So, I stepped into the Null chamber, blood bottles in hand.
I'd imagined it'd be this vast, empty void, a blank canvas for whatever twisted experiment I had in mind.
But no, it was just a plain old white room.
Funny thing about these Null chambers, I reckon someone cooked 'em up for folks like me to get creative, or maybe they're just forgotten corners of existence, left to collect dust.
Well, I had plans for this place. I'd give it purpose, make it my own. So, I plopped down in a chair that I popped up out of nowhere, set the bottles on the table, and got to thinking.
Thing is, I couldn't shake what The Earl said about there being no survivors in the last Carrington event. Didn't sit right with me.
Logically, there oughta be at least one person left standing, unless they offed themselves after taking out the rest.
But The Earl, he's a slippery one. Tells you just enough to keep you guessing.
In my speculation, there's a lingering thought, a theory, that perhaps ONE contract holder managed to survive, either imprisoned or elevated beyond our understanding, becoming a higher being.
Could they now be among the Bourgeois?
Maybe.
The Earl's words echo: bloodlust, the cause.
But why did I alone succumb, while Psyche remained untouched? Psyche is no sane woman after what she did to the people who tried to fuck with her at the bus station.
One notion persists: the blood calls to those most in need.
In my wounded state, a primal urge for its elixir claws at me. Does it offer swift regeneration, or something darker yet to be unveiled?
I grabbed one of the bottles and took a swig, savoring the taste. It wasn't half bad, but it couldn't hold a candle to that crimson elixir bestowed upon me by The Earl.
If that red vial was a vintage 1800 Bordeaux, then this blood was more like your run-of-the-mill grocery store wine.
After downing a gulp, I felt a surge of energy, both mentally and physically.
I couldn't help but notice some of my wounds starting to knit themselves together, albeit at a slower pace. With a curious glance, I poured some of the blood onto my hand and applied it to the gash on my forehead, courtesy of Kichil's failed attempt at scalp collecting. Remarkably, the bleeding ceased immediately, the wound sealing shut like a zipper.
Quite the intriguing turn of events.
So the half-blood possesses regenerative abilities after all.
Let's down a whole bottle and see if it amplifies our powers...
I grabbed a bottle and chugged it in one go, feeling an immediate rush of refreshment and euphoria. It was like being on cocaine, but without the nasty side effects—except for the addictive quality, of course.
After drinking the bottle, I noticed my wounds healing faster, feeling stronger and quicker, with a newfound mental clarity that allowed me to perform at my peak. It was like unlocking a cheat code in a video game, with no concern for mental exhaustion or limits to my abilities.
As I felt a surge of anger and ambition coursing through my veins, I realized that the blood had intensified my emotions too.
It seemed that I craved more, an insatiable desire to conquer.
With this newfound knowledge of the short-term effects of the C-holder blood, I knew I had to safeguard the remaining bottles for future use.
Now, I must rest, allowing my wounds to heal while delving into the mysteries of this Null chamber. And as I do, I'll test the limits of my Freak Show.
After painstakingly testing the depths of my ability over countless days, I came to a profound realization—it's not just imagination that fuels my power, but knowledge itself.
Amplified by the blood coursing through my veins, I've learned that to materialize something, I must first possess a deep understanding of its inner workings.
Take, for instance, the clone I conjured to face Lucky Blaze—it wasn't haphazard. With an intimate grasp of human anatomy and physiology, coupled with a clear image of my own visage, I sculpted a perfect replica.
Yet, when it comes to more complex creations, like a functioning car, mere visualizing won't cut it. I'd need to comprehend every nut and bolt of its engine to breathe life into my creation.
Otherwise, it's just an empty shell, devoid of purpose or function.
Thankfully, I've got a fair bit of insight under my belt, but it's still not enough to unleash the full power of my ability.
Picture this: if I could crack the code of that crimson vial's concoction, I'd be churning out contract holders like there's no tomorrow, all loyal to my cause.
And what if I could unravel the very essence of consciousness itself, tapping into the stuff of life itself? My ability's got no limits, no boundaries—except for one: my own understanding.
It's like I'm always just one step away from unlocking its true potential. But hey, I've got another trick up my sleeve.
Ever heard of a little thing called projection? Sure, it's not tangible, not even close, but it's real enough to send shivers down spines and sow seeds of doubt. And best part? It ain't even that taxing on the ol' noggin'.
With four bottles of Kichil's blood in my possession, I imbibed from one, leaving me with a precise count of three remaining, or three liters, to be exact.
Now that I've glimpsed the full extent of my ability's potential, understanding the intricacies of the blood's power and the null chamber's function, there remains but one final experiment to undertake before I depart...