Chapter 93 – Fleshbound Sigils
Deep within the underground sanctum, surrounded by countless formations glowing dimly in the darkness, Eo sat in absolute stillness. His mind, vast and methodical, analyzed the nature of formation magic—its essence, its intricacies, its limitations.
He had already grasped the art of constructing talismans, weaving elemental particles into fragile parchment to create formations of minor power. But parchment was a weak vessel. It could not truly contain the depth of magic Eo wished to harness.
A more permanent, more resilient medium was necessary.
His answer lay in living flesh.
A talisman could be burned, torn, or destroyed. But a body—if properly inscribed—could become a walking formation, an entity imbued with unwavering power and obedience.
Thus began his new experimentation.
Eo’s first attempt was crude. He selected one of the captured beasts—a large horned hare, docile and trembling in fear. Using False Faith Magic, Eo implanted a whisper into the creature’s mind, twisting its instincts, silencing its fear, and bending its will.
He had named this magic False Faith because, unlike true devotion, this was nothing but manufactured obedience, a hollow submission that mimicked faith but lacked its essence.
The hare did not resist.
With precision, Eo etched the formation into its flesh, his tendrils infused with a mixture of fire, mist, and abyssal energy, carving deep, glowing symbols into its skin.
For a moment, it seemed to work.
Then—the hare exploded.
Its body ruptured violently, scattering seared flesh and blackened blood across the chamber walls.
A failure.
Yet Eo did not stop.
A second subject. A serpent, its body coiled and passive under his command. Again, he wove the formation, careful, deliberate. Again, the symbols sank into flesh.
This time, the serpent melted—its body dissolving into a bubbling pool of flesh and bone, the magic proving too volatile for its frail form.
Another failure.
But failure was irrelevant.
Eo was consumed. His mind, vast and calculating, burned with obsession, a hunger that would not let him rest. He did not care for the lives lost—only for the knowledge gained.
One by one, the subjects fell. Beasts howled in agony as their minds shattered, their bodies twisted beyond recognition. Some turned mad, their eyes hollow and soulless before they tore their own flesh apart. Others simply ceased to exist, their bodies crumbling to ash.
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Failure after failure.
Countless failures.
Yet Eo continued, relentless.
Then—Frid returned.
The devoted, the mad follower of his will, carrying something in his arms.
A wolf pup.
Small. Frail. Dying.
Its ribs jutted through its thin fur. Its breath was shallow, weak. A creature abandoned by fate, left to rot in the wild.
"Master," Frid said, kneeling, his voice filled with reverence. "I found it barely breathing. No mother. No pack. A beast destined for death."
Eo’s gaze locked onto the pup.
It was weak, its body fragile, its life flickering. But its eyes—though clouded with sickness—held a faint ember of defiance.
Something different.
Eo reached forward, his presence suffocating, his tendrils slithering toward the pup’s small, trembling form. He did not need False Faith this time. The creature was too weak to resist.
With careful precision, he began.
The formation took shape, its symbols carving into the pup’s flesh, glowing faintly as elemental particles fused with its muscles, bones, and nerves.
The chamber fell silent.
The pup convulsed violently, its small body thrashing against the stone floor. Its veins bulged, glowing with eerie, pulsating light. The magic sank deep, warping flesh, blood, and spirit.
And yet—it did not die.
It did not explode.
It did not dissolve.
The pup endured.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. Its body, once small and frail, began to change.
Bones stretched, cracked, and reformed.
Fur darkened into an obsidian black, thick and gleaming.
Claws lengthened, jagged and sharp.
Its body expanded beyond normal limits, its frame becoming monstrous—larger, denser. Twice the size of an alpha wolf, yet still growing, its form reshaped by the magic embedded in its flesh.
A deep, guttural snarl escaped its throat—a sound that no mere pup should make.
Eo observed, unblinking.
The formation had worked.
This was no longer just a beast. It was a vessel, a living sigil-bound entity, bound to the power he had inscribed into its very being.
A creation of true power.
In the shadows, Aelith watched.
She sat against the cold, unforgiving stone, her thin arms wrapped around her knees, her body barely more than skin and bone.
She had once been proud, fierce, untouchable.
Now, she was nothing.
Her silver hair, once a symbol of her beauty, was now matted and filthy, strands falling over hollow cheeks. Her once strong limbs were weak, trembling from starvation.
She had resisted. At first.
She had spat at Eo, cursed him, sworn that she would never break.
But the hunger. The pain. The relentless cruelty of time.
She was no longer the same.
Her will was shattered.
She did not watch Eo with hatred anymore. She did not pray for revenge.
Nor pray to her God.
She only wished to be free.
Not to fight. Not to kill.
Just—free.
Across from her, Thorne lay unmoving.
The once mighty mercenary, the unshakable warrior, was now a dying man.
His breath was shallow, his body wasted away. His once-proud armor had been stripped from him long ago, replaced by torn rags barely covering his wounds.
His mind was no longer present.
He had fought too long.
And now, his body simply waited for the end.
But Antru was different.
Despite the hunger eating at him, despite his frail body, despite the chains that had once bound him—his eyes still burned.
Not with hatred. Not with despair.
But with faith.
He murmured softly, his lips moving in silent prayer.
To the Gods.
To something beyond this hell.
He did not know if they could hear him.
But he prayed anyway.
Because in this place of monsters and madness, it was all he had left.
