The Blood of Vampire: Chapter 9 - The Scars of the Iron Road
Jatex and Ryn climbed, scrambled, and crawled through the narrow fissure, the pounding boots of Vorlag's shock-troops echoing below.
Ryn, despite her fear of the Vaelanar, was a superb climber, navigating the sharp, unforgiving granite with practiced ease. But the fissure opened into a vast, empty vertical shaft—a sheer drop of hundreds of feet.
"This is the Dragon's Throat," Ryn muttered, her breath visible in the cold air. "It leads straight to the geomantic nexus. But there's no way down without ropes."
Below, Vorlag's voice boomed through the tunnels, amplified by military magic. "The Vaelanar child! Surrender and your human accessory will be spared!"
Jatex knew Vorlag would never stop. The General Commander was a relentless hunter, and the Chancellor had ordered the boy's capture alive.
Jatex looked at the drop, then at the terror in Ryn's eyes. He needed to prove he was not just a monster; he was a necessary force.
He placed his hand on Ryn's shoulder. She flinched, but held steady. He looked down the shaft.
He executed a massive, silent Siphon of Grief, consuming a raw, searing dose of Aeliana's final sacrifice. His body flooded with turbulent, dark Shadow-Aethyr.
Jatex then channeled the energy through his body and expelled it in a thin, continuous stream from the soles of his boots. He created two flawless, horizontal Shadow-Aethyr ribbons that adhered to the walls of the shaft.
He didn't need ropes. He needed Weaving.
"Hold my jacket," Jatex commanded, his voice cold and flat from the consumption. It was the first time he had spoken to her.
Ryn, stunned, grabbed his arm. Jatex leaped into the void.
The Shadow-Aethyr ribbons instantly slowed their descent, functioning as flawless, high-speed rails. They fell thousands of feet in controlled, terrifying silence. Jatex was forced to maintain the painful Siphon the entire way, his face a mask of spiritual agony.
They landed hard at the bottom in a vast, dry riverbed. The Shadow-Aethyr ribbons vanished instantly.
Ryn stared at the dust Jatex had created. "That… that wasn't a Siphon. That was a spiritual construct."
"It's the Weave," Jatex said, forcing the word out.
"You're not a vampire," Ryn concluded, her mind racing to categorize the incomprehensible power. "You're a Blood-Weaver."
Jatex only offered a silent, cold confirmation. The troops were already descending the shaft, slower but inevitable. They had to move. Jatex had shown his power; now he had to rely on his comrade's knowledge of the mountain.