The moment I swallowed it, the world changed.

  Cold sank into my bones like I had just stepped into my own grave. My ribs seized, my spine locked up, and then—cracks.

  Not just pain. Breaking.

  Hairline fractures splintered outward, threading through my skeleton like ice creeping across glass. My bones weren’t built for this. They were rejecting it—fighting the change—

  The floor shook.

  Not from me.

  Something else. Someone else.

  A wave of pressure slammed into me, suffocating—like the air itself had been crushed under a monstrous weight.

  And then—

  “YOU. STUPID. LITTLE. BOY.”

  I didn’t have to look up. I felt him.

  Rhyzar.

  The raw force of his presence crashed down on the room, heavy enough to make the stone beneath me groan. My skull throbbed from the sheer weight of it.

  But I didn’t look.

  I couldn’t.

  I was already at my limit, and this? This was nothing compared to what was happening inside me.

  A bootstep. Cracking stone.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, sharp—cutting through me like a blade.

  Another step. Closer.

  “I leave you for FIVE MINUTES and you decide to INGEST A SENTINEL CORE?!”

  His rage was a storm—unfiltered, unrestrained.

  I felt it pressing against my skin, waiting for me to answer.

  I didn’t.

  I shut my eyes. Cut off the world.

  Because right now?

  I had one job.

  I reached inside myself.

  Felt the fractures, the splitting agony in my bones, the wrongness spreading through my marrow.

  And then—I forced it forward.

  I activated Adaptive Growth.

  Immediately, my body reacted. Cells accelerated. Bone density shifted. The fractures didn’t just spread—they realigned. My skeleton wasn’t breaking anymore—

  It was changing.

  A snarl from above. “Now you can’t even respond, can you?!”

  I barely heard him.

  Because at this moment—

  I was done listening.

  I clenched my fists.

  I let my bones crack.

  I let the darkness take me.

  And I endured.

  The cold didn’t fade.

  It burrowed deeper, curling around my bones, settling in like it belonged—like I had just swallowed winter itself and now it was clawing its way into my marrow.

  I clenched my jaw. My breath came out sharp, misting in the air like I’d stepped into a blizzard. Every nerve screamed, my body caught between burning and freezing, between shattering and rebuilding.

  Then—

  Cough.

  It started small—a hitch in my throat.

  Then again. Harder.

  COUGH.

  Something inside me twisted, like my body was trying to expel something it didn’t understand.

  I dropped to my knees, fingers digging into the cold stone beneath me.

  And then—

  I vomited.

  Not bile. Not blood. Something worse.

  A thick, dark sludge spilled from my mouth, splattering against the stone with a sickening splurt.

  The stench hit instantly.

  Rot. Decay. Puke-inducing filth.

  My stomach lurched, my ribs spasming from the force of it, but it kept coming—black mucus, foul and clinging, dragging something out of me.

  Bobo shuffled back, letting out a low, uneasy noise. He felt it. He knew this wasn’t normal.

  I coughed again, vomiting again, and again—until finally, it stopped.

  I gasped, shuddering, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand.

  Then—relief.

  Not just the absence of pain. Something better.

  Lighter. Sharper. Like a layer of weakness had been peeled away. My body—my very bones—felt refined.

  It had worked.

  Not instantly. Not cleanly. But it had worked.

  I flexed my fingers, feeling the new density in my joints. I pressed a hand to my ribs, expecting pain—but there was none. Instead, there was strength.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I looked up.

  Rhyzar was glaring at me.

  This was the first time I’d seen him this angry. If his eyes could kill, I would have died a thousand times already.

  “The hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I met his gaze. Didn’t flinch.

  “Didn’t you want me to grow stronger? Didn’t you say I need to come correct? Didn’t you say I need to push myself?”

  A sharp inhale. His shoulders tensed, jaw clenched like he was holding something back.

  Then—he stepped forward.

  And in that moment, I knew he wasn’t just mad.

  He was furious.

  “Listen to me, you reckless little shit—”

  I didn’t listen.

  Before he could finish, before he could even get the words out—

  I grabbed the rest of the resources.

  And swallowed them all.

  All at once.

  Double or Nothing

  The effect was immediate.

  A shockwave of necrotic energy ripped through me, like igniting a bomb inside my own body.

  PAIN.

  A cold, agonizing power tore through my veins. My bones shrieked in protest.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I felt like I had brain freeze—but a hundred times worse.

  My vision whitened.

  Then—

  “YOU LITTLE PRICK!”

