Rearing Demons
Chapter 37: Blood Sigil

Chapter 37: Blood Sigil

Yur stood before the Ashen Veil, gaze subdued, as though the light within his eyes had dimmed. He exhaled softly, aware of the final step he had to complete.

"As for the final step..." he murmured.

Unlike ordinary cultivators or demons who refined essence externally, Yur intended to do it all within his Cyralim. Through the Moon of Freed Slaves—his Devouring Gate—he drew origin essence inward, storing it in the Ashen Veil. Using his will, the Unchained command kept that essence under control inside the Veil, preventing any chaotic outbursts.

From here, Refinement would occur in his Cyralim, letting him collect multiple types of essence—a safeguard for his eventual travels in Afloria and beyond.

"Ritual of Echo Weaving..." he whispered, lifting his foot to begin sketching a large circle upon the ashen ground.

Every time his foot dragged across the gray surface, sere lines of black flame traced behind, shaping the new ritual circle like inky arcs in the dust. Huge rings formed, seemingly spiraling into each other.

Raising his open palm, he commanded black flames to flow into the circle. Tendrils of living darkness crawled along the circumference, each ring set aflame with a menacing glow.

Chain!

At the word, confined origin essence seeped out of the Ashen Veil, drawn by an invisible pull. It glided across the air, swirling toward the spiraling ring.

"Zul, help me sift through these essences—separate them one by one!"

[Understood!]

The system’s presence enveloped him, assisting in the intricate sorting.

The concept was deceptively simple: every essence type had its own "echo." Demonic essence, elemental essence, human essence—all gave distinct resonances. The Ritual of Echo Weaving would harness those echoes, sifting them apart and spinning them into refined orbs of energy.

Within Yur’s Cyralim, newly separated orbs rose into the dark sky, each glimmering with its own hue. Some glowed crimson with a fierce demonic aura, others pulsed with the soft green of elemental energy. They spread out, drifting at various heights—like a cosmic tapestry of power.

No meditation was required on Yur’s part; once the rituals finished, his Cyralim would automatically absorb, weave, and store the essence, ready for whenever he needed it.

It was an approach unlike anything a typical cultivator or demon would use. Through carefully chosen commands—Unchain to subdue the raw, destructive side of origin essence, and Chain to guide the refined energies into distinct areas—he avoided catastrophic backlash. Missing even one step would have ravaged his body beyond repair.

He watched as the final ring ignited, forming a cyclone of swirling essence high above him. The flames in the circle stabilized, and each separate orb spun gracefully out of the vortex.

When at last the Ritual of Echo Weaving settled into equilibrium, Yur’s entire Cyralim exhaled, as though releasing a breath it had been holding. The ground no longer quaked; the black flames burned calmly along the lines of the circle.

Outside, his physical form quivered but didn’t break, having survived the ordeal. In his Cyralim, he flexed his fingers in silent relief. It’s done. At least for now, he thought.

The Ashen Veil glowed faintly, newly organized essence circulating within it. In the distance, the Moon of Freed Slaves cast its unwavering gaze, quietly observing the web of orbs overhead—reminders of Yur’s unorthodox path to power.

[Severed Crucible Complete!]

[Reward: 300 Demon Points!]

[Reward: 300 Human Points!]

[...]

[100 Demon Points/day from Severed Crucible!]

[100 Human Points/day from Severed Crucible!]

|—————————————|

Name: Yur Ashkavaal

Age: 10

Title: Lord of Zulmasharr, Shepherd of Demons

Demon Cultivation: Vashra

Human Cultivation: Nascent Orb

Bloodline: Severed Ashkavaal

Orb: Cinerath; Severed Ashe

Demons: 0

Demon Points: 812 (+100/Day)

Human Points: 331 (+100/Day)

Sanity: 1/100 (>50 = Insanity!)

Map

Shop (New!)

Memories (New!)

Demons (New!)

Quests (New!)

|—————————————|

A torrent of pop-ups and notifications swarmed Yur’s vision. He exhaled softly, taking in the aftermath of his creation.

