Cain darted through the forest, branches whipping past, roots tugging at his heels, the pendant clenched tight in his palm.
Behind him, the sound of pursuit grew louder.
The boots crunching twigs, breathless curses, the metallic rasp of drawn blades. It was expected, and Cain knew it all from the start what would happen if he did what he had done.
After all, the merchant's guards were well-trained, better fed than the starving villagers, and more importantly: they had numbers.
And yet he had yielded to the desire, or rather he had to. But he did not fear...
For Cain had something far better.
He had power.
The pendant pulsed like a second heart, each throb sending warmth up his arm.
At first, it was nothing more than a flickering ember, like a glow, a whisper of something long forgotten. But now, in the presence of danger, the hunger within him fed upon it fully. The relic's faint divine trace was consumed, not destroyed, but transformed.
Twisted.
Refined.
What once was the weak blessing of a minor travel deity—one who governed firelight and wayfarers—was reborn through the abyssal fragment sleeping in Cain's soul.
The pendant flared, and in an instant—
He understood.
The spell was no longer "Safe Spark," no protective charm meant to light campfires or guide children home.
No.
It had become something else.
A cold smile curled across Cain's lips.
He slowed near a clearing, then stopped entirely. Let them catch up.
Let them come.
Two guards burst into view, blades raised, breathing hard. One barked, "Stop right there, thief!" while the other circled to flank him.
Cain tilted his head. His eyes shimmered faintly with voidlight.
Then, he whispered the new name that echoed within his mind—
"Abyssal Kindling: Void Spark."
The pendant shattered.
And the forest ignited.
A pillar of black-red fire erupted around him, wreathing his body in dancing tongues of heat and light. The guards screamed far too late to shield themselves as the inferno claimed them.
The fire wasn't hot like normal flames.
No... It devoured.
It fed on their flesh and fear, transforming the two men into grotesque silhouettes as if living lanterns of flickering agony.
Their bodies staggered for only a few second before collapsing, leaving only charred husks behind.
Cain stood within the blaze, untouched.
The fire obeyed him.
He stared at the embers swirling in the air, marveling at their hue which was not bright orange, but a shade of dark crimson with violet undertones, like coals smothered in twilight.
It was a birth.
Not of magic.
But of a new kind of power.
A fusion of divine imprint and void corruption... an abyssal gem skill.
Cain's thoughts raced as he began moving, weaving through the trees while the fire burned on behind him. He didn't need to destroy the forest. Just a few trees would do. The light would draw attention.
And that was exactly what he wanted.
Minutes later, the villagers had begun to gather. From across the ruined outskirts and the surviving homes, they came with buckets and sticks, shouting to one another as they raced toward the distant fire's glow. Even Angus Vox, despite his limp, had taken up a pail and rushed off with the others.
Cain moved carefully through the shadows, now mostly unnoticed.
His clothes were dirtied, his hair disheveled, his skin pale from the drain: but the smirk never left his face.
He crept back into the village, skirting the narrow lanes between broken cottages, until he reached his home once more.
He slipped through the back and waited inside, breathing evenly, calming his heart. The fire had already begun to die down without any magic to fuel it.
The villagers would be back soon. All he had to do was act natural.
Moments later, the front door creaked open.
Cain stepped forward into the main room, rubbing his eyes with one hand, feigning sleepiness.
"Father?" he asked groggily, voice low.
Angus entered, his shirt soaked with sweat, the bucket now empty.
"Cain? You're awake?"
"I heard shouting and saw the light. It woke me up," Cain said, voice rough but calm. "What happened?"
Angus grunted, tossing the pail to the side. "Some lunatic set a fire out near the east treeline. Two of the merchant's guards are dead. Burned to ash."
Cain blinked with wide, fake innocence. "What? Why would anyone…?"
"No idea," Angus said, wiping his brow. "Maybe someone from another village. Or a desperate fool. But it's bad. The merchant's already talking about calling for inquisitors. Claims there's heresy involved."
Cain's jaw tensed at that, but he nodded. "Should we leave?"
Angus looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No. You've only just recovered. And we've nowhere to go. If the gods are watching, we'll be protected."
Cain said nothing.
He only nodded.
But inside?
He was smiling.
He had gained much that night.
Not just a new skill.
But confirmation.
Even the weakest trace of a god gem, even from a forgotten relic, could be devoured... nay, transformed!
By the fragment of Annihilus within him.
It wasn't just a power.
It was a process.
And he was learning how to use it.
One step at a time.