It was up to Naro to bring back the king. The gnome was the smallest one among us, and the least likely to draw attention due to his natural ability as a scout.

More agonizing minutes passed, and Cleaver began whispering to Grinning Man, who appeared distressed. The grin had vanished from his face, replaced by a furious shaking of his head. He pointed toward the barn's entrance, and Cleaver frowned. "Can't you, just for once, speak the fuck up?"

Grinning Man gulped, and for the first time since I had met him, he finally spoke. A quiet, high-pitched voice emerged. "Betrayed."

A cold stone formed in the pit of my stomach, and the men crowded around us, those who heard Grinning Man, began to murmur.

"I didn’t know he could talk" a voice came from the man to my left. He had a long nose and beady black eyes, already gripping a long, pointed knife. "I bet it was the shifty green eyed lad on the road.”

A man beside him shrugged. "I told you he could fucking talk." He bore a striking resemblance to the first man, with the same eyes and nose, although his hair was cut short.

“You owe me money!” He also held a knife. I realized that, despite spending much time with Theodmon, Cleaver, and a few others in the company, I hadn't truly acquainted myself with many of the men. But I had heard tales of most of them. These were the Knife Twins.

They were well-known in the company for their skill with small blades. Neither man had ever been defeated in a knife fight, except when pitted against each other. Their feud was legendary among the men, and they were constantly fighting one another.

Their bodies were covered in scars from their fights with each other, and more often than not, they were adorned with bloody bandages. It was a wonder they were still alive. After a moment, I realized that I probably didn't want to be in such close proximity to them while they were arguing.

One man moved away from the door, his hoarse voice cutting through the grumbling men. "Someone's coming!" Everybody stiffened as the doors swung open.

When I saw who walked through the door, my blood seemed to turn to ice. It was as if one of my worst nightmares had materialized before my very eyes, and I stared, struggling to comprehend how or why this had happened.

"Isn't this a place for horses?" Calk's voice dripped with amusement. He stood there, as if he had been there all along, draped in a flowing white robe and a church tabard. Beside him stood Naro, his hand resting on his small sword.

I locked eyes with the gnome, searching for any stalwart companion I once knew. But there was nothing familiar there. The gnome stared back at me with cold, blank eyes. There was no emotion, no hint of satisfaction or an evil smile. Where had my friend gone? He had taught me about the forest and treated us with kindness. He had scouted alongside Cleaver's men, and for what?

My mind scrambled to make sense of the betrayal, but it failed to do so. The gnomes had sent us away, but they had no reason to betray us. From what I knew of them, they despised the church.

"Why?" I managed to ask, my voice barely audible.

But it was not my voice that resonated among the men. Cleaver stood up and pointed at Naro. "Traitor!" he snarled, drawing his cleaver from his belt.

Calk disregarded Cleaver's words. "Where's the boy?"

Silence enveloped the room once again, and no one uttered a word. Men looked around, searching for whoever Calk was referring to.

Before Cleaver could respond, Theodmon's voice echoed through the room. "You shouldn't have left Kel'Edas, Calk."

Calk surveyed the room until his gaze landed on Theodmon—or rather, the body he inhabited. "Who speaks?"

Theodmon leaned down slightly and whispered in my ear, "I'm sorry, my son." For a fleeting moment, I thought he might say more, as he lingered there, his hurried breath warming my cheek. But then he positioned himself in front of me, standing tall despite his diminutive stature. His shoulders were squared, and his hands steady.

Calk's eyes snapped toward him, devoid of recognition, and for a brief moment, confusion clouded his expression.

"Traitor," Theodmon spoke softly, barely above a whisper.

Calk's ears twitched as if straining to hear Theodmon's words—an odd gesture that reminded me he was no longer human. Then his eyes widened, registering the sound, and for the first time, I glimpsed something in his eyes I had never seen before.

He stepped back, reaching for his waist as if searching for a weapon. Then, he stared at his hand, seemingly surprised it belonged to him. Calk, a man capable of controlling the very cold in the air and bending it to his will, was finally gripped by fear.

Across my field of vision, a cleaver soared through the air, moving so swiftly that I could only identify it after it had already struck. A split second before impact, frost burst from the ground, creating a small mound of ice. The cleaver collided with the ice, shattering upon contact. It sliced across Calk's face before embedding itself in the wooden barn door behind him.

"Kill him!" Cleaver bellowed. The small barn erupted into a battlefield as Cleaver's men lunged at Naro and Calk. Water particles swiftly transformed into ice in a fraction of a second, and he hurled them through the air.

