Name: Sylas Orread

  Race: Painbound Revenant

  Specialization: 1E. Path of the Forsaken

  Titles: One Against Many, Childkiller

  Skills: Cloaked Appraisal, Freshen

  Level: 19E

  Strength: 40

  Dexterity: 40

  Vitality: 40

  Fortitude: 40

  Veil: 40

  Mind: 41

  Instinct: 41

  Torment: 112

  Unspent Points: 0

  Skill Points Available: 3

  I stared at my specialization. 1E.

  It had a level, which meant it could be ranked up, same as everything else. But beyond that, it did nothing. No stat boosts, no abilities, no new prompts. Just a line in my status screen, sitting there like a dead thing.

  That didn’t seem right. Specializations were supposed to matter. I hadn’t heard much about them, but I knew they weren’t just meaningless text. If this was meant to define my path, then why did it feel like a road leading nowhere?

  Maybe Alyssa would know. She hadn’t mentioned anything about specializations, but she was my teacher. If anyone understood how progression worked, it would be her.

  A shadow flickered over me as a massive bird glided past, its wings outstretched, effortless against the sky. I tracked it for a moment, admiring its ease before shutting my eyes. I’d ask her later.

  For now, I had a goal—reach Level 25 and return to the Colosseum. A little over a week. Doable.

  The terrain shifted beneath my feet, dry earth softening into something wetter, heavier. The air thickened, damp and clinging, carrying the familiar stink of rot and stagnant water. I could already hear it—the endless hum of insects, the slow, rhythmic croaking from deeper within, the faint splashes of things moving just below the surface.

  The swamp. I hadn’t missed it, but I had to cross it again.

  Each step sank into the mud, the ground greedy, pulling, trying to slow me down. Pools of murky water stretched between the trees, their surfaces broken only by the lazy ripples of unseen things slipping beneath. Thick roots jutted from the muck, waiting to trip me, twisting between skeletal trees whose gnarled limbs clawed at the sky. The air sat heavier the deeper I went, thick with the smell of wet decay. Every breath tasted like mold.

  I kept my pace steady. I wasn’t new to this place anymore. It had tried to kill me before. Now, I was returning stronger.

  A Hollowshade Stalker flickered into view, its form unstable, heat shimmer rippling around it. It lunged. I barely had to think—step left, blade up, a clean cut through the chest. It hit the ground before its mind even caught up to what had happened. I wrenched my sword free, shaking off the ichor, and kept moving.

  The swamp stretched long ahead of me, a maze of sinking ground and waterlogged traps. I could hear movement around me—low, deliberate. Predators watching, waiting. Some had learned to be cautious. Others hadn’t.

  A venomback lizard shot from the reeds, fangs glistening, body coiled to strike. I let it. It lunged—my blade met it mid-air. The impact jolted up my arm. The lizard’s weight sagged against my blade, convulsing as its lifeblood spilled into the mud. I wrenched the sword free and let its body drop.

  No wasted movement. No hesitation. No struggle. The first time I had crossed this swamp, every step had been uncertain. Now, my movements were exact, precise. I wasn’t prey anymore.

  Torment pooled inside me, deep and waiting, but it did nothing on its own. It wasn’t a passive force strengthening my body—it had to be spent, drawn upon with intent. If I left it untouched, it remained there, pressing against my mind but offering nothing. But when I used it, even in small bursts, I could feel the difference. A strike that should have glanced off bone carved deeper, a step that should have faltered carried me through.

  I kept it balanced, keeping just enough in motion to stay sharp, but never so much that it took hold of me. Too little, and I would feel the weight of exhaustion slowing me down, my body returning to its limits. Too much, and the cold would creep in, stripping away thought and leaving behind something else—something that didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop, didn’t think. I had felt that shift before, when my mind had started to hollow out, when my emotions faded into something distant, irrelevant.

  I didn’t like it.

  But Torment was a gift. I had poured everything into it, and I didn’t regret it. If anything, I should have done it sooner. My Torment pool was massive now, vast and waiting, but it wouldn’t replenish itself. I had to suffer for it, let pain carve it into me before I could spend it.

  That was the trade-off.

