Before entering a fight, check your shoes; you never know when you'll need to run.
Changing Fate Yet Again
He didn't greet me, didn't even mock me. He just sat there, quiet for a while, lost in thought. I waited, sensing the weight of whatever was on his mind. Finally, I broke the silence, pressing a mug of cocoa into his hands.
"Speak to me," I asked, eyeing him.
Rolo's voice came out low, almost hesitant. "Nothing in the records of the ancient relics is clear," he began.
"So?" I prompted.
"There are records, but they're vague. Frustratingly so." He rubbed his temples, as though trying to sort through the tangled mess of information in his mind. "At first, I couldn't even determine which relics they referred to. But after some digging... I've concluded there's an egg hidden in the Moonlight Casket."
I frowned. "An egg?"
"Exactly," he nodded. "Legend says that after a hatching ritual, the Moonlight Casket opens and releases the bird trapped inside. Some describe it as a black phoenix, others as death incarnate. A few called it the ungodly spawn of thunder and lightning. I found old illustrations of the egg, and based on one of the ancient texts, I believe it's a thunderbird."
"Thunderbird?" I leaned forward, intrigued.
"They're supernatural birds, eagle-like, capable of creating storms with a flap of their wings and casting lightning from their eyes. Extremely rare, like phoenixes, but unlike phoenixes, they don't bond with masters. They live above the clouds, only descending to the earth when they lay eggs in hidden mountain caves."
I raised a brow. "Why would anyone want such a creature?"
Rolo's gaze darkened. "Perhaps to enslave it. Have you heard of familiars?"
I nodded. "Go on."
He sighed, clearly disturbed by what he had uncovered. "I think I've decoded the ritual to open the Moonlight Casket," he admitted, though his voice held no pride, only disbelief. "It's not something anyone today could pull off. It requires so much magical energy, more than all the mages of the Syndicate combined."
I nodded, understanding. Sounds like a special ritual.
Rolo looked pale as he continued, his cocoa forgotten in his hands. "The rite to create familiars... it's dark magic, Shay. It allows one to create a living, sentient being—a separate consciousness, not just a puppet like a golem. But the cost is a life. The victim's life force becomes the familiar's life. Their soul becomes the familiar's soul. They won't remember their past, but it's like trapping someone in a body, forcing them to serve forever. And because their fate is severed, they can never leave this world. They become ghosts, fading into nothingness."
He paused, breathing heavily, trying to steady himself. "But this ritual… it doesn't use a sacrifice. It's different. It drains magic, a colossal amount of it, instead of life."
I raised a brow at his last words. "Draining magic, huh?" I mused.
Rolo's voice dropped to a whisper, laced with desperation. "Shay… it's taking something away. It's siphoning the magic from the world itself."
I nodded again. "Yep."
"What?" Rolo's eyes widened in shock, realization dawning. "You knew?"
I gave him a sly grin. "How could I have known? I didn't have the expertise to draw any conclusions."
Rolo's frustration was palpable. He realized then why I had asked him to do the research. I knew he'd never agree to this madness outright—at first, shouting, arguing, and then starting to investigate. But this way, he had done his own research and found out for himself what opening the casket entailed without the unnecessary fighting. I just saved us both time.
He glared at me, lips pressed into a tight line, eyes flashing with both concern and fear.
"I need to go now," I said, patting him on the back. "I have stuff to do. Try to sleep a bit."
(...)
Berti's family had always prided itself on being generations of skilled warriors, often blessed by fate with special abilities. Simply put, Berti's lineage was composed of assassins. But growing up in such a family was not easy—especially for someone like him, who struggled with asthma, fainting after just two minutes of running, and who showed no particular affinity for martial arts or the art of killing. They had tried to train him initially, but it didn't take long for them to give up. Although Berti possessed a unique ability, his family had no idea how to harness it.
He stared at his hands for a while, examining the flawless, white skin and the long, graceful fingers. With a single touch, he could rob anyone of their magic. That was why he spent most of his time in the family basement, watching over their prisoners. His family often hunted monsters or mages with high bounties on their heads, and while negotiations for their surrender took place, Berti stood guard. Once again, his father summoned him to the office, relayed the cell number, and banished him to the basement. With a resigned sigh, Berti trudged off.
