Lucien looked at the menacing spear and held out his hand to touch it. The rune flared blood red, burning hot, and the weapon vanished as if it had never existed. He flexed his fingers and let out a slow breath. Convenient, he thought. He had not been certain it would work, but weapon imprints tied to the body often behaved this way, folding themselves into their bearer when needed. The Blood Drinker was no exception.
He sat on the edge of his bed and took stock.
So far, he carried one imprint. A sentient one. It did not count toward the usual limit, which meant he still had room to maneuver. Having the luxury of bringing one imprint into their first trial was a dream, two was unheard of. The scions of powerful organizations had the ability to learn an imprint before their first trial. Lucien, for once, had options.
Too many, almost.
Imprints flooded his mind, dozens upon dozens he had encountered across campaigns and centuries. Some were terrifying in their full form, capable of reshaping battlefields or bending entire disciplines around them. Others were subtle but lethal in the right hands. The problem was not knowledge. It was access. To imprint something, comprehension was required, and comprehension demanded a matching level of existence. Many of the imprints he remembered required Second Order or higher, along with specific conditions he did not yet meet.
At the level he stood now, there were only two real possibilities.
The first was Stone Skin, a common body imprint for those who had not yet undertaken their first trial. It hardened the skin to an unnatural degree, turning blades and arrows aside with ease for someone of his level. With it, endurance-based trials became manageable, even favorable. Strength trials too. He could see the appeal clearly.
But he already carried the Blood Drinker, a sentient imprint bound to his body. Adding another body imprint would destabilize the balance. The risk outweighed the benefit.
That left the second option.
Soul Splitter.
Lucien let out a humorless breath. Of all the imprints he could have retained, this was the one most people mocked or ignored. It originated from the wraith races, beings who did not divide themselves into body, mind, and energy the way humans did. Their entire foundation rested on the true soul alone. For them, splitting it was a necessity, not a danger. It allowed them to detach fragments of themselves, wielding soul as both weapon and shield.
Wraiths imprinted directly on the true soul. It granted them abilities that were difficult to categorize and often disturbing, but it limited them severely. One imprint per rank. No flexibility.
For a human, it was worse.
A human could imprint on body, mind, and energy separately. Using a true soul imprint bypassed that structure entirely. Soul Splitter allowed a person to divide their true soul at zero order, something no sane human would attempt. The true soul was sacred. Permanent. If it was damaged or erased, there was no recovery. You did not die. You ceased.
Lucien knew all of that.
He also knew his plan required it.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, closed his eyes, and began.
The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. It felt as though something fundamental was being pulled apart, not cut cleanly but torn, stretched past its limit. Pain flooded every thought, every sense, not sharp but absolute, filling him until there was no room for anything else. His heartbeat stuttered. His breath came in ragged bursts. He felt himself coming undone at a level words could not reach.
There was no screaming. The agony went far beyond that.
When he came back to himself, he was not certain how much time had passed. His vision doubled and swam, the room overlapping itself in ways that made his stomach lurch. Thoughts echoed where they should not, fragments slipping loose and brushing against each other. He could feel it clearly now. A second presence. Not another person, not yet, but a growing divergence.
This process was never meant for humans. Left alone, the split fragment would develop independently, its own instincts and desires taking shape until his mind fractured completely. Madness was the expected outcome.
Lucien steadied his breathing and forced his thoughts into alignment. This was the dangerous part. The point of no return.
If this worked, he would be unmatched.
If it failed, there would be nothing left of him to regret it.
He lay back on the bed and reached up, fingers brushing the serpentine pendant at his neck. He breathed out, centering himself. Laying his head comfortably on his pillow he closed his eyes. He felt his mind be pulled and didn't interfere. He felt the serpentine pendant on his chest heat up and he knew that it was time.
Time to see Azazel again.