Icey spears impaled men, passing through them entirely. He moved his hands in a peculiar dance, wiggling his fingers and swaying his arms, while his eyes flickered with a blue glow.

Amidst the screams of pain, I could hear him laughing, a twisted smile forming on his lips. Blood splattered against his white robes, and members of the company fell dead. Theodmon gripped my shoulder with painful intensity. "You must stop him, son."

I knew he was right. But fear had gripped me tightly. We were thrust into a situation where our chances of survival seemed slim, and all I wanted to do was run.

“You do it!” I screamed, “take over his mind!” Suddenly, something flashed, and my instincts kicked in. I instinctively ducked as a dagger-sized ice shard flew past me and shattered against the wall.

Then he slapped me. It wasn't a gentle slap, but a harsh one, leaving a fresh sting in my mind. However, the pain only served to shock me further, and I could only stare at the violence and destruction unfolding before me. He pulled me to my feet, his gaze fixed on me for a moment then he looked at Calk. His eyes squinted and his mouth narrowed, and he shook his head.

Before I could respond, he stood up and walked towards Calk. I feared he would be impaled by another shard of ice, but Calk's main focus was on Cleaver. Remarkably, the formidable man had torn off one of the stall doors, using it as a shield as he fought against Calk's attacks. "Stop!" Theodmon screamed. Calk's eyes flicked towards Theodmon, but he continued his assault on the men.

Calk's eyes narrowed, and he swiftly spread his hands apart as if breaking free from an invisible bond. A low mist of frost spread from the ground, and pale blue fingers of ice emerged, advancing towards Cleaver and his men. One of the men noticed the icy claws but was too late. A hand made of frost grabbed his ankle, causing his skin to darken with frostbite. He fell to his knees, screaming in agony. Cleaver's men retreated from the icy grasp, and Calk shifted his attention to Theodmon.

"I'll come with you, as long as you spare the lives of these men," Theodmon yelled. Calk seemed to ponder his words, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

In response, Calk spat in Theodmon's face and pressed himself against him. Calk smiled, and a shard of ice pierced through my father's chest.

For a moment, it felt as if everything in the room disappeared, leaving only the sight of my father's blood staining his back. It was the second time I had witnessed someone kill my father--this time my blood one, and I had done nothing. Calk pulled the weapon out, the sickening sound of flesh and blood separating filling the air. With a gleeful grin on his face, Calk brandished the weapon while my father slumped to his knees.

One of Cleaver's men managed to get close enough to swing an ax at Calk's neck. But Calk was swift and sensed the impending attack. He ducked and swiftly turned on his heel, then plunged a newly formed ice shard into the man's abdomen.

Chaos erupted once more as men scrambled for their chance to strike him down. But I no longer saw it as they did. I had seen enough to know it would end in bloodshed. I cast one final glance at my dying father, who had managed to crawl away from Calk, but was now coughing up blood.

I had seen enough. I pulled.

It was a reflexive and almost violent movement fueled by the force of my will and anger. I remembered the first time I had seen Calk in the spirit world. His white-hot energy had called out to me, compelling me to gaze at it in wonder and fear.

I could sense its immense power once again, and a part of me desired to become immersed in it. However, it pained my already limited senses in the spirit realm. Everything else appeared muted and insignificant in comparison, with the others in the room reduced to opaque specks.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

With tremendous velocity, I propelled my body through the realm. Movement in the spirit world was peculiar, unrestricted by natural forces or air resistance. Its limitations seemed to be more bound by my will, a realization that had eluded me until that moment of swift traversal. There had never been a pressing need for such speed until now. It was as if my mind and soul surged forward, while my physical form lagged behind like a shadow.

Calk's blazing white head turned towards me, and I recoiled. He radiated a brightness surpassing that of every person in the room combined, brimming with white-hot vitality. I feared what would transpire if I made contact, but I knew my father's time was running out. Extending my hand, I dug my own luminous fingers into Calk's shoulder.

A deep cold surged up my arm, and within moments, it felt as though my muscles and skin vanished, replaced by bone-chilling cold that permeated my very core. The bones in my arms seemed on the verge of snapping, and memories of Calk shattering Rebert's steel sword like wood flooded my mind.

Agonizing pain coursed through my body, and I screamed. Yet, my cries went unheard in this ethereal plane, while the small, opaque lights danced around me. I knew that if I didn't stop him, they would all perish.

