Chapter 72: Initiate
Emily’s mastery of the blade continued to grow with each passing day, her form and movements becoming sharper and more refined.
Morgan started teaching her the elusive dance that Luke had taught him, revealing to her the basics of the deadly dance.
" Like I told you before, you must adapt it to yourself, to your style of combat."
Emily frowned, staring at him in puzzlement.
" But right now, I hardly have a combat style," her friend darkened, her eyes narrowing in realization.
" Come to think of it, I’ve never taken part in actual combat. So how am I supposed to adapt it to anything?"
Morgan grinned mischievously.
" Exactly! That’s why from now on, instead of simply watching from the comfort of the temple’s shelter, you’ll be tagging along during the hunts. The experience alone should give you a feel of how it feels to put your life on the line. Afterwards, I’ll spar with you in the evenings."
Emily reluctantly agreed to the daredevilish plan.
" Of course, at this point, I obviously don’t expect you to directly engage the Bretnar in combat, but I want you to observe them from close up."
A faint smile curled up Morgan’s lips.
He faintly flexed his fingers, glancing down at them.
"And don’t worry, I’ll protect you in case anything happens. Somehow, I can tell that I’ve gotten a whole lot stronger."
Morgan found that his abilities and his body’s durability had increased significantly after he became an initiate.
His perception and cognitive functions had increased tremendously, granting him the ability to perceive things at a slower speed than they actually moved.
Or rather, Morgan was moving faster than said objects could move, which made them actually appear slower to him.
Emily would tag along, moving behind him while honing her own skills of observation and her combat sense.
Morgan realized the subtle qualitative changes in his body during the times he spent hunting in the ancient city, exploring the ruins of the homes and buildings that people of the lost civilizations had inhabited.
The first change to his body was the most obvious and quite wondrous.
Morgan’s ability to sense and detect umbralis had increased significantly.
At times, he’d be able to vaguely sense its flow, catching brief glimpses of the dark, shadowy energy.
He could clearly sense it all around him, flowing fluidly and endlessly in a distorted yet beautiful harmony.
After reaching this level of sensitivity to the elusive force, he now realized why it was important for an initiate to have a master.
The new knowledge had also deepened his understanding of how wide the gap between an initiate and apprentice was, and the gap between apprentices and maestros.
This could only mean the maestros were truly monstrous existences and that only the very best and elite among assassins could attain that unique level of mastery.
For Morgan to achieve the same feat, he determined it would take great presence of mind and considerable skill, and practice to master the dark energy.
Despite his ability to sense the elusive force, actively manipulating it through his body took a considerable toll on his body.
Manipulating the umbralis sound leaves his entire body aching and his muscles mysteriously sore after each gruelling session he subjected himself to.
The entire process required a delicate balance; too little and the augmentation it yielded was minuscule, his body would only be above that of the average human, which frankly, wasn’t anything impressive.
Morgan needed more strength and resilience to truly contend with the monstrosities Tenebris had to offer.
But then if he channeled too much of the umbralis, it felt like he was losing himself, turning into something utterly different and wrong on a fundamental level.
" Conrad talked about this."
The realization hit him like a bucket of ice-cold water on a hot summer day, rousing him out of his meditation.
The mysterious maestro he only knew worked at the Thane mansion, had once told him about how shadow wraiths were formed.
The ghostly librarian had told him most wraiths were usually apprentices and initiates, with the reason being quite simple.
It was because those assassins took on more umbralis than their bodies and minds could safely handle.
If a maestro were close by, disaster could be averted due to the wondrous ability of maestros to manipulate umbralis in and out of their bodies without placing significant strain on themselves.
Even novices were limited in what they could do before progressing to the level of maestro.
But in the event a maestro wasn’t present, the result was usually catastrophic.
These unfortunate individuals would lose their sense of self and become creatures of darkness with terrifying power and strength, their bodies continuously fueled by umbralis.
Conrad had even told him he wouldn’t survive an encounter with a wraith.
With what seemed like terrible luck at the time, Morgan had encountered a shadow wraith, and not only that, but unbelievably, against all odds, he had survived to tell the tale.
Not very many initiates his age could boast about achieving a similar feat.
"Probably not even Scott can," Morgan thought smugly.
Morgan grinned gleefully, jumping from one rooftop to the next.
" I can’t wait to see the look of disbelief on Conrad’s face when I tell him, not to mention Rebecca. First things first. I’ll first need to return alive and in one piece."
The second most profound change his body had undergone was his speed.
During his lessons with Emily, he had told her that he could stab nine to twelve times in a single second using his awakened ability, but that was before he’d become an initiate.
With his newfound found an increase in power, he could reach that staggering level of speed even without using his awakened ability.
But it was best to keep some cards to himself, just in case the need ever arose.
Morgan learned early on in middle school that it wasn’t always truly wise to fully reveal one’s cards, be it to friend or foe.
And reality had served to prove him right time and again.
Some of the Bretnar had found out the hard way about his hidden cards when they thought he was easy prey.
A gang of Bretnar had ambushed him on one of his daily exploits in the ancient city, and in the next instant, all hell had broken loose.
Morgan had found himself at the center of the deadly ambush, the four armed winged creatures wildly grabbing at him from all directions with primal ferocity.
The dark-furred creatures howled with glee, drool dripping down their fangs.
Their clawed hands flashed through the air, reaching for Morgan mid jump at a point when he was most vulnerable.
Their prey’s eyes widened in surprise.
The Bretnar cackled, their uncanny intelligence confirming that they’d managed to catch the elusive prey that had massacred so many of their brethren off guard.
Emily heard Bretnars’ frenzied screeches and cries from a distance and ducked into a nearby empty ruin of a house.
" What’s going on? Did Morgan fall into an ambush?"
Emily slowly shook her head, then sat down in the abandoned house.
A faint smile curled up her lips, her emerald eyes gleaming in the darkness.
" Poor creatures, I think I’ll sit this one out."
Just then, a feeling of dread crept through the lead Bretnar.
The fearful look on the prey’s face turned to a vicious, malevolent sneer.
A predatory grin spread across Morgan’s face, then his form blurred forward.
What the cunning creatures didn’t expect, however, was the ruthless efficiency with which Morgan stabbed through their vital spots, his blades carving and hacking through their bodies almost like their toughened hides didn’t even exist.
His blades turned into blurs, piercing through their bodies multiple times in the blink of an eye.
The furred creatures hadn’t registered what had happened when his blurred figure continued to leap away, rapidly disappearing into the distance.
In the next moment, the creatures staggered wildly, then fell to the ground, their strength failing them.
In the next instant, blood flowed out of the profane maws, turning the cobblestones dark with blood.
Blood Reaper pulsed, humming with power.
The dual blades absorbed the dark blood, their dark silvery turning clean and pristine.
Morgan’s speed was now several times faster than that of well-trained military men, which was quite something considering his age.
The third change was perhaps the most confounding; it had to do with the strange tattoo that had been etched into his chest during the time he was unconscious.
Emily had called it the Drayghar, the Lord of beasts.
Every time Morgan fought and killed the Bretnar, he could feel the dark mark on his chest subtly pulse.
After he’d checked it, he was certain the mark had become darker.
The tenebrous mark on his chest would pulsate, as if it were alive from time to time, and in some moments, it’d emanate a subtle feeling of power.
It was almost like the mark derived power from his continuous kills. Other than that, it had never reverted to the mysterious form Emily had described, where it had become a winged lion.
"Still, it should count for something," he quietly thought.