"In the pursuit of power, morality becomes a blurred line, indistinct and malleable. Every choice you make chisels away at your soul, leaving only the core of what you truly are."
---
Steven walked the familiar road back to Farlan's Rest, each step weighed down by the decision looming over him. The village was still a few miles ahead, and the serenity of the forest around him felt like a cruel juxtaposition to the turmoil in his mind.
He had agreed to the sacrifice, knowing what it meant. But now that he was out of the tomb, away from the pulsating darkness that seemed to fuel his hunger for power, the gravity of the situation was clearer. This wasn't just about killing an enemy or defeating a rival. It was about taking an innocent life, a life that hadn't threatened him, purely for his own gain.
It wasn't that Steven hadn't killed before—he had. Dozens, maybe hundreds of lives had been taken by his hand. But this was different. The sacrifice had to be willing. That was the catch. And in some twisted way, that made it harder.
His thoughts drifted to the people he had met in this world. Few had stood out to him, most were simply obstacles or tools to be used and discarded. But a few faces lingered in his mind.
Brynn. The young blacksmith's apprentice who had fixed his armor without asking for anything in return, her face always lit by a fierce determination despite the hardships she endured. She was strong, resourceful. Too kind, maybe, but Steven had learned to recognize when people were genuinely useful.
Darek. The wandering trader who had shown him the lay of the land when he had first arrived, sharing his knowledge of the different regions and their dangers. He was a little too trusting, a bit too friendly for Steven's taste, but he had proven valuable.
Steven's jaw tightened. He didn't want to do this. But he knew the path he had chosen was not one that allowed for hesitation or weakness. The Tomb of Shadows demanded a sacrifice. And sacrifices had to be made.
---
The village of Farlan's Rest was quiet as Steven entered. The usual sounds of bustling townsfolk, merchants calling out their wares, and children playing in the streets were muted. It was the end of the day, and the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the dirt paths and wooden cottages.
Steven moved through the village with purpose, his eyes scanning the faces of those he passed. Some nodded to him in recognition, others ignored him entirely. His reputation had grown since his exploits with Garick's band of mercenaries, but it was a reputation tinged with fear and unease.
His steps took him to the outskirts of the village, where Brynn's forge stood. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the dull clang of hammer on metal echoed from within. Steven paused at the entrance, watching Brynn work. She was focused, her brow furrowed in concentration as she shaped a blade on the anvil.
For a moment, Steven considered turning around, walking away from this madness. But the hunger for power, the promise of what the Tomb of Shadows had offered, was too strong. He had come too far to back down now.
He stepped into the forge.
Brynn looked up, her face lighting up in a smile when she saw him. "Steven! Didn't expect to see you today. Got something that needs fixing?"
Steven shook his head, trying to push away the knot forming in his chest. "No. I… I need your help with something."
Brynn wiped the sweat from her brow and set her hammer down, tilting her head curiously. "Help? Sure, what's going on?"
Steven hesitated. How could he ask this? How could he convince someone to willingly give up their life for him? He had always been good with words, manipulating people when necessary, but this… this was different.
"I need you to come with me," Steven said, his voice quieter than he intended. "There's something I have to show you."
Brynn's smile faded slightly, her brow furrowing in concern. "What is it?"
Steven forced a tight smile. "You'll understand when we get there. It's… important."
She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to read something in his expression. Then, after a long pause, she nodded. "Alright. Let me just close up the forge."
As she moved around the room, extinguishing the fires and setting her tools aside, Steven felt the weight of what he was about to do grow heavier. Every moment that passed felt like a betrayal. But he steeled himself, reminding himself that this was necessary.
Brynn was one person. One life. And in exchange, he would gain the power to conquer worlds.
---
The journey back to the tomb was silent. Brynn walked beside him, her usual chatter absent, as if she could sense the tension in the air. The forest around them grew darker as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the familiar shadows began to stretch across the path.
When they reached the entrance to the Tomb of Shadows, Brynn stopped, her eyes widening as she took in the massive stone doors. "What is this place?"
Steven swallowed hard, his voice cold and distant. "An ancient tomb. There's something inside… something that can help me. But I need your help to access it."
Brynn glanced at him, her unease growing. "This place… it feels wrong."
"It is," Steven admitted. "But it's the only way."
She stared at him for a long moment, her expression a mixture of confusion and suspicion. "Steven, what are you really asking me to do?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, placing a hand on the stone door. The runes flared to life, glowing with a dark light as the door creaked open once more.
"Come with me," Steven said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I'll explain inside."
Brynn hesitated, but after a moment, she followed him into the tomb.
---
The chamber was just as it had been before—vast, empty, and filled with a crushing sense of dread. The altar at its center seemed to pulse with dark energy, waiting for the sacrifice that would unlock its power.
Steven turned to face Brynn, his heart pounding in his chest. "I need you to do something for me. Something… difficult."
Brynn's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
Steven took a deep breath. "The power in this tomb… it can make me stronger. Stronger than anyone in this world. But to unlock it, I need a life. A willing sacrifice."
Brynn stared at him, her face going pale. "You're asking me to… what? Die for you?"
Steven's chest tightened, but he nodded. "Yes."
Brynn took a step back, her eyes wide with shock and horror. "You can't be serious. Steven, I've helped you, I've—"
"I know," Steven interrupted, his voice harsh. "And I've appreciated it. But this… this is bigger than you, or me. This is about power. Power that could change everything."
Brynn shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "And you want me to just… give up my life for that? For you?"
Steven clenched his fists, his mind racing. This wasn't going the way he had planned. He needed her to understand. He needed her to see that this was the only way.
"I need you to do this," he said, his voice growing desperate. "Please."
Brynn stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Then, without a word, she turned and bolted for the door.
Steven's heart sank. He couldn't let her leave. Not now. Not after everything.
Without thinking, he lunged forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her back toward the altar. She struggled, screaming and kicking, but Steven was stronger. The Blood Enchantment surged through him, giving him the strength he needed to overpower her.
"Steven, stop!" Brynn cried, her voice filled with terror. "Please! Don't do this!"
But Steven was beyond reason. The dark energy of the tomb filled his mind, urging him on, telling him that this was the only way. He dragged Brynn to the altar, ignoring her pleas, ignoring the part of himself that screamed at him to stop.
With a final, desperate cry, Steven slammed her down onto the altar. The runes flared to life, and the chamber filled with a deafening roar.
---
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Steven stood over Brynn's still body, his hands shaking, his mind numb. The altar glowed with a dark, pulsating light, the power of the tomb now his to command.
But as he looked down at what he had done, the weight of his choice crashed down on him like a tidal wave.
He had crossed the line.
And there was no going back.