Night pressed over the barracks like a lid over a simmering pot. Torchlight glowed along the ropes of patrols. Boots tapped in measured loops, keeping the same patterns they had kept the night before.
Behind Serana's chamber wall, Noctis opened his eyes.
The Blood Grid stretched behind his vision like a living chart. Four branches pulsed: Soldier's Edge, Spearwarden's Path, Bulwark Dominion, Ranger's Ledger. Each doctrine glowed faintly, bound to him through blood. But the Grid wanted more.
He listened through stone and mapped the captains. The shield-captain lay stiff as a board, posture unbroken. The lance-captain's legs twitched with phantom spurs. The archer-captain, drained the night before, now slept in a rhythm owned by Noctis.
Then there was Quartermaster-Captain Irelda.
Her breathing was deliberate even in sleep. Each inhale measured, each exhale released with the control of someone who rationed her own rest. Parchment rustled faintly on her desk, ledgers and diagrams stacked into neat columns. Noctis could smell ink, leather, and faint iron dust even through the wall.
Target chosen.
Infiltration
He stepped from stone into the corridor. The air shifted cool, then warm, then cool again as if unsettled.
Irelda's door opened without a sound. The room carried her order: armor polished and hung, sword laid across a chair, desk stacked with ledgers and charts. Numbers and diagrams marked troop tempos, ration cycles, supply routes.
She slept on her side, hand near the cot's edge, posture straight even in rest.
Noctis approached.
Her eyes opened instantly. She pushed herself upright, hand reaching toward her sword with the economy of someone who had done this before.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, voice clipped.
"You will obey," Noctis replied. The violet ring lit in his eyes.
Binding Stare
[Skill Activated: Allure's Gaze III — Binding Stare]Effect: Compulsion. Target must obey direct command. Opposed Will check.Target: Captain Irelda (Will 176)Caster: Noctis (Will 255)Result: Overwhelmed.
Her jaw locked. Shoulders trembled as though every drilled reflex fought to continue. Her hand froze halfway to the sword. She took a shallow, sharp breath. Then her eyes dulled.
"Stand up," Noctis ordered.
She rose immediately.
"Face me. You are under my command. Confirm it."
"Yes, sir," she answered. The words came hollow, stripped of choice.
"Expose your throat."
Her chin lifted, neck bared with military precision.
Feeding
Noctis stepped forward and bared his fangs. He reached for Irelda, pulling her close in a firm embrace. Her body was warm and rigid beneath his hands, still obedient under the compulsion. He leaned in, his breath brushing her ear, and lowered his mouth to her throat.
His tongue traced along her skin, savoring the salt of her flesh and the steady beat of her pulse. Then he bit. His fangs pierced the delicate flesh cleanly, sinking deep.
Hot blood welled immediately. It gushed across his tongue, iron-sharp, carrying not only life but discipline. He drank deeply.
First pull: the doctrine of expenditure — every motion measured against its cost, nothing wasted.
Second pull: the doctrine of tempo — the cadence of units, the rhythm that held a line together.
Third pull: the doctrine of control — the power to dictate rhythm, to accelerate or break it at will.
The Blood Grid flared, a new branch burning into place.
[Fatekeeper Experiment: Confirmed][New Combat Tree Unlocked: The Tempo Ledger]A doctrine of efficiency and rhythm, rewritten into shadow-tempo predation.
Unlocked Nodes:
Pace Lock — Manipulate the flow of combat; slow enemy rhythm or accelerate his own.
Cadence Step — Align movement to perfect timing, minimizing effort and maximizing effect.
Rhythm Breaker — Shatter an enemy's natural beat, forcing hesitation or premature action.
Expenditure Break — Exploit overcommitment, draining stamina or essence from wasted strikes.
Ecstasy of the Grid
Noctis pulled back and touched the wound with two fingers. The skin sealed. Heat faded.
He opened the Grid fully in his sight. The Tempo Ledger shone differently than the others — not just another weapon, but a metronome for the world itself. Every node ticked with clarity. Every strike carried weight but wasted nothing.
He whispered the names: Pace Lock. Cadence Step. Rhythm Breaker. Expenditure Break.
The rhythm sank into him. For the first time, the Grid felt not like four branches added together, but like a symphony finding its conductor.
