Then, the world darkened.
Shadows bled across the sky, thick and consuming, swallowing the light like ink stretching over the heavens. The air grew heavy, charged with something vast, something watching.
“I saved your students’ lives in exchange for mine.”
Alyssa spoke, her voice calm. Steady. Too steady. But she wasn’t looking at us. She was staring ahead. At something that was still there.
A stir of movement. The elf—the one I had nearly killed—his body tensed, reacting. But none of us could move.
Silence thickened, pressing down, absolute. Not just an absence of sound, but something greater. A silence that was waiting.
Then the shadows retreated. They peeled back, unraveling from the sky like tendrils reluctantly releasing their grip. Sunlight cut through, blinding in its sudden return. But the darkness didn’t vanish. It coiled, pulling inward, encircling the others. Wrapping around them like chains.
And then… nothing. They were gone.
Just Alyssa and me, standing alone in the clearing. No signs of struggle. No footprints in the dirt. No proof they had ever been here.
She exhaled softly. And for the first time, I caught something beneath the composure. A weight. Then, she released her hold on me.
The moment my body was my own again, I staggered forward, barely catching myself. My limbs were sluggish, my body betraying me. The edges of my vision blurred.
Alyssa turned to me fully now, her gaze sharp. Not scolding. Not mocking. Just... assessing.
“That was close,” she murmured. “I saved your life in ways that you do not yet understand.”
Her tone should have carried reassurance, but it didn’t. It was a statement. A warning. A truth I wasn’t ready to hear.
I clenched my jaw. “What do you mean you saved my life?” The words snapped out before I could stop them. Too sharp. Too defensive.
She held my gaze, unmoving. “Look at yourself.”
Something in her voice made my stomach twist.
I almost refused. Almost. But some part of me, buried beneath the adrenaline, the Torment, the instinct screaming to keep moving—some part of me knew.
I lowered my gaze. And finally, I saw.
My arms were in shreds, skin flayed raw. My clothing barely clung to me, torn where blades had found their mark, where fire had seared flesh. The pale translucence of my skin was lost beneath streaks of red, fresh wounds shining like war paint.
One of my horns—broken. Split clean down the middle. My tail’s tip—jagged, splintered. Like it had been used to parry something that should have killed me.
I stared at my hands, at the tremors running through my fingers. How had I not noticed? How had I fought like this?
Then the pain came crashing down.
I staggered, breath catching, and the world tilted. My nerves caught up all at once—the torn flesh, the shattered bone, the bruises deep enough to make breathing feel wrong.
The Torment had stopped climbing. The high was gone. And now there was only suffering.
I dropped to my knees. A choking noise, something half-snarl, half-breath, scraped out of my throat. My hands pressed against the dirt, fingers clawing into it. Holding onto something. Anything.
I had done this.
The realization was stark, sudden, more brutal than the injuries themselves. Not them. Not the fight. Me.
My own reckless indulgence, my own refusal to retreat, had left me on the brink of collapse. Had Alyssa not intervened, would I even be breathing right now?
I gritted my teeth and activated Crimson Reconstitution.
The pain seared through me like fire, then faded. Muscles knitted, bones realigned. It wasn’t enough to undo the damage, just enough to make standing possible.
I forced myself up, step after unsteady step toward the swamp. Toward the creatures within. Toward prey. I needed Torment. I needed to feed. I needed to feel whole again.
Alyssa’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. “You will sit back down.”
My body locked up, her command wrapping around my limbs like iron bands. Not magic. Not a skill. Just force. Authority. “And you will bear the consequences of your actions.”
The force in her words rooted me in place. I clenched my fists, but I didn’t turn. I stood like that until the heat vanished from my veins, until the anger that was inside of me cooled. Until I could think again.
She didn’t stand there with me. She left at some point, but I could feel that she was still watching me.
She just left me alone with my thoughts.
The worst part was that she was right. I had failed. I was stronger than them, faster, more resilient. They had attacked me. I should have ended the fight before it began—quick, efficient brutality, no wasted movement. But I hadn't.
I hesitated.
I had fought with restraint, trying not to kill them initially. Worse, I had been hoarding my resources—sitting on skill points, saving my stat increases for some grand future payoff. But what future was that if I died before I could reach it? Beings strong enough to kill me wouldn’t hesitate. I was only making their job easier.
A slow breath left me, tension unwinding from my body as I pulled up my status screen.
