Chapter 27
Days slipped by in the damp darkness of the underground.
Kael no longer counted hours—only the painful beats of his heart, the throb of half-healed wounds, and the metallic taste of blood he spat with every new attempt.
He was no longer the man of flawless illusions.
He was a specter, half-bent, drenched in sweat, his features gaunt—but his eyes still burned with a cold, relentless determination.
A Battlefield Within
He had forged a ritual for himself: each morning and night, he channeled his mana into his body.
Not to create.
Not to deceive.
But to force his muscles and bones to carry strength they were never meant to hold.
The result was always the same:
His veins bulged, ready to burst.
His bones cracked like dry wood.
His lungs tightened beneath invisible pressure
One night, after pushing too far, he collapsed, convulsing in the dust. His throat closed, and for a fleeting moment he thought death would finally tear him away from this world.
But instead of yielding, he laughed.
A raw, blood-choked laugh.
"Even you, Death… you'll have to wait your turn."
The First Breakthrough
And then, after dozens of failures, something shifted.
Tiny.
But real.
As he poured mana into his legs, instead of collapsing at once, he felt his muscles absorb the overload for a few seconds longer.
His body shook, but it held.
He took one step.
Then another.
His breath broke into ragged gasps, and at last he collapsed, blood spilling from his lips—but his eyes gleamed with a new fire.
"There it is…" he whispered, clenching his fist.
"I can force it."
Hunger and Solitude
Pain was not his only enemy.
His resources were dwindling.
Sometimes he stole from the lowest markets to feed himself, cloaked in flickering illusions. Every outing was a risk: bounty notices plastered on walls reminded all of the fortune promised for his head.
He often felt eyes linger on him. Too intently.
But so far, his illusions had been enough to fool the crowd.
For how much longer?
A New Kael
The suffering wore him down, but it was shaping him too.
Every cracked bone, every scorched muscle, every mouthful of blood was no longer a failure, but a stone laid on the path forward.
He was not the same man who had entered Calvenne.
Illusions would remain his weapon…
But now, he was forging a second blade: his own body.
And in the stench of the underground, Kael whispered a chilling promise:
"When I rise from here… I won't be a fragile shadow. I'll be the abyss that devours all."