Osric grabbed the tiny, lifeless bodies of the bear cubs, his massive hand a stark contrast against their frailty. His boots whispered against the damp cave floor as he journeyed to the cavern's entrance. He threw the cubs next to the defeated Hiberous bear, their bodies small shadows against the stone-cold floor.
Methodically, he navigated the cave's maw, gathering sun-bleached bones and remnants of past victims and hauling them to his ever-growing makeshift pile.
"Phew," escaped his lips, a sigh shattering the silence as his breath stirred the dust-laden air, a fleeting satisfaction settling within him at the sight of the cluster of animal remains. Ripping the crudely wrapped bandage from his arm, a fresh rivulet of blood trickled down, painting his hand in an ominous crimson hue.
The blood served a dark purpose. With a practiced hand, he sketched a jagged circle around the ensemble, the blood an eerie ink against the stony canvas, with the Hiberous bear and the cubs at its heart.
Osric took a moment to catch his breath. Although his condition was okay, he need to recuperate more thoroughly to heal completely, each wound cried out for respite and a chance to mend.
He felt the tremor in his hand, a shiver of weakness rippling through his muscles. But he pressed on, extending the line of blood deeper into the cave's belly.
The deeper he ventured, the more his strength faltered. The effort, the blood loss, each began to etch their demands onto his body, threatening to tip him over the precipice of collapse. And yet, from the dwindling reserve of his strength, he summoned the vestiges of endurance, flexing his muscles, willing the blood to seep further from his wounds, fuelling the ritual that demanded sacrifice. The world spun as waves of lightheadedness rushed over him, each additional droplet a tiny betrayal of his strength, but he anchored himself against the whirlpool of disorientation.
The air grew colder, chilling him to the bone. The walls of the cavern seemed to close in. He arrived upon the lifeless body of the Hiberous bear's mate, sprawled out in the heart of the cave. Its massive form lay motionless.
Exhaling with exertion, Osric fell to his knees beside it. His strength was a waning ember now, barely enough to complete his task. He began to paint another circle of blood around the slain giant, his design thwarted by the creature's immovability. The ritual had to be amended since the bear weighed much more than he could handle to move.
As he completed the circle, the air in the cave seemed to grow heavier, and an eerie silence settled over the chamber.
"The rudimentary preparations are complete," he murmured to the silence, his voice barely a whisper against the cold stone. His blood-soaked hand resumed its dance, now choreographing more complex designs.
His hand, trembling with fatigue, moved with uncanny precision as he further adorned the initial circles. Symbols began to take form under his deft guidance, intertwining and weaving together in a mesmerizing dance of blood and artistry. Some of the blood strokes convened, merging into a single thread, while others stood solitary. Certain parts bore the gentle bend of a river, while others zig-zagged defiantly like a bolt of lightning. An array of mesmerizing patterns began to surface, some serpentine in their winding allure, others angular in their precise rigidity, each meticulously crafted with intent and precision.
Around the circumference of the ritualistic circles, a series of interconnected rings began to emerge, forming a protective boundary. Within these circles, glyphs and characters from forgotten languages were meticulously etched.
"The moutouri should beckon him," he rasped, sketching erratic spirals and graceful whorls within the interstices of his design. "Though eons have passed, his proxies should still be active and heed the call."
At the end of his creation, he smeared his blood-slick palm, pressing it firmly against the rocky floor. The stark, crimson imprint stared back at him like a bloodshot eye.
He returned to the main pile, tightly redressing his wounds, their cries of protest silenced for now. Then, he began to trace the symbols again, this time using only the salty sheen of his sweat. The sweat left a brief trace, evaporating swiftly, yet he continued to draw with unyielding determination. Each pattern, a mirror of the ones drawn in blood, held the same complexity, the same arcane mystery.
"Now, the final part," he whispered to himself, his gaze affixed unblinkingly on the stony canvas until hot tears welled up at the corners of his eyes. He collected the liquid emotion, using it to trace the final portion of the symbols, pressing a teardrop-soaked palm print onto the cavern floor.
