Dealing with the shadow of the harvester was very different than Alan’s previous experiences. It was not like refining his mana or changing bone and flesh. It was more of a digestion he couldn’t quite get a grasp on. A slowly melting medication he was absorbing in some strange way. It affected both mana and will. The shadow had burned faster a few times, bringing his will and control into total disarray, only for Alan to expend quite a bit of effort until all was contained. Losing control was almost like losing a limb; a part of him gone astray.

  He hated it.

  Consuming the will of the sagird being who had tried to assault Alan had somewhat calmed down the process, but it was not like he could do it over and over again. Frankly, Alan wasn’t sure what the hell he was getting into, but he was long past caring about that.

  Come on, you fucking thing. Prodding at it yielded no result. Looking at it closer now it felt almost as if it was there, but it was also not there. That would align with what he knew about spirits, which was insultingly little. While he accepted the gift as a shadow, and the harvester had called it a shadow, it was behaving almost like a fire, which was burning wildly somewhere inside of his soul, or whatever the place all mana came from was called. Core? Center? Zirida would know.

  Alan frowned as he opened his eyes to the bare stone of the Tower’s floor. He had achieved nothing in the few hours he had spent trying to gain control of the process or understand what it was doing to him. It was frustrating, but the shadow fire continued burning with or without his contribution. It was the lack of information and ability to make decisions about his development that pissed him so—an ongoing theme in his life. Maybe I should decorate a bit, and see how my fine control is?

  It sounded like a good exercise.

  Shadows swirled around him stretching from each centimeter of his body and out throughout the floor. He shaped them slowly, attempting to be mindful of each detail. Visualization was much easier now than it had ever been before, but his mind was quickly reaching the limit of how many tiny details it could hold at once. Once he let go, that was it. Chairs, tables, shelves, and even a few decorative statues of monsters he had seen filled the empty space of the floor. All were made of darkness, of course, for that was all he could do. No color made its way through his creation, and even now with his shadows being thick as oil, they felt soft and illusive.

  A candle flame away from death.

  Alan remained in place, frowning. His work left a lot to be desired, and he knew it was not because he had always been bad at artistic expression. This was a different field of work altogether. He suddenly remembered Eldon, and how he was locked up somewhere, gone mad from the pressure of the System and the treatment he had been subject to. There was something quite interesting about his skills, however. Permanence.

  Eldon had been able to achieve that long before any of them had understood even the barest minimum of the System and what it gave. Those tiny provisions of water the man could create were real, useful, and didn’t need Eldon to remain close or feed them mana. Shadows were very different from water in that case, but the small water pockets were still shaped and protected by mana.

  Alan’s only similar achievement in this field was his dark servants, who were created of shadows, given the stolen vitality of others. They were not truly alive. He saw them more as a set of directions given autonomy. Wasn’t that what skills were? They made things easier.

  It was quite clear that many, if not most relied on skills at face value, without delving deeper like he had. Just grind the levels, get the skills, and get stronger. A fool’s errand if he had ever seen one. Understanding brought power… and quite a few headaches if he had to be honest.

  True permanence was different than anything he had known until now. It meant creating something that would last without his input. Alan wasn’t going for something eternal, but it would be nice if he could make things that remained for a couple of days without having to rob some poor soul out of their vitality. Would that mean overloading things with mana, or achieving what the dark servants were doing on their own, allowing his creations to absorb mana from the world to support their existence?

  How hard could it be?

  As it turned out after a few more hours, very hard. Nearly impossible to the current him. Alan finally gave up. Maybe the answer to his current issue wouldn’t be found in the throes of meditation and between the walls of his Tower. There was a lot to do on the outside, and he was only two levels away from 125. It was a bit overwhelming juggling another skill along with what he had gotten from the spirit, but it was power, and he wanted it.

  The shadow furniture remained behind, although he could sense it slowly dissipate the further his attention got away from it. The shadows existed as long as he paid attention to them, but not after. Maybe it was the element itself that was the issue.

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  Whatever Turtle was doing was at its peak, so Alan ignored it and simply decided to take a leisurely stroll. No direction. No enemy to face. No stress. It was difficult to let go and relax, and he found himself more and more frustrated.

  A brief somewhat hazy memory of one of his encounters during his latest stay in the bazaar played over and over in his mind, and one word seemed to pop up louder every time. The shadowy whispers welcomed it, and his mind seemed enthralled by it.

  Emptiness.

  Void was part of his shadows now. It had made them hungry and more compatible with his will that seemed to want the world to be as broken as Alan himself was. Quite the edgy and villainous way of expressing himself, but he wasn’t about to complain. Especially since it helped so much in combat.

  There was a lot to pay attention to now as he tried to do so. Most buildings looked the same and windows were a rare thing, but inside he could sense all sorts of different mana signatures and effects. Everyone was busy practicing their skills or honing their crafts and the streets were almost empty, unlike other times.

