Traveling West(part 2)

Mid Fall, 1022, The Black Forest, Germany

Three figures stood in the shadows of towering trees beneath the light of a full moon, a witch, a werewolf, and a vampire. Forming a circle, they held hands as the witch chanted an incantation in an ancient, forgotten language, her voice echoing through the still night.

They had gathered with a singular purpose: to rid their lands of a dragon and other supernatural creatures that had haunted their villages.

Each of them cut their palm in their turn spilling a bit of blood into a pit they had dug in the earth, the witch's chanting intensifying as their combined essence mixed with the muddy soil. Soon, the mixture began to bubble, darkening to an ominous shade of black. When the chanting ceased, the pit gave a final roiling surge.

From the bubbling depths rose a dark, towering figure of muddy earth—a golem born of blood and magic.

That night, Malivour came into existence.

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Early Summer, 1075, Kievan Rus

In the grand hall, twelve men sat around a long oak table, their silence punctuated only by the soft crackle of torches casting flickering shadows. Though dressed in noble attire, their rugged features and steely gazes betrayed a fierce, almost barbaric nature—a reminder that these were men who thrived much more in battle than they did in council.

Yet, as their eyes shifted restlessly down the table, they lingered on the man at its head, whose presence commanded a palpable fear, but also a trace of respect.

The man, with olive-colored skin, wore a dark green silk sorochka paired with black pants. A thin, elegant black mantle draped over his shoulders, giving him an imposing, regal presence. By his side, sat a golden haired woman who watched him in silence as he sucked blood from her wrist.

Over five years had passed since Isaac and Meixing had departed Japan. Making their way across China, they had traveled on horseback and by cart, with Meixing often guiding their path through areas rich in herbal resources to sustain their research. Upon arriving in Meixing's hometown, they resided there for nearly a year while Meixing settled her own unfinished business.

She had made it clear that this was her fight—a deeply personal vendetta. Respecting her wishes, Isaac kept a low profile, watching discreetly from the shadows to ensure no harm came to his "little witch."

When Meixing had exacted her revenge on the wife of a high-ranking official, they resumed their journey, this time northward toward the Xixia Dynasty. Moving gradually towards the north west, they crossed the steppes and reached the northern regions where they stayed for three years. Here, they worked on refining Isaac's idea of a magical tattoo.

Originally, creating a normal tattoo for a supernatural entity would require Slowing the healing enough for the tattoo to be completed and than 'locking' the ink using a spell. But for the tattoo to have its own magic, it required some more unique ingredients. So they were striving to perfect an ink that would integrate with his regenerative body yet remain potent enough to channel magic effectively.

Creating the tattoo proved to be far more challenging than they'd anticipated. Their initial attempts to use wolfsbane and vervain to slow Isaac's healing while the tattoo was being created only revealed he had developed a near immunity to these herbs.

Eventually, Meixing devised an innovative solution: she used magic to cultivate a new strain of vervain, a blood-red variant with twenty times the potency of the original. It was a laborious process, but after a few years of experimentation, they finally achieved a stable product.

As they continued west, they stopped briefly in Kara-Khanid, modern-day Kazakhstan, moving at a slower pace as he and Meixing chatted and picked up herbs along the way, from there to Volga Bulgaria.

Along the way, Meixing's unique vervain continued to assist Isaac in further refining his tolerance, but for him to actually gain immunity would take decades. Though the brief use during the journey did take its toll on him, the sudden increase in potency showed on his face. They arrived in Kievan Rus just five months ago, ready to take their first steps into the lands of Europe.

Today, Isaac was hosting a small feast in a fortress he had "borrowed" from the local prince when one of the servants entered, informing him that Meixing was ready. Nodding in acknowledgment, Isaac released the woman's wrist and wiped his mouth with a cloth before standing and leaving the hall.

Silence lingered for a full three minutes before the man who had been seated to Isaac's right let out a tired sigh.

"We never should have provoked that damn devil," he muttered, unable to shake the memory of Isaac's tearing two dozen man to pieces with his bare hands.

"Any word from Kyiv?" leaning against the table, another man asked.

The first speaker, Simeon Iziaslavich, son of the current grand-prince of Kievan Rus, held the highest status among them, being the owner of the castle and the one reigning over the town named Suzdal. Well, at least he did before Isaac arrived.

He sighed again, visibly frustrated. "I doubt the message even got out. With Lord Isaac's senses, we probably can't even leave our beds without him knowing about it…"

"So, Lord Simeon, what do we do?" another man interjected, straightening slightly in his chair, his body tense. "Do you intend for us to remain under his rule forever?"

"Careful, or you'll get yourself killed," the man beside him whispered in warning.

"Just do as he says for now," Simeon replied in a measured tone, calming the room.

"He'll leave sooner or later. And let's not forget—it was your son and his wife's doing, trying to force lord Isaac to hand over that woman." The man sitting in front of Simeon, Borislav, spoke with barely contained anger.