"Boring Berti," one of his brothers greeted him.
Berti didn't respond but stepped up to the cell, peering inside. In the dim light behind the bars, he could make out a thin figure, the occasional clink of handcuffs echoing in the air.
"Who have you brought in this time?" he asked.
For a moment, his brother grinned proudly while cleaning his dagger. "A real big dog this time."
"Specifically?" Berti pressed.
The younger boy looked up at him, a smug smile breaking across his face. "If you must know, we've managed to capture one of the Fifth King's men."
"The Fifth...?" Berti gasped, taken aback.
"Yes, yes," the other boy replied, puffing out his chest. "And guess what? I was the one who discovered him!"
He then launched into an excited rant about how he'd spotted one of the king's subjects lurking around the Hrúdy estate as he returned from his mission. Berti listened as his brother recounted how he recognized the figure by the bone mask he wore, recalling the reports about bone-masked monsters he had read.
"I see," Berti said dryly.
The brother, slightly offended, resumed tending to his dagger. "It's much more than what you do," he scoffed, voice dripping with mockery.
Berti merely shrugged.
As the brother left, he slammed into Berti with enough force to knock him off balance, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Berti could still hear the laughter echoing against the damp stones of the basement long after the boy had gone.
He pushed himself up and dusted off his trousers before settling into his usual chair. He stared at the dark cell for a moment, shivering visibly. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself and closed his eyes.
Berti was jolted awake by the first screams echoing from the basement entrance. His body shook uncontrollably as he covered his mouth with one hand, fighting to remain silent. When the footsteps moved away from the hidden door, he remained frozen, sobbing softly as desperate cries and hopeless grunts welled up in his throat. His tears fell relentlessly.
"What's up, kid?" I said sarcastically, breaking the tense silence.
The sounds of the fight reached the hidden cell—screams and the clash of blades. Berti continued to cry. For the first time since I had been locked away, I looked at the boy.
He was scrawny and thin, with disheveled hair and freckles. His long, delicate fingers had never touched a dagger's hilt. Immaculate fingers, devoid of blood. Despite hailing from a family of assassins, this boy had never taken a life. He simply lacked what it took to kill—a certain determination, perhaps? Or was it will? The selfish capacity to extinguish another's life.
This boy was, therefore, both a burden and a treasure for his family. No magic, no matter how powerful, could harm him. Yet such a skill was futile against so many opponents—he understood that better than anyone. Slowly, he listened as they slaughtered his family, doing nothing but wishing he could drown in his tears.
"These are dark mages," I declared. "One of your companions must have informed them that you captured a bone-masked monster and they came to kill instead of a negotiation. What did they promise you? Power? Elixirs? Charms?"
The boy shook his head vehemently, covering his ears.
"Your family was too greedy," I said. "You thought you could control a dark mage, never considering it could all be a simple hoax."
Berti was sobbing loudly now.
"Let me go, kid," I ordered.
He didn't meet my gaze, continuing to cry quietly. He had no idea how rare it was for someone to refuse the King's Command.
"If you hesitate, they will find the door and kill you too. Let me go, kid," I repeated.
I sensed his resistance beginning to crumble. Slowly, he looked up at me—very slowly, almost unnervingly. His eyes were filled with desperation, and I knew he was close to breaking.
"Let me go, and I'll kill them for you," I offered.
Hope flickered in his eyes.
"What is the guarantee that you will keep your word?" he asked suspiciously.
Ah, the kid was clever.
"I don't need to give you assurances," I grinned. "I'm your only chance."
He recognized the truth in my words, standing up and moving toward the cell door. The keys jingled nervously in the sudden silence as he approached me.
"My family... is a family of assassins," he whispered, voice barely audible. "They kill people and monsters every day. I knew the moment would come when we would have to pay for our sins. We all knew."
He stopped before me, his head bowed.
