The sun had yet to rise when Azrael began his work. The slave pit, buried beneath the ruins of Dreadspire Fortress, was silent but for the grinding of pickaxes and the labored breaths of his fellow prisoners. They were broken, minds shattered by years of torment. They did not know that a king had been born among them—reborn, if only in a new, fragile shell.
Azrael sat, eyes closed, focused on the dark corner of his soul where the Shadow System lay dormant, waiting. The task had already been set. The path forward, however treacherous, was clear.
He had to sow fear.
And he would start with the overseers.
The collar around his neck, the divine seal that branded him a slave, was still an unwelcome presence, but it did not burn him as fiercely as before. With every passing moment, his connection to the system deepened, and the seal's restraints weakened. There was something liberating in this slow, gradual erosion of his chains. His spirit burned for the freedom to reign again, and with each spark of fear he harvested, that freedom grew closer.
The overseers were monsters of their own kind. Cruel, unrelenting, they fed off the suffering they inflicted. They were the ones who held the power here, lording over the slaves as if they were little more than insects to be crushed underfoot. Azrael had seen them break men and women, had watched their will shatter with each strike, each lash. But no one had ever broken an overseer—not until now.
The first step was patience. Azrael had learned that much in his former life, in the days before the gods had cast him down. A king did not rush into battle. He waited for the right moment. And the moment would come.
---
The night passed slowly, the air thick with the stench of fear and sweat. The slaves shifted restlessly, some too sick to sleep, others too afraid to close their eyes. Azrael, however, sat still, his mind calm, his pulse steady. He was the predator waiting for the moment to strike.
A soft crack echoed in the stillness—a footstep too light to be the guards. Azrael's eyes snapped open.
It was one of the overseers, a lean man with cruel eyes and a whip that hung loosely from his belt. The overseer had been lurking in the shadows, his hand gripping the handle of the whip as he observed the slaves from afar.
Azrael's lips curled into a smile, and the system answered his silent call.
---
> System Task: Intimidate the Overseer Reward: Fear Points +150 | Unlock: Shadow Form (Lv.1)
---
A ripple of dark energy spread across the room as Azrael rose, stepping into the shadows. The overseer, unaware of the shifting presence, continued to watch, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he focused on the weak, trembling slaves. But as Azrael moved, something changed. The temperature in the room dropped, the air thickening with the weight of dread.
The overseer's eyes darted around the room, as if sensing something unseen, something dangerous. His breath quickened. His grip tightened on the whip.
A whisper of wind passed through the room, the only warning he would get. And then, from the darkness, Azrael's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Do you think you are untouchable?"
The overseer froze. His body stiffened, and his heart seemed to stop for an eternal second. The voice—low, cold, impossibly ancient—seeped into his bones, curling around his very soul like a noose.
Azrael stepped into the faintest sliver of light, his eyes glowing faintly with the promise of death.
The overseer's pulse quickened, panic spreading like wildfire. His mind raced, trying to comprehend the presence that haunted him. Was it a ghost? Was it the demon he had heard of in the old legends? No matter what it was, it was clear that he was not alone in this room. He was being watched. And something was very, very wrong.
"You've forgotten your place," Azrael continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And now you will learn."
The overseer screamed.
Not from physical pain, but from the terror that gripped his heart. The room spun around him, the shadows stretching, distorting, growing into monstrous shapes. His eyes widened as the air thickened with dread, each breath feeling heavier, as if the very weight of the world was pressing down on him. His knees buckled, his legs giving way to the suffocating fear that had taken root deep within him.
Azrael did not move. He simply watched. His presence alone was enough.
The overseer's mind cracked.
---
Ding!
> Fear Points +150 Shadow Form (Lv.1) unlocked Cloak yourself in darkness, becoming formless and unseen for 15 seconds. Escape detection and instill fear in those nearby.
---
Azrael stood tall, his form barely visible now, merging with the shadows around him. His shadow had become his weapon—his most potent tool. The overseer stumbled, tripping over his own feet, his mind unraveling under the weight of the terror he could no longer escape.
Azrael watched as the man collapsed to the ground, writhing, lost in his own madness. The fear he had cultivated was now a storm, consuming the overseer from the inside.
No one had ever dared to break one of the overseers. Not until Azrael.
He was no longer a slave. Not in spirit.
And soon, the world would know it.
---
The next day, the overseer was found, not with a broken neck or a bloodied body, but with his mind completely shattered. His mouth moved in incoherent murmurs, his eyes wide and unseeing. The guards tried to contain him, but there was nothing left to control. The overseer had become a shell, a victim of the terror that Azrael had sown.
Azrael knew it wouldn't be long before his actions caught the attention of the higher powers. But for now, the shadow was his domain. And in the silence of the pit, Azrael smiled.
This was only the beginning.