  I could use Torment whenever I wanted. There was no restriction, no cooldown. If I wanted to enhance a strike, I could. If I needed a burst of speed, it was there. If I demanded more from my body than it could naturally give, Torment answered. But every time I spent it, I had to earn it back the only way it came—through pain and suffering.

  It forced me to balance every moment. Spend too much, and I’d be left with nothing when I needed it most. Hoard it, and I risked letting it build too high, pressing against my mind until it warped my thoughts. I had to use it carefully, strategically, keeping it for key moments—the right strike, the right movement, the right decision.

  If I hunted enough, bled enough, suffered enough, it felt unending. But feeding for me was never about hunger. It was pain. Blood burned when I took it in, scorching through my body, leaving something raw and reforged in its wake.

  I had learned that the day I consumed the Alpha’s blood. I had felt it twist through me, break me apart, and force me back together into something new—something the system itself hadn’t been able to define.

  Torment felt the same. It wasn’t nourishment. It wasn’t healing. It was suffering transmuted into power. A cycle that demanded pain before it could be spent, an energy that couldn’t simply be replenished like mana or health. I had to carve it into myself, let battle and agony fill the void before I could unleash it.

  It made every action faster, every strike deadlier, every wound an afterthought—but only for as long as I chose to wield it. I barely brushed the threshold anymore, always careful to keep myself on the right side of control. I knew what waited beyond it—the creeping detachment, the cold clarity that stripped away thought and left only a predator.

  That wasn’t strength. That was losing myself.

  Torment wasn’t just a resource. It was a force waiting to be wielded, needed to be wielded.

  And right now, I needed it against the Briarcap Howlers.

  I had hunted them before, relying on Painbound Dominion to keep them in check, but now it was different. The moment I sensed movement, I called on Torment. A brief surge, enough to close the gap, but before I could strike, the damn thing was already gone. A sharp sting burned along my arm—another had hit me from behind. I twisted, blade ready, but by the time my strike landed, it was against empty air.

  They weren’t fighting me. They were wearing me down.

  So this was how Briarcap Howlers fought. Slowly whittling down their prey until it was too weak to carry on. Their strategy was simple but effective: constant harassment, a barrage of shallow wounds, then retreat before I could counter.

  They weren’t worth the effort.

  Catching them required a burst of speed, something I could force with Torment, but it took more than I wanted to admit. Every time I surged forward, pushing past my limits, I felt the cost gnawing at me. The expenditure didn’t sit right, not for prey that wasn’t worth the strain.

  Damn things. I let them go.

  I traveled. I leveled. Nothing in the swamp posed much of a threat anymore.

  Then I crossed paths with a Blackthorn Gator.

  Level 21.

  A month ago, I had been ready to fight one, only for Alyssa to drag me away before I could get myself killed. At the time, I had believed her. I had looked at the thick, ridged armor, the jaws lined with serrated teeth, and knew the outcome wouldn’t be in my favor. That memory still lingered—but it no longer applied.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The moment it sensed me, it moved. Its heavy tail swept the water behind it, muscles tensing as it prepared to strike. I met its glare, not with hesitation, but with certainty.

  This wasn’t a fight.

  It was an execution.

  I dropped from above, my shortsword driving clean through its skull.

  Ding!

  You have slain [Blackthorn Gator - Level 21].

  You have leveled up!

  +1 to all stats.

  +4 free points.

  +1 skill point.

  That gave me 24 more free points and 4 skill points—a wealth I was eager to spend, but I held back. The Colosseum was within reach, and I’d be there by the end of the day. Alyssa would know how best to use them. If she was there.

  I still had four days until the month was over, but anticipation clawed at me. It would be good to be back.

  As I neared my destination, something felt off. The Colosseum was still empty.

  When I left, I had waited, making sure I was the last one to go so I could explore. After a month, I expected people to have returned. Why else would Alyssa tell me to meet her here?

  In my mind’s eye, I had pictured this place filled with the successful—the ones who had found a teacher, the ones who had survived, the ones who had grown strong enough to come back. Yet as I approached, the Colosseum stood just as I had left it—silent, abandoned.

