Chapter 138 - TFF (Patreon)

Alan stepped back and watched the suffering man. He was thrashing against the bindings with strength that threatened to tear down the room. But they held. Bonez would go from screaming to crying and begging in a strange language. He would call out to the Bone Lord, and pray for forgiveness. He would say names, whisper words of love, and swear on his life.

Bonez was strong. Whatever transformations his body had undergone made him a force to be reckoned with even without the skills and power granted by his patron. However, losing the connection was proving to be a major blow to the [Warlock]. He seemed dysfunctional even before Alan had done what he had.

Alan wasn’t particularly sure what he had done. The shadows around him had taken on most of the heavy lifting. It was like the skill had been pulled out from their whispers, and from the vision where he had witnessed the pale woman. Her eyes were searing in his memory. So innocent, so full of childish curiosity – as if a man was not trying to claw out his own brain in front of her. As if the process was fascinating, like seeing a rainbow for the first time or watching an animal in its natural habitat.

Who was she?

She had been different than the man he had seen before her. The same, but different. Not all there for sure. Dangerous in a way that didn’t demand flashy skills or dramatic actions. It was a different type of danger – like that of a child with a magnifying glass when one was a bug.

Where did those visions come from? Were they paths he could take, or something else? Memories, perhaps?

Who were the voices guiding him, helping him, and whispering unknown things in his ears?

And most of all… Did it matter?

It was the path he had chosen.

A System message waited at the back of his mind. He expected to have learned a skill or changed in some way after what he had done to Bonez. However, it was not a message he had seen before.

Congratulations. You have qualified to inherit a skill!

Requirements not met! [Heritage] skill will remain locked until fulfilling the conditions.

Inheriting a skill… from who? He didn’t have a patron. His family was long lost to him, and only the memories of his grandparents somewhat kept the old him at bay. It bugged him quite a lot. What were the requirements? The System didn’t say anything else. It was a tad bit frustrating, but the squirming and crying form of Bonez in the corner was enough to distract Alan from that.

He shook his head as he remembered the words from the first vision… ‘There are no shadows without light. And no light, without the darkness.’ He had plenty of darkness all right. But for all of his cynicism and how fed up he had been with everything, he had never imagined himself as a torturer. Sure, petty tricks here and there just to fuck with someone was a given. Even the murders he had committed felt like a lesser sin than what he was doing right now.

Alan felt nothing that could be constituted as good moral if that’s what the light alluded to. There was no ‘light’ inside of him. Unless the satisfaction of watching the [Warlock] suffer. Could it be considered a positive? A virtue? There were plenty of shadows all around, inside and outside. The rational human in him screamed that he ought to be disgusted, to feel bad, to make it all stop. Enough was enough and Bonez had learned his lesson. He didn’t have to repay what he had suffered twice over. Revenge only led to destruction.

A strange laughter escaped his lips. Bullshit.

Those thoughts were the empty echo of a world that was no more. Strange, intrusive, conditioned thoughts. Values instilled in him by society that didn’t exist anymore. Reality was different now, and power was all there was to it. If he was strong enough, he could kill anyone he wanted, steal women and treasure, build an empire on the bones of his enemies, and no one would stop him. They would worship him. It didn’t mean it was right or that he would do it, but it was reality.

The shadows swam around him, agreeing. At least some of them did. He felt a sort of a divide. No matter. Their presence was a comfort, but a distraction as well. He was still missing something. He was still not whole.

Alan conjured a chair and sat down. His eyes didn’t leave the twitching form of Bonez for even a moment. The man’s eyes were dripping tears as they stared at horrors only he could see. Alan had a vague idea of what he had done and of what the skill he had used or something had used through him had done. It was a cruel thing and it felt good. And after all that with Florence… he felt like a hypocrite. Then again, he hadn’t cared she did it to others, only that she did it to him.

She was gone, and it didn’t matter anymore. The skill intrigued him. Its effects were something more than brutal.

