The air carried a grating, metallic undertone, like the shriek of rusted blades grinding together. The torches dimmed further, their flames curling inward as if shrinking from the force now standing behind me. A sickly, unnatural chill slithered along my spine, and the space around me seemed smaller, as if the walls had leaned in, pressing closer. Then, a sound followed—a deep, jagged rasp of breath that wasn’t mine. A presence settled over me—wrong, clawing, suffocating. I exhaled sharply, already knowing who it was before I even turned around.

  Malikap.

  Slowly, I turned. He loomed, a hulking thing of dark grey bark, gnarled and split like a tree twisted by time and malice. His body stretched upward in jagged, limb-like protrusions, each resembling a half-formed hand or claw, twitching as if grasping at something unseen. His legs did not exist—only a writhing tornado of tangled, snapping branches, spinning ceaselessly in a silent, nightmarish storm that never touched the ground. Splintered roots curled and uncurled within the vortex, grasping, searching. His upper body swayed with the unnatural rhythm of something that should not move, and yet did.

  Then, without warning, reality itself tore open.

  A shriek like rending steel slashed across my skull, sharp and unbearable, as if my own bones were fracturing under the weight of an unseen force. The air screamed. The very fabric of existence ripped apart, and from the gaping wounds, words clawed their way into being.

  "HE IS BROKEN."

  I gasped, clamping my hands over my ears—but it didn’t stop. It wasn’t just noise. It was inside my head. Inside my nerves. A twisted, shrieking energy that refused to be ignored. The words didn’t just sound—they bled. They flickered, jagged slashes in the world itself, twisting and writhing as if they were alive, burning themselves into my retinas even as I squeezed my eyes shut. I clawed at my face, trying to block them out, trying to unsee them. It didn’t work. They were in me.

  I forced my eyes open, breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. My jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as I forced myself to remain still. Every instinct in me screamed to react, to move, to do something—but I pushed it down, shoving my voice through the pain as I rasped, "I noticed."

  "I CAN REMAKE HIM."

  The sound hit harder, like barbed wire wrapping around my skull and twisting. My vision blurred, my stomach lurching violently as the sheer weight of Malikap’s words crashed over me. My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I already knew what was coming next. Nothing was ever free with Malikap. No power, no knowledge, no salvation came without suffering. I had learned that lesson the hard way.

  The last time I struck a deal with him, he had granted me an enhanced magic class—power beyond anything I had ever wielded. For a fleeting moment, I had been unstoppable. But that strength came at a cost—my body burned itself out, my run cut short in a slow, agonizing collapse. Malikap had given, and Malikap had taken. And now, I stood before him again, not bargaining for power, but for something far more important: Thumbs’s soul.

  A fresh, ear-piercing CRACK tore through the room as the fractures in reality deepened, new words carving themselves into existence. A violent, deafening roar of splitting stone, shrieking metal, and snapping wood filled my skull, pressing against my ribs, my bones—I gasped, hands over my ears, eyes squeezed shut. It didn’t matter. I still saw them. I still heard them.

  "A DEBT MUST BE PAID."

  I choked on air, my breath ragged, each syllable digging into my flesh like claws. The weight of it was unbearable, pressing down on me like the walls of a collapsing tomb. I inhaled slowly, forcing the tension from my shoulders as I pried my voice from the wreckage of my own pain and asked,

  "What’s the price?" My voice was level, but beneath it, frustration burned. I already knew it wouldn’t be something I could afford.

  A strange hollowness pressed against my chest, subtle at first, then heavier—like unseen branches threading through me, twisting around my ribs, reaching deep, deeper, grasping at something they had no right to touch. The air thickened, laced with an unnatural dampness, the scent of damp bark and decayed leaves filling my lungs. I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to stay still as the words scraped into existence, jagged and raw.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "YOU WILL OWE ME."

  The sound of it was unbearable—wood splintering, bark peeling, the twisting creak of a tree splitting itself apart. I flinched, my pulse skipping as the words seared themselves into the very fabric of reality, warping the space they occupied. My throat was suddenly dry when I spoke, my voice quieter than I intended. "What?"

  The branches in Malikap’s writhing form shuddered, and from the gaping maw of his hollowed face, reality cracked again. But this time, I felt it—a pull, a weight dragging against something unseen, something already missing. A memory. A truth I hadn’t wanted to confront. A sick realization settled in my gut, slow and suffocating. I knew what had happened to Thumbs.