As I dug into Calk's flesh, my arms and hands began to move in and out of both realms. The cold became so intense that my flesh cracked and peeled. I witnessed my arm's skin fissuring and turning black, nerves dying, and then a numbing sensation seeping into my bones.

But as swiftly as the cold destroyed the sinews of my muscles and froze my blood, I observed my arm rebuilding itself from the stolen energy, flesh knitting back onto restructured bone, and crusted blood reforming within. And then, it would shatter and freeze again, initiating the cycle of pain once more.

After enduring this torment twice, I could bear the agony no longer, knowing it would return. I jerked my arm back, only to feel an immediate cold pain pierce my gut. The sensation felt peculiar, as if I were aware of it without truly sensing or perceiving it. When I glanced down, I discovered a hole gaping in my stomach.

Strangely enough, panic didn't grip me. My body resembled Calk's in a peculiar way, as if it were divided into two parts. The physical body in the real world appeared as a bright afterimage, while in the spirit realm, I possessed a second body composed of shifting shadows.

For the first time, I directed my gaze downward, contemplating the inky and swirling darkness that enveloped the hole in my luminous stomach. As I watched, the darkness began to undulate and writhe, filling the void.

The glowing afterimage grew slightly brighter, and the hole vanished. It was then that I made the connection, realizing that the substance was some form of essence—a manifestation of the lifeblood of my magic. It was intrinsically linked to my spirit realm body and possibly beyond. This very essence granted me my abilities. Curling my hand into a fist, I flung my hands toward Calk, willing the darkness to converge upon him.

The darkness sprang forth from my hand, clawing and stretching like an angry, wet appendage. It latched onto Calk, causing his luminous form to recoil and step back, as if struck by a powerful force.

As the darkness began to envelop Calk, I felt a resistance, as if it were a limb of its own. Fragments of the darkness splintered and faded away, accompanied by a faint, nagging pain that scraped against my mind. Determined, I extended both hands this time, snarling as I drew more of the darkness into my palms.

Holding my hands out to Calk, the darkness surged forth like a torrential storm, coalescing, shifting, and moving in every direction. I willed it toward Calk, and the cascade of black shadow flooded into him. His radiant form crumbled to the ground, and the darkness writhed and appeared to consume him.

Through the void, I witnessed fragments of Calk being devoured, and a new type of energy seemed to flow into my being. The silence became clearer, and the fog surrounding the realm dissipated. The specks of light around me transformed into human-like shapes, and I discerned light coursing through skeletal structures. With enough concentration, I even glimpsed it within the ground and the very air itself. I realied I had stolen part of his magic.

And then, behind him, I sensed—rather than saw—something new. I focused on it, realizing that it was difficult to see, which was strange considering my heightened clarity. It became apparent that unlike a person, this form consisted of interlocking plates devoid of any light.

It struck me as incredibly peculiar because, as I had just become aware, nearly everything I could perceive held some dimension of light within it. Even the wooden beams in the barn's ceiling emitted a faint glow from the life force of the trees they had once been.

I left the quiet realm and was immediately bombarded by sensory information. The smell of blood and decaying flesh invaded my nostrils, causing me to vomit onto the ground. Amidst the chaos, someone was screaming. As I turned my head, I realized it was Calk.

He writhed on the ground, contorted in agony, while a slimy black darkness enveloped his body. It was a bit of the void that had come back with me. The shadowy substance devoured his flesh, leaving his thighs burning and sizzling. His feet and shins were entirely absent, as if some colossal beast had torn them off.

I attempted to survey the scene, hoping to locate my father or grasp some understanding of what was unfolding. However, my attention was drawn to a group of men standing behind Calk. These were the figures I had seen.

They donned unfamiliar armor, bone white and oddly smooth, with bright jewels embedded within the plates. Each man wielded colossal hammers, unlike any I had ever seen. The shafts were as long as a leg, and the tips were as wide as my own arm. The thick metal was adorned with intricate symbols and additional gems. It seemed unimaginable that they could even lift such weapons, yet they held them casually over their shoulders, as if the weight were inconsequential. They all fixated their gazes upon me, causing a knot to form in my stomach.

Scarred faces marked their countenances, and I detected an unsettling sense of calmness amidst the chaos and bloodshed in the room. The sight terrified me. To make matters worse, what lay behind them caused my gut to plummet even further. Men dressed in the blue and purple uniforms of the church stood in a line behind the five armored figures, extending out of the barn as far as I could see.

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" Calk screamed the words as he desperately attempted to crawl away. The sticky blackness of my magic clung to him, consuming him, but some of its effects appeared to be waning. Finally, one of the hammer-wielding men leaned down and placed a hand on Calk. He whispered something, and then his glove emitted a faint yellow glow.

