Aeron stood in the dim light of his shack, holding the last silver coin he possessed. The cold metal felt heavier than it should, a stark reminder of his dwindling resources. His fingers tightened around it as his mind replayed the encounter with the mysterious man who had taken nearly all his money.
"Damn him," Aeron muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "I can't even remember owing him anything. What kind of sorcery was that?"
He shook his head, trying to push the memory away. Dwelling on it wouldn't change anything. What mattered now was survival-and strength. The academy loomed on the horizon, and he had one month left to prepare. His focus had to be on improving, not on the confusing gaps in his memory.
Deciding to make use of the coin before it was too late, Aeron left his shack and headed to the market. The streets were bustling with life, vendors shouting over each other to advertise their goods. The air was thick with the scent of fresh produce, baked bread, and the occasional whiff of something less pleasant.
Aeron kept his head down, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease. He couldn't afford to draw attention. His appearance was slightly better than before, but he still carried the aura of someone who had seen better days. After purchasing his usual provisions- bread, some dried meat, and a few vegetables-he made his way back home as quickly as possible.
The weight of the market lifted as he entered a quiet, narrow alley. The silence was a welcome relief, the hustle and bustle fading into the distance. He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing.
But the respite was short-lived.
"Ooh, look who we have here," a voice drawled from the shadows.
Aeron's heart skipped a beat as he turned to see a figure emerge from the gloom-a thug with a malicious grin plastered across his face. His clothes were ragged, his posture confident, and his eyes gleamed with ill intent.
"You look a little better," the thug sneered, stepping closer. "I'm sure you'll fetch a nice price in the slave market."
Aeron glanced around, hoping for an escape, but the alley was deserted. The thug was talking about him. His mind raced, recalling the strength he had gained recently. But could it be enough?
The thug lunged at him, and Aeron dodged instinctively. His body moved with a swiftness that surprised even him. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the thug. Suddenly, weak points in the man's body seemed to glow faintly, revealing themselves to Aeron's sharpened senses.
Adrenaline surged through him. This was new.
Aeron didn't hesitate. He launched himself at the thug, striking at one of the weak points. His fists connected with the man's ribs, eliciting a grunt of pain. The thug retaliated, swinging a crude knife, but Aeron sidestepped, his movements fluid and precise.
Blow after blow, they exchanged attacks. Aeron's mind buzzed with excitement, the realization of his newfound strength spurring him on. But the thug was persistent, his attacks growing more desperate.
As the fight dragged on, Aeron began to tire. His vision blurred, and his breaths came in ragged gasps. The thug seized the opportunity, slashing at Aeron's arm. Pain seared through him, and he stumbled back, clutching the wound.
"Not so tough now, are you?" the thug taunted, advancing with a twisted grin.
Aeron's heart pounded in his chest. Desperation clawed at him, and in that moment, the book's voice echoed in his mind.
"Use the Death Law."
He didn't know how, but instinct took over. He willed the dark energy to gather in his hand. A chilling sensation spread through his arm as tendrils of shadow coalesced around his palm.
The thug's eyes widened in fear. "Ma-magic user!!" he screamed, stumbling back.
Aeron didn't give him a chance to escape. With a swift motion, he thrust his hand forward, the dark energy surging into the thug's chest. The man's body convulsed, his eyes widening in terror as the energy penetrated his heart.
A strangled gasp escaped the thug's lips before he collapsed to the ground, his lifeless eyes staring into the void.
Aeron stood there, breathing heavily, the adrenaline slowly fading. The dark energy from the thug's corpse seeped into his body, invigorating him. He felt a surge of power, his skin tingling as if renewed. A glance at his reflection in a nearby puddle revealed a faint glow to his complexion, his skin clearer than before.
He almost left the scene, but a dark curiosity took hold. His gaze fell on a stick lying nearby. Without thinking, he picked it up, the cold wood firm in his grip.
He approached the corpse, crouching beside it. His mind felt detached, as if watching from a distance. Slowly, methodically, he began stripping the thug's skin, peeling it away layer by layer. Blood pooled around him, the metallic scent filling the air.
Aeron's hands worked with a precision that surprised even him. He dissected the body, examining each organ, each muscle, with a detached fascination. The gruesome task felt almost therapeutic, the act of breaking down the human form a twisted form of release.
Time lost meaning as he worked. The world around him faded, leaving only the corpse and his methodical dissection. When he finally stood, hours had passed. His clothes were soaked with blood, his hands trembling from the effort.
"Well... that was fun," he muttered, his voice devoid of emotion. "It's a pity it's not a real scalpel. It would have been cleaner than this."
Aeron glanced around, realizing the risk of lingering. He wiped his hands on the thug's clothes, discarding the stick. With one last look at the mutilated body, he turned and ran, the cold night air biting at his skin.
He burst into his shack, slamming the door shut behind him. His chest heaved, his mind racing with a mix of exhilaration and horror. The book materialized beside him, its pages fluttering softly.
"Hey, Booky," Aeron said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Maybe your idea isn't so bad after all."
The book's pages glowed faintly, its voice cold and calculating. "You're beginning to understand. The path of death is one of power-and you've only just begun."
Aeron collapsed onto his bed, the day's events replaying in his mind. The thrill of the fight, the rush of power, the satisfaction of dissecting the corpse- all of it left him feeling more alive than he had in years
For the first time, he didn't fear the path ahead. He embraced it.