A smile broke across his face, sharp and unrestrained. He was ecstatic. This doctrine was perfect.
A Different Choice
Noctis looked at Irelda, still in her sleepwear. He licked his lips. Tonight had given him more than any other harvest, and he wanted to celebrate it.
"Remove your clothes," he commanded. "Serve me tonight."
"Yes, master," Irelda whispered.
She obeyed. The fabric slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. She stepped forward and embraced him, warm against his chest. Rising onto her toes, she kissed him.
Noctis returned the kiss, pulling her closer. In the lamplight, their shadows stretched long across the wall, dark shapes twisting and merging as one. The bed creaked under their weight.
Her voice broke into the night, calling to him in ragged breaths.
"Master!" Irelda cried, her tone wavering between obedience and pleasure.
Their shadows bore silent witness to the rhythm that carried through the room until exhaustion claimed them both.
Morning
By dawn, Noctis had returned to the hollow behind Serana's chamber, resting in silence.
Irelda lay in her quarters, the ledgers still scattered across her desk. Her body was relaxed in sleep, her breath steady, but her lips moved faintly. Again and again she whispered the same word, even in dreams:
"Master."
Night returned to the barracks without ceremony. Torches held their small territories of light. Ropes between paired patrols gleamed and vanished as men turned corners. Boots beat their predictable loops.
Behind Serana's chamber wall, Noctis opened his eyes.
The Blood Grid stood bright and orderly in his inner sight:
Soldier's Edge (sword) — decisive close execution.
Spearwarden's Path (spear) — reach, line control, capture.
Bulwark Dominion (shield) — redirection and collapse.
Ranger's Ledger (ranged) — sequencing at distance.
Tempo Ledger (tempo/efficiency) — rhythm control and conservation.
Three captains lay in his ledger now: shield, archer, quartermaster. One remained—Lance-Captain Roen.
He listened through the wall and found Roen's room by how the body argued with sleep. The man's legs twitched in brief bursts, calves tightening and releasing, as if spurs still hung there. A lance leaned against a wall at a precise angle. Harness oil and leather lived in the air. Spurs clicked once, faintly, as if memory had turned in bed.
Target chosen.
Infiltration
Noctis pushed out of stone and into the corridor. Air cooled, then forgot to move. He crossed without dragging a human shadow behind him.
Roen's door rotated in a well-oiled hush. Inside: a pared-down cavalryman's kit arranged with the absence of vanity. Saddle blanket folded square. Harness coiled like a tame snake. A lance—long, ash-wood shaft with a polished head—rested in a stand built to the exact height of Roen's reach from the bed. Boots placed heel-to-heel beneath a chair. A rolled banner perched on a shelf.
Roen slept on his back, hands open, not quite at attention but organized by the habit of it. His jaw rough with a day's growth; a scar climbed from his collar to the hinge of his jaw, a diagonal reminder of an angle taken poorly once and never repeated.
Noctis stepped within three paces.
Roen's eyes opened cleanly. He didn't flinch. His right hand came up for the lance. His left foot found the floor in one decisive drop, heel pointed as if into stirrup. He rose with the economical grace of a rider mounting in motion.
"Stop," Noctis said. "Leave the lance where it is."
The violet ring lit behind Noctis's irises.
Binding Stare
[Skill Activated: Allure's Gaze III — Binding Stare]Effect: Compulsion. Target must obey direct command. Opposed Will check.Target: Lance-Captain Roen (Will 168)Caster: Noctis (Will 255)Result: Overwhelmed.
Roen kept moving for the span of one breath—then the Stare caught. His fingers hovered near the lance and locked. A muscle jumped in his cheek. The left heel—so perfectly angled—stilled. Breath narrowed but didn't break.
"Stand up. Face me," Noctis said.
Roen pivoted and squared up, chest open, chin neither lowered to submit nor raised to challenge. His body found a line where neither balance nor pride had to move first.
"You are under my command," Noctis said. "Confirm it."
"Yes, sir," Roen answered. The tone was flat—deprived of will, not dignity.
"Expose your throat."
Roen turned his head and lifted the line of his jaw.
Noctis closed the distance.
Feeding
He stepped forward and bared his fangs. One hand took Roen's shoulder; the other settled at the base of the neck to steady the angle. He pulled the man in, precise but not rough, and leaned until breath met skin.