  A flicker of doubt wormed its way into my thoughts, but before it could settle, laughter rang through the air.

  "Hey, the idiot demon made it!"

  I spun, instincts flaring, but then I saw her.

  Alyssa.

  My teacher. The first person I had started to form a bond with. The one person I wanted to impress.

  She stood near one of the massive pillars, arms crossed, grinning like she had been here all along. The casual confidence, the knowing smirk—she hadn’t been wondering if I would make it back. She had been waiting.

  Her gaze swept over me, quick and sharp, taking in every change. Her grin barely faltered, but something flickered behind her eyes, something assessing.

  "Or not an idiot demon anymore?" Her head tilted slightly, amusement laced through her voice. "What are you?"

  I hesitated, caught between the answer she wanted and the reality I was still coming to terms with. I hadn’t thought much about what I was now—only that I had changed. But Alyssa’s gaze was expectant, patient yet searching, like she was peeling back the layers of my transformation before I could even put it into words.

  "Painbound Revenant," I finally said.

  Her brows lifted, not in shock, but in calculated interest. She shifted her weight, uncrossing her arms, fingers absently rolling the edge of her sleeve as she considered that. "Huh. Doesn’t sound like a demon anymore." Her lips curled slightly, not quite a smirk, not quite anything else.

  "You knew I was coming," I said, more statement than question.

  Alyssa scoffed. "Obviously. You’re still wearing the pendant, aren’t you?" She tapped her collarbone, mirroring where mine rested beneath my shirt. "I don’t just give people random junk, you know. It lets me check on your location."

  I reached for it instinctively, feeling the weight that had become too familiar to notice, something I had stopped thinking about entirely.

  She caught the movement and smirked. "I’ve been watching your little journey. You’ve been busy."

  "You could see me?"

  "Not see see," she said, shaking her head. "Just a general location. Enough to know you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere. And enough to get here before you did." She gestured around with an easy flick of her hand. "Figured I’d be early."

  She had been waiting. Not just expecting me to return, but choosing to be here first. That meant something.

  Something about my silence made her grin widen. "Oh? What’s that look? Surprised I actually give a damn?"

  I blinked. "A little."

  She let out a sharp laugh and tilted her head back slightly before shaking it off. "Idiot demon," she muttered under her breath, though it lacked any real bite. Then, as if catching herself, her expression shifted, gaze flicking over me with a little more scrutiny.

  Her arms relaxed at her sides, fingers flexing absently before she folded them again, more deliberate this time. "Or should I say, idiot revenant?"

  I exhaled, shifting my stance. "Just Sylas."

  For a moment, something in her expression softened. Not pity, not concern, but something quieter. She lingered just a breath too long before she rolled her shoulders, exhaling sharply. "Fine. But that doesn’t change the fact that you look different. Stronger. Probably too strong, if I had to guess."

  Her tone was casual, but something about the way she watched me, the flicker of curiosity hidden behind an easy smirk, told me she was feeling me out. She had been waiting, expecting me. But she hadn’t expected everything.

  And from the way she was watching me, arms still crossed but no longer entirely at ease, she wanted answers.

  She didn’t press immediately. Instead, she turned toward the Colosseum entrance. "Come on," she said, already walking. "I didn’t get here early just to stand around talking."

  She moved with easy confidence, like she had all the time in the world. I followed, boots echoing against the stone as we stepped inside. The Colosseum stood exactly as I had left it—silent, empty, unchanged.

  For a moment, I had expected something different, something new. But why would it be?

  This place had been here long before me and would remain long after. A month meant nothing to it.

  I was the one who had changed.

  The last time I walked through these halls, I had been something else, someone else. The fights, the pain, the choices I had made in the time since—it had all reshaped me. But the Colosseum didn’t care. It hadn’t been waiting, hadn’t marked my absence. It was just here, as it always had been.

  Alyssa led us to one of the stone benches near the arena’s edge and dropped onto it without ceremony, stretching one leg out and leaning her elbow against the backrest. She let the silence settle, let the weight of the place press down on us before she finally spoke.

  "So," she said, glancing at me. "What the hell happened to you?"