"But I don't want them to die!" He looked up, desperation etched on his face. "Don't let them die! Please, I'll give you anything to save them!"
The chain gave way with a sharp sound. I placed my free hand on the boy's neck, gentle enough to let him feel my touch without causing harm. I felt the violent pulse of his artery beneath my grip. He trembled but didn't dare move. Disbelief washed over his features; he hadn't thought I'd manage to break free. Oh, how sweet.
"Would you do anything?" I asked with a wicked grin. "Is it so important to you to have a family that treated you like a slave? Would you give your life for them?"
"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "They are my only family."
I grinned and released my other hand.
"All right," I nodded. "I'll save them, but only in exchange for your life."
His eyes widened in alarm.
"Didn't you say you'd give your life for them?" I raised an elegantly arched eyebrow.
"But…"
"There's no turning back from here," I said, pointing toward the exit. "I'm going out that door to kill all the attackers. You can try to escape, or you can wait for me to come back. It's your choice."
With that, I turned away from him, stepping out of my luxurious cell and leaving behind a broken boy. I pulled the bone mask over my face, ready for some fun.
I appeared in the center of the room, and in the blink of an eye, five bodies hit the ground with a sickening thud. Blood spread across the stone floor like spilled ink, and the only ones left standing in my path were the assassins, clutching their wounds, frozen in disbelief. Silence gripped the space.
Fifty mages. Fifty pairs of eyes stared at me, their shock palpable. I could almost taste their fear, their arrogance, crumbling as I stood there. I rolled my shoulders, feeling the monster stir inside, enjoying the weight of the moment.
The first idiot thought he'd be clever, sending a bolt of lightning my way. I barely had to lift a finger to swat it aside, like brushing away an annoying fly.
"Aren't you tired of grand entrances?" a voice whispered in my mind, an old memory. The voice came unbidden, soft, familiar. But it sounded a bit deeper than his voice now.
I smirked. "A King must behave like a king, buddy."
I moved forward, slow and deliberate. There was no need to rush. They were nothing. The first mage went down with a slice of my dagger, blood spraying across the room. The second barely had time to scream before I drove my blade through his chest. Easy.
The monster in me stirred, purring in contentment, soaking in the thrill of the fight. My blade lashed out again, carving through the next mage's throat, spraying blood in a fine arc. His body crumpled, eyes wide in surprise. The more blood, the better. The more chaos, the more alive I felt.
Their magic hit me—fire, ice, shadow—but it was like they were throwing pebbles at me. Wounds opened and healed just as quickly, and I laughed.
"Don't you ever get tired of this?" His voice echoed again, distant yet so vivid it was as though he stood beside me. I could remember his exasperation, his face when he said it. "How can you stand it? All this bloodshed."
"Someone has to." My answer had always been the same, just as my dagger was now, cutting through flesh and bone with brutal precision. Another mage fell, then another, each one barely registering as I sliced through them.
My wounds healed as quickly as they were made, the searing pain of magic burning through my skin only a fleeting sensation. One mage managed to land a strike with a shadow blade across my side, but I didn't even flinch as my skin stitched itself back together.
"You're always so serious, Shay. Sometimes, I think you don't know how to laugh unless it's on the battlefield."
I swung my blade through the arm of the next mage, it cut a deep line from the wrist to the upper arm. Blood splattered across my mask, and for a brief moment, I paused. I remembered his laughter, the way it used to fill the halls of my court, bright and unburdened before everything had gone dark again.
"Doesn't it get heavy, carrying the weight of the world?" he'd asked me once, his eyes far too innocent for a man who'd seen as much as we had.
One after another, they fell, their bodies crumpling like ragdolls. I could see it in their eyes—the panic, the realization that they were already dead. I reveled in it, letting the battle consume me, letting the monster inside claw its way to the surface.
They couldn't stop me. Fifty? They could've been five hundred, and it wouldn't have made a difference.
"You don't have to do this, you know." His voice again, softer now. "There's always another way."
But there wasn't. Not for me. I tried it all before.
