The Crimson Elf

In the hall, the light that restricted Silax's movement faded away, leaving him free to move again.

Once Silax realized that he could move again, he walked to the center of the room to take a look at the pattern that the blood of the ghouls had created on the floor.

On getting there, he saw that the blood was already used up, but there were still faint traces of the pattern visible.

The marking was a circle, and contained in it were various geometric forms and concentric sections. These sections included squares, triangles and circles. Silax couldn't figure out anything from the pattern. He turned around to look at the only other thing in the hall, the lectern.

Silax walked up to the dais, he examined the image and the inscription that adorned the front of the lectern cautiously.

On the lectern was the image of a coffin with a swirling pattern that resembled a blooming flower. Silax didn't think the image had any significance, it was the inscription etched below it that truly drew his attention.

The inscription was in the ancient text of elven script, he traced his fingers across it then read it aloud.

"Vital to all,

The illustrious and the lowly.

In the noble I am blue,

In the peasant I am red.

In the dragon I am cold,

In the therianthrope I am hot. 

The thought of me, sickens,

The sight of me, despairs."

'Is this another poem? No, it doesn't read like one, it seems more like a riddle. Vital to all. There are a lot of things that fit that category. Love, family, peace, freedom, time, it's a long list. It could also be something more substantial, something physical, like money, food, water, and sleep.'

He sat in front of the lectern and crossed his legs as he began to ponder on the riddle.

'Looking at the other lines of the riddle, the noble and the peasant, dragons and therianthropes. There are quite a few differences between nobles and peasants, and also between dragons and therianthropes.'

He contemplated on the differences between both set of groups, and what each of them had in common. It took him a few minutes, but he eventually got the answer.

'It's blood, everyone needs blood. Human nobles are called blue-bloods, although peasants aren't called red-bloods, but their blood surely is red. Dragons are coldblooded, while therianthropes are hotblooded, their actions easily influenced by anger. Finally, there are people who can't stand the sight of blood, with the mere thought of it causing them to feel sick.'

He nodded his head, certain that he had gotten the right answer. The next step was how to answer the riddle.

'Now how am I supposed to give the answer, do I scribble it under the inscription? I doubt that, even if it was, I have nothing to write with.'

He got up from the floor, and immediately his eyes were drawn to the chalice placed on the lectern.

The chalice was made of red glass, the way it caught the light made it shine in a subtle manner. It had a spiral engraving that went up from the base to the stem and onto the bowl.

Written on its base were some words he didn't understand, it was not any language he recognized. The chalice had an elegant form that evoked a sense of reverence and importance. It looked to be designed to hold something sacred and worthy of respect.

'I guess am to fill it with blood. This expedition has been fraught with danger and uncertainty from the very beginning, but there's no turning back now.'

He placed his left hand above the chalice, then pulled out his dagger that was on his back from its sheath. He used the dagger to slice open his palm allowing his blood to drip into the chalice.

His blood flowed into the chalice filling it up. The red colored glass that the chalice was made of, made his blood shine a beautiful crimson. Once the chalice was full, it started to sink into the lectern. Silax removed his hand from above the cup and watched as it slowly dropped into a hole in the lectern.

He brought out some bandages and used it to wrap up is hand while he waited for whatever was supposed to happen.

After waiting for five minutes with nothing happening, he decided that he needed to do something. He looked with unease at the dark hole that the chalice had entered, unable to see anything. Then he took a deep breath and placed his hand into it.

He felt the chalice in his hand and grabbed onto it. As soon as he held it, he felt his hands turn cold, then a searing heat lit up his hands like he had plunged them into a heap of burning charcoal.

He looked down at his hand, and the sight that greeted him left him frozen in shock. The veins of his hands were bulging, a golden liquid like molten sunlight pulsing through them. He didn't remain frozen for long though, a searing pain raced through his entire body.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, ripped from a place far deeper than his lungs. Every fiber of his being writhed in agony, his muscles seized, he felt as if there were a thousand tiny knives scraping against his bones. His bones felt like they were being reshaped, his very life force seemed to be boiling.

His vision blurred as the hall dissolved into a kaleidoscope of swirling colors, warping and twisting around him. All he could focus on was the searing fire that had erupted in his veins the moment the golden liquid had been plunged into him.

What he felt wasn't mere pain, he felt like his entire being was being rewritten, like a monstrous code was being injected into his very core.

He fell to his knees and began to convulse. The cold stone offered no comfort against the scorching heat that emanated from within. Raw and primal agony consumed him, his screams turned into choked gasps.

His lungs were burning with every ragged breath that he took. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, threatening to burst out of his chest. 

Sweat poured down his face, as it mixed with the tears of pain that streamed down his cheeks. He began to claw at the floor, desperately seeking some sort of anchor in this storm of agony.

Time seemed to stretch and warp, each second felt like an eternity.

He felt a sharp pain in his mouth, as fangs erupted out of his gums. His fingernails elongated, turning into wickedly sharp claws. He was being ripped apart and rebuilt from the inside out.

The very essence of his being was twisting and warping into something monstrous.

Through the haze of pain, Silax felt a craving bloom in his gut, his body ached for sustenance, for something far more primal than mere food, a yearning for something he couldn't yet comprehend.

Silax spat out a glob of something thick and viscous. It glistened faintly in the dim light, a sickly gold mirroring the liquid that had changed him.

As the fire slowly began to subside and leave behind an ember-like warmth, Silax knew he was now different. He had gone through an unexpected transformation.