His tongue drew a clean path along the neck, tasting salt and the heat of blood running high from a body trained to sprint on command. Then he bit. Fangs sank with surgical certainty into the soft place below the jaw.
Blood welled—hot, iron, fast. It carried the doctrine of riders: not brute force, but angle and speed turned into inevitability.
First pull: Vector selection — the knack of finding the one line that renders all others irrelevant. Approach from the angle where the shield's geometry betrays its bearer; choose a lane where even a sidestep feeds the charge.
Second pull: Momentum discipline — motion banked like coin, not squandered; acceleration and deceleration treated as weapons, not accidents.
Third pull: Finish law — the strike that ends a skirmish on the first contact because everything before it ensured there would be only one contact.
The Blood Grid burned a new branch into place.
[Fatekeeper Experiment: Confirmed][New Combat Tree Unlocked: Vector Cavalier]A doctrine of precision angle control and carried force, rewritten into shadow-vector predation. (Synergizes with Ranger's Ledger projectiles.)
Unlocked Nodes
Angle Breaker — Re-map approach vectors in real time; step or launch from the line that defeats current guard geometry.
Vectorsurge — Convert movement into stored impact; release on contact for amplified force.
Apex Line — Establish a "true line" to target; projectiles and steps adhere to this optimal vector, minimizing waste.
Kinetic Reap — On a decisive impact or kill, harvest residual momentum to chain into the next action.
Integration Nodes (with existing trees)
Vector Graft (Ranger's Ledger) — Bind Shadow Volley and Pierce the Horizon to Apex Line for curve-correcting flight and angle-perfect punches through cover.
Wallbind Vector (Bulwark) — Attach impact to surfaces; redirect an enemy into a wall-turned-weapon on contact.
Cadenced Crash (Tempo) — Time Vectorsurge releases to off-beat moments that shatter enemy rhythm.
Noctis withdrew, sealing punctures with two fingers. The flesh smoothed and cooled.
"Return to your stance," he said. "Wait."
Roen took one step back from the lance and stood, hands loosely at sides, breathing shallow and controlled. The angle of his heel returned to that precise stirrup line; habit didn't know it had been borrowed.
Noctis slipped into stone and let the room re-own its own quiet.
Experimentation — The Geometry of Force
Back in the hollow, he raised a hand. Shadow thickened and straightened into a narrow lance-spine, long and balanced, its head a concentrated wedge of dark.
Test 1 — Apex Line (visualization):He picked a point on the far seam and chose an approach—three degrees off a perpendicular so any lateral dodge would cross the line, not escape it. The Grid drew a faint glyph of vector math across his sight—length, angle, predicted enemy response curve. The hollow's air felt like it tilted in agreement.
He launched.
The spine didn't arc. It committed. A clean, almost contemptuous hole opened where it struck.
Result: The projectile corrected subtle drift mid-flight to hug the selected vector. Deviation < 1°. Perfect for distance kills that punish sidesteps.
Test 2 — Angle Breaker (step):He sketched a human-height silhouette on the far wall in shadow. Then he moved. At the last moment before imaginary contact, he pivoted one quarter-step and felt the Grid rewire approach—the silhouette's "shield" opened in his mind, the line of least resistance turning from blocked to available. His body slid into the new line as if on rails.
He pushed a palm forward. The wall thunked, and a hairline fracture spidered from a point no larger than a coin.
Result: Approach recalc happens between steps—not after. Applicable to sword, spear, or bare strike.
Test 3 — Vectorsurge (storage/release):He jogged three sharp paces in the cramped hollow, banking the tiny momentum into the node. A heat—tension without burn—gathered along his arm.
He touched the wall with two fingers and released.
A shallow crater popped outward. Dust whispered.
Result: Even low-speed movement, banked and released with intent, multiplies contact. Scales with longer run-ups or fall-capture. Synergizes with Tempo for off-beat releases.
Test 4 — Vector Graft (Ranger's Ledger synergy):He called a Shadow Volley—one spine—and wired it to Apex Line. The launch split into three phantoms that all self-corrected to the same perfect lane from different origins.
He placed a thin bar of scrap wood (stolen from repairs) across two stones. He fired.
