Blood Magus: Reincarnation of a Fallen Magus

In the eerie embrace of a blood moon, where shadows danced with menacing fervor, a person stood alone in a desolate clearing deep within a foreboding forest.

Surrounding the clearing, towering ancient trees twisted and contorted like skeletal sentinels, their branches clawing at the sky in a grotesque parody of supplication.

A small, ancient stone altar occupied the center of the clearing. On the worn surface, intricate designs were etched, depicting sinister symbols of ancient diabolical rites. Ominous candles flickered, casting long, sinister shadows across the gnarled roots and decaying leaves below.

Yet even in the face of such horror, the person however seemed unusually calm as if he wasn't a mere mortal but a being of the darkness.

The ambient light from the crimson moon above dimly illuminated his twisted silhouette, while his face remained hidden beneath a hooded cloak.

Swoosh!

Ahooo!!

Apart from the occasional rustling sound of wind and leaves, the occasional howls of wolves, and the sound of different nocturnal creatures, nothing much could be heard except the low hum escaping his mouth, resonating through the air. 

Those hymns were like a haunting melody that seemed to be echoing from the depths of forbidden realms. 

Suddenly the hooded individual, paused his hymns as he raised his right hand adorned with wickedly carved runes.

And as he opened his palms and straightened his arms, a dagger smoothly slipped down his sleeves. Immediately with lightning speed, he grabbed the hilt of the dagger with ease, avoiding its extremely sharp edges from hurting his palm. 

The way he handled the dagger made it seem as if he was overtly skilled in handling weapons.

Raising the dagger high above, he then looked at the dagger which was glowing with a cold sinister gleam in his hand, reflecting the ominous gleam of the blood moon.

The moment he turned to look at the dagger in his hands, his crimson red eyes filled with rage, hatred, and helplessness flashed in the smooth metallic surface of the dagger.

"I didn't want this…. But you leave me no choice…."

Staring at the reflection of his crimson-red eyes, he murmured to himself with great difficulty. 

His eyes weren't of that color originally. And right now, even looking at those eyes was making him feel extremely disgusted.

Reverently he then positioned himself behind the altar with his hands hoovering in arcane gesture. Moving the dagger swiftly, he then made a shallow cut in his left palm with the dagger.

Bathing in his blood, the silver dagger became a tapestry of silver and crimson as it got smeared with his blood.

"Argh..." He let out a muffled cry as the dagger cut through his skin.

Drip! Drip!

Both from his hand and from the dagger, blood seeped out slowly as it dripped like crimson teardrops, staining the ancient stone.

At once, as his blood came into contact with the stone altar, some changes started taking place in that seemingly lifeless altar as a few of its runic symbols started lightening up in blood red color.

With each drop of blood, the moon's scarlet grew stronger, casting an eerie sheen over the clearing. At the same time, the leaves rustled menacingly, as if it was lending voices to dark forces awakening in response to the ritual.

However, the changes weren't limited only to the surroundings, as an unsettling change started taking place in the person responsible for this incident.

Visibly beneath his skin, his veins started bulging at an alarming rate while from his crimson eyes, blood started seeping out. 

"arghhhh….."

Clenching his fist tightly while gritting his teeth, he let out an agonizing cry. 

Yet even that tormenting pain couldn't bring him to his knees as despite the pain he was suffering through, he continued his incantation without any pause. Instead because of the pain, his incantation grew even louder and more fervent.

His voice, a twisted blend of commanding authority and disturbing glee as it continued to resonate through the air caused several changes around him.

Gradually as he continued with his recital, the air around him started thickening with an unsettling energy.

Dark miasma which gave an extremely unpleasant smell started forming around the altar. The overbearing smell was a mixture of rotten flesh and blood, seemingly giving the impression of death itself.

Slowly and gradually as the miasma thickened, even the individual who right now was conducting some sort of sinister ritual found it extremely hard to breathe.

'I… must endure' he thought to himself as he continued to chant within his heart without any break despite feeling suffocated.

His crimson-red eyes which seemed like it was struggling to keep hold of his life flashed with determination as he struggled to retain his consciousness.

His face, a bloody mess, started turning bluish out of suffocation as he struggled hard to hold his breath.

Finally, after some time, the seemingly unpleasant smell started to vanish as some visible changes started taking place in the appearance of the stone altar.

Those runic symbols which were glowing blood red changed their color from blood red to dark purple. 

Noticing the change in the altar, his struggling face eased up at once as he finally stopped holding his breath, "Hah… huff… hah…"

For some moment, he continued gasping. It was as if he had finally come ashore after spending a long time submerged underwater. Holding his breath for so long, he simply couldn't stop gasping. However, although he had been holding onto his breath, he hadn't stopped chanting.

And only now while gasping for his breath had he stopped his chants.

"Now…, for the final part," as he mumbled, he turned his head away from the altar; to one of the sinister-looking trees where a bunch of sacks were laid down.

Making his way towards the sacks, he stood in front of the sack. His crimson eyes staring at the stuffed sack beneath his feet couldn't refrain from hiding the rage churning within him. 

"This will only… be a small price for your deeds…." He murmured in a low voice while glaring at the sack whose bottom was seemingly damp and some sort of liquid was dripping out of it.

All of a sudden, one of the runes tattooed on his palms lit up as he lifted the sacks with ease.

At once he carried three sacks without even breaking a sweat. And just by looking at the sheer size of those sacks, one could tell that it wasn't something a mere mortal could carry with ease.

Carrying those sacks, he then made his way toward the stone altar which right now was glowing dark purple and emanating an unimaginable amount of energy.

After reaching the altar, he then carelessly tossed the sack aside as if he were handling garbage.

Once again while making use of his dagger, he cut open the sack. And the moment his dagger sliced through the first sack, a figure of an unconscious young boy plopped out of the sack. 

With tousled blond hair that seemingly cascaded down his shoulder with his seemingly innocent-looking face smeared with blood stains, his sorry state could garner the pity of any onlookers. Yet the hooded individual remained unmoved.