Chapter 24 Two visitors

Eskandor didn't know what that gift meant, but he felt a genuine excitement well up in his chest — it had to be something good, he thought. A curious smile formed on his lips as he saw Uriel lift his claw, bringing it slowly toward his body. Without warning, the sharp black nail sliced through one of his scales with terrifying ease, as if it were made of paper. Thick, dark blood from Uriel dripped from the tip of the claw and fell directly onto Eskandor's exposed chest.

He blinked, confused, not understanding the gesture.

"Your Majesty, I... haaaaaa!"

The scream pierced the silence of the snow. An absurd pain exploded where the blood had touched his skin. It was as if live embers had been pressed against his flesh. He fell to his knees in the cold snow, both knees sinking into the ice as if the weight of a thousand mountains had fallen upon him. Gasping, his eyes widened as he felt Uriel's hot blood penetrate his body like a burning serpent.

The transformation began there — brutal and uncontrollable.

His bones began to creak grotesquely, cracking and expanding in a forced growth. He arched his body back, feeling each vertebra shift and increase in size. Hair white as snow sprouted from his scalp, growing rapidly and falling over his shoulders. A searing pain tore through his forehead as two horns emerged from his skin, ripping through flesh and bone. First straight, they soon began to curve upward, forming elegant, dangerous arcs pointing backward.

His eyes, once a normal blue, flickered. The pupils stretched into vertical slits, giving him a predatory and supernatural look. His canines elongated into sharp fangs that barely fit in his mouth anymore, forcing his lips to part slightly. And then, something even stranger: a tail sprouted just above his rear, twitching in the air as it formed with spasmodic movements.

Marks began to appear on his skin — fine, dark lines like scorched cracks, quickly transforming into scales. They weren't like Uriel's scales, but they carried the same powerful aura. Every part of Eskandor's body screamed in agony, but at the same time, something within him awakened — something fierce and untamable.

Uriel watched from above with his sharp eyes, his night vision allowing him to see every detail of the transformation. For a moment, he doubted Eskandor would survive. But against all odds, the giant's body didn't collapse. He endured. He resisted. And the transformation continued without interruption.

A silent relief passed through Uriel's chest. His blood hadn't killed Eskandor. That meant his experiment had worked. If Eskandor's body accepted that blood heritage, then the potential was enormous. Now, he knew: with the right blood, he could create soldiers — creatures with his essence, molded to survive and fight.

Eskandor was only the first.

If he failed, it would be a mere loss. But if it worked...

...it would be the beginning of something much greater.

"Your... Majesty?" Eskandor murmured, surprised, feeling his own body vibrate with an unknown and overwhelming power. He was different. Not just in appearance, but inside. His muscles pulsed with energy, his senses were sharper than ever. He could hear the sound of snow falling softly outside, feel the warmth of the blood still dripping across his new scales.

With just a single drop of that blood... he had been transformed into something beyond what he ever imagined. The strength he now felt was intoxicating, almost addictive. And then, a thought arose — subtle and venomous: If one drop gave me all this... what if I received more? How much stronger could I become?

A silent greed, almost imperceptible, was born in his heart. Ambition burned in his chest like a flame that refused to die.

He rose slowly, steam rising from his mouth in thick puffs in the underground chamber. He realized he had grown — at least a meter taller. He was already an imposing creature at three meters tall; now his presence dominated the space at a full four meters. His new horns nearly touched the ceiling of the cavern.

Uriel, watching indifferently, spoke with his deep, authoritative voice:

"You've received your gift. Go rest. Tomorrow, I have a task for you."

He didn't notice the greedy glint that passed through Eskandor's eyes — or if he did, he didn't show it. Uriel was the type of being who cared little for the ambitions of others, as long as they served his own purposes. And even if he knew... he wouldn't worry.

Eskandor simply nodded, bowed slightly in respect, and with a powerful leap, climbed the uneven walls of the pit he had descended into. As soon as he emerged into the snow-covered surface—

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Meanwhile, high above Jotunheim, hidden among the dense, gray clouds that covered the skies of the frozen land, two figures soared through the air mounted on massive wyverns ten meters long. The winged creatures glided through the wind currents with deadly grace, their roars muffled by the howling gusts.

The riders were lizardmen. One of them stood out immediately: he had long horns curving backward like those of a demonic ram and wore a red ornate armor, its details darkened by time. On his back, two large draconic wings stretched out, swaying slightly with the wind. He sat with an upright posture, his sharp gaze sweeping the landscape below.

The other was simpler, though equally intimidating. He also wore red armor, but unadorned, and his eyes showed caution and reverence toward the one flying beside him.

"This place should've been under control already," growled the horned lizardman, his voice laden with irritation and disbelief. "How could Moriah have failed?"

His jaw clenched in disbelief. He knew Moriah. He wasn't the strongest under the Blood King's command, but still, he was one of the pillars of his army — a warrior feared by many.

"I have no idea, Commander," the other replied. "But he fell... along with his entire army. If it weren't the Blood King himself saying it, I'd think it was a lie."

Everyone who served the Blood King knew: he didn't just command — he sensed. He had eyes beyond the veil of reality, and to doubt his words was to ask for a slow death — or something worse.

"Let's see who was responsible for this," said the commander, his eyes narrowing with predatory curiosity. "Might be someone... interesting."

He didn't hide his interest. If someone had managed to wipe out Moriah's army, they needed to be investigated. Perhaps a threat... or maybe a potential ally. But they had no time to waste.

"And we can't linger here. That one-eyed old man might find us."

The mention of Odin was followed by tense silence. The commander remembered well the power of that one-eyed elder. He had witnessed his strength, his ancestral fury — the only being who dared to face the Blood King as an equal. The memory unsettled him.

With a snap of the reins and a strong beat of their wyverns' wings, the two dove deeper into the clouds, heading toward the place where Moriah's army had perished.

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