to them.

“Go and help Winterhome. Make yourself an ally they will not forget. We’ve lost. Either the dhampir will triumph or Winterhome will, but our stake is already forfeit. The dhampir will never be an ally; Winterhome might show gratitude.”

Old 13 nodded. But there was more…

“But keep an eye out. If you ever have a chance to kill Winterhome- the boy, not the city- take it. If you truly believe you can end his life in a single blow, take the chance.” Rakdhat said.

And again, his faithful slave nodded.

“Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?” He asked.

“No. You have your duty. Go to it.”

A third time his slave nodded, and rose.

Help Winterhome, but remain ready to cut them down. That was the way of his master, his only son. He made friends easily, but did not believe there were any true allies on the road to power; he saw the path and believed he had to walk it alone.

Old 13 could only hope he was mistaken.

With a bow, the old slave departed.

---

Nic floated in the bloodline sea.

It was a sea of energy, red and vibrant and full of life, the energy that resided in blood, in living, in growing and in breeding; it was passed from parent to child and formed a tide that rolled through history. It was the same for every living creature, for they all shared a single true origin, hidden in the depths of that ocean.

Did the sea exist before the first living creature? Had that creature been created as a vessel for the sea?

Or had the power of bloodlines been born over millions of years, reinforced and added to with each new life?

It didn’t matter. All that mattered here was power and the will to survive.

Nic had both. He opened his eyes, and saw spheres of light drifting within the ocean of blood. Each sphere- each spark- was a gateway. It led to another life; a life where Nic could be a dragon, or a sea serpent, a poisonous toad-man, a fiery salamander.

Within them Nic could see drifting images of what he’d become if he chose them. Images of battle. Images of the power he’d wield.

Some of them were old friends.

Nic recognized the frog-demon instantly, from his first venture into evolution…

Slaa-Verdek Frog-Demon. E-Class // Demonic. Born from slimy deposits of hellish energy infused with chaos from the Beyond, Slaa-Verdek are weak but malleable, the seed of chaos in their hearts allowing them to undergo constant evolutions to adapt to their environment. Whenever they suffer a near-death encounter, they undergo transformation, shedding their current skin to take on a new form better suited to surviving that particular danger.

But it wasn’t of interest to him. Breathing in deep of the water, Nic kicked off, intending to explore and find the right path for himself…

And then his skin began to burn. The Dao Markings of the Aleph that had written themselves onto his being began to blaze up, hot and terrible with desire, and the sea responded. Swirling waves of red energy flooded into Nic, throwing him backwards- he was being assaulted, held down, by the waters themselves.

As he struggled, kicking and fighting, the Dao Markings let out a resonant chime and the sphere of light containing the Slaa-Verdek began to drift towards him…

Nic fought to escape, but the waves held him down, dragged him deeper. The sphere entered his heart, energy flooding out into his veins as it began to break apart.

He had lost control of his own evolution. His body was drinking in the bloodline sea, greedy and short-sighed, and it had already absorbed a pathway…

In his heart, it was breaking into that spark of light, absorbing it as quickly as possible. It was too late to stop the change…

But Nic wondered…

Could he add to it?

The first time he had arrived here, absorbing one evolutionary spark had taken all his will and might. Now it was happening without any input from himself…

Could he absorb more? Could he hope to devour everything the sea offered him?

Nic knew it was a slim chance. Nic knew it was reckless…

But he smiled as he ceased to struggle, and let the current sweep him down, deeper into the dark of the bloodline sea…

All around him drifted planetary spheres, each containing its own form of life. There were a thousand variations on lizard- and newt-folk. A thousand planets bearing their own branches of the bloodline, unfolding into eternity.

Nic could only perceive each one for a brief flash before it passed beyond him.

Sage-Born Newt-Folk. E-Class // Sapient. Rare variations upon the basic Salamandrian form, these mutants are revered as holy figures among their people, for their blood ensures they will live for all eternity. Able to regenerate from birth, they can imbue the power of their lifeline into the surrounding wilds, causing trees and plants to grow to their will. They can even bestow this gift on the living, as a healing touch.

Nic pulled, and the sphere fell towards him…

Lantern Eye Gecko-Folk. E-Class // Sapient. Gifted with eyes that can see into the spiritual realm, these unassuming creatures possess- !(@#$&!!!!!

Blue-Tail Devilskink. E-Class // Demonic. A variant of the Salamandrian infused with Pandemonic energy, they can create doppelgangers from- *($^&#Q*([email protected]!!!!

As he accelerated downwards, Nic felt the Archive’s strength start to ebb, his crystalline eye filling up with error messages and distorted runes. The spheres fled past him, faster and faster, each branch on his evolutionary tree given only a moment before it faded into the distance. Still…

Despite everything…

He pulled at all of them, grasping at every power he could take hold of. Tiny fragments of the evolutionary sparks flew into his core.

Nic had committed to a path of reckless greed. Now, even he didn’t know what he’d become; at best he might be a mutant with the combined strength of his kind united.

At worst, he’d be a tumorous, cancer-ridden mass of flesh.

The deeper he fell, the less sparks he saw within the sea. They grew so distant he couldn’t even call to them before he’d fallen out of their light…

Until he arrived at a depth he’d never before imagined.

A darkness vast and infinite.

A wall of black that forbid any further descent.

The abyss filled Nic with a primal terror. Anything could be beneath that veil of shadows, and so many things likely were- leviathans that could destroy him with a thought. Dark eminence that moved like abyssal palaces within the depths.

He had reached the end of the shallows…

He had reached the end of where he could safely delve…

And he felt something from below, from far below, pulling at his soul….

Out of the darkness came a light. A bloodline spark blazing like a comet in the night sky. It shot upwards, and whether or not he wished to take its gift, plunged straight into his heart.

Nic felt his body convulse. Felt his form begin to shift…

But he fought with his determination and his life to retain control against the ice-cold will that sought to seize his body as its domain.

---

The wretch-queen dropped down into the city, her talons cleaving open a house. The people within screamed- and went silent.

Her wings unfolded like the shadow of death. Her one strong arm lashed out, tearing another building apart, sending shrapnel raining down on the feeble creatures that lived within. A human mother and its children. The woman sheltering its brood, hurrying them towards the door, shielding them with its back…

The wretch-queen reached in and seized the woman, plucking the breed-sow away from its crying brats. She crushed the worthless creature with her jaws and pulled it into stringy, sinuous ribbons of red meat threaded out between hand and mouth. Blood rained down.

She lifted and stomped down, extermining the brood.

Humans were a plague.

Weakling things, due for extermination.

The city was small beneath her, and she could annihilate it as she pleased. Who would stop her?

A shadow of ash drifted across the water, forming into human shape.

It stepped into her way.

And the queen of prisoners and the punished laughed in her hollow, fiery tongue.

Who was it, who thought they could equal her?