The stronghold's stone corridors breathed with silence, broken only by the faint hum of torches guttering against the damp air. For most, the quiet would have been a comfort. To Aric, it was a weight pressing against his chest, each flicker of firelight another shadow that might reach for his throat.
The resistance had claimed the ruins as their safe haven, fortifying the cracked walls and shattered archways. On the surface, it was a fortress against the demons. Beneath, Aric could feel it — the trembling pulse of sorrow energy gathering like storm clouds.
The Sorrow System whispered. Not words, not commands. Just a presence — heavy, demanding, alive. It reminded him that the stronghold was not his, nor theirs. It was a graveyard, and graves were never silent for long.
The Tension Among Allies
Aric leaned against the wall of the central chamber, listening as the resistance leaders argued around the cracked stone table.
"The demons regroup faster than we can recover," said Captain Deyra, her scarred hands slamming against the surface. "Every victory buys us only hours before another strike."
"We need reinforcements," argued Bren, his voice hoarse. "Supplies from the southern ruins, maybe survivors in the east—"
"Or we hold and bleed." That came from Kael, ever the pessimist, his eyes sharp with suspicion. His gaze lingered on Aric. "Somehow, our mysterious savior keeps us alive. But how long before his tricks fail us?"
Aric didn't move, but his jaw tightened. Kael wasn't wrong to question him. He hadn't told them about the Sorrow System, only that he had found "a power" in the ruins. The truth — that every ounce of strength he wielded came from the suffering of enemies — would divide them. Perhaps even terrify them.
He could feel the weight of their lives pressing on his shoulders. And still, the whispers of sorrow coiled tighter.
Night Watch
That night, Aric took first watch at the crumbled battlements. The ruins stretched into blackness, jagged outlines of collapsed towers piercing the horizon. A faint mist rolled across the stones, carrying with it the faint, acrid tang of blood — a reminder of battles fought too recently.
He closed his eyes, letting the sorrow seep in. Not enough to feed the System, but enough to taste the wounds of the land. Faces flickered in his mind. The demons he had slain. The men and women lost in the resistance's desperate stand.
The power surged, violent, demanding release. He clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms.
Control it. Don't let it control you.
"Aric."
He opened his eyes. Lira stood at his side, her silver hair catching the torchlight. She studied him with eyes too perceptive for comfort.
"You carry it differently than the others," she said softly. "The sorrow doesn't crush you. It feeds you."
Aric's pulse spiked. Did she know? Could she see the tendrils of shadow that whispered beneath his skin?
Before he could answer, a horn split the night.
The Assault
Demons swarmed from the mist — dozens, maybe hundreds, their forms writhing with hunger. Clawed feet tore across the broken ground, eyes glowing with malice.
The resistance scrambled to the walls. Shouts rang out, arrows loosed, firebombs hurled. The air turned into chaos.
Aric leapt forward, his body moving before thought. The sorrow energy flared, violet tendrils spiraling around him as he struck the first demon. It shrieked as its chest imploded under his blow, its agony rushing into him like fire down his veins.
The System's voice — if it could be called that — surged.
[Sorrow Harvested: +27][New Threshold Reached – Skills Amplified]
The tendrils grew sharper, faster. He cut through demons like a storm given flesh, every kill feeding him, every scream forging his strength anew.
The resistance fought valiantly, but it was Aric who turned the tide. His shadow spread across the battlefield, swallowing demon after demon until the ground itself pulsed with sorrow.
A Whisper Too Close
And then it came.
A voice, clear this time, sliding through the chaos and straight into his mind.
"You are learning well, little harvester."
Aric froze mid-strike, his breath catching. That was not the System. That was something else. Something behind it.
A demon lunged, and he barely managed to slice it down before its claws found his throat.
"Do you think sorrow answers only to you? You are not the master, boy. You are the vessel."
The world spun. For the first time since awakening the Sorrow System, Aric felt powerless. The shadows wavered, flickering like dying flame.
The demons pressed harder, sensing weakness.
"Aric!" Lira's voice cut through, sharp with urgency. "Don't stop!"
His hands shook, but he forced the tendrils to obey. Another demon fell. Another scream filled him.
But the whisper lingered. Patient. Amused.
"Soon, you will understand. And then you will choose: master… or servant."
Aftermath
The battle raged until dawn. When the last demon fell, silence swept the ruins once more. The resistance cheered weakly, their relief as fragile as glass.
Aric stood apart, chest heaving, his violet glow dimming. He could still hear the voice, echoing in the back of his mind.
He had always believed the Sorrow System was his weapon. His tool for survival. But what if he was the weapon — and someone else was wielding him?
He looked toward the horizon, where the mist still lingered. Somewhere in that darkness, the Demon King watched.
And Aric knew — this was only the beginning.