Moving on from the information gathered in the library, there was still more to do – ways to... Shape.

No longer just himself, but others, he'd learned much. Sinno had been a true genius, albeit one with a greatly disturbed mind. Tyr wasn't the one making use of the knowledge within though, he lacked the foundations, but the voices were quite clear. If he wanted to protect the few things he truly cared about, this was the only path forward, lest he'd lose it all. That was their promise, and he'd listen as best he could.

A cauldron of blood.

Tyr might've called it symbolic, like those increasingly ambiguous visions he had, but it served a purpose. And that was better than the nightmares, if he gave them what they wanted – it would stop. In essence, working together to sate their myriad designs for him would ensure that he remained in control yet further. Before, he'd been a vessel with a thousand quests and far less minds, everything he did served them. But the closer he ran towards the terminus of his long journey, the louder and more specific they would get.

To give, to sanctify and offer oneself unto communion. Become the lamb, that was his destiny, to give of himself to others and ensure their safety during the coming darkness. The Black Sun would rise again, and Tyr would not be present – but his children would be ready.

His children. What an odd way to think about his own wives... He had no problem doing it, but with them being unaware as to the consequences, it was an ethical dilemma.

This... It hadn't been his idea in totality, he had the gist of it but not the whole picture. A priest's idea instead – sort of. A little more gruesome in practice, but to give was to give. An old man in service to Aphrosia, the goddess of love, beauty, and art, had approached Tyr out of the blue and offered him assistance. All things perfect and whole, that was Aphrosia, and her faith. Of all the religions Tyr had expected the least assistance from, that would've been it. Would have. What a worthless aspect to govern in terms of the divine, but her followers were surprisingly diverse. Like Vestia, and all the other gods of 'light', they offered a leeway in personal creed than the other churches did not. Though, at the end of the day, it was their way – or no way at all.

That's how gods were wont to behave.

There was one point of concern, though, or more curiosity than anything. The name 'Sanguinar' that had come up in the ritual quite often. A name Tyr had heard before, but not one he'd expected humans to know. Sanguinar was a god, the god of heritage, purity, and sacrifice. Not in the terrifying skull mask and feathers beneath the red moon sort of way, but self sacrifice. Nobility and honor in the sense of dying for a cause or to protect one's friends, perhaps it was appropriate.

An old god, the very information Tyr had stolen from that library had contained his name.

One of many dead gods. Those who did not conform wholly to one element or collection of singular aspects. He'd wondered for some time why that was considered restricted knowledge, but it was of no consequence. Whether the Sanguinar of legend was the same as the vampyre he'd met in the past, it didn't really matter. That guy was in the astral space, and Tyr definitely wouldn't see him again.

“Drink.” Tyr commanded, and near all of them did without argument. Tyr's blood was not crimson after the cleansing ritual performed by Aphrosia's bishop, but radiant and blue. Luminescent. Almost beautiful, glowing like moonberry wine – evidently all blood took this hue when blessed by Her priests. Those drinking didn't know where it had come from, nor would they know it was blood, missing the significance in the incantations used to fill it with mana. That was the key, really. His blood was by far and away the most energy conductive material he'd ever worked with. If there was a way to crystallize it, to forge it... But that was impossible, at least in the short term, for now this would serve. “...Tiber?”

“What is this stuff?” Tiber's voice was low, keeping his concerns between himself and his nephew. Watching warily as the others gulped it down, some seeming to enjoy the taste. He had no fear whatsoever that Tyr was trying to poison him, but something was... Off. Not just with the boy, but with this ritual, it stank of magic that didn't feel very divine. Their relationship had been strained of late, but they still loved one another, Tiber was simply aware that 'his Tyr' might not be the only speaking to him. Mostly, though, he spent his time tracking the Fingers – ensuring no further ambushes occurred, he still served as the boy wished him to. And he'd do it again, but their relationship was one of equity, not master and servant – he had questions. “What will this do to me?”

“It will make you strong.” Tyr replied honestly. “How much you take from it is up to you, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. It is my blood. I've searched for ways to relieve the pressure of conflicting energies inside of me for so long. That tip of the iceberg is what you've seen, but there is so much below the surface. I cannot use it, so I am trusting the strongest of it to you. It is a gift, not a curse. Not yet, at least. That depends how you use it, it's an... I'm sorry, uncle, but there's not a whole lot I can say – this is for your safety.”

“Blood!?” Doug commented, his hearing was quite sharp, that massive oaf with cauliflower ears that Tyr had completely forgotten about long ago. Apparently he'd been living it up in the mansion since he'd been left behind, too dumb to follow the others or even wonder where they'd went. Standing guard at Tyr's estate, sort of just... Existing – though he was friendly enough with the girls by now, a crowd favorite. “Well... Tastes quite nice, innit?”

“It's not bad.” Farron commented, having taken a hesitant sip before tipping the cup vertically and draining it with a long gulp and belch to follow. There were a few looks of concern, but the vast majority of the Blackguard drank without question.

