The Birth of Power
Third week of the fourth month of punishment - Late Night
Carsel gazed at his reflection in the surface of the small lake behind the academy. The face staring back no longer showed innocence or fear—all that remained was a cold and calculating determination.
Four months, he thought, gripping the dull training sword. Four months of being everyone's punching bag. Four months of being treated like I'm worthless.
But being worthless and actually being weak are two different things.
All this time, he had accepted that socially and politically, he was powerless. But physically and magically? That was something he could control.
If I'm going to survive in this world, I need real power. Not just twisted philosophy or dark thoughts. I need strength that can make people think twice before they mess with me.
Carsel had been observing expedition schedules for weeks, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Tonight, a junior expedition group returned from Thornwood Forest with wounded members and exhausted supervisors. Security would be lax, attention would be elsewhere.
Perfect time for an unauthorized hunting trip.
He had been stealing supplies little by little—expired but still functional healing potions, basic camping gear, and most importantly, unpurified monster cores that were discarded as "too dangerous for student use."
They're right about one thing, he thought, examining the three cores he had managed to acquire. Unpurified cores are dangerous. Risk of mana corruption, mental instability, physical mutation.
But risk is just another word for opportunity if you're desperate enough.
Normal students wouldn't dare to use unpurified cores. The risk was too great, the consequences potentially permanent. But Carsel was far from a normal student now.
What's the worst that can happen? I die? I become a corrupted monster? At least then I wouldn't have to scrub toilets every morning.
The logic was twisted, but in his current state of mind, it felt perfectly reasonable.
Midnight found Carsel moving through Thornwood Forest with a stealth born from months of being hunter and hunted. He moved carefully, avoiding areas where expedition groups typically patrol, seeking deeper regions where stronger monsters lurked.
According to the maps I studied, there should be a pack of dire wolves about two kilometers north. Tier D monsters—dangerous enough to push me to my limits, but not immediately fatal if I'm smart about it.
But smart is a relative term. What I'm doing is completely insane by any reasonable standard.
Reason, however, had become a luxury Carsel could no longer afford. Desperation made its own logic.
As he moved deeper into the forest, the ambient mana grew thicker, more oppressive. Signs of monster presence became obvious—claw marks on trees, half-eaten carcasses, territorial scent markings.
Good. This is what I need. An environment where only the strong survive, where politics and social status mean nothing.
Where I can prove to myself that I'm more than just a victim.
The dire wolf emerged from the underbrush with predatory silence, amber eyes reflecting moonlight like liquid fire. Large as a small horse, with muscles that rippled beneath midnight-black fur and teeth designed for crushing bones. Steam rose from its nostrils in the cold night air, and a low growl rumbled from its throat like distant thunder.
Carsel's first instinct was a familiar surge of fear. But instead of freezing or running like he would have months ago, he channeled fear into focus.
This is it. This is where I find out if I'm actually capable of surviving on my own terms.
He raised his sword with a stance developed through years of training with Gareth, but refined with months of desperate practice in secret. His grip tightened, knuckles white against the leather handle.
The wolf circled him with unnerving intelligence, clearly assessing this unusual prey. Most humans ran. This one stood its ground with a posture that spoke of either courage or stupidity. Its eyes never left his, watching for signs of weakness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Let's see which one it is.
The wolf lunged with a speed that blurred vision, its massive form cutting through the air like black lightning. Carsel barely managed to dodge, feeling claws rake across his shoulder with burning pain. Four parallel gashes opened his shirt and the skin beneath, blood seeping warm and sticky down his arm.
First blood to the wolf. But I'm still standing.
He swung his sword in a desperate arc, catching the wolf's flank with a shallow cut that drew a snarl of pain and rage. Black blood spattered the ground, steaming in the cold air.
The pain from the claw marks triggered something in Carsel that had been building for months. Not just anger or fear—something deeper, more primal.
I'm tired of being hurt. Tired of being prey. Tired of everyone and everything thinking they can damage me without consequences.
The dark magic that had always been suppressed, controlled, held back by moral restraints and fear of consequences, suddenly surged through his system with overwhelming intensity.
But instead of fighting it or trying to control it like he had been taught, Carsel embraced it completely.
Let it come. Let it burn. Let it show this world what I'm really capable of.
