Where am I? Bound and frozen, unable to lift even a finger… Damn it…
Alex's eyes flickered open, tracing the confining walls around him. A cramped chamber, claustrophobic and cold, imprisoned him. Before his gaze sprawled an unyielding iron grate—his exit barred by iron will and relentless craftsmanship.
Burn everything around me! he muttered fiercely, weaving the incantation in his mind like a desperate prayer.
A flicker of mana stirred within, but the flames refused to dance forth. His magic, once a steady companion, now shunned him—the latent power throttled, sealed tight.
"What trickery is this? I feel the pulse of my mana… yet I can't grasp it," he whispered, fingers twitching in frustration. "I have to find a way out—no matter what."
Yet, from the shadowed corridors beyond, the piercing cries of agony tore through the silence.
Where are those screams coming from? Since awakening, they've haunted him—agonized wails, ragged breaths. An eerie symphony woven from darkness.
Footsteps approached—heavy, deliberate.
Alex stilled, drifting into the semblance of sleep.
Zzzzz…
The cell's iron door groaned open.
Eyes snapped wide, only to be met with his worst nightmare.
"You?" Alex rasped, dread curdling in his throat. "Why… why are you here?"
Standing before him, the king's gaze was cruel, veiled in a mockery of calm.
"Yes, boy," the king's voice rumbled, a sinister promise beneath every word. "I will tell you all. But first… behave."
A coarse hand lifted Alex's shirt, revealing the carved sigil brandished across his belly—a dark seal, pulsing faintly with cruel purpose.
"This mark," the king intoned, "is the shackle of your magic. It drains your light, and so your spells falter."
Alex's heart thundered; fury roared from deep within.
"You weren't meant to exist here," the king continued. "Every year, in solemn ritual, we gather twenty children—five from each race—offering their lives to the Dread King Mortis. In exchange, he reveals the path to boundless prosperity. Our empire thrives on this dark accord."
The king's eyes darkened as his voice lowered into a venomous whisper. "Of those taken, five must wield the fire element; one accepts the mantle of darkness. All must perish as one, their souls claimed in unison."
A cruel smile peeled across the king's face.
"You, worthless human… have the honor of dying for the good of our nation. Feel gratitude for your sacrifice."
Sweat slicked Alex's brow, hatred darkening his eyes to the point of blackness.
"You're a monster," Alex spat through clenched teeth. "Scum like you deserve to rot. I swear it—if I die, I'll drag you with me into oblivion."
The king's smile deepened, reveling in the boy's fire.
"Well then, Alex," he murmured, eyes glittering with wicked glee, "your hatred is almost… sufficient."
Turning away, the king left Alex swallowed in shadows.
Time crawled in torment.
What did I do to deserve this nightmare? Alex's thoughts spiraled, the cold grip of despair clutching tighter. Was I foolish to believe this world could be different?
He remembered the words of Clif, his old guardian's voice echoing in his mind.
"You must be strong, Alex. This world tests kindness like fire tests steel. Hold fast to your heart."
"Yes," Alex whispered, grit hardening his resolve. "I promised to live, and I will keep that promise."
Heavy footsteps rang down the corridor.
"Come with me, boy," barked a guard.
Bound and nearly broken, Alex rose with trembling legs, his arm gripped tightly.
Passing through the Gutter—a grim corridor lined with cells, shadows of lost souls inside—he glimpsed the faces of the damned: human, elf, demi-human, all shackled and silent.
They entered a small chamber, bare save for a rope dangling ominously from the ceiling and a primitive wooden chair—an interrogation room carved from dread.
"I want this boy tied up immediately," the king commanded sharply.
"At once, Your Majesty," the guard replied.
Alex was hoisted and bound, ropes biting into his skin. Helpless, veins filled with bitter hatred, he locked eyes with his tormentor.
"What's your game? If you want me dead, just kill me. What joy do you find in this cruelty?"
The king laughed—a dark, echoing sound that chilled the air.
"To see faces like yours twist in suffering? That's my prize."
With a cruel flourish, the king ordered, "Tear his shirt."
The guard hastened, ripping the fabric, exposing Alex's battered chest.
"Fetch the whip," the king commanded, anticipation sparking in his eyes.
Moments later, the harsh crack of leather against flesh shattered the silence.
