Screams, raw and primal, erupted across the Grand Plaza of Oraz as the Apex Titan, a mountain of obsidian chitin and predatory hunger, tore through the assembled dignitaries. Its colossal claw swept across the raised dais, sending gilded chairs and terrified council members scattering like brittle leaves. One unfortunate senator, a portly man in robes of deep violet, was crushed beneath a segmented digit, his last gurgle lost to the cacophony. Dust and pulverized cobblestone plumed into the smog-choked air, mingling with the sulfur stench of fried mana lines. Hectas, a picture of manufactured panic, continued to bellow, "The gates! Lock the gates! Protect the Duke!" His voice, amplified by hidden mana-lenses, cut through the pandemonium, but his words rang hollow. The clanging sound of massive iron gates grinding shut echoed across the plaza, sealing off the exits. Panic solidified into a dreadful realization for the trapped citizens: Hectas had no intention of saving them; he was fencing them in. Galderos, bound to the pyre, watched the horror unfold with a detached cynicism that even the imminent threat of being trampled couldn't entirely shake. *This is it, then,* he thought. *Burned as a heretic, then squashed like a beetle by a glorified pet.* A low growl rumbled through the ground as the Titan’s immense head, adorned with a crown of jagged mandibles, snapped towards the main thoroughfare, hunting for more prey. The air thrummed with its destructive intent. His gaze fell to his palm. The fiber scrap, barely larger than his thumb, lay wedged against his skin, carrying one glistening droplet of dark ink upon its surface. Lucera’s desperate gift. Spite remained when deference burned away. This was not about saving Oraz; it was about tearing down Hectas's ledger. [System Notification: ‘Sub-Optimal Survival Strategy Detected. Recommended Action: Accept Fate.’] "Shut up," Galderos muttered, his voice hoarse. He shifted against the hemp biting into his wrists, twisting his knuckles upward to bring the scrap closer. He stared at the ink, then at his left thumb, the pad of which still throbbed faintly from a recent scrape. He dug his incisors into the split cuticle. A bead of crimson bloomed on his thumbprint, stark against his pale skin. He pressed the weeping puncture against the ink droplet. His blood mixed with the magical pigment, swirling into a murky, obsidian-red. He had no brush, no pen. Only the crude instrument of his own flesh. With a shaky, blood-smeared thumb, Galderos began to draw. Not with precision, not with elegance, but with furious, desperate intent. He dragged the slurry across the coarse surface, laying down thick, deliberate strokes. He felt the familiar, jarring pull of his 0% Tame skill, but this time, it was different. This time, it hummed with a dark, resonant power, a hunger for genesis. The stain throbbed beneath his nail, heavy and cold as stagnant well-water. What took shape bore none of the symmetry of the Conservatory's licensed familiars; it was jagged, predatory, and brutally basic. A colossal, shadowy form, vaguely humanoid but warped, with limbs that seemed to stretch into infinite darkness and eyes like twin suns of solidified chaos. The scrap shuddered against his calluses, then crumbled into ash wrapped in black mana. The mana shot upwards, coalescing directly above him, growing impossibly large. The terrified crowd, momentarily forgetting the Apex Titan, stared up in horror. Static snapped across the cobbles as the dark vortex expanded. [System Notification: ‘Unauthorized Manifestation Detected. Entity Signature: Undefined. Power Level: Unquantifiable.’] A guttural roar, deeper than any known beast, tore through the plaza. It wasn't sound, but pure, resonant force that rattled teeth and loosened masonry. From the churning void, a colossal figure descended. It manifested as a towering, shifting silhouette of dried ink and coagulated mana, edges bleeding into the surrounding smog. It had no discernible face, only pits of incandescent, crimson light where eyes should be, and limbs that ended in crushing, ink-black fists. It landed with a silent, crushing impact that drove the remaining oxygen from the plaza. The Apex Titan, which had been preparing to swat a fleeing merchant, froze. Its compound eyes, usually so confident, now registered something akin to fear. It let out a high-pitched, chittering cry of challenge, but it sounded like a whimper in the face of the newcomer. The ink-born silhouette turned its featureless crest toward the armored carapace. It didn't roar, didn't threaten. It simply *moved*. Flagstones splintered as the summoned terror crossed the plaza in one unbroken stride. Its arm descended like an iron beam wrapped in soot. The blow met the creature's crest with a dull, concussive clap. Chitin plates buckled inward, internal organs ruptured, and a fountain of black mana erupted from the wound. The Titan shrieked, a sound of absolute agony and confusion, before being lifted entirely off its feet. The figure drove the beast into the paving stones, opening a crater through the stone floor. Then, with mechanic precision, the conjuration seized a rear leg. There was a wet, tearing sound as the limb was ripped clean from its socket, sending a spray of black ichor across the stunned crowd. The Apex Titan, Oraz's ultimate weapon, thrashed helplessly, its overwhelming power utterly negated by the sheer, terrifying simplicity of the ink-entity's might. The summoned shape tore through the remaining appendages with systematic cruelty. It was not a fight; it was an execution. Each hammer strike split chitin and drained pressurized lymph across the crater. The crowd, frozen in a mix of terror and awe, watched the supposed city-destroyer reduced to a pile of scrap. Hectas, who had been orchestrating his 'heroic' defense from a secure balcony, stared in disbelief. His face, usually a mask of calculating serenity, twisted into a rictus of pure, unadulterated horror. His floating holographic metrics—98.7% Capture Rate, 100% Apex Compliance—flickered violently. Emerald digits stuttered, fragmented, and burst into pixelated static. When the glare cleared, a hollow red glyph hung in their place. [System Notification: ‘Tamer Profile: Hectas. Capture Rate: 0%. System Compliance: 0%.’] The absolute silence that followed was more deafening than any scream. Hectas, the golden architect of Oraz’s security, the man who had perfected the art of taming, was now, publicly and irreversibly, a zero. The pedigree he spent decades fabricating dissolved across the plaza. Bloodshot eyes locked onto Galderos atop the pyre, then drifted to the ink monstrosity standing motionless over the twitching carcass. Rage, pure and unadulterated, contorted his features. He ripped open his tunic, revealing a series of mana-injectors embedded in his chest. With a madman’s grin, he plunged a thick, amber-filled vial into the main port, injecting himself with a viscous, pulsing liquid. "You think you've won?!" Hectas roared, his voice cracking, "I AM ORAZ! I AM POWER!" His body began to convulse, muscles rippling violently under his skin. Veins bulged, blackening as they pulsed with the strange serum. His skin, once smooth, tightened and stretched, cracking in places to reveal glimpses of raw, pulsating flesh. His eyes glowed with an unholy, feral light as his frame began to expand, growing, twisting, mutating into an uncontrollable, hulking monstrosity.

Drawn in Blood