Kaelen's hands still shook from the screams. The home was nothing but burned wood and falling stone. The smell of burned flesh stuck to his clothes, his hair, his very breath.
But the book—the cursed book—stayed clean and untouched in his grip. Its cover beat weakly, lines of black light moving across its surface like it was alive.
The words cut inside after the Killer's strike still shone:
[Soulcut Blade – Crimson Cabal Killer]
He should have thrown it into the fire.
Instead, he opened it again.
The ink moved like snakes. A whisper slid into his head: *Take it. Use it.*
A sudden sound of boots on ash pulled him back. He wasn't alone.
Three shapes stepped through the broken gates—Crimson Cabal left-behinds, sent to make sure no one lived. Their red face covers shone in the night, signs cut into their armor.
Kaelen pushed himself against the shadows of a burned wall, breathing shallow. His people were gone. He was all that was left. If they saw him now, it would end before it began.
But then the Book's page changed, lines of ink moving around. The Soulcut Blade picture opened up like a map in his mind. His heart beat faster. His veins felt hot.
*One chance*, he thought. *If this kills me, so be it.*
He stepped out of the shadows.
The first Cabal fighter made a mean face. "Another rat lived through the killing? You should have burned with the rest."
Kaelen didn't answer. His hand moved on its own, led by the ghost memory of the Killer's strike. The air split. Shadows twisted.
*Soulcut Blade.*
The cut tore through the fighter's weapon like it was paper, cutting him straight in half. Kaelen stumbled, sick rising in his throat. The pain wasn't in his body—it was deeper, as if his very soul had been pulled to power the hit.
The other two paused. One raised a magic sign, throwing a spear of snapping flame.
Kaelen tried to shadow-jump, reaching for the Shadow-jump trick. The world went blurry, and he came back behind the magic-user—but the work nearly broke his head open. He gasped, sight swimming.
The second fighter jumped forward.
Kaelen swung again, but the Book's stolen skill failed mid-hit. His body wasn't ready. He barely blocked, the blade scratching his ribs. Blood splashed across the black cover.
The Book beat. A new line cut itself:
[Fireflame Spear – Crimson Cabal Fire-caster]
His lungs burned. His head rang. The Cabal fighter growled and threw another spear of fire.
Kaelen screamed—and pushed the Book's page forward. The flame bent. Turned back. The spear flew back at its thrower, stabbing him in a pillar of hot light.
The last fighter dropped his weapon and ran.
Kaelen fell to his knees, chest heaving. He threw up dark blood onto the dirt. The book shook in his hold, as if enjoying the kill.
"Curse you," he whispered. "Curse you for tying me to this."
But the truth was hard and clear: without the Book, he'd already be a dead body beside his family.
The whispers grew louder now, the voice of the book moving through his thoughts like a snake. *Live. Grow. Take.*
Kaelen clenched his jaw, wiping blood from his mouth.
"No," he said roughly. "Not take. Not yet. First…" His look hardened, burning through the night. "…payback."
The Book's ink shone in quiet yes.