One phantom went under in a shallow rise, another over in a shallow fall, the third straight through the support. All three met the same point on the far seam in the same tenth of a second.
Result: Volley alignment to a single "true line" collapses defensive choices: ducking, jumping, and bracing meet the same outcome.
Test 5 — Pierce the Horizon + Apex Line:He pointed. A line of negation cut the hollow: no arc, no correction required—only obedience to the optimal vector.
Result: The denial lane bored cleaner and longer. The edges looked polished, almost reflective. Cover becomes a suggestion, not a fact.
Test 6 — Kinetic Reap (chain):He struck the wall with a palm, releasing a small Vectorsurge. As the micro-shock faded, the node caught its tail and fed it back into his legs. He stepped and struck again. The second hit landed heavier than the first, though the motion was lighter.
Result: Each finish returns a dividend if immediately reinvested. Kill → step → kill becomes cheaper and sharper.
Test 7 — Wallbind Vector (Bulwark synergy):He set a shallow Wallbind Step—the trick that makes the nearest surface your shield edge—then added Angle Breaker to it. He nudged the silhouette across the floor with a hooked motion; the wall accepted the role of a partner, and the push re-aimed into an L-shaped slam instead of a straight shove.
Result: Redirects foes into surfaces at injury angles they can't brace for. Line-break without mass.
Test 8 — Cadenced Crash (Tempo synergy):He listened to the hollow until it gave him a beat: drip from a crack, distant step of a sentry outside—tick… tick… tick. He set Pace Lock to his breathing, then Vectorsurge to fire not on the beat, but one fraction before it.
He struck on the off-beat. The wall flinched in a way a human stance would not be ready for.
Result: Even prepared fighters eat impact when the beat is stolen from under them. Useful against duelists and drilled formations.
He lowered his hand. The hollow wore evidence in tidy wounds and hairline fractures—proofs, not chaos.
He stepped out of stone into Roen's quarters again. The captain stood as ordered, eyes obediently empty, a rider awaiting a mount that would never enter this room.
"Approach," Noctis said. Roen did. They stopped with one pace between them.
"Hold still."
Noctis circled him once, studying posture and wear. Spurs still hung on the boot-heels—habit made iron. A leather thong on the wrist bore a tiny knot: one rider's private sign for a brother in another troop, perhaps. A chip along the lance's ash shaft told the story of a near loss corrected mid-charge.
"You will continue as you have," Noctis said. "No changes that invite questions. Sleep."
Roen climbed back into bed, lay down on his back, and placed his hands as before. The breath resumed, measured and strong.
Noctis looked at the lance. He did not touch it. He did not need to. The vector now lived behind his eyes.
He stepped backward through the wall and let stone own him again.
In the hollow, the Grid reassembled itself with this new doctrine as if the entire system had been waiting for the fourth corner to sit.
Sword gave decisive edges.
Spear gave measured reach.
Shield gave angles of refusal.
Ranger gave distances that lie down when asked.
Tempo turned waste into reserve.
Vector wove all of it into approach—the science of arriving in the exact place where the next action is already decided.
He tried a final experiment: Ranger's Ledger set to a four-target Kill Order, but this time the phantoms grabbed Apex Line and used Angle Breaker in flight. The Grid previewed outcomes like diagrams: shield turn too slow; caller's shoulder too high; blade hand lifted before step; runner's weight on the wrong foot.
He launched. The hollow answered with four precise ticks in the order he'd seen.
It felt like cheating only to people who believed speed was separate from thought.
He listened to the barracks. Patrol ropes hissed lightly. A sergeant repeated a report until his mouth made the words smooth. Through the wall, Serana turned once, breath soft, then settled. Noctis let the room and the night confirm that none of this had been noticed.
Tomorrow would not be captains. Tomorrow would be consequences.
He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to let doctrine sink all the way to the hinge of every motion.
Noctis remained in the hollow after leaving Roen's chamber. The Blood Grid burned bright with a new branch: Vector Cavalier. He opened it node by node, letting each settle into his body.
Angle Breaker. He willed it, and the shadows around him tilted slightly, mapping every possible line of approach against an imagined guard. When he stepped forward, the Grid corrected his path mid-motion, placing him where no block could meet him.
