Infinite Forge: I Can Devour Everything

The air in Edwyn's dimly lit chamber was thick with the scent of old parchment and the faint metallic tang of alchemy reagents. Flickering candlelight danced across the stone walls, casting long shadows that seemed to writhe like living things. Edwyn, shirtless and smirking with that devil-may-care grin he'd perfected over years of dodging trouble, pressed his calloused hand against the jagged, obsidian-hued claw of the Black Iron Beast. The thing was massive, its surface pitted and scarred from battles fought in some godforsaken corner of the planet. The moment his skin made contact, a pulse of energy surged through him, like a jolt of lightning laced with starfire. Deep within his soul, the Infinite Forge, his personal ticket to power, hummed to life, its ethereal machinery grinding as it analyzed the claw with cold precision.

[Material: Front Claw of the Black Iron Beast]

[Refinable Substance: Pure Black Iron Beast Bloodline]

[Refinement Cost: 100 Mana]

[Proceed with Refinement?]

"Hell yeah, let's crank this baby up," Edwyn said, his voice dripping with the kind of cocky bravado that made people either love him or want to punch him. He leaned back, one hand lazily raking through his tousled silver hair, the other still resting on the claw. "Hit me with the good stuff, Forge."

The claw vanished in a shimmer of violet light, sucked into the crucible of the Infinite Forge. Edwyn felt a familiar tug at his core as streams of his mana, vibrant, electric currents of raw magic, poured out of him like a busted dam. The air around him crackled, the candles flickering wildly as the Forge did its work. Seconds later, a single, glowing drop of blood materialized in his palm, pulsing with ruby light and wrapped in a delicate cocoon of mana. It was mesmerizing, like a liquid gem forged from the heart of a dying star.

"Well, damn," Edwyn chuckled, holding the drop up to the candlelight. "You're a real looker, aren't you? Bet you'd fetch a pretty penny at the mage market. Too bad you're mine."

Bloodline Alchemy was the name of the game among Arch-Mages these days, a practice as old as the stars but now as common as dirt thanks to inter-planetary conquests. Arch-Mages grafted the essence of otherworldly beasts into their bodies, snatching up their strengths like a kid grabbing candy. But purity was the kicker. One drop of tainted blood, one stray speck of some mongrel species, and your shiny new powers could turn you into a drooling monstrosity, or worse, a dud. Edwyn wasn't about to roll the dice on that. He'd seen what happened to sloppy alchemists, and he wasn't keen on sprouting tentacles or claws in all the wrong places.

He sauntered over to his cluttered desk, where vials, scrolls, and half-eaten rations fought for space. With a flourish, he plucked a test tube from a rack and let the ruby blood drip inside, sealing it with a cork.

"Safe and sound, sweetheart," he murmured, giving the tube a playful tap. Then, with a dramatic spin of his heel, he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a bottle of deep-black ink, its surface shimmering like liquid obsidian. The stuff was the key to Bloodline Alchemy, used to draw the alchemical array that would anchor the bloodline to his heart. According to the dusty old notes he'd been studying, courtesy of some long-dead Mage who probably never saw his work go mainstream, you needed this ink to channel the blood into a seed, a kind of magical battery planted in your chest.

"Old-school recipe, huh?" Edwyn said, tilting the bottle to catch the light. "Bet you took weeks to brew, back when Mages had to grind their own herbs and whisper to the stars. Me? I just dropped five Mana Stones at the market." He grinned, shaking his head. "Times change, old man. Your bloodline voodoo's gone corporate."

The Mage Wars had been a brutal slog, and the poor sap who wrote those notes probably never dreamed his obscure research would become the backbone of modern Bloodline Alchemy. Inter-planetary conquests had flooded the market with exotic bloodlines, turning what was once a rare art into a Mage's bread and butter. Fire drakes, void serpents, starborn titans, name a beast, and some Mage had probably fused its essence into their veins. Edwyn, though, had his eyes on the Black Iron Beast, a creature of raw power and unyielding resilience. Perfect for a guy who liked to dive headfirst into trouble and come out swinging.

He grabbed a feather quill, its tip stained with years of use, and stripped off his shirt with a

theatrical flourish, tossing it onto a chair with a wink at his reflection in the cracked mirror.

"Showtime, handsome," he said, striking a pose that was half jest, half genuine admiration for his own lean, battle-scarred frame. The alchemical array was simple enough, swirling lines and arcane sigils that looked like a cross between a tattoo and a cosmic map. Edwyn dipped the quill in the ink and began tracing the pattern over his heart, his hand steady despite the occasional flicker of candlelight. The ink was cold against his skin, like liquid shadow, and he couldn't help but whistle a jaunty tune as he worked.

"Ten minutes flat," he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork in the mirror. The array glowed faintly, a lattice of midnight lines pulsing with latent power. "Not bad, Ed. You're practically a pro at this."

With the prep done, Edwyn sprawled across his bed, the creaky frame groaning under his weight. He took a deep breath, his chest rising as he clutched the test tube with the ruby blood.

"Alright, big guy," he muttered, his tone equal parts excitement and mockery. "Let's see if you're worth the hype."

He popped the cork and poured the blood onto the center of the array. The moment it touched his skin, the sigils flared with a brilliant blue light, and a searing pain exploded in his chest, like someone had jammed a red-hot poker straight through his ribs. His vision swam, and he bit back a curse, his teeth grinding so hard they might've cracked.