Name: Sylas Orread
Race: Painbound Revenant
Specialization: 1E. Path of the Forsaken
Titles: One Against Many, Childkiller
Skills: Cloaked Appraisal, Freshen
Level: 27E
Strength: 48
Dexterity: 48
Vitality: 48
Fortitude: 48
Veil: 48
Mind: 49
Instinct: 49
Torment: 120
Unspent Points: 32
Skill Points Available: 4
Thirty-two unspent points. Four whole levels' worth of wasted potential. I scoffed at myself.
I had underestimated them. I saw the level gap and thought that was enough, but I hadn't accounted for my unallocated stats—or the fact that I didn't even have a real attack skill. My entire combat style relied on brute force and my ability to endure pain. And that was exactly why I was in this state.
The truth settled deep in my bones. If the fight had gone on any longer, I would have died. My healing could only do so much. The damage I was taking outpaced what I could withstand, and worse—it would have continued to spiral. If I had refused to retreat, the battle wouldn't have ended with my victory. It would have ended with all of us dead.
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Not a mistake I intended to make again.
I split my points between Vitality and Fortitude, reinforcing my body for the kind of fighter I was—one who could take punishment and walk away.
The change was immediate. My body strengthened, a subtle shift in my muscles, my bones, the very core of my being. Some wounds closed entirely, sealing with new resilience. The aches, the fatigue, the deep damage—fading just enough for my mind to register the difference.
It was as if my body itself was telling me I was an idiot for not doing this sooner.
Yet, I still hesitated when I looked at my skill points. I needed to define my build. I had two potential attack skills waiting to be spent, but raw power wasn’t the only issue.
I thought back to the fight—how Ugvosh withstood the full force of my attacks, how he tethered me with that strange lasso skill, keeping me locked down. It had worked. I had been restrained, forced into a battle of attrition that dragged on longer than I wanted.
And that was a problem. I wanted to be the one to force battles of attrition, not be forced into one.
Even before that, I had been kited by the Briarcap Howlers in the swamp, their speed and coordination making the fight last far longer than it should have.
The issue wasn’t just damage. It was control. If I had a way to close the distance instantly—or break free from attempts to lock me down—the fight would have ended much faster.
I needed a movement skill—something to dictate the flow of battle, to force engagements on my terms, to break through enemy positioning, and to avoid being caged in like before.
I scrolled through my options, searching.
Searing Lunge. A devastating burst of speed—but only in a straight line, and it cost Torment.
Ruptured Stride. Could let me cross twice the distance—but it shredded my legs if I wasn’t careful.
Painbound Reave. Strong, brutal, but too reckless. Not reliable.
I needed consistency. I needed control.
Then I found it.
- A sudden burst of movement in any direction.
- Covers a short distance rapidly—faster than a regular step, but not a full sprint.
- Minimal stamina drain allows it to be used repeatedly.
Perfect. Subtle, efficient, and best of all? It didn’t rely on Torment.
With Fortitude as my highest non-Torment stat, my stamina reserves were massive. I could use Quickstep over and over again without exhausting myself, keeping my mobility sharp without draining my true weapon.
I finalized the selection. The moment I did, something settled into my body—a faint awareness, a readiness I hadn’t had before. The knowledge of movement.
I didn’t waste time. I activated Quickstep—a flicker of motion, a rush forward. In the blink of an eye, I had moved four feet ahead.
Again.
Another burst, another clean step forward, like cutting through the air itself.
Again.
Again.
The movement barely touched my stamina. I pushed harder, chaining Quicksteps together, slipping through the misty swamp like a shadow. A hunter, unshackled.
Before I knew it, I was standing in front of a Hollowshade Stalker—small, wiry, its shadowed form barely shifting before my blade severed it. Level 8. Too weak to challenge me. I feasted, drinking deep from the creature’s suffering, feeling Torment seep back into my reserves, but I emptied it to heal.
I continued through the swamp, hunting, healing, thinking. How did I want to fight?
As a demon I used a taunt that drew prey towards me. Quickstep solved that problem. I could now get to them. I used to literally count on giving and receiving pain. To let that build before having various effects take place. That was very handy, but it was slow. It was only useful in long drawn out battles or against others that had no will protection.
I tried to inject Torment into Quickstep, but the skill rejected it—its form resisting my influence. A limitation of general skills. I could enhance myself, heighten my reflexes, sharpen my strikes. But I couldn’t infuse skills with Torment unless they were made for it—like Crimson Reconstitution.
That meant I needed something new.
I flicked open my skills page, scanning through my options as I moved. I barely paid attention to my path, instinctively leaping from fallen trees, bounding off gnarled roots, swinging between branches like it was second nature.
Painwell.
Bound Agony.
Phantom Wound.