  A voice. Distant. Blurred.

  “DO YOU WANT YOUR FATHER TO KILL ME?!”

  Rhyzar.

  He was moving. Fast.

  Then—BOOM.

  A hand slammed into my chest. Not an attack—a stabilizer. Rhyzar’s palm pressed flat against me, his mana surging forward, trying to contain whatever I’d just unleashed.

  But I didn’t need him.

  I wouldn’t let him stop this.

  Through the pain, through the raw surge of power burning through my body—I activated Vital Surge.

  Then—Adaptive Growth.

  And I forced my body to absorb everything.

  The mana channeling, the undead resilience, the bone density, the reinforcement—all of it.

  And the negatives? The lingering corruption? The unwanted filth?

  I rejected it.

  That made the effect weaker, maybe even a waste of resources, but I wasn’t turning myself into a monster. If I did that, Lina would never forgive me.

  I let out a guttural, choking scream as my body purged the excess—black bile exploding from my mouth, splattering the ground in thick, writhing tendrils before evaporating into dust.

  I felt like I was dying.

  But I wasn’t.

  I was changing.

  I dug my fingers into the stone floor, gripping hard enough to crack it. My breath came out ragged, my heartbeat pounding in my skull.

  And then—

  It stopped.

  The pain, the suffocation, the burning cold—all of it settled.

  I exhaled, long and slow.

  Then I stood.

  Bobo was staring at me—not in fear, but in shock.

  Rhyzar?

  He wasn’t moving.

  His hand was still half-raised, like he wasn’t sure whether to strike me or pull me away. His eyes—sharp, assessing, like he was looking at something he didn’t recognize.

  I rolled my shoulders.

  No pain.

  No weakness.

  Just power.

  I met Rhyzar’s gaze.

  Then—I smirked.

  “…See? I’m fine.”

  His eye twitched.

  “Fine?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You—”

  He stopped. Inhaled deeply.

  Then—he exhaled.

  And when he looked at me again, he laughed.

  A dry, humorless laugh.

  Then he dragged a hand down his face. “You’re an absolute menace.”

  I grinned. “I try.”

  “Shut up.”

  I shut up.

  Rhyzar crossed his arms, studying me again, more calculating this time.

  “…How do you feel?”

  I flexed my fingers. I clenched my fists. I took a deep breath.

  Then—I smiled. “Stronger than ever.”

  Rhyzar clicked his tongue. “Of course you do.”

  I flexed my fingers again. The strength was there—undeniable.

  But something else had changed. Something deeper.

  Rhyzar still watched me, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Bobo shifted beside me, tail flicking, sniffing the air like he sensed the difference.

  I needed confirmation.

  I summoned my status panel.

  A ripple of mana, a familiar pulse through my grimoire, and then—text unfolded:

  [Akul Raiven – Status]

  Age: 12.

  Gender: Male.

  Race: Human.

  Affiliation: Raiven Family.

  Artifact: The Grimoire of Twin Fates.

  Affinity: null.

  [Core Traits]

  Primordial Hormonal Authority (EX)

  Twin Eyes of Creation & Ruin.

  Mirror of Twin Soul Reflection.

  [Affinities]

  Primary: Physical (Strength-Based Contracts)

  Secondary: Necro (Weak Connection)

  I froze.

  Necro? So now I have a death affinity?

  Isn’t that extremely rare?

  I stared at it, pulse quickening. This wasn’t just a borrowed ability. It hadn’t been forced on me. It integrated. Part of me now.

  Even if it was weak, even if it was just a faint link—it was real.

  I inhaled deeply, feeling it.

  I didn’t need the Divine Eye of Origin to sense it. The same way I sensed mana or recognized Bobo’s presence through our bond—this place, this energy, this death-touched world around me…

  I could feel it.

  Not with perfect clarity, not like a necro summoner would.

  But it was there—a thread in my consciousness, a whisper in the back of my mind.

  I exhaled, rolling my shoulders.

  Lighter. That was the other thing.

  My body didn’t just feel stronger—it felt more efficient, like my bones had shed unnecessary weight.

  I clenched my fist.

  Could I punch through a wall?

  …Probably not. Maybe not these walls, but maybe at home, yes.

  A slow chuckle pulled me from my thoughts.

  I turned. Rhyzar was shaking his head.

  “Even your damn hair changed,” he muttered.

  I blinked. “What?”

  I reached up, grabbing a strand. My hair had always been dark brown.

  But now—

  Darker. Almost black.