  I sat down beside her, exhaling as I ran a hand through my hair. "A lot."

  She snorted. "Figured. You don’t just leave a place as a demon and come back something else without a lot happening." She shifted slightly, finally facing me fully, one eyebrow raised in expectation. "So, start talking. I doubt you just tripped and fell into being a Painbound Revenant."

  I leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the past month settle. "I went on a test to get my specialization," I started, watching her reaction. She didn’t blink, just listened, waiting.

  I told her about finding the elves, about saving them, about hunting vampires and almost dying in the process. I told her how I had been pushed past my limits, how my survival had come down to something raw, something I barely understood at the time—my transformation.

  When I explained how I had changed races, Alyssa didn’t react immediately. Just a slight narrowing of her eyes, her fingers tapping once against her knee before going still.

  I went on. Re-leveling. Taking another test.

  "At least, I thought it was a test," I admitted. "I thought I had to figure out what I wanted now that Hero was no longer an option. But there wasn’t a test. The system just… gave me my new specialization."

  Alyssa’s brows furrowed slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

  "I don’t know why," I continued. "Maybe the first test was enough. Maybe whatever I am now doesn’t need a traditional path." I exhaled, shaking my head. "Either way, I took it. And then I made it back here."

  Silence stretched between us before Alyssa let out a slow breath, leaning back against the bench. "Damn," she muttered. "You really don’t do things halfway, huh?"

  I huffed a quiet laugh. "Guess not."

  She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked me over again—not just at my form, but at me, like she was weighing what had changed beneath the surface.

  Her fingers tapped lightly against her leg before she sat up a little straighter. "Alright," she said, eyes gleaming. "Let’s figure out what you actually got from all that."

  And just like that, the conversation shifted from recounting the past to preparing for what came next.

  Alyssa stretched her arms over her head, exhaling like we’d just wrapped up a casual chat instead of going over my near-death experiences. Then, without a hint of warning, she said, "Run up to the top and back down. As fast as you can."

  I blinked at her. She said it so casually, like it was nothing. Like I hadn’t just spent weeks fighting for my life.

  Fine.

  I took off, pushing forward without hesitation. The steps leading to the top of the Colosseum stretched high, steep, and uneven, each one forcing my strides into full leaps rather than quick steps. My muscles burned as I surged upward, keeping my form tight, arms swinging for balance, every movement controlled to push past the drag of gravity. The wind shifted as I climbed higher, rushing past my ears. There was a thrill to it, the challenge of racing against nothing but myself. My breaths stayed even, my pace relentless, and the top came sooner than I expected. I pivoted without losing momentum and launched downward.

  Descending was trickier—faster, more dangerous. One misstep and I’d be eating stone. I let my weight carry me forward, barely catching myself before each step, pushing just hard enough to control my momentum without breaking my speed. The last few steps blurred, and then my feet hit solid ground. I exhaled, chest rising and falling with sharp, steady breaths, but before I could even consider catching my breath, Alyssa folded her arms and shook her head.

  Alyssa was already shaking her head. “That’s not all you’ve got.”

  I exhaled sharply. “I—”

  “I told you to make it up there and back as fast as you can,” she interrupted. “Not at a pace you think is comfortable.”

  I scratched the back of my head, rolling my shoulders. “Going any faster would weaken me.”

  She scoffed. “You think I care? I’m not asking for your most efficient run—I’m asking for your best.”

  I hesitated for only a second before she pointed up again. “Go. And don’t hold back.”

  Fine.

  This time, I let the limits off.

  Torment surged through me, flooding my muscles, sharpening my movements. The first step carried me farther than it should have. The second came before I fully realized I had even pushed off. My body felt weightless, the ground almost an afterthought beneath my feet. I hit the top before the strain could catch up to me, pivoting into a near freefall on the way down. My boots struck the stone, a blur of movement, my descent barely controlled.

  By the time I hit the ground, my breath was sharp, ragged. My reserve was completely gone.

  Alyssa’s arms were still crossed, but this time, there was a slight curl at the corner of her mouth. Not mocking. Satisfied.

  "Now," she said, stepping forward, voice even, measured. "That’s what I wanted to see."