“Understood.” Tiber nodded, taking the revelation surprisingly well himself, downing the goblet in one swig and finding the taste far from his expectations. Blood was the taste of copper and iron, but this tasted... Nostalgic. The first time he'd bitten a gold coin after a successful contract. Back when he'd thought a gold coin was a prince's ransom. Despite growing up in a favored household, that first bit of earnings had been one of the proudest moments of his life. It had been his, earned, and this felt much the same way. “I don't feel any different.”

“You will.” Tyr frowned. “And before you do, know that I am sorry.”

A way to make them better with no risks other than the initial discomfort. Only one time as far as Tyr knew, an alchemical mixture of his purified blood enhanced by both his mana and spira. Something different than a normal awakening, this was pure fuel. It would force them on the path of spira, opening their eyes, and their oaths would keep them silent in perpetuity on what had been done to them. Connected to him, and one another, and while the medium and process was different – the church was aware of these rituals. Even a local bishop had known what it was for, in the literal sense, if not the specifics behind Tyr's motivation. They did this all of the time in Aphrosia's church, spicing the blood with narcotics before sailing full mast into wild orgies.

They would be stronger, faster, smarter. Better, higher men and women. The first step on the infinite staircase, the rest of the work was up to them. But he would open that door, give of himself and be less for it. And that would relieve the pressure for a little while, giving him more time to formulate a more long term solution.

To summarize, and relate it back to soul magic, Tyr was allowing them to diablerize bits and piece of his soul. Not allowing, forcing, every man here would be forced to drink even if they hadn't chosen to do so of their own accord. Even the children. This was where he'd broken covenant, going beyond the normal ritual and not allowing them their agency to decide if they'd wanted to be mutated or not.

If they'd known the benefits, though, Tyr was sure they'd have accepted regardless. But if they'd known the consequences, the pain that experience brought once unshackled from their curse of mortal flesh...

“Lie down.” Tyr commanded, not to Tiber specifically, but to all of them. And again they listened, those blackguard. That was why they were chosen, ultimately. Not for talent, nor for heritage. Some of them were incredibly weak, little more than peasants of who's loyalty he could be assured of. A handful of them were children too young to swing a sword. The devout. The faithful. People who were very unlikely to betray him, and even if they did he could dominate them with a glance. After treading this path, their ability to work against his wishes would practically cease to exist.

That's how he saw it, at least, it would open their gates and allow Tyr to enslave them if he'd wanted to. But that was, ultimately, not the entire purpose. Their emotions first, that would be the initial change, magnified a great deal. Not making them better, not literally, they'd be stronger but if offered to the wrong person it'd make them worse. Everything about their character would be magnified a great deal, potentially driving them insane if he'd made even the slightest mistake.

Tiber was the first, and the only one of them ready for it. He'd been through three awakening points thus far and was handling it far better than Tyr had initially. Brief periods of immense energy flooding into him and then he'd been tired and weak and a few hours, each one became a violent magnet to etheric energies. The children did not become ill as the adults did, their blindfolded heads bobbing along to the music boxes playing into their minds. Audible lexicanums full of songs that would drown out the screams sure to follow, the children could handle the changes. Still young.

But the adults...

Samson shuddered, not collapsing like those who'd been late to sit. Resist the urge to peel off his flesh, releasing more impurities than anyone in the room until they were spraying from his skin. Bunched up and rocking, black sweat dripping from every pore. Mewling like a babe, sweat vaporizing immediately until he was wreathed in mist.

Mikhail and Fennic were squirming, arched backs and rictus grins, the agony such that they couldn't so much as grunt. Tyr could see their bones moving in their flesh, the older a man was, the worse the first change seemed to be. Releasing all of that pent up energy they'd never been able to properly metabolize and feeling it catapult back into them in the cycle of natural cultivation.

What came next was madness, that was only the beginning. It would get far worse. A visceral choir of agony as their bodies tempered themselves, seemingly intent to beat the weakness from every cell within them. Shrieking, howling, begging for death, while the children just kept nodding, and Tyr stared at them with conflicting thoughts rolling through his brain.

But he was about the path, the business, there was no turning back and though he'd damn himself in the process – they would be given a chance. He owed them that, though he wished he could take their pain, but they'd need it.

People would speak for many years about the insane screams that came from the chapel of Aphrosia that night. Bouncing off the stone walls and rolling out into the street, a shrieking of banshees. Citizens scurrying about in terror as the calm priests of Aphrosia smiled softly and shooed them away with happy waves from the stoop of their holy place. Screams even the goddess could hear. But she was silent, not coming when called by the faithful. Why would she? Aphrosia was the goddess of passionate love and beauty, and sometimes pain was necessary to cut away the imperfection.

Sometimes we hurt the ones we love because we know what is best for them, better than they do. She knew this, and She approved, why else had she sent her apostle to the door of the little wolf?

Tyr stared down at his brothers and sisters, watching carefully to ensure they did not damage or kill themselves in their wild motions. Nobody died, which was good, none so old or weak in body for that. And the children seemed only to have a minor fever. But beneath his gaze were twin stars bursting into light. The birth of mages and adepts, bathed in his blood.

Not unlike a virus, and slowly but surely it would spread, these pieces of him.

Until he was everywhere.