Zeke stood in the center of the room, his body healed and stronger than before. The past two weeks had been a time of intense training, a period where he focused all his energy on not just recovering, but advancing. His mind was sharp, his Soul energy flowed smoothly, and he had now reached the third level of Soul Manifestation. Every movement felt more powerful, controlled, as though he was on the cusp of something greater.
He closed his eyes, focusing, and once again tapped into his special ability, extending his senses outward. He reached for the connection, the lingering mist he had left inside the attacker, and felt it like a thread pulling at his mind. A wicked smile spread across his face as he sensed the pain the attacker was still enduring. It wasn't just physical pain anymore—it was deeper, more agonizing. The wound was draining him slowly, relentlessly.
So you're still suffering, huh? Zeke thought with a twisted satisfaction. He could almost feel the attacker's every move, the struggle, the desperation to rid himself of the curse Zeke had placed within him. But he knew the truth—the more the attacker fought, the deeper the pain would get.
Zeke's smile grew, becoming something crueler, colder. He had learned to control the mist within the attacker's body, to guide it, to make it grow. Every time the attacker used his Soul power, it only intensified the agony. It was like a slow, suffocating death—a fate far worse than death.
You'll wish for death, Zeke thought, his eyes gleaming with a dark promise. I'll make you suffer until you break. And when you're weak, when you've lost everything, I'll crush you like the small insignificant insect that you are.
He stood up straight, his energy surging with determination. Zeke had learned that he could manipulate the attacker's pain, drag it out, feed off it. And that was exactly what he intended to do—until the very moment the attacker was on the brink of madness, he would keep him there, trapped in a cycle of suffering.
With a deep breath, Zeke clenched his fists, letting the sensation of power wash over him. The faint connection to the attacker still lingered, and in that moment, Zeke knew that the road to vengeance had only just begun.
Two weeks passed. Zeke's body was fully healed, his soul power stabilized, and he was stronger than before. His training had paid off, advancing him even further in his journey. Today, he stepped out of the headquarters with a newfound confidence. He walked with purpose, his stride steady and unwavering. The weight of his previous struggles seemed to fall away with each step, and the world felt different. He was no longer the same person who had been struck down.
As Zeke walked, his mind shifted momentarily to the attacker—the one who had tried to kill him, who had been subjected to the pain Zeke had carefully orchestrated. He had felt it all, the desperation, the suffering. The attacker, once a proud figure at the peak of his Soul power—level seven—had been reduced to a mere shadow of himself. Zeke had watched it unfold. Each passing day, the attacker's power had diminished, drained away by the curse Zeke had left in him.
The mist inside the attacker's body had done its job. The relentless suffering had broken him—physically, mentally, and spiritually. His Soul power regressed from level seven of Soul Manifestation all the way down to level one of soul Awakening . He had become a hollow shell, a man lost in his own agony, unable to escape the slow, crushing torment Zeke had carefully set in motion.
In his desperation, the attacker had fled from his group, abandoning everything he once held dear. He feared that his comrades would turn on him, that they would recognize his weakness, and that they would kill him. So he hid, hiding in some forgotten corner of the city, screaming in agony as the pain never stopped. His cries echoed through the empty streets, but no one came. He was alone now, broken, a man who had once been strong, now reduced to nothing more than a frightened, shattered soul.
The pain was so severe that he even tried to kill himself but zeke didn't allow him to do that.
As he walked away from the headquarters, Zeke felt a sense of calm wash over him. His vengeance was complete. He had taken control of the situation, not just with force, but with precision. The attacker had suffered, and now, Zeke was ready to face whatever came next.
But there was still something in the back of his mind, a nagging thought, a whisper in the shadows of his thoughts. He was no longer the victim. He had become something else—something darker, more calculating. And in that moment, Zeke realized that he had crossed a line. A line that once crossed, there was no going back.
With a deep breath, he pushed the thought aside and kept walking. The future awaited him, and there was no telling where his path would lead. And he would not stop until he achieved his ultimate goal of taking revenge for his father.
Zeke stood outside the door, his heart beating steadily in his chest. The connection between him and the attacker was still there, a lingering thread, faint but undeniable. It tugged at him, pulling him toward the place where his enemy now hid. He could feel the man's suffering, the slow unraveling of his mind, as if the attacker's pain was something Zeke could almost taste in the air.
Zeke stood silently outside the door and knocked a few times.
After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing the once-proud assassin. The man who had almost ended Zeke's life was now a mere shadow of his former self. His body had wasted away—skin stretched thin over his bones, his once sharp eyes dull and clouded with fear. His scalp was bare, patches of skin raw as though he had been clawing at it for days. The veins stood out in stark contrast, and his hands trembled uncontrollably as he scratched at his skin, as though trying to relieve an itch that wouldn't go away.
The attacker's face was twisted, an expression of madness mixed with sheer exhaustion. His eyes darted around, and he seemed barely able to recognize Zeke, despite the unmistakable presence of the person who had caused him so much torment. A sense of horror seemed to flicker in the attacker's eyes, but it quickly faded into confusion, as if he was unsure whether Zeke was real or just another hallucination.