Surrendering to his knees, he spread his calloused hands against the cave's cool stone floor, fingers splayed wide in an embrace of its raw energy.
"I summon you," his voice echoed off the cavern walls, each syllable a thunderous drumbeat in the oppressive silence. "The Everflux Vanguard."
"I call so that I may be granted a boon." he continued, his voice cutting through the heavy silence, "The Undying Metamorph."
His words were a beacon. With each title of deity he invoked, he set a broader stage, sending a clarion call that radiated through the ether, placing himself in the celestial spotlight.
"I summon you to grant me the boon of survival," his voice sprawled across the cavern, each word heavy with the burden of his plea. "I call upon you. The Archetype of Change. One Unbound by Sorelianti Flame. I invoke you by thy name, Hreithar. On your domain of survival."
Suddenly, a presence, invisible yet palpable, filled the chamber.
Osric hoped his call would be answered. He allowed a pause to punctuate his summons, waiting a bit before continuing.
"Accept the fruits of my hunt," Osric gestured toward the grim heap, his voice unwavering, "I summon you with the price of my toil: my blood, my sweat, and the tears of my struggle."
As if in response, the cavern's atmosphere began to thrum with foreign energy, an unseen hand manipulating the very air he breathed. The environment grew electric, crackling with an otherworldly essence that seemed to gravitate toward the epicenter of his invocation. A soft zephyr wound its way through the chamber, carrying with it the scent of primordial earth and the untamed wilderness.
A basso rumble, a deep heartbeat of the earth, began to echo through the cavern walls, its rhythm steady and growing more pronounced with each throb.
The life essence of the slain Hiberous bears and their cubs began to fade at an alarming rate, their mortality accelerating before Osric's watchful eyes. The rich, life-giving crimson of the blood darkened, desiccating until it was no more than a layer of brittle rust on the stone floor. The marrow within the bones seemed to shrivel and recede, surrendering to an unseen force, until the once huge skeletons crumbled into forgotten dust.
The nebulous energy swirling within the chamber coalesced into a single, intense nexus, a concentrated epicenter of power. From the heart of this supernatural whirlwind, a pair of ethereal, otherworldly eyes materialized, their gaze piercing the shroud of reality, fixing upon Osric with an intensity that transcended the mortal realm.
"Who calls," The voice reverberated, an eerie sound woven from threads of time immemorial, echoing off the cavern walls. It spoke in no language known to mortal ears. Yet, Osric comprehended its message with uncanny ease, the meaning seeping into his consciousness unimpeded.
"I call upon Hreithar," Osric's voice ricocheted back.
"What do you seek." The spectral voice challenged him.
"Protection and a bit of rejuvenation," Osric declared, "Of the highest state I can receive given the sacrifices made," his finger traced towards the dust of the fallen beasts.
"You speak my name. You will accept what I bestow," the voice retorted, a prickling undercurrent of annoyance, even ire, coloring its spectral tone.
"I do not invoke you. I call his name. You are merely his stand-in. Do not forget your place heizuk." Osric countered, his voice cloaked in an iron-clad authority.
A pause hung heavy in the air, the silence permeating the chamber like a fog. It was as if the voice was digesting his audacity, chewing over his defiance with contemplative fury. "You dare to wield the ancient insult, youth, but test not my patience or you shall rue the day," the voice finally snarled back, each word wrapped in a cloak of menace, a growl of indignation that seemed to claw at the very air. "Do you think to challenge the mighty Hreithar? You overstep, mortal. With a mere thought, I could break you, reduce you to nothing more than a whisper in the wind!"
Osric's lips curled into a smirk. "By his eternal decrees, you wield no power in this realm, and hold no ability to harm me." He rose, brushing off the cave dust from his palms, "Accept my offering or decline. But bear in mind, I can easily seek the favor of others." He goaded further, "If you turn your back, I won't think twice about invoking Skjaldborg or Hugelmir instead."
The voice bristled, its unseen form seething with outrage. "How dare you demean us, mortal! You underestimate our might. We are ancient, worshipped, and feared."