Shadows erupted from around him, not just an enhancement to his weapon but a manifestation of pure dark energy. His sword became wreathed in darkness that seemed to absorb light itself, and his eyes began to glow with the same shadowy power. The very air around him grew cold, and frost began forming on the ground beneath his feet.
The wolf, which had been preparing for a second attack, stopped with sudden wariness. Predator instincts that had kept its species alive for millennia were screaming danger. This was no longer wounded prey—this was an apex predator awakening.
That's right, Carsel thought with savage satisfaction. Now you understand. I'm not prey. I never was.
The wolf attacked again, this time with full commitment, jaws wide enough to crush a human skull. But Carsel moved with a fluidity that surprised even himself, dark enhancement making him faster, stronger, more aware.
His blade swept upward in a perfect arc, catching the wolf under the jaw and slicing deep into its throat. Dark energy poured from the weapon into the wound, causing corruption that spread like poison through the beast's system.
The wolf collapsed with a gurgling howl, black blood pooling beneath its massive form. But as it died, something extraordinary happened.
As the wolf's life faded, Carsel felt a pull—like an invisible thread connecting him to the dying creature. Instinctively, almost without conscious thought, he reached out with his dark magic.
What happened next would change everything.
Dark tendrils erupted from his hands, wrapping around the wolf's spirit as it began to leave the body. Instead of allowing natural death, the magic began to drain its essence—not just life force, but memories, experiences, instincts, strength.
What is this? Carsel wondered with a mixture of horror and fascination as he felt the wolf's power flowing into him.
His wounds began to heal, skin knitting together with unnatural speed. Muscles grew denser, reflexes sharper. Most importantly, he could feel his magical capacity expanding dramatically.
I'm... I'm absorbing its soul.
The realization should have horrified him. This was necromancy of the darkest kind, a violation of the natural order that would be considered an abomination by any civilized standard.
Instead, he felt a surge of exhilaration.
This is real power. Not just strength or speed—I'm taking everything it was and making it part of myself.
The wolf's death howl had not gone unnoticed. Within moments, two more dire wolves emerged from the darkness, flanking Carsel from multiple directions. These were larger than the first, scarred veterans with eyes that spoke of countless hunts and kills.
Three on one. Tier D monsters with pack tactics and home territory advantage.
Perfect.
Instead of despair or tactical retreat, Carsel felt a surge of anticipation. The first wolf had made him stronger. These two would make him stronger still.
Let them come. I understand now what I'm capable of.
The alpha wolf, distinguished by a silver streak across its muzzle and a network of battle scars, growled with an authority that demanded submission. Its companion, a sleek female with intelligent amber eyes, began to circle, cutting off escape routes.
But Carsel had no intention of escaping.
"Come on then," he said aloud, his voice carrying new confidence. "Let's see what else I can learn from you."
The alpha attacked first, massive jaws aimed for his throat. Carsel sidestepped with a grace that bordered on supernatural, bringing his shadow-wreathed blade down across the beast's spine.
Dark energy bit deep, severing vertebrae with surgical precision. The alpha collapsed with its spine severed, paralyzed but not yet dead.
The female wolf, seeing her pack leader fall, attacked with berserker fury. Claws raked across Carsel's chest, opening new wounds. But before the pain could register properly, he was already moving.
His blade thrust upward, piercing through the wolf's heart with a strike that was more execution than combat technique. Dark magic spread through its system, corrupting its life force even as it faded.
The Soul Harvest
As the second wolf died, Carsel reached out with dark magic again, this time deliberately. Tendrils of shadow wrapped around the departing soul, drawing it into himself with hungry satisfaction.
More healing, more strength, more knowledge flooding his system. The female wolf's agility, her pack hunting instincts, her territorial awareness—all of it became part of him.
The alpha wolf still lived, paralyzed and helpless. Perfect opportunity for experimentation.
Carsel knelt beside the dying creature, placing a hand directly on its head. This time, he didn't wait for natural death. He actively began draining its soul while the beast still lived.
The sensation was indescribable. Not just the absorption of power, but the complete consumption of everything that made the creature what it was. Memories of successful hunts, knowledge of forest paths, an instinctual understanding of predator behavior—all flowing into him like a river of liquid experience.
The alpha's eyes grew dim, then vacant, then empty. What remained was not a corpse, but a husk—something from which the very essence of life had been extracted.