In the Cyralim, everything felt silent—yet a faint tremor of new life stirred beneath that hush. Now that essence had become part of his world, he sensed it shifting and changing all around him. His gaze fell on the Seed of the Orb, which seemed to devour the origin essence instead of the refined essence. That surprised him.

It should be ready once I rank up, he thought, noticing how swiftly the seed was saturating with raw power. Clearly, origin essence was a delicacy to it.

Finally, Yur opened his eyes, exiting his trance. A red hue pulsed over his body, evidence that he’d tapped into refined demonic essence.

"What the hell happened?!" a startled voice barked.

Looking up, he found Ris hovering in the air, a good distance away. She wore a concerned look, but also an edge of alarm.

Raising a brow, he opened his mouth to speak—only to feel the ground drop away beneath him. Huh?

Below him yawned an immense crater, at least a hundred meters wide, with him at its center. Panicking, he unfurled his tattered wings, beating them vigorously to lift himself over the ledge.

Once he scrambled onto more solid ground, he noticed one of his arms was still missing—the very one he’d cut off earlier.

"What the hell was that?!" Ris demanded, landing next to him.

"Got any pills?" he asked bluntly, not even bothering to explain first.

She scowled. "You first! What happened here?"

He paused, needing a quick excuse. "I lost control of the raw essence I absorbed. It attacked me, so I unleashed my flames to fight back. Clearly, things...got messy."

Glancing at the massive crater, he shook his head. Even he felt stunned at the scale of devastation.

"But how can you fight raw essence?" Her voice carried obvious disbelief. Nobody fought raw essence directly—it was too chaotic, too lethal.

"Wasn’t easy, as you can see." He gestured at his scorched surroundings, plus his missing limb.

Rolling her eyes, she rummaged for a healing pill. The second he spotted it, he extended his remaining hand with impatience.

Reluctant but yielding, Ris handed over the pill. Yur swallowed it at once, quickly feeling his wounds begin to close. The torn flesh where his arm had been started knitting itself back together.

"Now," he murmured, flexing the half-regrown limb, "I need to create the first Blood Sigil. Then we can go after the Gralith."

The plan was straightforward: he could only complete the Sigils halfway until he had the demon to seal in them. Better to do it out in the open, he decided, so she doesn’t get even more suspicious. Sometimes, too much mystery was riskier than partial revelation.

"Step back," he said coolly. Ris obliged, giving him space.

Lifting his Hallow Sword, Yur shut his eyes, calling upon Zul’s instructions. But as the steps appeared in his mind, he noticed new letters—an alien script flickering across his vision.

Zul, what are these weird symbols? They felt half-familiar, like half-forgotten words on the tip of his tongue.

[Language of the Ashkavaal—Kha’Zaruun—the Language of Rituals!]

How do I learn it? Some part of him yearned to decipher it, to piece together his own rites.

[Host must obtain Ritual Basics!]

The same pricey tome from before. He grimaced. That can wait. For now, he needed to finalize the half-formation of the Blood Sigils—and not let Ris see too much more.

Focusing on the ominous letters dancing before him, he began reciting the ritual words for the Blood Sigil, forging the next step in his unorthodox road to power.

⨄⨆⨈⨊⨌⨤⨐⨌⨐⩀

The words emerged in a guttural roar, each syllable echoing with an unearthly cadence. As he intoned the demonic phrases, Yur swung his sword through the air, carving out letters that glimmered with dark energy.

Halfway through the chant, he bit his tongue, releasing a hot rush of blood down his chin. Yet the droplets didn’t just fall—they coiled into the air, spiraling around him like a hungry red mist. An oppressive aura unfurled, the swirling blood seeming to feed on the words he spoke.

⨄⨎⨀⨐⩄⨤⩉

Soon, the swirling blood converged around the demonic symbols, fusing into coiling blood-chains that formed a massive cage. The bars themselves seemed etched from the ritual’s eerie script, each link pulsing with a faint, ominous glow.

Observing the finished shape, Yur guided the newly crafted sigil into his Cyralim, sealing it away for later use.

[Blood Sigil Complete!]

[Reward: 50 Demon Points!]