With a sense of purpose, Atlas set about his task of refining the blood into the coveted blood wine, a task that had become second nature to him now. The AI chip flawlessly helped guide his actions, improving both the quality and success rate of his product. Despite having to surrender most of it as a tribute to his maker, he was determined to make the most of what remained. Blood was power, and in this world of vampires, power was everything.
As the blood bubbled and simmered in the caldrons, filling the air with its rich, metallic scent, Atlas's mind wandered to the knowledge he sought. He knew that to rise in power and transcend the limitations of his current state, he needed to delve deeper into the arcane secrets that lay hidden within the tomes and grimoires of his fellow vampires.
On one such visit to a distant clan of vampires, Atlas stood opposite another vampire, a figure cloaked in shadows, his features obscured by the darkness. The air was thick with the scent of blood and magic, a heady mixture that set Atlas's senses on edge. At the centre of the room stood a grand table, its surface cluttered with ancient tomes and scrolls, each bound in leather and marked with the sigils of their respective owners.
"I bring an offering," Atlas declared, his voice steady despite the anticipation coursing through his veins. He placed a small cask on the table, its contents sloshing gently with each movement. "Blood wine, freshly brewed from the recent battle."
The vampire leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with interest as he surveyed the offering before him. "A generous gift," he remarked, his voice smooth and sibilant. "And what do you seek in return?"
Atlas hesitated for a moment, weighing his words carefully. "Knowledge," he replied finally. "I seek access to your collection of tomes and grimoires, to study the secrets of magic contained within their pages."
The other vampire chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down Atlas's spine. "Ah, knowledge," he murmured, reaching out to grasp the cask of blood wine. "Too few appreciate the value of a good book."
With a deft motion, he uncorked the cask and took a sip, his eyes closing in apparent satisfaction. "Very well," he said, setting the cask aside. "You may peruse my library at your leisure. But be warned, young Atlas, the secrets contained within these tomes are not easily mastered. Proceed with caution."
Atlas nodded, his heart pounding with excitement as he approached the table. He ran his fingers over the spines of the books, each one whispering promises of untold power and ancient wisdom. With a sense of reverence, he selected a tome at random and began to read, eager to unlock the secrets that lay within its pages.
Using the AI chip to scan and analyse the contents of the books he acquired through trade, Atlas meticulously reviewed each spell and incantation, searching for clues that would lead him to the path of greater power. He had learned the method of creating greater undead, infusing them with magical objects to enhance their strength and intelligence. But to create higher undead, something more was required—a spark of life, a soul.
The method Vlad used required immense amounts of magic, beyond the reach of all but the most powerful beings. Atlas knew he needed to find an alternative, a method that would allow him to achieve his goal without relying solely on his own magical prowess.
Turning his attention to the runes and rituals that adorned the pages of the ancient texts, Atlas began to piece together a plan. Enchanted swords, amulets, and other magical artifacts were powerful tools created by channelling vast amounts of magic through mystical runes carved on their surface. Applying the same techniques, Atlas theorised he unlock the secrets of creating higher undead.
As the moon cast its silvery glow over the castle grounds, Atlas retreated to the solitude of his chamber, the weight of his newfound knowledge pressing heavily upon his shoulders. With a determined stride, he approached the ancient tome resting on his desk, its pages filled with arcane symbols and cryptic diagrams.
Seating himself before the book, Atlas activated the AI chip embedded in his mind, its interface shimmering to life before him. With deft commands, he navigated through the data, searching for the optimised method of cultivation, the path to unlocking his true potential as a vampire.
The first rotation was hard. His energy seemed sluggish and seemed to try and slip away from his control. As Atlas repeated the cycle. Again. Again. Again. Until his body knew the circulation paths as well as his mind. As he fell into the fever of practice, where he could see his stats on the AI chip increase incrementally motivating him to continue; he felt something inside. Atlas felt a stirring within him, a primal hunger that gnawed at his insides. With a resigned sigh, he reached for the small cask of blood wine resting on the table, uncorking it with a sense of reluctance.
With each sip of the rich, crimson liquid, Atlas could feel the hunger receding, replaced by a surge of vitality that coursed through his dead veins. Drawing upon the blood energy within him, he began to channel it around his body, following the prescribed method with a focused intensity. Like a river through a canyon, the energy flowed clearing out any blockages and widening his internal pathways.
As the energy danced along his limbs, Atlas felt a sensation unlike any he had experienced before. It was as if his very essence was being refined, his muscles strengthening and his senses sharpening with each passing moment. His fangs lengthened, gleaming in the moonlight, and his nails transformed into razor-sharp claws.
But amidst the transformation, Atlas became aware of something else—a sticky black substance that coated his skin, oozing from his pores like a dark miasma. With a gasp of realization, he understood that it was the impurities being purged from his body, cast out by the intense concentration of energy.
With a surge of triumph, Atlas knew that he was on the cusp of a breakthrough, teetering on the edge of ascending to the rank of knight. But there was still work to be done, challenges to overcome before he could claim his place as Vampire Knight.
Rising from his seat, Atlas commanded his human servants to prepare a bath, the warm waters beckoning to him like a siren's song. As he submerged himself in the soothing embrace of the tub, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask in the knowledge that he was one step closer to achieving his ultimate goal.
That was until the drums started. A low rhythmic beat that echoed through his blood. Vlad was summoning the troops to march.
The war was far from over.