"He did pay with his life. And it's his widow now serving as a walking meal, so I'd say we're even." The father replied, his tone nearly shaking with rage, yet he didn't really speak what was on his mind as Borislav held a higher position than him.

"Enough," Simeon said quietly, yet his tone final. With that, the hall returned to an uneasy silence.

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Meanwhile, in a room on the third floor, at the opposite end of the fortress, Isaac entered to find Meixing seated by a large bed. It was his room, though as a hybrid, he rarely used it for sleep. Instead, it served as a private space for confidential conversations—and occasionally for... less formal encounters.

Meixing looked up as he entered, then motioned for him to sit on the bed. She opened a wooden box filled with needles and placed it on the nightstand, then took the jar that was already there, mixing the ink with careful precision before giving him a confirming nod.

"Hand, back, or chest? Or maybe you want it on your ass?" she asked with a smirk, pulling out a cloth marked with a tribal sun design. "Once you choose, there's no regretting this decision."

"Very funny." Isaac gave her a deadpan look. "Back of the neck. Can't have it getting cut off."

"As you wish. Anything you want to add or change before I start?" She showed him the design.

"It's my design, Mei. I know how it looks."

"Just making sure." She smirked. "Take off your shirt and tie up your hair."

Isaac did as she asked, removing his shirt and pulling his hair back, then turned his back to her, ready for the Meixing to begin.

The process started with Meixing setting a small pot over a carefully prepared fire in the corner of the room. She heated the ink mixture, bringing it to a gentle simmer, then added the blood-red vervain.

This potent strain wasn't part of the magic itself—it was simply there to keep Isaac's accelerated healing at bay. The heat helped to release its full potency, ensuring the ink would settle under his skin long enough for her to complete the work.

She transferred the ink to a shallow bowl, bringing it to the bedside along with her needles, knowing she'd have to work swiftly. Isaac's healing could overpower the vervain's effects at any moment, undoing her progress if she wasn't careful.

With steady hands, she dipped her needle into the ink and began. Her movements were quick, each line precise as she worked in small sections. Starting at the base of his neck, she outlined the sun's core, pressing into his skin with the rhythm of someone who had done this countless times, though never under such constraints.

Meixing moved outward from the center, adding each ray in a careful sequence. The need to move quickly didn't lessen her precision, but it did keep her focused, pausing only to stir the ink so the vervain remained integrated with the liquid and didn't sink to the bottom.

Isaac's felt the pricks at the back of his neck as his skin began to respond and heal as his body tried to resist the ink, making each stroke of the needle a race against his own nature. Finally, as the last ray settled into his skin, she set down her tools and placed her hands above the freshly inked design.

Chanting in a low, firm tone, she spoke the words to lock the enchantment in place, her voice grounding the protective charm into the tattoo.

As she finished, a brief glow pulsed from the ink, like direct sunlight that lit up the entire room, before fading entirely—the charm, now bound, would shield Isaac from daylight, as if he himself was naturally immune.

And this charm, was with no loophole, not even Meixing herself could effect it. Not to mention the other random witches he may come across.

Standing up, Isaac went to the window, looking at the sun he took off the ring adorning his finger.

He could feel the heat of the sun all along but now it somehow felt different, better. It was as if for the last 74 years the light lacked something, but it was now complete and it felt strange, more alive.

"Thank you, Mei. Can you let me borrow your eyes for a moment? I want to see it," Isaac asked, his gaze still fixed on the sunlight outside. Though his voice was calm, a hint of joy slipped through.

Meixing didn't respond verbally. Instead, she murmured a soft chant, repeating it three times in her native tongue. A faint pull brushed against Isaac's consciousness. It was light, something he could easily resist, yet he allowed it to take hold.

In a blink, his vision shifted, darkening briefly before returning. He was no longer looking out the window but rather observing his own back—the tattoo, through Meixing's eyes. The sun, black in color, was made in a perfect circle surrounded by twelve rays of sunlight. Untying his own hair, but with Meixing's hands, he let it flow over his shoulders, covering the tattoo entirely.

"Perfect." He said, just as the connection broke, and he once again returned to his own body.

Turning toward Meixing, who now stood directly behind him, Isaac smirked as he caught her gaze lingering on his abs. "Like what you see?" he asked, his tone teasing.

She raised her eyes to meet his, a hint of color rising to her cheeks, though her expression remained composed.

"It's… good," she replied, her tone steady, but a touch warmer than usual.

He shifted a little closer, holding her gaze. "Only good?" Isaac asked, feigning disappointment. He moved closer, so close her hand brushed against his chest, his pulse steady beneath her fingertips.

"Maybe I should give you a better look," he murmured, his fingers tracing a gentle line along her wrist, lingering there as he studied her reaction.

Her hand rested lightly against his chest, and for a moment, he watched her, catching the faint hint of color rising in her cheeks.

"Maybe?" he called to her, keeping his voice low, stepping just close enough to feel her warmth.

She met his gaze, steady but with something more in her eyes, and she murmured in return, "More than maybe."

Without another word, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers and everything else melted away as they embraced each other into the night.

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