Akuma's laughter echoed hollowly throughout the cave, but as the last wolf crumpled to the ground, the dark surge of power began to wane, leaving behind a chilling emptiness. The energy that had once made him feel invincible now gnawed at him, devouring what remained of his sanity as a demon. His skin tingled, and the tendrils of power that had felt like salvation twisted around him like chains.
The rush of victory faded, replaced by something far worse: a deeper hunger, a void that couldn't be sated by mere survival. The darkness within him whispered, no longer subtle, but a constant, gnawing presence that demanded more—more blood, more power, more suffering.
Akuma clenched his fists, watching the lifeless bodies of the wolves slowly freeze in the cold. The cavern felt smaller, tighter, suffocating. Despite his newfound strength, a cold sweat ran down his back. His hands trembled as the truth began to settle in.
"This isn't power... it's a curse,"_Akuma whispered to himself, his voice barely audible.
The mark on his hand burned fiercely, and with it came visions—dark, terrible images of his own destruction, his soul consumed by the very force that had saved him. He saw himself tearing through villages, his hands soaked in blood, unable to control the hunger that had awoken within him.
"No,"_Akuma muttered, shaking his head, trying to banish the images. "This isn't what I wanted..."
But the figure's voice returned, colder than before, devoid of any satisfaction.
"What did you think would happen, Akuma? Did you think you could taste power and walk away unscathed?"
Akuma's knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the frozen ground. The pain from his earlier wounds was gone, but the torment in his mind was far worse. He could feel it now, the darkness creeping deeper into his soul, taking root.
"You're nothing without me," the voice hissed. "A pitiful wretch left to die. But now, you're something more. You have power beyond your wildest dreams, and yet... you're still weak."
Akuma grit his teeth, the anger bubbling up inside him. He slammed his fist into the ground, cracking the ice beneath him. "I'm not weak!"he growled, but the words felt hollow, even to him.
The voice laughed again, a low, mocking sound that filled the cave. "Prove it then. Go on. Show me you're more than just a broken fool grasping at straws. Use the power you've begged for. Feed the hunger. Or will you cower like a child, afraid of what you've become?"
Akuma's heart raced, and his breathing grew ragged. His hands clawed at the mark on his palm, trying to tear it away, but it only burned hotter, searing his flesh with each desperate attempt to free himself.
He couldn't escape it. He couldn't run from what he had done.
"This is what you wanted, Akuma. You chose this," the voice whispered.
His head throbbed, the pressure building as the darkness pushed further into his mind. He could feel it wrapping around his thoughts, suffocating them, until all that remained was a primal need—a need to feed, to destroy, to become more.
Akuma's body shuddered violently as the urge overwhelmed him, his vision clouding with a blood-red haze. His teeth gritted, and his muscles tightened, no longer under his control. He wanted to fight it, to push the darkness away, but it was too late. It had already taken root inside him.
---
By the fourth day, Akuma was no longer alone.
The cave, once cold and silent, now buzzed with the presence of creatures drawn to him—the scent of death and power too intoxicating for them to resist. Shadows flickered at the edge of his vision, dark figures lurking just beyond the dim light of the dying fire.
Akuma didn't sleep anymore. He couldn't. The nightmares that plagued him when he closed his eyes were worse than the waking torment. His body had healed, but his mind was breaking. The whispers had grown louder, their demands insatiable.
"More. We need more."
Every time he refused, the pain returned—sharper, more unbearable. His head pounded, his vision blurred, and the mark on his hand pulsed with dark energy, sending waves of agony through his entire body.
He had fed the darkness with the wolves, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
---
On the fifth day, Akuma ventured out of the cave.
The storm had passed, leaving behind a desolate, frozen wasteland. The cold no longer bothered him—not like before. His breath fogged the air, but his body felt nothing. Not the chill, not the wind. Only the hunger.
His steps were heavy, each one more difficult than the last. The weight of the power inside him made every movement feel like a struggle against gravity itself. His limbs ached with the effort, but he kept going, driven by the primal force gnawing at his insides.
"Find them," the voice urged. "Feed me."
Akuma's eyes flickered with the dark energy coursing through his veins. His vision sharpened, picking out movement in the distance—a small group goblins, unaware of the danger approaching.
He didn't want to go to them. He didn't want to do what the voice demanded. But his body moved on its own, driven by the insidious force that now controlled him.
As he drew closer, he could hear them chattering weird sounds—five goblins, huddled around a fire, their laughter cutting through the cold night. They hadn't seen him yet. They didn't know what was coming.
Akuma stopped a few feet away, his heart pounding in his chest. His fists clenched, and the dark energy began to swirl around him, crackling with malevolent intent.
"Do it." The voice was more insistent now, impatient. "They are nothing. Weaklings. Prey."
Akuma's hands shook, his mind warring with the darkness. "No," he muttered under his breath, but it wasn't enough to stop the pull. The hunger was too strong.
The travelers finally noticed him, their eyes widening in surprise. One of the men stood, reaching for his weapon, but it was too late.
The darkness surged.
Akuma lunged forward, faster than he had ever moved before, the dark energy propelling him like a shadow in the night. His hand shot out, grabbing the man by the throat and lifting him into the air.
The man struggled, his eyes wide with terror, but Akuma's grip was unbreakable.
"I... don't want... to do this," Akuma whispered, his voice shaking.
But the darkness inside him didn't care. It fed on the fear, the desperation in the man's eyes, and it wanted more.
With a sickening crack, Akuma tightened his grip, crushing the man's throat in an instant.
The others screamed, but it was already too late.
