shadow slave monarch of crimson Chapter 43: Best boy

I gathered all the blood.

Every droplet in reach — from the shattered cathedral walls, from the corpses littering the ground, from the puddles that had soaked into the dirt — ca crawling toward like a crimson tide.

The air grew thick with it, humming as the liquid writhed under my will.

Then, slowly, painfully, I began to rebuild myself.

The process wasn't fast. It wasn't elegant. It was grotesque.

But it worked.

I was probably the only person in existence who could have done sothing like this — to rebuild a body with nothing but blood and knowledge. My unique vision let see through flesh, through skin, into the inner workings of the human body — the veins, the bones, the pulsing heart of it all.

So I started from the foundation.

First, the veins and arteries. I wove them together strand by strand, shaping them from liquid and hardening them until they pulsed faintly with a heartbeat that wasn't quite mine.

Then ca the spine — my broken backbone.

I shaped a column of blood, compressed it until it turned dark and solid, and fused it to the fragnts of bone that still clung together. The pain was indescribable. Every nerve scread, every muscle twitched in revolt. But I couldn't stop.

Next, the organs.

I built what I could rember — the lungs, the liver, the stomach — hollow shapes first, then denser as I molded the blood into their texture. Every beat of my heart pushed them closer to reality, closer to life.

Finally, I stretched a final layer of hardened blood over everything, letting it cool into a smooth red sheen. Skin. Artificial, but functional.

I took a deep, ragged breath.

The air stung as it filled my half-ford lungs, but… it worked.

I looked inside myself with my ability — tracing each reconstructed part — and everything seed to function. Barely, but it did.

"Thank God I took those anatomy classes back in school," I muttered, half laughing, half delirious.

The wound where my arm had been was still bleeding faintly, so I sealed it with what little blood I had left — a rough scab of hardened crimson. That was all I could manage.

I needed flesh and blood to heal further. But I couldn't move. Every twitch felt like lifting a mountain.

All I could do now was ration what remained — keep my makeshift organs pumping just enough to stay conscious — and wait. Wait for Beast to recover.

Of course, that entire plan relied on a very small, stupidly optimistic chance that Father Anderson or that thing — the faceless fallen devil — wouldn't co looking for before then.

But I doubted Anderson was still alive.

I had to doubt it.

So I waited.

And in the dark silence of that ruined city, I muttered to myself, "God, I hate my birthday."

Yes. Today of all days — my birthday.

The worst day of my life.

A year ago, on this sa cursed day, I'd entered my first nightmare. One year later, and here I was again — bleeding, broken, alone in another nightmare that felt all too real.

How ti flies.

But reminiscing didn't matter. I didn't have the strength for sentint. Every thought drained , so I focused on breathing — one painful inhale at a ti.

I don't know how long I waited. Ti had no aning there.

Eventually, I felt it — that faint pull in the depths of my soul-sea. Beast had recovered.

Relief washed through like a fever breaking.

Using the blood I'd rationed, I healed just enough to sit up. Not much — not enough to be considered alive, honestly — but it was sothing.

When Beast appeared, his form solidifying beside , I almost felt guilty. The creature looked… sad. His molten red eyes flicked over my body, lingering on the missing arm. He rubbed his face gently against my side, a low rumble escaping his throat.

"Hey, buddy," I said weakly. "I'm okay. Don't worry."

I raised what was left of my arm. "But if you don't mind… hunt so blood and flesh for ."

Beast nodded once and bounded off into the mist.

It wasn't long before he returned — dragging the severed heads of the creatures I'd slain earlier. He dropped them beside with a heavy thud.

I didn't hesitate. I feasted on their flesh.

The taste was awful — bitter and tallic — but it worked. I could feel my body slowly knitting back together. My spine straightened, my stomach closed, my breathing evened out. The bleeding from my arm stopped entirely. It was a stump now. Permanent.

"Thanks a lot," I told Beast between ragged breaths. "But I still need more. Don't hunt sothing too strong, though."

I patted his head gently. His scales felt cool against my blood-soaked fingers.

Beast vanished into the fog again.

Ti blurred. Minutes, maybe hours later, he returned — dragging two corpses. One of an awakened beast, the other an awakened demon. Both looked vaguely bull-like, though twisted — extra horns, too many teeth, muscle so dense it barely resembled flesh anymore. Their necks were torn open, and one skull had a neat, clean hole burned through it — Beast's work, no doubt.

"Thanks," I said again, quieter this ti.

I ate, forcing the flesh down even as nausea clawed at my stomach. Each bite brought back strength. My wounds closed further, muscles regrew, tendons pulled tight beneath newly-ford skin.

Beast didn't stop there.

He left once more — and this ti, it took longer.

When he ca back, he was limping. Scratched, blood dripping from his side. But he was dragging sothing enormous — a grotesque fallen monster shaped like a giant pig. Its skin was pale gray, its mouth wide enough to swallow a man whole.

He dropped it beside , panting.

I looked at him, frowning. "You're injured."

He snorted, as if to deny it, and tried to turn back into the mist.

I placed my hand on his snout. "No. Stay here."

For a mont, he froze — then settled down beside , curling his bloody form protectively around where I lay.

I smiled faintly. "Good boy."

Then I turned to the carcass.

The flesh of the fallen was tough and foul — bitter with rotten skin— but it did the job. Slowly, the last of my wounds began to close. The pain dulled. My body, rebuilt from blood and stolen life, was whole again.

I stayed there for a long while, just breathing — just existing.

My head rested against Beast's scales. The air around us was quiet now, broken only by the distant groan of the dark tide hitting the walls.