So after thinking, instead of rewriting I will be making changes retroactively to the story (no subtractions, only additions to the first few chapters like Noah's backstory, and all these chapters will be marked with a Version 2.)

Also working on a new progression fantasy that has-> Cultivation, Bloodlines, Magic and Elemental Binding all in one world.

Need word count so I'll post a sneak peak for that->

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Bloodless Version 1.1

Asryun Sinhazhi, Heir Prominent to the Ruler of the Azlak Plains, The Sinhazhi Clan, lay calmly seated on a plush recliner crafted from nothing but the finest of animal hide and cushioned with the softest wool available in all of Aemanis, as he surveyed the land that would one day be his to command, to both protect and expand.

Or at least, that was how his grandfather, The Patriarch, had intended it to be.

They said that one man died on that fateful night five years ago, even though a second murder had been committed in plain sight, visible to hundreds of Sinhazhi Clan members as they gawked at the spectacle without raising a finger in protest. Not one man or woman of the ruling clan of the Azlak Plains, had the courage to step forward and protect the dignity of the clan

On that day, Asryun Sinhazhi, Heir Prominent to the Ruler of the Azlak Plains, had died. What remained was a spectre of the being that had once been, aimlessly walking along the precarious line that existed to separate the world of the living from the dead.

The irony was not lost on Asryun, living in a world where the bloodline arts had a thousand different ways to kill, poison, maim or even corrupt and control the mind, but had little to no ways of healing a broken mind. What would he not give, what riches he would not exchange, to cure himself of the all-consuming void that rested where his heart had once been, purging even the slightest hint of desire, even the most infinitesimally small yearning, before he had the chance to act upon it.

Local herbalists and the healers of the Arann Clan had repeatedly inspected him using a mixture of both bloodline arts and even lowly folk remedies used by the Bloodless, only to repeatedly tell Asryun and the Patriarch that they could find nothing wrong with him. One particularly naïve herbalist had the gall to suggest that Asryun use a cheap blend of medicinal herbs used by battle weary cultivators to steady the nerves, and from the look on the Patriarch’s face that day Asryun could tell that he was only inches away from beheading the man on the spot.

The only real solution they could offer was to give it time, and hope that the despondency wears out over time. Years had passed since then, and Asryun could only feel the void’s presence grow more tangible, more powerful. He could feel vivid memories of the time he’d spent with his father slowly erode with the passage of time, he could feel the void tinting what had once been joyous moments in a dull, emotionless grey, and he could almost hear the last bastion of his defenses yelling from inside, asking him, begging him, pleading him, to fight back against the void, against the world, and reclaim himself before all was lost.

There was only one emotion that could stem the void, a pale blue fire in front of which the void was a mere candle trying to burn the entire forest.

From what he had read on the matter, scholars associated anger with the color red, a hot, searing fire that engulfed both one’s enemies along with oneself. Asryun though, could only visualize it as a pale blue fire that emanated a biting cold that would freeze to death any who dare get too close to it. All the other emotions may have been dulled, but the anger inside him burned so deeply that the color red could no longer contain it, for it was not an anger that screamed inside him to burn his enemies to ember, but an emotionless voice whispering in the back of his head, telling him to do what must be done regardless of the improbabilities or even impossibilities surrounding the matter.))))))))))))))))