Akuma stood over their lifeless bodies, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands were stained with blood—again. His mind was a haze of confusion, regret, and guilt, but the hunger had been sated, if only for a moment.
_"You did well,"_ the voice cooed, almost lovingly.
Akuma's body trembled, the weight of what he had done settling over him like a suffocating blanket. The darkness had won again.
And deep down, he knew it always would.
Akuma stood in the midst of the corpses, his small frame towering over the aftermath of destruction. His heart no longer raced with fear, nor did his hands shake with guilt. He simply stared, eyes devoid of emotion, as the voice inside him whispered dark promises. His power was no longer foreign; it had become part of him, crawling through his veins like poison, but a poison he had grown to crave.
"You're learning, Akuma. You're becoming more like us," the voice echoed, slithering into his thoughts like a parasite feeding on his vulnerability.
Akuma's eyes flickered as the wind howled through the frozen wasteland. The once peaceful storm had now become the backdrop to his existence, a constant reminder of the tempest inside him. But this... emptiness was unbearable. The hunger gnawed at him again, relentless. Feeding on the living only filled it for a fleeting moment. He needed more.
He knelt down next to the bodies of the travelers. His small hands gently brushed the cold, lifeless faces. Their terror was frozen on their features, and he felt nothing. No pity. No remorse. Just the hunger.
"You can't do this alone," the voice hissed, coaxing him. "Even wolves hunt in packs, Akuma. And you need a companion, don't you? Someone loyal, someone who understands you."
Akuma's fingers stopped, resting on the chest of one of the men. His eyes narrowed as the idea took root in his mind. A companion. Someone who wouldn't betray him, who wouldn't fear him. He could create someone like that, couldn't he?
Slowly, he stood up, his small body casting a long shadow over the corpses. He raised his hand, the mark on his palm glowing faintly. He had never used this skill before, but he knew what it was. He had always known, ever since the darkness had become a part of him. It whispered its name to him as though it had been waiting for this moment.
"[Rigor Mortis]."
The air around him thickened, and the temperature dropped further, a biting cold that froze even the blood that pooled beneath the bodies. Dark energy coiled around his hand, twisting and writhing like snakes eager to sink their fangs into the dead. He pointed at the Goblins corpses.
The goblins body began to twitch violently, his limbs snapping into place as the energy consumed him. The skin grew taut, and the flesh seemed to decay instantly, leaving behind a skeletal husk. Bones cracked and shifted, reshaping themselves into something monstrous, grotesque. The once-human figure was no more.
Before him now stood a towering figure of bone and sinew, its limbs elongated, its jaw hanging open in a silent scream. The hollow sockets where the eyes once were now burned with a faint blue glow. The air around it was filled with the stench of death.
His friend Kuro Bone Fiend.
Akuma's lips curled into a dark, twisted smile. "Kuro," he whispered, an old friend. "You'll serve me again. You'll be my sword, my shield, my only companion."
The Bone Fiend knelt before Akuma, its massive frame lowering itself to him as if acknowledging its master. It didn't speak, for it had no voice, but the connection between them was undeniable. Akuma could feel its power, its loyalty. It would follow his every command, without question, without fear. Unlike the living, Kuro wouldn't judge him.
"Good. Very good," the voice whispered, satisfied. "Now you're starting to understand. The dead will never betray you. They only serve."
Akuma placed his hand on Kuro's bony shoulder, the cold of its skeletal frame seeping into his skin. He didn't flinch, didn't feel the chill. He was beyond that now.
"Let's go, Kuro," Akuma commanded, his voice steady, almost emotionless. "We have more to do."
---
As the pair ventured deeper into the frozen wilderness, Akuma's mind became sharper, colder. The darkness that once gnawed at his sanity now felt more like a part of him—a tool he could wield. He no longer feared it. He embraced it. He had fed it, and in return, it gave him power. The void inside him still lingered, but he understood it better now. It wasn't something to fight against; it was something to nurture.
Kuro followed him silently, its massive frame moving with an eerie grace for something so grotesque. It cast a long shadow that stretched out across the frozen ground, mirroring the darkness that had become Akuma's constant companion.
Despite his small stature, Akuma walked with purpose, his steps steady and deliberate. His eyes were cold, calculating. He was no longer the scared boy who had fled into the cave days ago. He was something different now. Something darker.
As they moved through the wasteland, Akuma spotted movement in the distance—more travelers, perhaps hunters this time, dressed in furs and carrying weapons. They hadn't noticed him yet.
"More prey," the voice cooed, eager.
Akuma didn't need to be told. The hunger surged within him, but it was different now. It was controlled. Focused. He raised his hand, and Kuro stepped forward, understanding its master's command without a word.
The Bone Fiend charged ahead, moving with terrifying speed. The DireWolf barely had time to react before Kuro was upon them, tearing through flesh and bone with monstrous ease. Their screams were brief, swallowed by the howling wind.
Akuma watched, his expression unreadable as Kuro massacred the Wolves. There was no thrill of the kill, no satisfaction. Just necessity. The hunger demanded more, and Akuma would feed it. But he wouldn't let it control him. Not anymore.
When it was done, Kuro returned to his side, dripping with the blood of their latest victims. Akuma's eyes scanned the scene, and for a brief moment, a flicker of something crossed his face—regret, perhaps. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"You're learning, Akuma. You're becoming who you were meant to be," the voice whispered.
Akuma said nothing. He didn't need to. The darkness inside him had won, and now, it was his turn to shape it into something greater. Something unstoppable.
And with Kuro at his side, he would become a force of death and destruction unlike any the world had ever seen.