Eric felt the cold chill of ice and snow as he continued down the endless tunnel of stone burrowed right through the bedrock. Much to his relief, he sensed no trace of beasts, sentinels, or any sense that he was in any sort of pocket realm or dungeon at all.

It seemed to be a perfectly normal escape tunnel that, thanks to his steadily improving Infravision, he could see quite perfectly in a dozen pristine shades of blue.

Far colder than they should be… Eric swallowing the anxious lump in his throat, painfully aware of what waited for him above.

A Faerie Queen of inconceivable potency who somehow seemed to be able to skirt whatever restrictions there were about showcasing power beyond the basic ‘White Tier’ that was Earth’s contender’s starting rank.

Or at least, that was the case with him.

“Shit. For fuck’s sake, don’t tell me she can collect on me like Caliban’s crew could collect on the gold I signed over?”

He clenched his lips tightly shut, lest even a whisper of his dismay reach fey ears that looked so human is was fucking cheating, as far as he was concerned. But it did make a terrible sort of sense.

Blue Corp was allowed to use even Bronze Tier resources in securing contractually acknowledged property or defending territories already signed over to them, sporting what looked like a bloody high tech armored infantry unit, with a dozen magical tanks or mechanized infantry fighting vehicles, or whatever the hell they were that looked more than capable of leveling an entire city without a single soldier even breaking a sweat.

True elite Bronze tier soldiers and gunners.

A force that Blue Corp, all but begging adventurers to seize territory under their banner, could so easily use to take over the entire world all by themselves, were it not for whatever accords were in place that were obviously keeping everyone’s military might in check.

Power that Eric was equally certain would only be held at bay for so long, hammering home a painful truth Eric already knew all too well.

He needed to get stronger.

At all costs, if Earth was to have any chance of surviving what was to come, he needed to secure as much of it as he could under a benevolent third party that actually believed in things like honor, fair play, even just giving human beings a fair chance. And as much as he wanted to be a champion for the elves, as much as he had even considered fighting at the vanguard of his sister’s forces, pseudo neutrality just a pretext to flip territory under her banner…

His mother was making it all too clear, as the haunting lullaby of her words shivering into his soul did attest, that he and his sister were but puppets to a mad queen eager to make them all dance to her tune.

Perception check made!

Willpower check successful!

Eric’s eyes widened, realizing his word were more than just metaphor, now moving at an unexpected pace, legs dancing forward with a mind of their own.

As if his mother’s bewitching music had infected him already, even countless yards below the now frozen ground.

Eric swallowed, relieved that the dark whispers were somewhat muted, at least, by the roaring of his heart as arms once more under his control unsheathed his survival knife and ripped it across his cheek, finding furious satisfaction in the sharp flash of pain as he desperately rubbed gobs of it in both his ears before his supernatural regeneration closed off the flow a handful of seconds later.

He closed his eyes to help himself focus. An act he’d never dare in combat.

But here and now, struggling to resist a Faerie Queen’s deadly compulsion, he needed every edge he could get.

Essence of Dominion is now in effect!

“Close and Seal!” He snarled aloud as he pressed, the ear flaps outside his canals tight against him, allowing blood infused with his essence to latch on tight… and refusing to let even the tiniest whisper of sound enter its micro domain.

And for all that his mother called out to his blood, blood and his own essence was the first magic that he had ever striven to master, now well and truly his own.

Your own flesh obeys your will! Not even a Faerie Queen’s siren call can cross an ear canal filled with bitter blood!

Novice Dominion’s Command is now Rank 2!

Blood Mastery is now Rank 20!

Congratulations! You have achieved Adept Tier in Blood Mastery!

Eric wanted to laugh at the sheer irony of achieving such a milestone at what was near the worst possible time, when he was still reeling from the revelation about his origins, and now desperately fleeing for his freedom, if not his life.

He dared waste no more than a handful of seconds as a masterlist of evolutions popped up in his interface, somehow knowing that the one he focused on would be, and have always been the destined match for his affinities, helping to shape and direct his path of growth for all time.

He sensed the possibility of forging wickedly sharp weapons and near indestructible armor, he was awed by the promise of healing potential that might, one day, allow him to follow the healer’s path regardless of class choice, even if his path would be a bit messier than most.

He also sensed darker possibilities. Because it was one thing to master his own blood. Quite another to master another’s. And perhaps he even sensed the faint promise of the path of a true Vampire Lord in the far off mist-shrouded distance of possibility, far beyond what any tainted artifact or corrupted bloodline might give him.

But the possibility that resonated most strongly with him was simply an extension of how he had been used it from the very beginning, whether as a catalyst for extreme heat, or manipulated by Dominion’s might.

The dice rolling inside his head stopped the very moment he sensed the possibility of fusing necromantic Blood Mastery with his Essences more smoothly than he ever had before, as if as opposed to wildly disparate origins and paradigms, they were instead two halves of the blade of his own potential. Honed to unspeakable sharpness on the whetstone of his will.

