Devukrantz Manor
"Master." Renfreud's voice drifted like a cold draft over his head, as he rested in bed. "Master, it's time to rouse Lamina Sangrenta."
Rakvald lifted his head, and crawled upright all at once, snarling at his apprentice for disturbing his sleep. The man had grown bold of late, taking liberties with Rakvald's schedule, and becoming more of a softly domineering force in his life than even Ildred had been at her worst. He might have to consider changing the living arrangements if his behavior persisted. As it was, Renfreud was right, however. The bloodied blade required rousing energies lest it fall into disrepair.
He'd attempted several times in the intervening trials to strengthen the blade to no avail. It seemed flimsy, soft, and didn't hold its shape half as well as it ought to, given the materials he'd sacrificed for its construction. He would need more, but for now, he kept it on support with a daily donation of his ether. He fed the blade what it needed, in lieu of the viscera it was intended to partake of.
He rose, and donned his shroud, feet shuffling across the floor as he approached the dais chamber where he performed much of his rituals, and spent his time studying the arcane tome he'd acquired from... well only Renfreud knew where he'd acquired the book. Rakvald suspected he'd done so disohonestly, but given how powerful and useful the book was, he'd not held it against him too much.
Rayfin attended Rakvald as he walked along, standing off toward the shadows of the ritual chambers, so that he wouldn't disturb his totem-bearer's daily ritual.
Rakvald reached out a tentacled hand toward the blade, caressing its jagged teeth and hardened mantis-carapace spine with fresh ether. He managed to repurpose some of the ether that had lingered from before, and channelled more of the vitality that he'd gathered while sleeping into the blade.
The technique of rouse was an advanced one, and the pull to indulge in the deeper commitment to the parasitic spark inside of him was an ever present danger at his level of confluence with arcane energies. It was always a temptation, to reach that much farther, to see what power lie on the other side. He'd been teased by glimpses of what may result from descent into Atavistic revelation, as he recorded some of his own findings into the arcane tome. Some of the findings held true, some of the theories. This only served to tempt him more, but his discipline was ironclad, solid, and prevented any flippant urge to reveal for no good reason.
Bits passed by, and the ether coursed through the blade. Rakvald felt at one with the energies passing through him and the blade. So much vitality, leavened with the potent rigors of Graft magic. He closed his eyes, and it was that which prompted him to miss the shadow that fell across his altar.
He felt it first, a stabbing pain in his back. A jagged blade thrust through his lower back, passing through his organs. A soft spot in his carapace, that somehow the assailant had identified!
"Who.... Who?" Rakvald muttered, as he fell forward on the dais, gripping the handle of the bloodied club. "What do you...."
He turned to face the one who'd stabbed him. Already Rayfin was closing in, a breath away from landing a blow upon the assassin. It was Renfreud. "Why?" Rakvald demanded.
"It's time for you to awaken Master. Reach for the very heights of Arcane power! I know you have it in you, I.... oof!" Rayfin knocked him down with a Haymaker.
The rest of the scene was a blur, as Rayfin continued to beat Renfreud while he was down.
Rakvald turned his inner eye to himself in that moment, and began channeling the enervations to heal that very jagged and gnarled wound that had been inflicted. He could feel it, it would certainly have ended in death for anyone without the healing capacity that the Grafter possessed. Any ordinary mortal.
But Rakvald, was he even mortal anymore? As the rigors coalesced around the wound, repairing, reforming, and regrowing flesh he felt a sudden tug from within his soul. Strands of parasitic grasping like tentacles against every extremity, taking hold of the five corners of his body, and then returning to center. He knew then, it had him. The Inheritor had won its final and opening victory.
He would become a Chimera. Rakvald would cease to be, and the Inheritor would be bequeathed all that was his.
His hands hit the floor as he released his grip on the bloodied club in his hand.
The flesh in those carapace-covered appendages began to shift, to crawl within themselves. Like a thousand snakes and worms had suddenly come to life in his flesh, and were simultaneously unraveling and weaving themselves into the stitched shape of his current form.
Rakvald's flesh revolted in anger at the damage done to him, but soon enough even the nerve damage repaired from the spine, given the new capability of the Chimera to affect every aspect of its own body. He formed new connections, regrew old ones, and soon enough the creature that had lurked inside him for so many arcs took the reins of power in his soul, and became the sole ruler.
What did this mean for Rakvald? He couldn't say. He felt like the same person, albeit a fascimile. As the flesh crawled and eked across his body, unraveling and bubbling, and weaving inward and outward, the Inheritor felt much as Rakvald had. Perhaps he was Rakvald. But something had definitely changed.
He'd been bequeathed a new life, inheriting the apex from the parasitic.
He rose to his feet, his body a mass of writhing tentacles woven together into a cohesive shape that resembled his cephalopod form, yet had all the flesh traits of his former totem.
He looked upon the beaten form of Renfreud, who looked up from his red eyes, as Rayfin gave berth for Rakvald to finish the job.
Rakvald laid a hand on Rayfin's shoulder, and shook his head. "No, he has done me a service, Rayfin. You ought to step aside now."
Renfreud sputtered and cried and laughed as he lay on the floor, his body half broken.
"Now, your lessons begin in earnest Renfreud. Channel the energies I have opened up in you, and begin to heal those hurts. Wash away the filth, and arise, rebuilt anew. There is much to learn, and now there's no limit to the knowledge that will open up for me."
"Yes Master!" Renfreud tried to prop himself up, but stumbled. His arms grasping for purchase against the floor as he tried to rise. Then, Rakvald watched him concentrating, trying to will one wound after another to heal, to refresh the bruises left by Rayfin.
Rakvald could not help him. As his initiate, he was untouchable by Rakvald's healing magics. So he merely watched, and with great pleasure as Renfreud seemed a natural learner of Graft.
Renfreud was a good medic, and that translated into effective healing with the spark that lay active inside of him. Although he was only a young spark, it would grow in time. Someday, he would become a great mage, Rakvald was sure.
So, as Renfreud stitched himself well enough to stand, Rakvald gave him a hand up, and placed the dagger that had been plunged into his back back into Renfreud's hands.
"Keep this where it belongs, from now on, eh?" So saying, the Inheritor stepped off, and hefted the Lamina Sagrenta on his shoulder as he went down to the foyer of his manse. There would be business about on the days to come. And he would greet it, as flesh.
