[Soul trait: living blade]
[Your soul is cursed by being a living blade, and any blade in your hand is blissed by living.]
Words spoken to one does not yet realize there weight.
Words that, if heard by those knowledgeable in the world's secrets, would leave them shaken to their very core. Not just the last declarations, but all the entire appraisal.
Their first reaction would be denial. "a fanciful tales," they will say, scoffing in dismissal .
they will claim it to be a lie, plead for it to be a lie.
And then, they will know utter and pure fear.
For a monster has been born.
A monster has been made true .
And a monster has shattered the first of his chains.
[Go on, challenger. Seek your next barrier to break."]
Sultan was intoxicated.
He of course, was none the wiser about his new circumstances,.yet even if he had an idea about how remarkable and rare what he just uncovered, he might not have cared .
because right now, he remained motionless, an aftertaste of heavenly sensation still lingering deep in his bones.
The divine voice, however, appeared to have reached the end, and sultan's time has concluded in this dreamy place.
so as he received his final farewell, he noticed the light surrounding him dimming, then faded entirely. Sultan assumed that the swirling thoughts of light are vanishing at first, but soon, he realized that wasn't accurate. they had merely grown distant, as if an infinite expanse now separated him from their glow.
Shortly after, He felt himself plummeting, hurled through the void, Directionless as a leaf at the mercy of the storm.
And then, his consciousness faded.
***
When Sultan opened his eyes, he was in utter darkness. His body felt stiff, lying flat on his back against a cold, hard surface. The air was thick with the stench of rot, sour and pungent, filling his nostrils with every breath.
"Oh no... Am I in a grave? Did I just die?"
The Thought gripped him momentarily, but he shook it away.
"No, that can't be it. People who are dead tend to stay that way. They're not supposed to wake up to smell the stench of their grave or feel the discomfort of their final bedding."
But the realization wasn't comforting. Being alive was certainly better than the alternative, but if Sultan wasn't dead, then where was he?
'The last thing I remember was that strange place with the swirling lights,' Sultan recalled.
' and oh yeah. There was also that voice blabbering about challenges, choices, traits and other weird stuff.'
What now? Was he supposed to wait for someone to find him? Was he in the middle of some challenge? Had he been kidnaped by aliens?
Was he summoned by a god?
Or maybe... sold to a devil?
Sultan didn't know what to make of his current situation, nor did he want it to make sense. He just want it to end.
He was exhausted. Sultan only felt numb, all emotion drained from him after undergoing all these extreme and harrowing events.
No wait. He can still master one feeling.
Sultan felt cheated .
This wasn't how things worked in stories. In novels or movies, people who found themselves in strange, otherworldly situations always had a guide, a wise, kind old man, perhaps, to explain the rules.
But here? Sultan was utterly alone.
'Funny. After everything I did, it came this way.' A bitter thought sneaked into his mind.
Sultan hated being alone, despite spending most of his adulthood lonesom.
Only once he chose it. only once he willingly wanted solitude. And since then, fate decided that the dish he once rejected never will be served on the table again.
every time Sultan started to form a meaningful relationship, every instant he reconnected with those lost to time and life, and whenever the sense of belonging began to take root in his heart, he would wake up next day to have it all gone.
Like the cruel trickster it is, fate would always devise the most insidious and sinister of ways to rob him of the little worm he dared to hold onto.
And this time, Sultan had to applaud its ingenuity.
The bastard must had been so proud as it screwed up Sultan once again.
Because Each time, Sultan would figure out a method to rebuild. He always had a modicum of control to latch onto. Not this once, he now is completely and truly in the mercy of fate,
and the bastard isn't merciful at all.
'at least I have my body back.' Losing it was the most frightening and traumatizing experience in the last crazy hours.
Sultan had never imagined that the sensation of having a body could be so euphoric. The simple act of raising his hand and having a hand to raise—it felt extraordinary. Truly, bodies were miraculous things.
But soon, the drawbacks of having a body began to reveal themselves.
You see, Bodies came with demands, a list of vital necessities required for them to function. And one of the most critical of them, heat, was sorely lacking in the place Sultan now found himself.
The surface beneath him was icy cold, and the darkness around him seemed to amplify the freezing air. It was as though the very atmosphere and the surrounding walls was draining him of warmth, robbing his body of the heat it so desperately needed.
Sultan felt as if countless tiny insects were swarming through his skin, burrowing into his bones, leeching the last traces of warmth and leaving behind a bone-deep chill. It was unbearable, and instinctively, Sultan tried to move.
He knew that if he stayed there, lying motionless, he would soon become nothing more than a frozen lump. so he flatten his palms against the chilly floor and pushed himself upwards, half succeeding to fully rise.
Because as soon as he tried to put some weight on his joints , a wave of nausea washed over him. His body felt like liquid, his coordination was pitiful and his muscles were strengthless and rigid like dying withered vines.
So for a lack of better options , Sultan resorted to crawling . Inch by inch, he crept forward, dragging his body across the freezing room. The cold service gripped his skin, clinging to him as though trying to anchor him in place, and every movement felt like he was being skinned alive.
Finally, Sultan reached a wall. Using what little strength remained, he pulled himself upright, his back against the icy exterior.
Sultan sat with his knees drawn to his chest, wrapping his arms around them tightly, trying to conserve what warmth he had left.
To say he was confused would be an understatement. How in the name of god did he start the evening in his kitchen, preparing dinner for himself and his sister, ended by him here, in this dark, uninhabitable place.
Sultan sat there, shivering, The warmth inside him was leaking away, like water from a cracked glass. His body felt heavy, sluggish, and his thoughts grew harder to hold onto as the cold took more and more of him.
And as the empty coldness took hold of him, only one question resounded in his soul.
'again? Did I really have to feel it again?'
'do I have to know what it was to be utterly powerless one more time in my life?'
Sultan closed his eyes, resting his head against his kneecaps. His cheek pressing against his cooling skin, he prayed silently to any gods that might be listening.
He didn't pray for salvation, for he was wise enough to understand that gods were not that benevolent. Instead, he prayed that if the end would be his death, he wished it to come swiftly.
And the gods ,if there were any, Stayed true to Sultan's faith in them.
indeed, they weren't by any means a benevolent bunch.
Because at this moment, they didn't struck him down, nor did they rip his soul out of his body
No. they were much crueler.
They punished him by hope.