Standing among the three wolf corpses in the forest clearing, Carsel felt like an entirely different person. Not just stronger or faster—fundamentally changed on a level that went beyond physical enhancement.
His wounds had healed completely, leaving not even scars. His muscle mass had increased noticeably, and his magical capacity felt vast as an ocean. But most importantly, his relationship with death and violence had been permanently altered.
This is what I was meant to do, he realized with a clarity that felt religious in its intensity. Not clean toilets or serve as human bait. I was meant to take power from those weaker than myself.
I was meant to hunt.
He looked down at his hands, still crackling with residual dark energy. These were no longer the hands of a victim or a servant. These were the hands of a predator.
Let them try to humiliate me now. Let them try to treat me like a disposable tool.
They have no idea what they've created.
Walking back toward the academy in the pre-dawn darkness, Carsel reflected on the night's events with a mind that felt expanded, enriched with the stolen experiences of three apex predators.
Tonight taught me something crucial: power is not given. It's taken. The world doesn't reward patience or virtue or accepting your circumstances. It rewards those bold enough to change their circumstances by force.
I spent months being prey, accepting that role, trying to earn my way out of it through good behavior and moral choices.
What I should have been doing is learning to be a predator. Learning to hunt. Learning to take what I need without asking permission.
A soul devourer, he thought, testing a name for his new ability. Perfect description. I don't just defeat enemies—I consume them completely. Their strength becomes my strength. Their knowledge becomes my knowledge.
This is evolution. This is what it means to transcend limitations imposed by others.
As he walked, he could feel the absorbed wolf instincts guiding his steps, showing him optimal paths through the forest, alerting him to the presence of other creatures. He was no longer just a human boy with dark magic—he was an apex predator with the accumulated wisdom of natural hunters.
Tomorrow, everything changes. I return to the academy not as a broken victim, but as something far more dangerous.
Something that feeds on the weak and grows stronger with each kill.
Let them try to prey on me now.
Dawn was breaking when Carsel slipped back into Onyx Dormitory, moving with a stealth that now felt natural. His wounds had already begun to heal with unnatural but welcome speed.
But more than physical changes, there was something different in his presence. An aura that was predatory, a confidence born from proving himself in a life-or-death situation.
Vex, who was always the first to notice changes in dark energy, looked up from his necromancy texts with an expression that shifted from curiosity to genuine interest.
"You're... different," he observed in a tone that held new respect. "Stronger. More... complete."
"I found what I was looking for," Carsel replied in a voice that carried new authority.
"And what was that?"
Carsel smiled with an expression that would have been unrecognizable to Elena, Gareth, or Sage. A smile that held no warmth, no innocence, no regret.
"Myself."
That morning's cleaning duties felt different. Not because the tasks had changed, but because Carsel's relationship to them had fundamentally shifted.
He no longer cleaned toilets as a humiliated victim. He cleaned them as a predator biding his time, building strength, waiting for an opportunity to demonstrate new capabilities.
When Marcus and his Ruby friends tried to engage in their usual morning harassment, they found themselves facing someone who no longer radiated weakness or fear.
"Something different about you today, Nightshade," observed Marcus with an unease he couldn't quite identify. "You seem... taller somehow."
"Maybe you're just seeing me clearly for the first time," Carsel replied in a tone that was polite but carried an undertone of danger.
Marcus, unsure how to respond to the unexpected confidence, backed down from the usual escalation. Something in Carsel's eyes suggested that humiliation games might not be one-sided anymore.
Good, Carsel thought with satisfaction. Let them wonder. Let them worry. Let them start to understand that victim and predator are just matters of circumstance.
And circumstances, I'm learning, are much more flexible than people think.
From now on, every interaction would be different. Every challenge would be an opportunity to demonstrate growth. Every attempt to humiliate him would be a chance to show that he was no longer the person they thought they knew.
Carsel Nightshade, victim and scapegoat, was dead.
What emerged in his place was something far more dangerous: someone who had learned to embrace power without moral restraints, someone who had discovered that survival justified any action, someone who had stopped caring about being liked and started focusing on being feared.
In the shadows, the mysterious organization member smiled with deep satisfaction. The target had taken another crucial step toward becoming the weapon they needed.
Soon, very soon, the final phase of recruitment could begin.
To be continued...