You have chosen the Path of Essence Infusion!

Previous experience and an intuitive understanding if your own life force has allowed you to transcend the shortcomings of two vastly different paradigms to fuse your potential into one glorious whole!

Your blood is now the perfect catalyst and extension of all three of your unlocked Essences! Your blood may now be effortlessly fused with the Essence of Dominion or the Fires of your Wrath!

Soul Reserves have been permanently increased by 6 points! Willpower has been permanently increased by 3 points as you reforge yourself into your ultimate ideal, even as you struggle to endure a Winter Queen’s compulsion!

A compulsion that you now hardly feel at all, so infused with Dominion your blood-soaked ears have become!

Note. You presently suffer -2 to all orientation and balance skill checks! You now suffer -4 to all environmental awareness checks!

Good thing your Perception and Finesse are now superhuman!

Eric paused, taking a deep breath, doing his best to center himself, as the rush of skill evolution ran its course, now feeling somehow more complete, more whole and relevant, than he ever had before. He couldn’t help but shake his head with a rueful chuckle, all too well aware of just how fucked over his forced class truly was, having earned thrice the boon bringing a single skill to Adept Tier than he would have with a single Conscript level.

And the fact that most Terran Classers had yet to earn a single Journeyman Tier in any skill at all, even after months of diligent grinding, was completely beside the point, as far as he was concerned.

And though it was nice to think that he had made the best choice he possibly could have, given his circumstances, he knew this was hardly the time to be brooding over it, or cursing a class he knew he had been shafted into taking from the very beginning, even if each and every one of those 3 level-up points had been a godsend when first he managed to crawl free of the pod that had tried so hard to tear all his essences free.

He had no doubt that the moment he sprung free of this tunnel… he’s be racing for his freedom. Maybe even his life. He already knew he could sprint at a speeds pretty close to fifty Miles Per Hour, at the very limit of what elite athletes had once achieved for a few brief seconds a few times in human history, and keep up that pace for hours.

But once he embraced that deathmarch, he’d have no time for anything but survival.

Any preparations he’d do, had to be now. Right here, in the depths of a tunnel buried deep in the bedrock, with his mother’s siren song clawing for his soul.

Eric swallowed thickly, all but glaring at his resources. A bardiche made of enchanted monster shells and a hickory shaft still dripping sap, and three javelins made of wooden shaft, iron shank, and a narrow steel pyramidal head that was ideal for punching through armor and shields and inflicting deep, penetrating wounds. Each weighed close to five pounds, the upper end of the historical norm, from what little Eric recalled, and ideal for putting his strength to best use.

He all but glared at the weapons, their very nature making them hard to improve upon to any absurd degree, as the chittin blade was about as sharp as obsidian already, the edge nothing but micro-serrations that easily caught and sliced through the ball of his thumb. The problem was that it was nearly as brittle as obsidian as well, yet he gave credit where it was due, respecting the work of the desperate hungry girl with the seeds of a talent that would have truly blossomed, had she not been burdened with lack of resources and the death of her closest friends. Because the blade was self-sharpening, subtly flaking instead of dulling or cracking, when Eric carefully put it to the test.

He frowned, hating the cost of soul-linking imperfect items, still smarting from the loss of nearly all his treasures, including many pounds worth of blood-linked prizes that he was now certain he would never see again.

But he could also feel the potential of the chitin warblade he now held in a measuring grip. Even if it was more battleaxe than bardiche, Eric knew it would weave a glorious dance of killing grace in his hands. What’s more, the advantage of being able to summon forth weapons in the blink of an eye, instantly switching between blood-bound blades in combat, was an edge that might save his life, and a discipline he hoped to master to further progress his own skills and unlock whatever Adept skill tiers, stat boosts, and perks that he could, especially with Unified Bardiche being so close to Level 20 already.

Perhaps it was because the weapon was made entirely of organic compounds, and his blossoming necromantic gifts were in play, or perhaps it was the tears of gratitude quietly shed by a girl in desperate need of a customer and a friend… but the weapon, imperfect as it was, felt as familiar in his grip as the feel of his war blade, saber, or the hand of a shivering girl holding him close, desperately needing shelter in the pitiless storm their world had become.

Either way, the five pound polearm was effortlessly bound to his soul, using only 1/10th of one point of his Soul reserves.

From there it cost almost no potency at all to infuse his newly claimed weapon with the Essence of Dominion, thanks to his newly blossoming Adept Tier affinity, after liberally infusing the thirsty shaft and chittin with copious amounts of his blood.

And save for generating a savage thirst and quickly drinking down the ice cold tea one of his three water bottles was filled with, it cost him nothing save a smile, nodding approvingly at a blade that was both surgical scalpel sharp, and now truly tougher than steel, with a shaft that curved only the few degrees needed to perfectly balance and align the blade.

