Mitch grunted at his bleeding shoulder but swung a brutal hook, smashing into Layra’s nose with his torn fist. She yowled as blood streamed down her face. The crowd’s roar was a distant echo; all that mattered was the fierce dance of the fight between them. So far, their fight had lasted much longer. They had traded hard blows and countless slashes. Mitch finally noticed her ferocity faltering.

Layra’s tail lashed angrily as she circled him. Desperation fueled her attacks, but she pressed on. Mitch delivered a swift kick to her ribs; she retaliated with a wild swipe, her claws digging deep into his side.

He lurched back, clutching his side where Layra’s claws had torn through flesh. Blood leaked from the deep gashes, seeping between his fingers. Mitch grinned through the pain. Layra kept her distance from him with a broken nose, and one eye swollen shut. The crowd roared as they took in the mess he’d made of her and the raw wounds slashed across his body.

Affliction Skill Upgraded

Agony’s Embrace

Level 3(+1)

Pain is power. Harness every drop of suffering, turning agony into unrelenting strength. Your torment permanently fortifies your body and amplifies your strength.

+ Consume Souls or Flesh to heal your Body

He felt the Absinthe blaze through him. Wicked power surging as the upgrade hit. His muscles flexed harder, drawing strength from the agony. The open wounds pulsed in rhythm with his hammering heart as they leaked, but he held back, remembering the rules. No active Skills allowed in the pit.

Actually disgusting, but very useful. Just need to finish this psycho.

Layra hesitated, her stance shifting as she eyed him. He could see the doubt flicker in her gaze. She darted forward, claws swiping wide. But he was ready. Her swing met air as he dodged and countered, driving a brutal fist into her ribs, followed up with a knee. She doubled over, gasping, and stumbled back.

The crowd’s cheers pounded in his ears. Mitch tensed, ready to surge forward to finish Layra off with a crushing blow. He loaded his fist, ready to break her face apart.

She raised a trembling hand, signaling him to stop. After ten long minutes, she had finally given up. He froze, heart still thundering in his chest, knuckles itching to land another blow. Her eyes held a flicker of fear, and he realized he’d been ready to tear her apart.

Mitch took a shaky step back. The battle-lust from the Absinthe simmered, no longer boiling within. Layra lowered her hand, breathing hard, tail wrapping around her legs as she slumped to her knees.

Sable entered the ring, eyes calculating and stride precise. She looked at Mitch with an appraising glint, as if she was sizing up a new tool. The crowd cheered, but her attention never wavered from him. He felt her assessing, her cold gaze measuring his potential for whatever plans she had in mind.

Sable’s raised voice cut off the noise. “Does anyone else want to challenge him?”

The roar of approval rose, but no one moved. One by one they looked away, avoiding his gaze. Only Hathgar’s eyes locked onto his. There was something strange in his friend’s expression. As if he were seeing Mitch for the first time, bewilderment mixed with a touch of fear.

That’s how I looked at people I was afraid of…

Sable smirked at him. In that moment, Mitch felt the weight of his own power, and the unsettling realization of what he’d almost done. He’d been ready to kill her. To let the rage consume him completely.

He shook himself, trying to chase away the chill running down the spine alongside the warm blood of his open wounds.

Sable’s voice pierced through the tension. “No one else wants to step up?” She glanced around at the crowd, but none stepped up. “Then the Shadowshroud is yours, Mitch.” Her words cut through the air, igniting the crowd anew. The souls within him trashed in celebration.

The one-eyed Shadowshroud hovered above. Shadows curled from its whirling tentacles like smoke, tasting the air around it. Sable held up a hand, silencing the crowd. “However,” she continued, her yellow eye gleaming, “you can only claim it if you’re willing to join Crae’s Agency. Those are the rules. We do not provide rewards to outsiders.” The challenge hung heavily in the air.

Mitch’s gaze lifted to Robin, who hovered above. Robin gave a quick nod and a wink, signaling his approval.

Did you set this up?

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Mitch exhaled, steadying himself. The Souls in his core reached toward the Shadowshroud, raw desire pushing him forward. He couldn’t back down now. Their push, along with his own desire, helped him along.

Peeling off his torn barback shirt, Mitch tossed it aside. His scarred chest heaved and was smeared with blood from Layra’s attacks. Every cut throbbed as his breath calmed.

Always forward, and never around, right Mathilda?

Mitch reached into himself, calling on his new addition from Agony’s Embrace. The Skill flared to life, and Mitch felt its morbid capability.