A [Heritage] skill, eh? Is that higher than [Ancient]? Maybe it is something completely different… The tier of the skill that had thrown him into the fractal was considered [Ancient] by the system. And so was the skill promised as a reward for clearing the system-made dungeon that trapped the god-worshipping bastard in the Sanctuary.

What was [Monochrome Armor] leading up to?

Alan stood up and neared the weeping form of Bonez. He considered killing the man while he was helpless and bound. A prison in a world of his own mind’s making. He wanted to let him suffer for longer. He wanted to break his spirit and leave him for the Bone Lord to patch together.

However, that was stupid. It was like leaving another obstacle for himself. If the Bone Lord could reach him through Bonez, he would’ve wasted Enid’s assistance. He didn’t want to die because of carelessness, despite his many attempts so far.

But despite the agony Alan had plunged the disgusting man into, it felt wrong to slaughter him just like that. Without a proper fight, without allowing him to defend himself or to look into the eyes of his would-be executioner. A waste.

It was a silly notion. Alan laughed at himself. All those chains that bound him, all those rules. They meant nothing. And maybe, there was a better way?

With a thought, a shadow blade formed and cut his wrist. He watched the red blood flow freely.

“I am the thief of life, and in this mark, I leave my blood. Let it become the tool of my salvation.”

The mark of the [Curse of Stolen Life] formed slowly. Once again, the shadows whispered into his ears and Alan listened. He didn’t understand them like he had before, but he knew what he had to do. He poured his will inside of the curse mark, making it twist with newfound rage. It cracked, as if it was solid rather than made of energy, then reformed again.

The shadows danced around Alan and the newly formed mark in his hand. He wanted to see what would happen. Where it would lead him? He wanted a glimpse before he took the man’s life. He didn’t want his vitality. The very thought of having a part of Bonez inside of him was repulsive. He didn’t want his life energy as fuel for his skills or mending his wounds.

He had to be careful. There were many ways such an act could go wrong when someone as powerful as a patron was involved.

Not that he was sure how powerful a patron was, but it was certainly magnitudes than what he could imagine. Then again, he had met the spirits, and they didn’t care for the patron or those above him. But spirits were different.

The mark disintegrated as it neared the suffering man’s body and disappeared into the flesh as if it wasn’t even there. The connection came slowly, and when it did Alan closed his eyes and felt it. Bonez’s life energy was a tiny thing. Much smaller than Alan had anticipated. It was magnitudes weaker than that of the parasite, which was a surprise to be sure.

However, it was connected to another much larger, but still faint. And further behind Alan felt a bottomless well of power that reeked of eternity. Was it the Bone Lord?

What is this?

He was briefly reminded of cursing Zirida and meeting the giant that guarded her life force. A sense of all-encompassing danger made his stomach sink and he cut the connection instantly, feeling the mark dissipate. That had been close. Whether it was the Bone Lord himself or something else… it was dangerous to touch. He hadn’t been sensed like he had been with Zirida, which was good.

It was clear what he had to do. He didn’t feel much as [True Edge] appeared in his hand and the ever-present cat-eye pommel started shining. The eyes shone with black light this time, however. Another significant change. All of Alan’s mana was taking on the shadow attribute, despite him giving away the [Shadow Warlock] choice.

He frowned. How was it even given to him, considering there were no shadow patrons in the realm? Would he have connected to something outside of it if he had chosen to? That… was interesting and made him feel like Odu had cheated him even more than initially thought.

Fucking spirits.

With that thought he plunged the dagger into the chest of Bonez.

Or tried to.

The blade got stuck and barely nicked the surface. There was not supposed to be a bone there… [Shadow Creation] made the dagger into a sharp pointed sword and gave it further power, while the enchantment sang all over it. Alan’s will poured like a tidal wave into the edge of the weapon.

It sank a bit further, but that was it. His will, his strongest enchanted item, and his skill were failing. Bonez was still out of it, muttering something under his breath.