Osric's dismissive chuckle bounced off the cavern walls. "Worshipped and feared, yet summoned by a mere mortal who knows the power of your true name. It's time you learn humility. Accept my terms or leave them. I have other matters to attend to."
With a final growl, the voice capitulated, "Very well. This time, your request is granted, but remember, our patience is not infinite." The spectral voice rang with a warning. "Next time, we shall see."
An abrupt gust sprung forth within the confined space of the cave, coiling around Osric like an elemental serpent.
As the winds churned, they bore an invigorating energy that blanketed Osric within its gyrating vortex. He surrendered to the sensation, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt the vigor seep into his veins, knitting his wounded flesh back together. The rivers of blood slowed to a trickle, then ceased entirely. The wounds that had once bled profusely now closed rapidly, knitting his flesh together. The pain began to recede, replaced by a surge of newfound strength and vitality.
The winds continued their dance, their healing essence permeating deeper, not merely mending his physical form but also revitalizing his spirit, suffusing him with renewed resolve.
His nodes felt satiated, brimming with a dormant yet potent power.
The winds maintained their swirling vortex, pushing a torrent of life force toward Osric. He guided this energy gale into his energetic lattice, his fingers siphoning off the boundless energy to reinforce his bones. He could feel the life force coursing within him, the refinement of his bones growing, spreading from the bones of his index and middle fingers to envelop his entire palm. This surge of power crept along his forearm, like a living entity exploring new territories, halting only after it had refined his body up to his left elbow.
Then, as abruptly as they had begun, the winds ceased, leaving the cave in profound stillness.
"Now comes the meat of the sacrifice," he steeled himself, ready for the next stage of his ritual.
A focused current of wind pierced his form, a tsunami of raw energy that sent his senses reeling. His body convulsed as the power washed over him, slamming into him with relentless force.
Osric gasped, his breath stolen by the onslaught. His knees buckled, his body shuddering as he leaned against the rugged cavern wall for support. Pain exploded throughout his body, a multitude of phantom needles skewering his flesh.
This concentrated torrent had carved complex spirals across his hands and upper torso, crafting an arcane shield of protection. The spirals hummed with a spectral glow, pulsating with the energy that now coursed through his veins.
Focusing on his willpower, he sought to contain the barrier's force within his form. As if responding to his command, the spirals dulled their luminosity, their patterns sinking into his skin. To the oblivious eye, he seemed no different than before.
His gamble had paid off. This trip was very fruitful.
He had killed the bear, he lacked the strength and security to haul its remains back to his village. Hence, he had elected to offer it as tribute, a decision that had now yielded its benefits.
He performed the ritual to summon the Hreithar, a primordial deity revered by many as the god of survival and adaptation. Known for the simplicity of its offerings - blood, sweat, and tears shed in the pursuit of survival - those in desperate straits frequently invoked it
While the divine entity Hreithar may have ceased to exist, for a sacrifice of such small magnitude, its proxies could be appealed to. Armed with the knowledge of these proxies' true names and their designated functions, Osric was able to broker a beneficial exchange for his offerings.
All his injuries got lighter, and part of his body refined. He'd acquired a solid defensive spell as well. Gauging its potency, it could withstand numerous Rank 0 attacks and potentially a few at Rank 1, though it did have its limitations.
The primary sacrifice had been a full-grown Rank 1 beast, injured and vanquished, but a legitimate Rank 1 creature nonetheless. The auxiliary offerings, another adult Hiberous bear and its young, only served to bolster the potency of the ritual. Despite such significant contributions, the return was lacking when measured against the sheer magnitude of the investment. But considering the beasts were currently beyond his ability to exploit effectively, the act of sacrifice presented itself as the most judicious course of action.
Hreithar was generally invoked under the circumstances fraught with peril. Consequently, his rituals usually gave low yields for their sacrifices. In this instance, Osric had only received approximately half the inherent value of the beast.
Osric made his way to the cave's entrance, greeted by the stillness of the night. The stars strewn across the sky were exceptionally vivid. He decided to remain until the break of dawn before venturing onward