Chapter 3 - Billy the Glum

Billy shot awake as searing pain exploded in his chest. He heaved in great gulps of air, despite his lungs being on fire. He clawed and scratched at any chance of staying alive, now that he somewhat had control of his body. He flung off the hand that was pressed against the left side of his chest and tried sitting up. His body was so stiff and beaten that he could barely manage it. He felt like a potato that was thrown into a sack of rocks, tied behind a cart and dragged through town, down a poorly-maintained road. And the lack of road maintenance wasn’t because of a lack of funds. It was purposefully left full of potholes, gaps and cracks so that every bump, smash and slam reminded him that it was, indeed, on purpose.

He breathed so deeply and forcefully that he choked on air, then proceeded to throw up any and all remnants of the breakfast that he had eaten that morning. He flopped onto his back, groaning in pain. But, pain was good. Pain meant he was alive. And oh, did he feel alive. He felt alive in his ribs, he felt alive in his head, he felt especially alive in his chest.

He smiled sourly, trying to ignore how much he felt like a raw, flayed and salted piece of meat. Did his Gift not activate because it was out of juice? Did it just not care? Could it care? Or was this the optimal outcome? The path of least resistance. Maybe it thought that doing nothing and ending up as a half murdered pile of burnt scraps was better than doing something and ending up as a fully murdered pile.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Looking over at the shriveled body beside him, Billy tried not to lose what was left of his stomach contents. It was one thing to hear horror stories about unfortunate heroes leeching their life force to power their Gift, skills or spells. It was a whole other matter to see the aftermath. It -he- was hardly recognizable. Jared was a hollowed out husk, lying face down in the dirt. His hair had crumbled to dust, what remaining skin he had was paper thin.

Billy averted his eyes. He had never seen a body before. He tried really hard not to blame himself. He didn’t succeed. It all came back to when he listened to his Gift and stopped the adventurer from buying a potion.

And there it was. A tugging from his Gift. Billy frowned. It wanted him to… search… the body. Billy’s frown deepened. The pit in his stomach gnawed at him, trying to fight against the tug of his Gift. He scooted towards the corpse. His insides roiled. It felt wrong. He reached over and rifled through his downed foe’s pockets. Bile rose in his throat as soon as his fingers brushed a potion bottle.

Yellow liquid sloshed in the bottle as Billy picked it up. It was the potion that the adventurer had been eyeing. He felt a headache coming on as his Gift urged him to drink. He didn’t. He refused. He hooked the potion on his belt and ignored his Gift’s urging, stumbling back towards the path.

Had he killed a man in the most messed up, convoluted way, just for some loot? Technically, he hadn't done the killing, but that didn't change anything. It still left him feeling awful.