Kaelen woke to the cold bite of night air. His body still hurt from the fight, every breath a sign of how close he had come to death. The dead bodies of the Cabal fighters burned weakly behind him, painting the broken place in a sick red light.
The Book lay open beside him. Its pages moved though there was no wind.
A new page beat with ink:
[Soulcut Blade] – Written Down.
Start Training?
Kaelen stared. His head hurt from the memory of the stolen hit—the way it had nearly broken his spirit in half. Using that skill again would kill him. Unless…
He touched the page.
The world disappeared.
---
He stood in a place without end made of black stone, hanging under a sky of broken stars. The Book floated in the air before him, its pages turning like a judge's hammer.
A shape came out from the shadows—known, awful.
The Crimson Killer.
Or rather, a copy of him.
His huge body stood over Kaelen, blade wet with shadow-light. Though Kaelen knew this was not real, the murder-feeling pouring off the copy felt heavier than the burning broken place he had run from.
The Book's whisper slid through the air: Beat the copy. Take full control. Fail… and the pain will stay.
Kaelen ground his teeth. "So that's the cost."
The Killer's copy ran at him.
Kaelen barely managed to shadow-jump aside, his Shadow-jump trick flickering like a candle in wind. He hit back with the Soulcut Blade's stolen cut, but the copy blocked easily. The shock pushed Kaelen sliding across the stone.
Pain tore his arms. Blood shot from his nose.
The copy attacked again, showing no mercy.
Kaelen fought wildly, each hit like a hammer to his soul. He died once—then twice—then a third time, each death burning through him like hot metal. Every broken bone, every stab, every crushed inside part was real.
But he woke again. Always again.
The Book allowed no running away.
Hours passed—or maybe days. He lost track. Every time the copy cut him down, Kaelen got up weaker, but sharper. His gut feelings grew stronger, his moves became better. The Soulcut's rhythm began to weave itself into his bones.
By the fiftieth death, he could block three hits before falling.
By the hundredth, he could match the Killer hit for hit.
By the two-hundredth, he knocked the weapon from the copy's hands—just for a breath, before dying again.
Each death pushed him closer to losing his mind. But the thought of his killed people held him, burning brighter than the pain.
On what must have been his last try, Kaelen's body was half-ruined, his soul felt ripped like torn paper. But his eyes burned clear.
The Killer's copy struck, blade whistling down.
Kaelen didn't meet it with raw force this time. He slid into shadow, rose behind him, and let loose the Soulcut with perfect aim. His blade cut through the copy's back bone.
The shape froze. Broke apart. Turned to dust.
The Book's voice rumbled like a thousand turning pages:
[Soulcut Blade – Full Control Confirmed.]
The empty place fell apart.
---
Kaelen gasped awake in the broken place. Blood wet his lips. His muscles shook as though he had fought for weeks without stopping.
But when he held the handle of his stolen blade, it moved smoothly, perfectly, as though it had always been his.
The Book closed itself with a pleased sound.
Kaelen lay back on the burned ground, the weight of what he had just gone through sinking in.
If every skill needed such pain to master… then payback would be a path made of blood, inside and out.
His people's screams echoed in his ears.
"So be it," he whispered.
The shadows changed, wrapping around him like a burial cloth.