"Son of a-!" he growled, forcing himself to stay conscious.

The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt, a molten tide surging through his veins, his heart pounding like a war drum as it pumped liquid fire through his body.

"C'mon, Ed, you've taken worse hits than this. That time with the demon goat? Child's play."

He focused, channeling a steady stream of mana into the array, his magic flowing like a river into the roaring furnace of the Bloodline Seed. Time blurred, seconds stretching into agonizing eternities. Sweat poured down his face, matting his hair to his forehead, but he kept at it, his stubborn streak refusing to let him pass out. Finally, the burning subsided, leaving him gasping and drenched, his body slumped against the bed like a puppet with cut strings.

"Holy hell," he panted, wiping his brow with a trembling hand.

After a moment to catch his breath, Edwyn peeled off his soaked clothes, tossing them into a heap. He tugged at his pants, intending to change, when, riiip, the fabric split like cheap parchment. He froze, staring at the tattered remains in his hands.

"What the…?" he muttered, giving the pants another experimental tug. They tore apart like tissue paper. A slow, devilish grin spread across his face. "Oh, baby, you didn't tell me you'd make me this ripped."

Moving with exaggerated caution, Edwyn stripped down and began testing his new strength. He threw a casual punch, and the air cracked with a low sonic boom, the force rattling the vials on his desk. He crouched and jumped lightly, only to slam his head into the ceiling with a dull thunk. Plaster dust rained down as he rubbed his scalp, laughing.

"Slight enhancement, my ass," he said, shaking his head. "Mages and their damn understatements. This is like calling a supernova a firecracker."

Curious, he grabbed the bed, a solid oak frame weighing a good few hundred pounds, and lifted it with one hand. It felt like picking up a chair.

"Well, damn," he said, setting it down gently to avoid splintering the floor. "Guess I'm the strongest apprentice this side of the galaxy. Sorry, other wizards, better luck next time."

Next came the breathing technique, a rhythmic pattern detailed in the notes to awaken the bloodline's full potential. Edwyn closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. The air felt heavy, charged with the weight of his new power. After just a few cycles, a searing heat bloomed in his chest, spreading like wildfire through his limbs. His skin prickled, and he glanced down to see black, metallic scales erupting across his body, glinting like polished obsidian in the candlelight. They were sleek, almost liquid in their movement, rippling with every flex of his muscles.

"Well, hello there," Edwyn said, running a hand over the scales. They were cool to the touch, yet thrumming with latent energy. He grabbed a dagger from his desk, a wickedly sharp blade he'd once used to carve through a steel plate, and pressed it against his arm. The blade skidded off the scales, leaving only a faint scratch. He pressed harder, grunting with effort, and still barely nicked the surface.

"Ha! Slight protection, they said?" he crowed, sheathing the dagger with a flourish. "This is better than plate mail forged by a god. Add my Mage robes' forcefield, and I'm a walking fortress. Demon ram? Pfft. I'd punt that fuzzy bastard into the next dimension."

He struck a pose in the mirror, flexing to admire the way the scales shimmered, catching the light like a living suit of armor.

"Oh, yeah," he said, winking at his reflection. "You're one sexy beast, Edwyn. The ladies at the Magus Academy won't know what hit 'em."

But the moment of vanity was cut short. A ravenous hunger tore through him, a bone-deep void that felt like his body was eating itself from the inside out. His knees buckled, and he gripped the desk for support, his breath ragged.

"Aw, crap," he groaned, clutching his chest. "Bloodline's sucking me dry. Should've kept some mana in the tank." The scales pulsed, drawing on his life force now that his mana was depleted. With a grunt, he shut the bloodline down, the scales retreating like a tide, coalescing into a black, tattoo-like brand over his heart. The hunger eased, but a crushing weakness slammed into him, leaving him swaying.

"Alright, alright, no need to get dramatic," he muttered, staggering to the desk. He grabbed a nutrition potion from his stash, leftovers from the brutal entrance exam, and chugged it down. The bitter liquid hit his stomach like a brick, but it wasn't enough. He downed a second, then a third, grimacing at the taste.

"Tastes like troll sweat, but it gets the job done." Finally, the hunger retreated, leaving him shaky but alive.

In the washroom, Edwyn caught his reflection in the mirror. The guy staring back was gaunt, his cheeks hollow, all the hard-earned bulk from months of training burned away in minutes.

"Well, damn," he said, poking at his sunken ribs. "Back to Skinny Ed. Note to self: never run the bloodline on empty. That's a one-way ticket to Corpseville."

He washed off the dried blood and sweat, the hot water soothing his aching muscles. As he toweled off and pulled on fresh clothes, he stood a little taller, his grin returning. Three months had passed since he'd earned his shot at glory, and now it was time to collect his prize: one hundred Mana Stones, enough to keep him in potions, ink, and maybe a few rounds at the tavern.

"Time to cash in, baby," he said, slinging his Mage robes over his shoulder like a cape. "Edwyn's comin' for that payday, and ain't no demon ram gonna stop me."

With a swagger in his step and a glint in his eye, he strode out the door, ready to take on the world, or at least the Mage Academy's reward office.