It was an easy thing to pull flesh from his Abyssal Vault.

He drew the flesh within his core out and then across his wounds. Fresh scars were added to his already covered body. As his flesh knit together, he felt a deep, hollow tug at his soul.

The payment was made in someone else’s flesh. Flesh consumed for his strength. It left a rotten taste in his mouth, a reminder that he’d taken something that once belonged to another.

Yes, the flesh he used to heal himself had been Grimmer’s trying to torture him and abuse him, but that hardly made a difference in his mind.

Settlement Amount: 13 Souls, 0 Credits, 0(-2) Flesh

This is just one more scar. I need to be stronger than this if I’m going to make it. Push past it.

The crowd had fallen silent, staring at him with wide eyes as Mitch realized everyone was staring at him. A murmur of disbelief swept through the space. The zombie man that had lost to Layra waved his torn, rotting arm about, cackling with laughter.

“How nice would that be, eh?” the zombie man exclaimed as he gestured with his flopping arm at Mitch’s healed but scarred body.

Mitch glanced at Sable, a frown tugging at his brow. “Is healing that rare?” he asked casually, his tone trying to ask his curiosity.

Sable’s eyes weighed him. “Almost unheard of. You don’t see it often, if ever,” she replied, leaning in to guard her question. “What exactly are you using to heal? There is always a very heavy cost, and I didn’t sense anything.”

Mitch didn’t answer. He only met her gaze with a hard stare, unwilling to reveal his secrets. Unease wormed over her face, but she seemed to let it go, simply nodding once as if filing the information away.

“Not my business, anyways.” she said with finality, gesturing to the writhing monster floating above.

The murmurs continued as people spoke in low tones, and Mitch felt suddenly like a specimen being watched. If healing was that rare, he must ensure he guarded his secret.

If they knew what I was using to heal, would they still be amazed?

Crae’s was known in Shadowreach to have a marked hatred of Abyssal magic. They despised it so much, killing Abyssal monsters and looting the Depths was their main business.

Yes. Yes they would. Alright, that secret is staying with me.

Mitch extended a hand toward the Shadowshroud, brushing his fingers against its tendrils. They twisted and coiled around him, binding to his skin.

Slowly at first, then all at once, the Shadowshroud molded to his frame, forming a tight, black shirt that felt like part of him. There was a hunger there, radiating from it. Latent power waited to be fed with flesh. Mitch felt it tickling the back of his mind, growling like a hungry animal.

Uhh…I can hear this thing in my mind. Can it hear me?

The Shadowshroud grumbled back, acknowledging his question. It slotted against his mind like an old pitbull. Friendly to him, but spiteful to others.

Yes. Definitely can hear my thoughts.

Before he could fully take on the significance of what he’d taken on, a heavy hand clapped him on the back. Mitch staggered under the weight but stayed upright. Turning, he looked down on Urgar’s toothless smile and unashamedly dirty black beard.

“Welcome to the club, lad!” Urgar said, laugh booming out, bouncing off the walls of the club. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Guess we was wrong. A real bloody fighter. Handsome too! Not as handsome as me, but…” The dwarf winked at him.

Mitch grunted and smiled in response. There was a sense of camaraderie in the dwarf’s tone, which instantly disarmed him.

Sable watched him closely. “Meet me at the Agency hall tomorrow,” she said, with no room for argument in her voice. “You’ll meet Crae. You’ve got potential. We’ll make sure it isn’t wasted.”

Robin hovered above, clapping his hands with a grin that sent another chill down Mitch’s back. “Just full of surprises, as I always said.”

The crowd surged around him, cheering and celebrating his victory. But Mitch felt distant, separated from the revelry. Searching the crowd, he looked for a familiar face amongst the chaos of everything. But Hathgar was nowhere to be found.

The realization left a hollow ache in his chest.

Did I cross a line tonight? He looked scared of me…Does he know?

The Shadowshroud clung to him, alive and pulsing, and the Souls within him relaxed, sated and calm. His old life seemed so distant now. It had been but a day, and he already felt like a completely different person. The body that was now his made him feel powerful, but it was still settling within him that he wasn’t a spindly, ugly guy with no family.

Under the glow of the club lights, Mitch felt the pull of something darker. A force he wasn’t sure he could resist. The weight of his choices pressed down on him, the Shadowshroud pulsing against his skin, and the Souls within him throbbing with a new hunger.

He wasn’t just a survivor anymore; he was becoming something else. Something that both terrified and thrilled him. Amid it all, all he wanted was to hear Hathgar’s friendly voice again.