The monster in me growled in satisfaction as the last of the mages fell to their knees, blood pooling around their lifeless bodies. The room stank of blood and fear. The assassins, still clutching their wounds, looked at me as if I were some god of death. Maybe I was.
And I enjoyed every second of it.
Berti cried soundlessly, hopelessly. The screams became less frequent, and the fighting faded into silence. Eventually, the sounds of battle ceased altogether. Berti looked up, startled, as the heavy iron door swung open.
"You stayed."
The boy's eyes found me. His gaze swept over the bloodied mask I wore, landing finally on the symbol on the forehead. Then he locked eyes with me, nodding slowly.
I paused before him, reaching out. Berti immediately closed his eyes, shuddering as I lifted him to my shoulder. For a moment, he couldn't speak, and then he found the courage to question me.
"What are you doing?"
His voice trembled like his legs. I couldn't let him walk; I had to take the fastest route out.
"You're not going to…" He swallowed hard. "Kill me?"
I halted briefly.
"Do you want to die?" I asked absently, prompting him to tremble even more and whimper in denial.
"No problem, then," I snapped, continuing on my path. "I asked for your life, and since it's mine now, I'll do with it as I please."
It must have seemed logical to him, for he didn't argue. We left the prison corridor, climbed up to the hidden door, and navigated through a few more passages. The kid shut his eyes tightly whenever he spotted a dead body, trying to suppress his tears and nausea. I was grateful I chose to carry him because he would have fallen to his knees at every corpse.
We reached a larger room, the epicenter of the battle. The remaining family members were tending to the wounded. When I entered, they lifted their heads, but even with their instinctive wariness, they made no attempt to attack. No, they all knew they owed me their lives.
"You saved us," one man declared.
A woman steadied him, for he struggled to remain upright. As I turned to face him, I recognized the head of the family. He glanced at the boy on my shoulder, but the kid was unable to meet his eyes.
"I didn't save you; this kid did," I corrected him. "He gave his life for you. Because I saved you, his life now belongs to me and me alone. I will take him with me—you have no say in that; it's a fact."
I would have continued if the woman hadn't interrupted me. I assumed she was the kid's sister.
"What are you planning to do with him?!"
"He's going to be a bartender in my bar," I announced. "I've been looking for someone to fill that position for a while."
Everyone fell silent, stunned. Even the kid seemed to forget how to breathe.
"If you want to stop me, now is your chance. But be warned: the Hueless King shows no mercy to his enemies."
The effect was palpable. Endless consternation spread across their faces. Some huddled together, while others instinctively reached for their weapons.
"The Fifth King…" the head of the family breathed.
"Personally," I nodded. "If you wish to stay alive and avoid my wrath, do not seek the boy." I paused, running my almost threatening gaze over all the family members. "And do not accept jobs that threaten me or my court."
It was then that the girl's legs buckled, and she and the man fell to the ground. I continued on my way, and before I truly left the nest of assassins behind, I waved without looking back.
"For your sake, I hope we never see each other again, Lumin family."
For minutes, no one moved, their eyes fixed on the spot where the King had walked out of their lives with a member of their family on his shoulder.
The kid didn't speak for a long time, hanging limply over my shoulder like a rag doll.
"What's your plan with me?" he finally asked.
"I told you," I sighed. "You're going to be my bartender. I won't accept any arguments."
He sobbed again as I tossed him off my shoulder. "You snot on my shirt."
He sat there, laughing and sobbing at the same time. All goodbyes are hard. Every new beginning is hard. But there's something truly amazing about change—the thrill of novelty and the joy of discovery. I took off my mask and extended my hand to the boy.
You might wonder what I saw in him. Berti had died in some way or another in each of my past lives. It wasn't pity that drove me; he was simply too useful to let die.
For a moment, he just stared at me with those innocent doe eyes. Too kind-hearted to let me leave him behind. After all, he had died for me more than once.
"Are you really the Fifth King?" he asked timidly.
"The Fifth King, whose name consists of seven letters and means 'the devil,'" I grinned. "Shaytan. Nice to meet you."
It was the night I finally found the perfect man to stand behind the counter of my pub.