Hunger and Doubt
Midnight - Onyx Dormitory
Carsel woke up with a pounding headache. The piercing pain, throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat, made him whimper in the darkness of the room.
Withdrawal, he realized with growing horror. Soul Devourer withdrawal.
It had been four days since he last absorbed essence—four days since the death of the dire wolves in the forest. And his body, which had become dependent on a constant influx of stolen life force, was beginning to rebel.
He got out of bed with shaky movements, trying not to wake his roommates. Cold sweat drenched his entire body even though the night air was quite cool.
I need... I need to feed, the thought came with desperate and terrifying urgency. Find something, anything, with life force that can be absorbed.
But then, the image of yesterday afternoon's defeat appeared in his mind. Revan standing over him with a lightning-glowing blade, treating him with a courtesy that was somehow more painful than mockery.
Is this what I've become? Someone who only feels powerful when feeding on creatures that can't fight back?
Carsel walked toward the bathroom with unsteady steps, hoping that cold water could provide relief from the increasingly intense pain. But when he saw his reflection in the mirror, what stared back at him shocked him.
His face was pale, with dark circles under his eyes that made him look like a corpse. His black eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were now bloodshot and desperate.
I look like an addict, he realized with shock. I look exactly like the street junkies I used to see in the village before entering the academy.
The headache intensified, and for a moment he almost doubled over from sheer agony. This wasn't a normal headache—it felt like something essential was missing from his system, like a vital organ slowly shutting down.
The wolves' essence is completely gone from my system, he analyzed through a haze of pain. And without a constant supply of life force, my body is literally starting to break down.
Nausea hit him in waves, and he gripped the sink for support. In the mirror, he watched color drain completely from his face.
This is withdrawal. Real, physical, potentially dangerous withdrawal.
And that means the Soul Devourer isn't just an ability—it's an addiction that could literally kill me if I don't feed regularly.
As the pain reached a crescendo that made thinking difficult, Carsel found himself rationalizing in ways that would have horrified his former self.
It's not evil if it's survival, whispered a dark part of his mind. Addicts don't choose to be addicts—they use because they have to. I'm not a monster, I'm a victim of circumstance.
Besides, there are plenty of creatures around the academy that wouldn't be missed. Small animals, pets that belong to students who mistreat them anyway, even magical creatures in the laboratory for research purposes.
What's the difference between me feeding for survival and researchers killing animals for experiments?
The logic felt airtight in his pain-clouded mind. But somewhere, a deeper part of his consciousness was screaming warnings that this was exactly how good people became monsters—one rationalization at a time.
Elena would be horrified, whispered a voice that sounded like his conscience. Gareth would draw his sword on me. Sage would look at me with disappointment that breaks my heart.
But they're not here, a darker voice responded. They abandoned me to this fate. They let me be systematically broken by people who enjoy cruelty. Where was their protection when I needed it?
I have to take care of myself. And if that means doing things they wouldn't approve of... well, they should have thought of that before leaving me to face this alone.
Driven by pain that was rapidly becoming unbearable, Carsel crept out of the dormitory in the dead of night. His destination was the gardens behind the academy, where various small animals—rabbits, birds, academy cats—made their homes.
Just one small animal, he told himself as he moved through the shadows with stealth enhanced by dire wolf instincts. Something that won't be missed. Just enough to stop this pain and clear my head.
Then I can think properly about what to do long-term.
The moon was new, providing a cover of near-complete darkness. Perfect conditions for hunting a creature that wouldn't be able to defend itself.
Carsel found a rabbit warren near the academy's herb garden—a perfect target. Small, numerous, and completely defenseless against someone with his enhanced capabilities.
He reached out with dark magic, preparing to grab the first rabbit he could sense and drain its life force with an efficiency that would minimize suffering.
Quick and painless, he promised himself. Just business, not cruelty.
But as his enhancement touched the first rabbit's life signature, something unexpected happened.
The Memory Intrusion
Instead of simple absorption, Carsel suddenly found himself experiencing the rabbit's memories and emotions with a clarity that was overwhelming.
The contentment of sunny afternoons in the garden. The joy of finding particularly sweet clover. The warmth of snuggling with littermates during cold nights. Simple, pure happiness that came from the basic pleasures of a safe, peaceful existence.
And overlaying all of that—terror. Absolute, primal terror as a dark presence reached for its soul with the intent to consume everything that made it alive.
No, Carsel jerked his hand back as if burned. I can't... I can't do this.
The rabbit fled into the underbrush, alive and unharmed but traumatized by the encounter with a predator that had ultimately chosen not to strike.
Carsel knelt in the dirt, shaking not just from withdrawal pain but from revulsion at what he had almost done.
That rabbit was happy, he realized with shock. It was living a simple, peaceful life, harming no one, just trying to survive and find small pleasures in a world that's often cruel.
