Blood Elf Monarch

Chapter 230: Blood Figure

Tristan opened his eyes, and saw a pool of blood stretching far beyond the horizon. Skies of bright crimson shone above, the light of seven bright suns focused shining above the lake.

The smell of iron was familiar. It was his third time coming to this place.

The first time he came to this place was when his head was smashed by the space knight captain. The second, he saw a flash of this place when he upgraded his Blood Monarch body. But the last time he upgraded his body, the place didn't come to him. Why did he appear here right now?

As strange as this place is, he could still feel everything, it doesn't feel like a dream or an illusion at all. From the smell of iron in this place, the sweltering heat, the distinct touch of his own finger, the texture of the ground. Everything felt real.

Ripples formed on the lake, accompanied with the resounding noises of disturbed water. Just like before, a humanoid figure, full shape of a man made of blood, slowly emerged.

It stared at Tristan and spoke to his mind.

"Why are you so weak human! ...such a disappointment indeed"

A sudden insult quickly ignited his rage, and with his fear forgotten, Tristan bravely approached the figure and said.

"Well, it's me against the whole elf fucking kingdom, how do you expect me to win, especially against that prince?!"

"Silence!"

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The figure's voice echoed and Tristan felt something in his head shatter. Pressure weighed all around his body, forcing him into a kneeling position. He realized the figure was not to be trifled with.

"You are wasting my body, human! You are too weak!, you don't deserve my legacy!"

Hearing the blood figure words, he realized who the being is. As he expects, it must be the real owner of the blood elf body. He quickly changed his tone and tried to appeal to the figure's most likely nonexistent conscience.

"My apology... it's just so many things that I still don't understand if you could help me. Probably I can do better.."

The figure laughed in amusement.

"Help? What kind of help? You have died! There is no hope for you, now your soul is stuck with me here inside this place."

Tristan recalled the last things that happened to him. From the decapitation, and to the fact that his heart forcefully ripped out of him. He had to wonder, did that really happen? Is this where his journey would end?"

"This cannot be! No, I refuse to accept this end!"

The figure continued speaking. "It is a pity, indeed. I had hoped for you... You had determination, and your hunger could bloom to devour all. Sadly, your soul was too weak."

It appears being humble doesn't work for this being. This is his cue to try yet another approach.

"Excuse me! I was never given the proper manual for this body, and the enemy was too strong. If you are oh, so great and powerful, why don't you get out and defeat him yourself?!" Tristan rolled his eyes.

The figure glared at him and spoke in an annoyed tone.

"That Stage 5 Katra elf was like dust in my time of glory! I would take over the body if I could. Unfortunately, what you saw here was just the remnant of my soul."

"But, there must be a way…is there nothing else??" Tristan started pleading once more.

No response. The figure started to twist and separate into droplets, before disappearing into the lake in ripples.

Tristan could only stare at the blood lake anxiously, unsure of what the figure was planning to do. As he was about to speak again, he felt a cold, sticky liquid start to crawl onto his body.

He looked down and saw the blood from the lake was rising up quickly, threatening to drown his body. His feet were glued to the floor, ensuring he could only stare as the blood engulfed him.

Finally, the blood reached his head, and he instinctively held his breath.

The feeling of wet blood all around him only lasted for less than a few seconds, as he felt air on his skin again. Tristan opened his eyes and saw a massive room propped up with pillars made of blood. Above, the blood flickered and shifted, creating the illusion of a boundless lake.

In the middle of the room, there was a large, glass-like shard hovering on a pedestal, casting a reddish glow to the blood pillars and walls.

The blood figure appeared next to the shard and said.

"This is one of my memory fragments. If you can successfully absorb them, then I will help you."

The words made him eager. His expression changed slightly, and he was about to rush to take the shard, but the figure scolded him. "You must know that if you failed, this time it wouldn't be just your mortal body that was lost, but also the remainder of your soul."

Tristan could only chuckle at the warning. What is the use of having a soul, without a body to live in and interact with the world at large? If his soul wandered with neither purpose nor benefit, could he call himself alive? He would much rather die here than wander without a purpose.

Without hesitation, he approached the glass-like shard. Within it, he saw the reflections of people jumbled together. It was like watching the snippets of someone else's life.

He outstretched his hand and grabbed the hovering shard as hard as he could, and his effort was rewarded with the most painful headache he ever felt. It was more painful than the time the prince stabbed his head with an arrow, and this time, the pain was not released all at once but as tiny pinpricks. It felt like a thousand knives were forcefully inserted to trigger the maximum pain response.

Only a few seconds have passed, but he regretted his earlier decision, and he wished to let it go.

Knowing his intentions, the figure barked, warning him again.