None of them were right. They all required me to take damage first before I could retaliate. I didn’t want to wait for pain anymore. I wanted to strike first—to control the flow of battle, to dictate how much suffering I inflicted. I wanted lethality without losing control.
I slowed, my surroundings came into focus. Somewhere in my absent-minded movements, I had circled back—back to the clearing where Alyssa had left me. To where she now stood. Waiting.
I walked up to her—not like a child caught in wrongdoing, but like a student approaching their master after failure. Not dejected. Determined. Ready to correct my mistakes.
We stood in silence, meeting each other's gaze, measuring, waiting. Then, I inclined my head—not in submission, but in acknowledgment.
“I was wrong,” I admitted. “And you were right. I see now how arrogant I had become with just a little power.”
I straightened, squaring my shoulders, my eyes locking with hers again. “But I’ve corrected what I could. And I’ve found a flaw—one I intend to fix.”
Alyssa smiled like nothing had ever been wrong, like she hadn’t just watched me nearly tear myself apart. Light, amused, utterly unshaken.
“You are my idiot demon, after all.”
I couldn't help but smile, a question forming on my lips—but she cut me off with a wave of her finger.
“I mean it,” she repeated, this time with slow, deliberate words. “I have a lot invested in you. A new race with great power… but something dark in you. Something that takes over. You can’t resist it.” Her eyes flickered with certainty. “That much is clear to me.”
She began pacing, muttering under her breath, her mind racing faster than I could follow. “…can’t control it. Best course of action. Remove from competition? No, the system wouldn’t allow… Maybe…No, no, too dangerous…”
Her head snapped up, eyes bright with realization. Then, with a triumphant snap of her fingers, she practically beamed at me.
“I’ve got it!” she declared, as if she'd just solved an impossible equation. Then came the words I knew I wouldn’t like. “I’m going to put a limiter on you.”
She said it so easily, like I was supposed to celebrate. Instead, I stared at her. Limiter. The word settled in my gut like a stone. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to be bound.
She caught my expression and, without hesitation, pulled a ring from her inventory.
“You are going to bind this,” she stated firmly. “It will restrict your Torment—keep it from reaching the point where you lose control. If you approach the limit, it will expel the excess from your body.”
She reached for my hand. “Once you prove you can manage your Torment,” she promised, “I’ll remove it. But for now, I can’t trust you.”
I said nothing. Because she was right. I couldn’t control it. The moment I passed my threshold, reason slipped. I had started that fight holding back, not wanting to kill them—and yet, as my wounds mounted, that restraint vanished.
First, I looked for openings to kill. Then, when the damage piled higher, I stopped defending altogether, focused only on attacking. It wasn’t choice. It was instinct. And it would get me killed.
Still, my fingers twitched as she reached for my hand. Binding myself. Letting her decide my limits.
Every part of me rebelled at the thought. I had spent my life being underestimated, being controlled. But if I wanted to survive this—if I wanted to be stronger than my instincts—I needed to face reality.
I extended my hand but, before she could slip the ring on, I hesitated.
“If I accept this,” I said slowly, watching her closely, “I want something in return.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I never want you to save me again.”
Her expression shifted. For the first time, she looked truly surprised.
I curled my fingers into a loose fist, meeting her gaze. “I mean it, Alyssa. I can’t fight knowing you’ll step in. I need the fear of dying. I can’t be reckless anymore thinking you’ll be there to fix my mistakes.”
She studied me for a long moment, unreadable. Then, with a slow exhale, she shut her eyes briefly before fixing her gaze back on me.
“Deal.” Her voice was measured, firm. “You will live with this limiter until you prove you can control yourself. In exchange, I will not save you from dying—not from your own power, not from your own mistakes.”
The phrasing struck me. Loopholes.
Not from my own power. Not from my own mistakes. But that left room for her to intervene if something else threatened my life. She was choosing her words carefully, hedging in ways I couldn’t quite parse.
But I let it go.
I exhaled, unclenching my fist. Then, without a word, I extended my hand to her.
She glanced at my offered fingers, then gave me a flat look. "Why are you holding it like that?"
I hesitated, then turned my hand palm up. With an almost amused shake of her head, she placed the ring in the center of my palm, pressing down gently. The moment her fingers met my skin, the ring melted into me.
Not painful. Not burning. Just… wrong. A sensation like something slipping into me, threading through my veins, settling in a place deeper than flesh. My body tensed involuntarily, but it was over in seconds.
When I turned my hand over, the ring was gone.
All that remained was the faintest outline, barely visible beneath my translucent skin. Bound.