  He wondered if it was Rosalyn’s efforts or perhaps the many disasters that had made the people so focused on growth. Or it could be the System itself—it was quite addicting to grow stronger.

  Before Alan knew it he was back at a familiar place. The door swung open and Tim shot up from the chair he was sitting upon. On the bed, Alan saw a sorry sight.

  Cole had recovered somewhat, but while Alan had given back some vitality he had also taken some again later. A cruel act. Something he regretted doing if only because it got him further from his goal of holding on to humanity as long as possible. Was that what Cole had ended up as? An anchor Alan used to test the depths of his depravity? Or perhaps how easy to bend his bottom line was.

  Do I even have one? I won’t do a few certain things, but… killing? Easy as breathing. Why don’t I just end his misery?

  The call of the shadows was loud, and his urges were aligning with the darkness. A dangerous game when something so foreign as the harvester's burning shadow was reinforcing all of Alan’s strengths.

  “Come to torture him some more?” Tim asked after calming down.

  Alan smiled. “Dropping all pretense, aren’t you? That’s refreshing. I’m tired of your double-faced gecko act.”

  “Gecko…? What are you on about? What do you want, Alan? You won. Everyone whispers your name. Everyone fears you. One word and the Sanctuary will be yours. Why are you here? I never thought you so cruel as to come and gaze at your victims like some sort of a—”

  “Careful now, Tim. If I am as you say I am then you’re threading quite dangerous waters. But honestly, I’m surprised you’ve stuck next to him for so long. Good for you. Maybe I was too quick to judge. Maybe there’s good in everyone.”

  As if I’d believe such bullshit. Some people are just scum.

  Tim barely shifted his weight and glimpsed to the side. A tiny movement, and barely a quick glance. Yet it was all clear as day to Alan. The muscles quickly pulsed beneath the skin with each minute movement; the shadows played along the wrinkles of worry, and the light reflected in the eyes; the rise and falls of the chest caused by controlled breathing were mesmerizing.

  For a moment, there was another type of flow. One of a human. One of a mind held in a fleshy vessel.

  Like a whisper in the wind, the sensation was gone, and Alan blinked a few times as the world came back to him. What had just happened?

  “You know Rosalyn forced me to stay here, don’t you?” Tim finally spoke. A thin drop of sweat was running down his face.

  Alan noticed the shadows playing around his fingertips, like snakes ready to strike out. The room had grown darker, even if he hadn’t released his will or filled it with the effects of [Shadow Creation]. Almost as if the light was trying to run. Their desire to devour was at an all-time high, and the darkness flickered like flames. Again, the harvester’s shadow burned faster.

  How peculiar. Is it the promise of violence, or perhaps death that’s motivating it? I won’t lose control, whatever you are.

  “I’ll fix him one last time. It’s up to you to convince him to be useful. A storm unlike any is threatening this place, and I for one want to have somewhere to come back after a day of killing. Don’t you? Ah, right. You’re not allowed to leave. Strange how that happens… it’s not like anyone is stopping you.”

  Rosalyn didn’t say anything about this… not that I gave her a chance. I should go see my prisoner as well. Unlike the rest, he’s a tier-two, even if Rust has helped him reach it.

  Tim grimaced, then after a moment seemed to calm down and took a step forward. “I’m a healer. I can be useful.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t particularly need the services of healers, but I’ll keep you in mind,” Alan said. The shadows retracted from his fingertips and he the disappointment of the voices. His own was quite palpable too. “I’m here to do a social experiment, Timmy. I’m all about second chances now. A particular person showed me that going straight for the jugular is fucking stupid, so now I’m doing the humane thing, and I’m turning the other cheek. Be careful though. It’s surrounded by barbed wire and a minefield.”

  Tim frowned.

  “You’re weirder each time I see you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Alan carefully touched Cole. He didn’t need to, but it felt more personal. Like the choice was his and his alone, and not some sort of a desperate subconscious plea that had somehow broken through the surface. Who knew he would want to be more human? The old Alan would’ve laughed in the face of such insanity.

  “Here you go, sleeping beauty.” Rosalyn will be pissed. His class was fun though.

  Of course, the curse remained in place, and Alan knew it had done enough damage to drive anyone mad. The particular taste of having one’s vitality stolen was quite memorable.

  Cole’s face grew instantly redder as large amounts of vitality flowed backward into him. They were of those stolen from the ‘Immortal’ who unfortunately didn’t seem all that immortal now. The connection still showed amazing quantities of vitality, but they were finite, just like everything else.

  Alan removed his hand, winked at Tim just for the sake of doing something fun, and left.

  I wonder temporary madness will bring. I should probably tell someone I did this… Now, let’s see if my captive will be useful.