Mutation

Frowning at his current predicament, he considers taking it to the next level. A level in which he would hope to accomplish much. He takes a 7-millimeter pistol from its holster around his slim waste. The arcane knowledge that he had learned so very long ago, filled his thoughts of what he could do, if he decided to do it. He placed the gun on the bar counter in front of him. If the other patrons were alarmed, they did not show it. And why should they? The un-natural is natural at this bar. He sighs to himself, regretting his indecision. He soon thinks it might be better to do this. Who would miss Tyreal Sombringer? Certainly not his clan, whom he would give his life for, if need be. The vampires hated him, (but the again, they hated most mortals.) He finally decides to do it. He places his right hand over the pommel of the gun. He began chanting silently, filling the gun with more energy than the gun had ever seen before. He could feel the magic, infused through out his body. The energy traveling from hand to gun was immense. The pommel began to glow a bright green, under his hand, and the barrel of the gun, began to move and change shape, to better fit the growing bullet. Prespiration begun to form on his upper lip and fore head. He stopped his chanting, but left his hand over the gun, because he could still feel the remains of magic traveling through him and into the gun. Finally after what seemed hours to him, he let his hand fall away, and he began to shudder in relief. His last few actions could prove disastrous for the future. He contemplates the consequences of completing the rest of the transformation. A few vampires glanced his way, probably wondering when Tyreal got the powers of sorcere. They shrugged it off, realizing no harm would come to any of them, if he decided to shoot his gun off at one of them. The undead cannot be changed. Tyreal, still shuddering and desperately trying to breathe normal again, thinks about what will happen. If he blew himself away, he might turn into a super human freak. He would have all the required knowledge from his past life, including his magical abilities and assassination skills. But he might become a freak. An uncontrollable monster, ready to destroy or devour anything that might come in his way. But immortality? The consequences were dire, and it required a lot of thought on the matter. Several of his so-called friends, had come to him, asking of what he was doing. He shrugged them off deep in his own thoughts. They didn't really care about him. They just wanted to steal his weapons should he, die from the dangerous spell. So many weapons too. He suddenly thinks that if it doesn't work out, his last breathe of life would bring him to pull the pin off of one of the grenades strapped to his chest. Yes, that would teach those vultures. He picks up the gun, and brings it to his head. The last few moments of his life, he recalls how he came to be. Cheemo the Red, was leaving the asylum forever, and he needed someone to take his place, so that the turmoil of the bar, would remain forever constant. Tyreal Sombringer didn't do any such thing. He was an outcast. He would try and disturb the peace, but the peace remained.