Xander moved through the twisting corridors of the Citadel like a shadow, his footsteps eerily silent. The mage's stolen power thrummed through his veins, and he could still feel the flicker of fire just beneath his skin, ready to burst forth if he willed it. He clenched his fists, unsure whether he felt exhilarated or horrified by the surge of energy within him. Either way, it was intoxicating.
The mage's words echoed in his mind: The Citadel of Atrax. A fortress steeped in dark magic, hidden from the eyes of ordinary people. This place was built for power—and for the destruction of anyone who stood in the cabal's way.
But now, it housed something even more dangerous: him.
He couldn't stay here. Not now that he had a glimpse of the power within his grasp. There had to be a way out. There always was.
The corridors were eerily empty, and Xander wondered why there weren't more guards. Surely the mages knew the kind of dangerous experiments they were conducting here. The guard he'd killed hadn't expected him to fight back, and even the mage had seemed weak and afraid. They didn't see him as a threat. Not yet.
As he rounded a corner, the faint sound of voices reached his ears. Xander paused, pressing himself against the wall, his senses sharpened by the fire of the stolen magic. The voices grew clearer—a conversation between two guards.
"…heard about the prisoner from Cell Six?" one of them said.
"Yeah," the other replied, his voice gruff. "Word is, they've been experimenting on him for weeks. Poor bastard. But he was weak. No way he'd survive."
Xander's heart pounded in his chest. Cell Six. That was him. They still thought he was weak, broken. They had no idea what he had become.
His grip tightened on the sword, the hunger stirring within him again. He could feel the pull, the desire to take more—more strength, more power. The guards were just ahead, their backs to him, talking idly as if nothing could threaten them in this fortress.
He could take them both. He knew it.
But something inside him hesitated. He wasn't a murderer. He hadn't been before this—before the hunger, before the darkness. But now… now, survival meant becoming something more than he had ever been.
Xander took a deep breath, stepping out from the shadows.
The first guard barely had time to turn before Xander was upon him, sword flashing through the dim light. The blade cut clean through the man's throat, silencing him before he could even scream. His body crumpled to the ground, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.
The second guard, startled, fumbled for his sword, but Xander was too fast. He slammed into the man, driving him against the wall with a force that surprised even him. The guard struggled, gasping for breath as Xander's hand wrapped around his throat.
The hunger surged again, stronger this time. Xander's heart raced, and without thinking, he bit down on the guard's arm. Blood flooded his mouth, and with it, another rush of strength—more raw, unrefined power. He felt his muscles surge with new energy, his body growing stronger with each heartbeat.
The guard's struggles grew weaker, and finally, his body went limp. Xander released him, letting the man fall to the floor in a lifeless heap. The rush of power was dizzying, almost overwhelming, but Xander steadied himself. He had taken just enough—not too much, but enough to fuel his growing strength.
His breathing was ragged, his mind racing. He glanced at the two bodies on the floor, blood still pooling around them, and for a moment, guilt threatened to claw at him. But the hunger drowned it out, cold and unyielding. He couldn't afford to feel guilt. Not here. Not now.
There was no going back.
Xander turned away from the bodies, his eyes scanning the corridor ahead. The air felt heavier, tinged with magic. He could sense it now—the magic of the Citadel itself. This place was alive with power, and it called to him, whispering promises of more. More power to take. More strength to devour.
But first, he needed to escape.
He continued down the corridor, the fire in his blood guiding him forward. The Citadel had to have a way out—perhaps a hidden gate or a passage leading to the outside world. He just had to find it before the mages realized what had happened.
As he moved deeper into the heart of the Citadel, the torches on the walls flickered, and the air grew colder. Xander's senses were on high alert, the flames of the stolen magic still flickering at his fingertips. He was stronger now, more powerful than he had ever been, but he knew he couldn't take on the entire Citadel alone. Not yet.
At the end of the corridor, a heavy wooden door loomed ahead, iron-clad and guarded by runes that pulsed with dark energy. Xander approached it cautiously, his eyes narrowing as he studied the runes. He could feel the magic in them—strong, ancient magic designed to keep intruders out. Or to keep prisoners in.
But now, he wasn't just a prisoner. He was something far more dangerous.
Reaching out, Xander placed his hand on the door. The runes flared with a brilliant light, and for a moment, he felt the barrier resisting him, pushing back with the force of powerful wards. But then, the fire inside him flared to life, and he pushed harder, willing the flames into the runes, feeding them the stolen magic he had taken from the mage.
The runes flickered, then dimmed.
The door creaked open.
Beyond it, a spiraling staircase led upward, disappearing into the darkness above. Xander could feel the cold night air seeping down from the top—freedom was close. So close he could taste it.
He began to climb, his heart pounding with anticipation, the fire of stolen power still burning in his veins.
But as he ascended the stairs, a single thought gnawed at the back of his mind: What was he becoming?
The answer, he knew, lay beyond the walls of the Citadel.
And whatever it was, Eldoria would never be the same.