Jacob lay in the dark hold, his body still aching from the beating Marcus had given him. Despite the pain, a new sensation thrummed through his veins—a subtle energy that hadn't been there before. The system had granted him the Minor Curse of Misfortune, and with it, the beginnings of power.
But the system had also warned him that power came with a price.
[Your Necrotic Focus is limited, User. Overuse of your abilities will drain your mental stamina, leading to fatigue, disorientation, and potential collapse. Be mindful of your limits.]
Jacob didn't need much convincing. The rush of power was exhilarating, but he could feel the strain it put on his mind, like a weight pressing down on his thoughts. He would need to use this power sparingly, choosing his moments carefully. Even then, there was no guarantee it would work on everyone.
He had no intention of testing the curse on the captain—at least, not yet. The captain was an unknown quantity, a man whose mere presence commanded fear and respect from the crew. There was something about him, something Jacob couldn't quite put his finger on, that made him hesitate. The system hadn't offered any specifics, but Jacob suspected the captain might have protections of his own—some kind of supernatural safeguard that would make cursing him far more difficult, if not outright impossible.
Instead, Jacob focused on his more immediate problem: Marcus.
The brute had proven to be a serious threat. Jacob couldn't afford another beating like that, especially with the crew's apparent indifference to his well-being. He needed to find a way to deal with Marcus, to turn the tables without drawing too much attention to himself.
Over the next few days, Jacob recovered slowly in the hold, waiting for the right moment to strike. The ship's rocking became a familiar rhythm, and he could hear the sounds of the crew above—shouting, laughing, and sometimes fighting. Each sound was a reminder of the world he was now a part of, a world where violence was the law and survival the only goal.
When he finally emerged from the hold, he did so with a plan.
The ship's deck was as chaotic as ever, the crew busy with their tasks. Jacob kept his head down, his mind focused. He couldn't afford to waste his Necrotic Focus on something trivial. He needed Marcus alone, away from the prying eyes of the other crew members.
He found his opportunity when Marcus went below deck to fetch something from the supply stores. Jacob followed quietly, his heart pounding in his chest. The corridor was dimly lit, the wooden walls creaking with every step. The air was thick with humidity, and the smell of mildew clung to everything.
As Marcus rummaged through a crate, Jacob stepped into the doorway, his eyes narrowing in concentration. He focused on the curse, willing it to activate, to seep into Marcus's very essence and twist his luck against him.
[Minor Curse of Misfortune activated. Target: Marcus. Duration: Limited.]
A cold sweat broke out on Jacob's forehead as the curse took hold. He could feel his Necrotic Focus draining, a mental toll that made his vision swim for a moment. But then the feeling passed, leaving him shaky but determined.
Marcus seemed unaware of the curse, still digging through the supplies. Jacob waited, watching for any sign that the curse had taken effect.
It started small. Marcus picked up a sack of flour, but the bottom split open, spilling the contents all over the floor. He cursed under his breath, trying to salvage what he could, but his movements were clumsy, frustrated. As he tried to clean up the mess, he knocked over a stack of barrels, the heavy wooden containers crashing down around him.
Jacob's lips twitched into a smile. It was working.
But then, something went wrong. Marcus's frustration seemed to fuel a sudden burst of anger. He kicked at the spilled flour, sending it flying into the air. The powder clouded the air, and Marcus inhaled sharply, coughing and sputtering as the flour coated his face and mouth. His eyes narrowed, and he spun around, his gaze locking onto Jacob.
For a moment, Jacob's heart froze. The curse should have made Marcus more susceptible to accidents, to bad luck, but it hadn't made him any less dangerous. If anything, Marcus seemed even more enraged, his muscles tensing as he advanced on Jacob.
"You think this is funny, you little rat?" Marcus growled, his voice low and deadly. "You think you can mess with me and get away with it?"
Jacob backed up, his mind racing. He was out of options—his Necrotic Focus too drained to cast another curse, and no way to defend himself if Marcus attacked again. Panic flared in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm, to think.
Marcus lunged at him, and Jacob ducked, barely avoiding the man's grasp. He stumbled back, his foot catching on the uneven floorboards. He fell hard, the impact jarring his already bruised body. Marcus loomed over him, his face twisted with fury.
"Get up," Marcus hissed, his hand reaching for Jacob's throat. "I'm going to make you regret—"
A sudden lurch of the ship cut him off. The floor beneath them tilted violently, sending Marcus off balance. He grabbed for the wall, but his hands found nothing but air. With a startled shout, he tumbled backward, crashing into the stack of barrels he had knocked over earlier. One of the barrels, still full, rolled off the stack and landed squarely on his chest with a sickening thud.
Marcus's body went limp, his eyes wide in shock. He lay there, pinned under the heavy barrel, struggling to breathe. The curse had done its work—just not in the way Jacob had expected.
Breathing hard, Jacob scrambled to his feet, his mind spinning. He could feel the strain on his Necrotic Focus, the edges of his vision darkening as fatigue set in. He hadn't expected the curse to backfire like that, to put him in even more danger.
But it had worked. Marcus was down, and Jacob was still standing.
He didn't wait to see what would happen next. Instead, he turned and ran, his heart pounding in his ears. The ship was still lurching as he made his way back to the deck, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were a whirlwind of fear, relief, and something else—something darker.
The power was real, and it could be deadly. But it was also unpredictable, dangerous in ways he hadn't anticipated. He would need to be more careful, to learn the limits of his abilities and the risks involved.
When he finally reached the deck, he collapsed against the railing, his body trembling with exhaustion. The salty sea breeze hit his face, a welcome contrast to the stifling air below deck. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, to calm his racing mind.
He had survived, but just barely. And he had learned a valuable lesson: power alone wasn't enough. He would need cunning, strategy, and patience if he wanted to rise in this world.
As the ship rocked gently beneath him, Jacob made a silent vow. He would grow stronger, learn to control his powers, and navigate the treacherous waters ahead. The system had given him a tool, but it was up to him to wield it wisely.
For now, though, he would rest. He had a long journey ahead, and many more challenges to face.