  I frowned. “Huh.”

  Rhyzar sighed. “You have no idea what you just did, do you?”

  I smirked. “I got stronger.”

  His eyes flashed. “You messed with resources without knowing the risks.”

  I shrugged. “And?”

  His jaw tightened. Then, suddenly—he moved. Faster than I could track.

  One second he was standing there; the next, right in front of me.

  A hand gripped my shoulder. Tight. Heavy.

  I barely had time to react before—

  BOOM.

  The world blurred. The stone beneath my feet cracked. The air collapsed around me, weight slamming into my entire body like an invisible force pressing on my bones.

  My knees nearly buckled. Not from pain—from pressure.

  Rhyzar’s mana crashed into me like an avalanche.

  Bobo snarled, lunging forward—

  But Rhyzar’s free hand shot out, palm up. Bobo froze.

  Not because he gave up.

  But because he felt it, too.

  The pressure.

  I grit my teeth, forcing myself to hold my ground. My body screamed to move, to react—but I didn’t. I met Rhyzar’s eyes instead.

  He wasn’t smirking.

  “You still think this is a game?”

  I didn’t answer.

  His fingers tightened, not enough to hurt—just enough to remind me he was holding back.

  “Strength isn’t just about power,” Rhyzar said. “It’s about control. Controlling the process. You think you won because you got a new affinity? Because you refined your bones, because you feel stronger now?”

  His grip dug in.

  “Try throwing a punch now.”

  I tried. My arm wouldn’t move. I couldn’t move. I was locked—completely.

  Like my entire body had forgotten how.

  My mind knew the motion. My muscles wanted to obey. But the second I thought about it—Rhyzar’s mana crushed it before it could even begin.

  My fingers twitched, but my arm stayed at my side.

  I hated this.

  I clenched my jaw, pouring every ounce of strength into my limbs—nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  “You want to get stronger?” Rhyzar murmured. “Then understand this.”

  He leaned in. “Strength isn’t about what you gain. What you did—others have tried.”

  His grip loosened. The pressure vanished.

  I staggered, breath hitching. The stone beneath me was cracked from where I’d stood.

  Rhyzar stepped back. “Strength starts here, in your head.”

  His arms crossed again, gaze sharp. Measuring.

  His eyes flicked down—to my grimoire.

  It still floated beside me, half-lidded, its golden and crimson eye shifting sluggishly, like it was processing something. Changing.

  A slow exhale. Rhyzar tilted his head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  I frowned. “Get what?”

  His gaze darkened. “The more you change yourself—” He gestured at my body, my hair, the status panel still flickering. “—the more you change it.”

  I stiffened.

  Rhyzar’s smirk was gone. “Did you forget?” His voice was quieter now, sharp. “Your artifact isn’t just a tool. It’s you. A materialization of who you are, of what you can become.”

  I clenched my fists. “So?”

  “So,” he muttered, “you’re playing a dangerous game.”

  His gaze flicked to the grimoire again.

  I followed it.

  And then—I saw it.

  A new marking.

  A thin, dark border now lined the very edges of the Grimoire—faint but undeniable. Not ink, not carved, but stained, like a shadow refusing to leave.

  It wasn’t spreading or consuming; it was simply there—a quiet imprint, a reminder.

  The Grimoire accepted the change. But it didn’t belong there.

  A new black.

  The cover had always been dark, absorbing light. But now? Now there was something else—a darker black, a ring of shadowy ink, barely visible, edges jagged, uneven, like a burn that never fully healed.

  It wasn’t part of the Grimoire.

  It was branded onto it.

  The grimoire twitched.

  My stomach turned.

  I didn’t do that.

  Did I?

  “You didn’t just take in necrotic energy,” Rhyzar muttered. “You let your artifact take it too.”

  A chill crawled down my spine.

  Rhyzar’s voice cut through my thoughts. “The more you do this,” he said, “the more you become something I don’t know. Something you don’t know.”

  His eyes met mine. “Something none of us know.”

  I felt the weight behind his words.

  I should have been concerned.

  But instead—I grinned.

  The shift was instant.

  Rhyzar’s brow twitched. He inhaled, then—he laughed. Low, amused, a little unhinged.

  He clapped a hand on my shoulder, grinning back. “Oh, so you wanna be crazy?” His grip tightened. His mana flared. “Then let’s be crazy.”

  His smirk turned wicked. “Five minutes to recover.”

  I rolled my shoulders. “I only need two.”

  His grin widened. “Then you’ve got one.”