Alan pulled back with a smile. So much for being an executioner. This was ridiculous! He had made a weeping mess out of a strong [Warlock] and now he couldn’t even finish the job! Maybe if he stabbed the eye socket?

The shadows laughed at the sight too, and another draped over his eyes like a veil.

He saw the man from his first vision, walking down a beaten path. All around him were members of various races, looking with fear at his back but not daring to approach. There was something familiar in the man’s hand. Golden hair like a broken crown, and a diamond-skinned face. The man from the first vision. Or more precisely, his head.

The lanky shadowless reached the base of a wall of a grand city. It was manned by many; flickers of skills and enchanted weapons created a cacophony of light and color. He didn’t care. He set the head down on the ground before the gates and sighed. Alan understood then. The man had won, and he was showing it to those who might yet come after him. There was no point in more slaughter.

“Seeking revenge will bring about only more carnage. Leave us be.” The man’s lazy voice echoed all over the city, slithering through each cracked window and beneath every door. It reached a palace and the throne room in its depths. Just as Alan was about to see who sat there, the vision shifted.

The pale woman from before was back. She walked gracefully, a smile playing on her black-painted lips. Her black dress was a work of art that flowed like billowing smoke behind her. Her bare feet seemed to barely touch the bloody floor and remained clean despite all the blood covering it.

“All is paid in blood,” she said. Her voice was girlish, with a ring of joy to it as if the words leaving her lips were not a proclamation of death.

There were bodies littering her path. Large parts of the keep seemed to have been consumed by the empty darkness.

Figures shifted before her. Knights in armor and a man with a crown, similar to the vision from before. He stood proud behind his protectors and gazed coldly at her. However, he was visibly trembling and his breath came out as a white mist.

“One of yours already did enough. We gave up. We paid the price!” he said. The woman stopped a finger’s width away from one of the swords pointed at her. The knight holding it trembled as her finger touched the edge and pushed it away.

“All… is paid in blood,” she repeated with a smile and a laugh. Her eyes were gentle. Warm.

“We had an understanding!” he screamed and the world shuddered. His terrifying strength could be felt through the vision.

“I want to see!” the woman excitedly said.

She was behind the knights now, directly in front of the man and a single black nail touched his forehead. Alan knew what followed as the vision disappeared.

Was his current choice somehow connected to whatever was going on with him? Connected to the change?

He understood that seeking revenge was a path of destruction. However, the current him didn’t care. He had nothing to lose, apart from a life that kept being thrown around left and right by the whims of the powerful.

He took a step back and gripped his shadow sword harder. What he was going to do was madness, but he was no executioner of the helpless nor assassin. However, he wasn’t going to walk away either. This ended only one way.

Whatever skill had taken hold of Bonez pulled back as Alan resolved himself. A sigh of helplessness came from the shadows around him. Or was it disappointment?

Bonez’s slowly came to. He looked miserable, aged at least a few decades. His eyes slowly scanned the room and he flinched as he saw Alan.

“You!” he screamed. Alan was surprised at the lack of anger. Wasn’t he angry? Didn’t Bonez want to tear him apart piece by piece? There was only… fear. Crippling fear. Fear that made one forget himself and his abilities. Fear that made the strong cower. Fear that would lead only to doom.

“Me.” Alan grinned one last time. Then swung his sword and felt the maddening life energy from the parasite replenish what he was sacrificing for [Sacrificial Attack]. It was disgusting.

Bonez stared wide-eyed. He did nothing to block the attack and for a second Alan thought the man had welcomed death. Perhaps it was so.

The blade crashed through Bonez and into the wall of the room, destroying most of it.

Alan knelt and puked blood, ignoring the pain wracking his body at the loss and replenishment of vitality. He didn’t care for most of the system messages, focusing on the single important one.

The mangled, headless corpse before him turned to fine dust the next moment, leaving behind only mushy flesh and skin.

The shadows around Alan seemed satisfied with his choice. They became darker, more sinister. Their whispers were sweet music to his ears.

Then, they rushed madly into him.