The Last Blood Mage

The Bloodhound

"Go away!" Deep within his mind, Xander's voice echoed with frustration and desperation.

"You're a weakling. Don't fight me. Just let me take control over your body and mind," Xander's second personality retorted in an otherworldly tone, a sinister presence lurking in his words.

"You're going to get me killed," Xander's true self retorted, the voice resonating with a mix of fear and determination.

Meanwhile, in the physical world, Xander's body stood amidst the grimness of the sewer, engaged in a conversation that seemed almost surreal, with his own reflection in a pool of filthy water.

"They'll search for the killer once they find the bodies. We've already killed the mage!" Xander's more reasonable side growled, trying to maintain a tenuous grasp on his sanity.

"I didn't kill him. You did," The blood-hungry persona spoke callously, devoid of remorse.

"It doesn't matter. They're going to hang me. If I'm dead, you can't do anything," the rational part of Xander lamented, the weight of impending doom heavy in his words.

"Stop resisting the powers bestowed upon us. Together, we can become unstoppable," the insidious personality coaxed, tempting with promises of dominance and strength.

"No. I'm going to find a cure and purge you from my mind. I know you're a manifestation of my fractured psyche," the resilient, sane side of Xander argued, his determination unwavering.

"There is no cure for what we are. It's not a curse; it's a gift. Embrace it, and we shall reign supreme. No mage, no one, can stand against us," the malevolent persona sneered, driven by its thirst for control and chaos.

"It's not a gift if it leads to everyone hunting us down," countered Xander, his voice tinged with exasperation.

"Weaklings fear the powerful. Power breeds fear. That's the way of the world," the darker side retorted, a twisted sense of pride evident in its words.

"Just go, before you cause more death and seal our fate," Xander commanded, his frustration boiling over.

But the darker side unleashed its rage, delivering a powerful blow to the wall, shattering the masonry into a fist-shaped hole. Blood oozed from the injured hand, only to heal instantly.

"I didn't get us killed. It was your weakness that brought us to this point," the ominous presence growled, its anger palpable.

"I won't argue with you. Just let me regain control," Xander implored, his voice a blend of desperation and determination.

"I'm warning you, Xander. Your pathetic search for a cure is going to land us in trouble. I can't always bail you out," the sinister personality's voice echoed in Xander's mind.

"Shut up, Bloodhound," Xander growled, struggling to regain control. Gradually, the veins that had spread across his body receded, and his crimson eyes returned to their normal hue, signaling that the Bloodhound's influence had retreated to the depths of his consciousness.

"Damn it," Xander cursed, his gaze falling to the pool of blood at his feet. The two thugs lay lifeless, their throats savagely torn open.

"I must find a way into the Duke's party," Xander resolved, taking in the aftermath of the violence the Bloodhound had unleashed.

"The sooner I rid myself of him, the better," Xander muttered, his determination solidifying as he walked away from the corpses, the weight of the Bloodhound's presence a constant reminder of the danger within his own mind.

"There's no escaping me. I am you," the Bloodhound's hissing voice persisted from the depths of his psyche.

Pushing aside the haunting voice, Xander retraced his steps. The bloodstains on the ground acted as a grim trail, guiding him back to the entrance of the sewer.

Emerging from the underground darkness, Xander half-expected the sun's rays to scorch his skin. Thankfully, his body reacted normally to the daylight, and he hurriedly pulled his hood over his head for added protection.

"The sewer must be bustling today. How many brave souls ventured into that foul pit?"

"Hey, maybe it's time for a bath!"

Passing by sailors and port workers, Xander couldn't help but catch snippets of their banter.

"You smell worse than the sewers!"

"Ugh, keep your distance!"

The jibes and taunts washed over him as he walked, his focus set on his next move.

"I can't show up at the Emerald Lion reeking like this. I need proper attire for the occasion," Xander mused, determined to prepare himself for the gala ahead.

Following Anthony's information, Xander sought out a young noble known for his excessive partying and drinking habits, someone named young master Roberts, who was currently lodging at the Emerald Lion. In order to infiltrate the Duke's exclusive event and make contact with the enigmatic mage possessing knowledge of dark mages, Xander required an invitation, and the sole route to obtain one was through Roberts.

Walking away from the bustling port area, Xander directed his steps toward the vibrant commercial street.

"Finest swords and wares at unbeatable prices!"

"Fresh fish here!"

"Carriages for hire!"

The street was teeming with people, and shops lined both sides, ranging from blacksmiths to bakeries. Xander's presence, however, earned him disdainful glances and muttered complaints due to his overpowering stench.

Navigating the sidewalk to spare the passersby from his odor, Xander glanced at the wooden sign above a storefront that read "Peacock Robes." Determined, he entered the establishment, setting off a soft jingle as the bell announced his arrival. The elderly proprietor, sporting a purple outfit and glasses, glanced up in surprise at the noxious odor that accompanied Xander.

"What in the world is that smell? My goodness, it's coming from you," the old man exclaimed, taken aback by the overwhelming stench.

"Young man, you've clearly wandered into the wrong—"

Cutting off the elderly shopkeeper before he could finish his sentence and possibly shoo him away, Xander produced a coin pouch and tossed it onto the counter.

"Just help me get some new robes, and if you happen to have a room where I can take a bath, that would be greatly appreciated," Xander stated, his impatience evident. The old man's initial expression of disgust transformed into a broad grin as he hefted the weight of the coin pouch in his hand.

"You go ahead and take that desperately needed bath, young master. I'll have some splendid robes ready for you when you return," the old man assured Xander.

As Xander entered the designated room, the old man remained outside.

"Just leave those soiled clothes on the floor, young master. I'll dispose of them properly. Maybe burn them," the old man added.

Xander's casual tossing of the heavy coin pouch had led the old man to believe he was dealing with a noble. In truth, Xander recognized that such a display was necessary to command the old man's respect.

Inside the room, Xander found himself in a cozy space with a small wooden bathtub already filled with water. A modest glass window afforded a view of the street, though its height ensured privacy. As Xander removed his long coat and black shirt, baring his scarred and battle-worn body, he caught sight of a figure in a black robe on the street.

"What in the world..." Xander felt as if the figure's gaze was directed at him. He moved closer to the window, his eyes locked on the robed figure. However, just as quickly as it had appeared, the figure dissolved into the crowd, vanishing from sight in an instant.

"Am I truly being watched, or is my mind playing tricks on me again?" Xander questioned himself in uncertainty.