Vectorsurge. He jogged three short paces across the hollow, then halted and released the stored force. The impact cracked the wall outward, sharper than his speed should have allowed. Motion was no longer wasted—it was banked.
Apex Line. He raised his hand and summoned a shadow spine. He selected a point across the hollow. The spine adjusted minutely mid-flight, ignoring drift, obeying only the perfect line. The impact left a single, clean puncture as though geometry itself had stabbed the wall.
Kinetic Reap. He slammed one palm into stone, and as the force dissipated, the Grid caught it and cycled it back into his legs. His follow-up strike landed heavier than the first, though he had spent less effort.
The branch was precise. Not brute force, but mathematics made into murder. He could apply these vectors to projectiles, spears, even swordwork. Anything that moved became a weapon of angles.
For three nights afterward, Noctis stalked prey outside captain's chambers. Not soldiers this time—they would only give him more blood. He wanted Faith Essence and Soul Essence.
Night 1:He slipped into the cathedral's undercroft, where low priests burned incense at stone shrines. He let Binding Stare silence one, then bit cleanly. The blood carried sanctified trace—Faith, bitter but nourishing.
[+2 Faith Essence]
Night 2:In the reliquary vaults, he found an acolyte guarding a vessel bound to a spirit fragment. He killed him silently, then drank from the shard itself. Cold soul-light coursed through him, harsh against his veins but accepted by the Grid.
[+1 Soul Essence]
Night 3:He hunted a zealous cantor in the side cloisters. The man tried to chant a ward, but Noctis's shadow struck first. He bit deep, pulling not just blood but the lingering soul-echoes of sung devotion.
[+2 Faith Essence, +1 Soul Essence]
By the fourth dawn, Noctis rested in his hollow, Grid blazing with all six captain doctrines interlocked. His resources swelled, the shortages filled. The cathedral had fed him far beyond blood—sword, spear, shield, bow, tempo, vector, and now Faith and Soul.
The escape could wait. He was not just surviving the dungeon anymore. He was harvesting it.
Noctis let Irelda's voice rise until the room shook with her obedience. Shadows of her form bent and merged with his across the wall. Beside them, Serana's calm tone cut through the rhythm.
"At least three days, master," she reported. "The bishop marches with an army. Scouts place them still on the far road."
Noctis's smile showed faintly in the dim. "Three days is time enough."
He beckoned with a hand. "Come here. Join us."
Serana obeyed at once, moving close, her body and voice both yielding to his command. The rhythm shifted again. Their shadows doubled, merged, echoed. The bed creaked in protest, moans rising in turns, each calling him master with unbroken devotion.
By near morning, both women were spent, bodies trembling with exhaustion but their eyes still shining with the hunger to serve.
"You've done well," Noctis told them. "Now rest."
Irelda dressed and returned silently to her own quarters. Serana curled onto her bed, already half-asleep before her head touched the pillow.
Noctis stepped into the stone and left them behind.
He moved silently through the barracks, slipping back into the chambers of the other captains. Each one still slept, their memories dimmed by hypnosis, their will chained to his commands.
He fed lightly from them again—not enough to weaken, only enough to coax more of their doctrines into the Blood Grid. Soldier's Edge sharpened further. Spearwarden's Path gave new reach. Bulwark Dominion's angles deepened. Ranger's Ledger bent into subtler volleys. Tempo Ledger smoothed its beat. Vector Cavalier's lines refined into even cleaner geometry.
The Grid grew more intricate with every sip, a perfect predatory weave.
The Bishop's Shadow
By the time he returned to the hollow, the first threads of dawn had touched the city's roofs.
Three days. That was all.
If the bishop arrived, he might sense Noctis's presence—the wrongness coiled in these walls. Worse, if he bore sanctified rites strong enough, he might break the hypnosis that bound the captains. Noctis would lose his perfect harvest. He might lose the safety of the barracks itself.
He rested in stone, but his mind did not quiet.
Should he stay and risk discovery? Should he abandon the city before the bishop entered, slipping away to new ground?
The Blood Grid pulsed, bright with doctrine, as if reminding him: prey was coming. Prey wrapped in banners and sanctity, carrying resources he had yet to drink.
Noctis closed his eyes. For now, he had three nights.
Three nights to prepare.