  I clenched my jaw, the weight of it crashing into me. “You already took from me,” I said, my voice rough with something raw and ugly. “You took him.” The branches of Malikap’s form twisted, creaked, but he did not respond. I stepped forward, fury carving its way into my exhaustion. “Don’t pretend it’s something else. Thumbs didn’t just disappear. He wasn’t lost. He was devoured. And you—” I pointed a shaking hand at the towering thing before me—“you were the one who did it.”

  A deep, splintering groan rippled through the air. The scent of rotting wood thickened, the very walls of reality warping inward, suffocating, as if the dungeon itself were leaning in to witness the accusation. The words did not carve into reality this time. They tore into it.

  "THE BARGAIN WAS STRUCK."

  The force of the sound ripped through my skull, my teeth clenching as pain shot through my body, curling deep into my bones. I gasped, fingers curling into fists at my sides. “You didn’t tell me that my power came at that cost.”

  A stillness. A silence heavy enough to crush. Then, another fracture.

  "ALL POWER HAS A PRICE."

  I let out a sharp, bitter laugh, half fury, half exhaustion.

  “Yeah? Then what exactly am I paying for now? Because I don’t have that power anymore, Malikap. You took it back. I lost everything.” My breath came ragged, the room warping, twisting, as my own frustration surged through me.

  Words formed from the twisting of the world itself, as if unseen roots beneath the surface of existence had been forced upward, carving jagged letters into the air. They split and reformed, the message lingering like something alive.

  "DURING THE TOURNAMENT OF THE GODS."

  The letters stayed for a moment, pulsing like a dying ember before unraveling. The jagged fractures in reality sealed slowly, painfully, like bark knitting itself back together after being torn apart. The air pulsed with something knowing—a patience that did not belong to a man, or even a god, but something older, something that had watched the rise and fall of civilizations like shifting seasons. Malikap was waiting.

  I clenched my jaw but said nothing. **I had lost things before—**In Penance, loss was a currency. My body. My loot. My chances at survival. Everything had a cost. You learned to accept it because the alternative was breaking under the weight of it all. Penance didn’t care about fairness; it only cared about sacrifice.

  "YOU WILL REPAY IT."

  The sound came again—the groan of wood under unbearable strain, the snapping of ancient branches giving way. But this? This was different. I swallowed hard, my voice low and steady despite the unease curling in my gut. "What’s the debt?"

  The air around Malikap shuddered, the whirlwind of branches grinding, twisting. The answer came instantly.

  "YOU WILL NOT KNOW UNTIL IT IS TIME."

  The weight of it settled not just in the air, but in my bones, my lungs, pressing into my skull like unseen roots burrowing deep. A cold, cruel thing uncoiled in my chest, winding tight. The vagueness wasn’t a mistake—it was the point. A promise wrapped in uncertainty, a leash around my throat with no way to know how tightly it would pull.

  I turned toward Thumbs, exhaling slowly through my nose as the weight of Malikap’s words stretched over me like the shadow of a dying tree. Thumbs should have been standing beside me. He should have been pacing in circles, muttering to himself about some shiny thing we’d forgotten to loot.

  "No, no, not leave yet! Shiny close! Shiny close!"

  Instead, there was nothing. Just the memory of him—crouched low behind cover, beady eyes darting between enemies and loot, deciding which was worth the risk. Tugging at my sleeve, whispering frantically about Kingsley’s stupid blue sword. Scrambling onto my shoulder when he was too impatient to keep up.

  Thumbs, who never shut up. Thumbs, who clung to treasure like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Thumbs, who I let slip through my fingers. Because I’d taken the power. Because I hadn’t stopped to ask what the price was.

  A fresh wave of bitterness swelled in my throat. Would Thumbs even want me to do this? To trade away something unknown for the slimmest chance at bringing him back? Maybe not. Maybe he’d just shake his head, throw up his hands, and scurry off after some cursed gold instead. Or maybe—just maybe—he’d look at me, eyes gleaming, voice quiet for once, and say:

  "Thumbs trust. Trust! Follow!."

  I exhaled sharply. I wasn’t leaving him here. Even if he was gone. Even if this was another mistake. I lifted my chin, forcing my voice to hold steady.

  “Alright, fine.” My throat felt tight, my body already screaming at me that this was a mistake. “I agree to your terms.”