Congratulations! You have successfully Soul Bound Chitin Shaft! This weapon has the Class perks of Self-sharpening, and a natural sharpness equivalent to obsidian blades of FINE quality or better!

You have successfully infused your newest Soulbound artifact with the Essence of Dominion.

Your artifact has drunk deep of your blood and the tears of her creator!

Critical success!

Your artifact is now as hard as Tungsten Carbide, and as resilient as 5160 Spring Steel!

Rituals of Summoning and Binding is now Rank 16!

A part of him wanted to stop right there. But he knew he had to take it a step further.

He had pushed his Interdimensional Storage Space far beyond any conceivable limit, forcing it to blossom in the most extreme and unusual of environments while taking wicked advantage of that forced bloom, so to speak. But now the metaphoric blossom desperately needed to rest, and he dare not put any but the tiniest amount of mass for at least a day, sensing it as well as he could sense the fine line between maximum growth through testosterone enhanced weight training sessions, and when yet another session would result in ligamental tears that could cripple him.

Strangely, his mother had never once questioned his hard nos, so different from her contemptuously laughing off his normal groaning and belly aching.

Because even when he had thought himself just a mortal boy, with no trace of fey elven blood, or madness, flowing in his veins at all, he had known his body as well as anyone could.

And one thing he knew for certain was that he had no intention of putting any item inside his strained and desperately needing to heal and snap back into resonance ES Space that wasn’t soul linked so closely to him that it was practically an extension of himself.

And even then, he’d rather have nothing in it at all, for as many hours, days, or months as it took for his hyper-strained Perk that had netted him countless billions of credits to fully recover.

Because as much as he was still in awed disbelief at his fortune… he couldn’t put a price on how deadly he had been when he could summon what amounted to a reinforced cannon battery in less than two seconds. In the right circumstances… his effective level had been off the charts.

He could only hope that, over time, and with enough skill enhancement, he might one day be able to duplicate that feat.

But for now, he needed to allow that part of his soul, his gift, to rest and heal.

And that was another reason why he found himself covering his three pilums with his blood and essence, binding them to his soul for a combined cost of 3/5ths of a Soul Point, far steeper than the bardiche.

But at least they’d never dull, and the once soft iron shanks mounted to crimson oak shafts were now as resilient as spring steel, the pyramidal pilum heads not only sharpened as much as humanly possible, but infused with so much Essence of Dominion that Eric was quietly certain that it would punch through steel plate as if it were made of extremely high quality tungsten alloy.

Of course it had cost him a shit ton of Potency, but there was another reason why he had been more than willing to claim all four weapons and infuse them with his blood and essence.

Because so long as he timed his shots with the ebb and flow of his enemy’s magic, arrowheads infused with the essence of Fire would rip right through even a shaman’s powerful wards. And he was almost certain that it wasn’t just because of the insane heat, but how much essence he had infused in the tip of his arrowheads.

And though he was currently bereft of his soul-bound bone bow and his myriad crossbows, at least he now had three pristine javelins that he hoped to be able to infuse with so much blood-infused essence, thanks to his latest skill evolution, that they might even be able to pierce shamanistic wards without him having to time his strike at all. A damn useful thing if he was at close range and fighting for his life, and had to throw and dodge as fast as he could.

One of the very few developments in his favor, considering that he was about to sprint 40 miles, dodging his mother’s pawns before crashing right into orc territory that might, or might not, be filled with hostiles.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” he said with a bitter smile. “And as long as I’m here...”

Eric peered intently at the armor that had already saved his life twice over, at least, thanks to the Essence of Dominion he had infused into its skills. If his improved Blood Mastery worked as he thought it would… he had only just scratched the surface of its potential as both an offensive and defensive weapon. And considering the mad race through hostile territory that awaited him, and the fey power eager to ensare him beyond any healthy bonds of mother and child… he didn’t think twice about investing every last scrap of his Potency into reinforcing all the greater lizard scales he could with his newly evolved skill, surprised and a bit chilled by how much of his Essence-infused blood the scales seemed to greedily suck up. Yet considering that the glossy crimson scales were all that stood between him and countless foes that would no doubt be eager to kill him… he didn’t dare stop until his Potency pool reached zero, and he was at the bottom of level nine once more.

He then leaned back and took a deep breath, chuckling softly with all the wild twists and turns he had endured since waking up to Rica’s beautiful smile what now felt like days ago, closing his eyes with an exhausted smile as he imagined her arms wrapped tightly about him, stroking her hair as she rested against his chest. Before jerking back to full wakefulness with a jolt of panic, surprised by how close he had come into slipping into a doze that could have spelled his end right there.

“What a day it’s been,” he muttered softly to himself as he kitted back up and laced his boots nice and tight. Only then, after a final careful inspection of his equipment and a tentative plan in mind, did he continue his careful walk through the tunnel before encountering a final steel grate.