Alex gasped in excruciating agony, each lash searing through sinew and bone.
The king's smile only grew wider with every scream.
After twenty lashes, drenched in sweat, he paused.
Alex lay slumped, barely conscious, his skin a tapestry of pain.
I was naïve, Alex thought, sinking into the abyss. This world is drowning in darkness. I am no hero, no villain. I sought peace… but all I have found is torment.
Without warning, a bucket of ice water shattered him back into agony.
"Wake up! The game's not over yet."
Blood trickled from his lips; ragged breaths fought for life.
"Very well done," the king purred. "Now, for the next act—bring the pliers."
The cold iron pressed against Alex's toes.
"Choose, boy—left foot or right foot?"
Silence.
"Not a word? No pleas? How disappointing."
With merciless strength, the king yanked Alex's toenail free, his sick smile carved into the horror etched upon Alex's face.
"Feel the pain! You are too precious to die now. Death will not come at my hands."
Alex's mind screamed beneath the torment: I only wished for protection, for kindness in this cruel world. My past life's loneliness makes me weak here... But I won't break.
Bound, bloodied, and broken, Alex's spirit flickered like a dying ember.
At last, the king ordered him untied—only to be shackled to the chair's cold iron handcuffs and leg cuffs.
"Why am I still alive?" Alex demanded silently to his shattered body. Die… just die.
The king's grin cut through the darkness. "Awake again? Good. The fun resumes."
First, his thumb severed with a butcher's knife. Then the index finger. Then… each finger, one by one, the agony painting a grim masterpiece on his face.
Alex's eyelids fluttered closed—then opened to a strange sight: himself, sitting in endless darkness, the ground beneath like water yet untouched by moisture.
A voice whispered from the void.
Can you understand? That was you—your past life. With reincarnation comes choice: build anew or fade into oblivion.
"Fight for my life?" Alex asked, voice trembling.
"Yes," the voice replied.
"How? I should be dead."
"Yet here you are. Dying lies in two forms: as a coward or as a warrior. Both lead to the end. So fight."
Alex's voice steadied. "I choose to fight."
"Excellent. Now… survive."
Ultimate Skill Acquired: Survivor.
Effect: By taking lives, you gain their abilities at the basic level. With training, you can enhance and evolve them.
Back in the chamber, the king gazed upon Alex's hollow eyes and stark white hair.
"He's on his last breath," the king muttered.
"Summon Kurotake," he commanded.
Kurotake appeared—a bald mage in a white lab coat, glasses slipping low on his nose, clipboard in hand.
"Use necromancy. Summon the Healing Corpse before he fades completely," the king ordered.
Kurotake's words fell like an incantation, ethereal and commanding.
"Guard, remove his cuffs. He poses no threat."
The shackles fell away.
"Do not heal fully—I want just enough," the king warned.
"Understood." Kurotake's magic wrapped around Alex, knitting wounds with fragile mercy.
Alex's fingers twitched, a flicker of sensation returning.
"Come, boy," Kurotake beckoned. "Your punishment ends—for now."
Passing grim cells and twisted experiments, Alex glimpsed horrors beyond reckoning: bodies in capsules, suffering faces behind glass, and the sterile gaze of robed observers.
If there is a hell, this corridor is its heart.
Thrown into the last cell, watched by a lone guard, Alex's mind raced.
This is my chance.
Feigning weakness, he collapsed.
"Guard!" he whispered, breath shallow.
Concern softened the guard's features as the cell latch eased.
In a flash, Alex seized the guard's sword, driving it into his neck.
Chaos erupted.
Gripping the blade and keys, Alex darted along the corridor.
Kurotake's sharp gaze forced him into hiding, but once past, Alex acted mercilessly—his blade severing Kurotake's head from his shoulders.
Necromancer Skill Acquired.
The final stretch loomed.
Deliberate, Alex let a key clatter onto the floor—a lure.
As guards rushed towards the noise, he slipped into shadows, climbing toward freedom.
Reaching the roof, Alex surveyed the vast western wilds under a bleeding sunset.
The spires of Astralon dwindled behind him.
"Someday," he vowed, voice raw, "I will return. And I will have my revenge."
The path ahead was uncertain—but his heart burned with undying fire.