He fought his way through the twisted forest, where the dead trees creaked in the wind like bones being gnawed on from within.
He heard screams a couple of times. Not human screams.
But he didn't stop.
You can't stop.
— "One step, one life..."
Sullen as always, he came across a crack in the ground where there was a slight steam. The magic felt thick and musty, like a basement that had been forgotten for centuries.
He didn't think. He just jumped.
Cave.
And then there was a crash. A collapse.
The exit was falling asleep.
"Bitch..."
It's stuck.
It was completely dark, and even the shadows seemed blind. There was only a faint, dim glow coming from the walls—bioluminescent lichens, moving in a disgusting way.
An hour. Two. Day.
Thirst burned his throat. He drank moisture from the walls.
Hunger gnawed at him.
On the first day, he tried to dig. But the earth was alive, moving and shrinking back.
On the second day, he realized that he couldn't escape.
If he doesn't find food, he'll die.
Then he heard a rustling.
Something crawled out of the depths of the cave. It was a fat, greasy creature, half-slime, half-human. It had no eyes, and its mouth was a slimy hole. Its skin was streaked with gold.
It hissed. It reached for him.
"Will you... devour me? Or will I devour you?"
The voice was hoarse. Kallen wasn't sure if he had spoken or if the creature had.
The fight was short.
Ward did not respond. The shadow did not come. The sword was not summoned.
Kalen fought with his teeth and hands.
Tore, hit with a stone. Screamed.
And then I ate.
Slippery, slimy, burning. But inside, the body was ablaze with magic. The monster was a gold-bearing magical mutant. Its flesh was saturated with concentrated aetherial energy.
He didn't just survive; he became stronger.
On the third day, the cave opened by itself.
Kalen came out covered in mucus and blood.
The eyes were darker. The skin was slightly warmer. And there was gold on the teeth.
"One more time like that, and I'll start praying to be killed."
He chuckled. "They won't kill you, you scum."
A sign floated overhead:
"15 people killed. It's still going on."
He wiped his mouth and walked on.
***
He trudged down the slope, covered in gold and dirt, until he came across the corpses.
Scattered on the rocks, disfigured. Bones, blood, and the remains of tents.
Camp of the elves. Was.
But one of them was breathing.
Kallen approached. It was a girl, young, thin, and exhausted.
Completely naked.
The wound on his thigh was oozing, and he was breathing heavily.
Broken weapons, burnt leaves, and droplets of frozen magic were scattered around her.
She sat up, looking at him—not as a savior.
As a threat.
"Don't come near!" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
He didn't answer. Instead, he shrugged off the skin of the dead mutant, which was tough but warm and still smelled of blood.
He threw it over her in silence.
She looked into his eyes. Those black, blood-stained eyes.
Then, after only a minute, she threw herself.
A short, fierce throw.
A hidden blade under the skin, right at his throat.
He dodged. Instinct. Not magic.
And he didn't say a word. Only his hand went into his heart and came out on the other side of her back.
Silence.
And then a voice.
"Eat it."
Kalen froze.
"You survived because you were eating. Don't stop."
He didn't know whose voice it was. Neither Ward nor Thirk.
Not a dragon. Something else.
It was as if the very shadow that lived in his back wanted flesh.
He didn't resist.
Twenty minutes later, there was nothing left of the girl.
Meat, magical energy, even bones — everything was dissolved in the magic of the Shadow.
She didn't scream.
He even closed her eyes.
When he stood up, his body was trembling slightly.
The tattoos expanded.
A new mark appeared on his back: a broken moon symbol crossed out by lines, as if it were a mark for mind-eating.
"You're not just a human anymore."
A voice whispered from within. "You are the beginning of something else."
Kallen didn't respond. He just wiped his lips.
The gold was shining on his teeth again.