And I was going to take all of that away. Forever. Just to make myself feel better.
What kind of monster does that make me?
Sitting alone in the garden with moonlight filtering through the clouds, Carsel forced himself to confront the truth he had been avoiding.
The dire wolves I killed were different, he tried to rationalize. They were predators themselves, dangerous creatures that would have killed me if I hadn't acted first. That was self-defense.
But this rabbit... what threat did it pose to me? What had it done to deserve death except exist in the wrong place at the wrong time when I needed a fix for my addiction?
If I had gone through with it, I would have been exactly what everyone says I am—a monster who kills innocent creatures for personal gain.
The thought was sobering in a way that cut through the pain of withdrawal and forced a clarity he didn't want to face.
Maybe... maybe that's what I already am. Maybe killing the dire wolves wasn't self-defense—maybe it was the first step toward becoming a creature that preys on anything weaker than itself.
Maybe everyone who looks at me with fear and disgust is seeing something real.
The pain of withdrawal continued to pulse through his skull, making coherent thought difficult. But alongside the physical agony, the emotional turmoil was equally overwhelming.
I have a choice to make, he realized. I can give in to the addiction, start feeding on whatever creatures I can catch, and become a predator that exists only to consume others.
Or I can find a way to break the cycle, even if it means facing withdrawal symptoms that might literally kill me.
The question is—what kind of person do I want to be?
Images flashed through his mind in rapid succession:
Elena, teaching him mathematics with patience even when he was slow to understand.
Gareth, showing him proper sword stance with pride when he finally got it right.
Sage, explaining philosophy and morality with the conviction that good choices mattered.
Three children who died because of his reckless mistake—innocents who deserved protection, not sacrifice for his ambitions.
Vincent, begging for mercy that he had refused to give.
Revan, offering respect and encouragement even in victory, treating him with a dignity he hadn't shown to others.
Who am I? he asked himself. Am I the person Elena, Gareth, and Sage tried to raise? Someone who makes mistakes but learns from them, who tries to protect the innocent and help others?
Or am I a predator that takes what he wants without regard for consequences, who sees other living beings as resources to be consumed?
Physical Crisis
As the internal debate raged, withdrawal symptoms suddenly escalated to dangerous levels. His vision began to blur, and his heart rate became erratic. Cold sweat turned to a hot fever, and nausea became so severe he could barely remain upright.
I'm dying, he realized with detached clarity. Without regular feeding, the Soul Devourer ability is literally killing its host.
This is how addiction works—it doesn't just make you want a substance, it makes you need it for basic survival.
I have maybe hours before withdrawal becomes fatal.
In that moment of crisis, the choice became clear with stark simplicity:
Feed to survive, accepting the transformation into a monster that preys upon innocent creatures.
Or resist the addiction and risk death, but maintain some shred of humanity.
What would Elena want me to choose?
What would Gareth respect?
What would Sage be proud of?
What would the three children who died want their death to mean?
Carsel struggled to his feet, swaying in the garden that seemed to spin around him. Every instinct, every survival mechanism, every desperate part of his mind was screaming to find a creature to feed upon.
But louder than all of that was a quiet voice that sounded like his better angels:
Some things are worse than death. Some fates are worse than suffering.
Becoming a monster who preys upon innocents for personal survival is one of those fates.
With a determination that surprised even himself, Carsel turned away from the rabbit warren and began walking back toward the dormitory.
I won't feed tonight, he decided with a resolve that felt fragile but real. I won't become a predator that kills innocents for addiction.
If withdrawal kills me, at least I'll die as someone who chose to be better rather than someone who chose to be a monster.
Maybe... maybe that's worth something.
Halfway back to the dormitory, the pain suddenly receded just enough to allow clearer thought. Not complete relief, but a temporary respite that suggested withdrawal might not be immediately fatal.
Maybe the Soul Devourer addiction isn't as absolute as I feared, he hoped. Maybe there's a window of opportunity to break the cycle before it becomes irreversible.
Maybe I still have a choice in who I become.
Maybe it's not too late to find a different path.
As he reached Onyx Dormitory, Carsel made a promise to himself:
Tomorrow, I'll find a way to deal with this addiction without hurting innocents. I'll research alternatives, seek help if necessary, find some way to break this cycle.
I won't let this ability turn me into a monster.
The people who raised me deserve better. The children who died deserve better. Even I deserve better than becoming a creature who exists only to consume others.
There has to be another way.
And I'll find it.
With that fragile hope sustaining him, Carsel returned to his bed. Sleep, when it finally came, was fitful and filled with dreams of choices made and unmade.
But for the first time in months, those dreams included the possibility of redemption rather than the certainty of damnation.
Change was coming.
And maybe, just maybe, it would be a change for the better rather than worse.
To be continued...