The light shimmered around Calk's form, causing the darkness of my magic to fade like smoke. Although his pain-stricken face appeared somewhat calmer, his flesh remained raw and consumed. I could still discern horror in his eyes, reflecting the devastation I had inflicted upon his body. He cradled his arms and held them close to his chest, and even from a distance, the putrid stench of his decaying flesh reached my nostrils. I knew that even if we lost the battle--and even if he recovered, he would never be the same. I had stolen part of his gift and I would not give it back.

The man who had dispelled my magic stood upright, towering even above Cleaver. It was difficult to determine whether his sheer width contributed to his imposing presence. Shoulder-length, white-blonde hair framed his face, which seemed as though it had been sculpted from stone and brought to life. I had never encountered a man so flawlessly crafted, and something about it angered me. He exuded an air of tranquility, standing as if it were destiny that we should be discovered in his barn.

"Give me my son, and I will permit your departure," he declared, scanning our group until his gaze settled on Tuale. The boy remained unharmed, though the weeks of travel had taken their toll, leaving him a mere shadow of the vibrant prince he had once been. Yet, for the first time in a while, I glimpsed a flicker of life ignite within him.

"Release my son, and you may leave. Although I do not promise we will not pursue you.” The king yelled it into the room--not aimed at any particular person, but the loudness and authority in it made the chaotic room suddenly quiet.

His words hadn't fully registered in my mind when a harsh bark of laughter erupted from the back of the barn. Cleaver held the prince in his arms now, a knife pressed against the child's neck. "You killed my wife, you bastard," he growled. His heavily muscled arm bulged as he tightened his grip on the child.

In that moment, I witnessed the profound hatred within Cleaver, as fierce as ever. Perhaps it was as fierce as the hatred within me.

Cleaver scanned the room, and his gaze settled on me. A look of sorrow crossed his face, and in that moment, I knew what he was thinking. There had never been an escape plan. The promised riches to the men were a ruse. The only price to be paid was his own life, and the lives of the men he had brought with him. And mine.

In one swift motion, Cleaver mercilessly severed Tuale's neck with his blade, causing the boy to collapse to the ground, blood spurting from the wound.

A brief silence enveloped the room, as if a palpable tension had settled, waiting to ignite into a raging fire. And then, it happened. The king charged forward, barreling through men as if they were made of straw. Then He gripped Cleaver by the neck before the man could strike with his knife. Raising him high in the air, the king withstood the onslaught of swords swung at him by surrounding men. The steel blades merely cracked and skidded against his bone armor, as if they were mere twigs striking against stone.

The other warriors were not far behind their king, wielding their massive maces. They unleashed devastating blows upon the men, causing them to scatter or collide into one another and the stable walls. A man who had shared a sip from his canteen with me the previous day was flung over a stall, his body sinking into the hay without uttering a single scream.

Extending my hand, I focused my mind and summoned my power. This time--gaining inspiration from before when my power had persisted outside of the void, I willed only my arm to merge with it. My hand grew cold, and a shadowy, clawed tendril lashed out, scratching at the king.

But as it made contact with him, the tendril dissolved into harmless black smoke. One of his men noticed the magical attack and he stood up behind his king. He raised his hammer, then he faltered. He took off his helmet and stared at me.

I stared back, and then I recognized him. It was the same warrior from my father’s farm. He had stayed behind after killing my father.

“Don’t worry your mo--” I didn’t wait to hear the rest. Swiftly, I withdrew my entire being from the realm of the living, and flew towards the warrior. The bone armor consisted of interlocking plates designed to shield the man. Once positioned behind him, I extended my hand towards a gap in his neck.

Within that gap, the most radiant light emanated--although it was nothing compared to Calk, and I channeled my power through it. I encountered resistance, but then a searing heat began to spread up my arm, intense yet devoid of pain. I exerted more force, and the sensation traveled further up my limb. Pushing even harder, I felt myself growing lighter.

For an instant, it felt as if the quiet realm I inhabited was the sole existence, leaving me disoriented. But then the allure of the warmth beckoned, and I gravitated towards its familiar embrace. Warmth surged within me once more, propelling me away from the spirit realm and back into the realm of the living.

The world appeared different from what I remembered. And it became immediately apparent why. Gripped within my hands was an immense, heavy hammer, yet it felt as light as a hefty stick rather than a few hundred pounds of steel. I swiftly surveyed the room, preparing myself for what lay ahead, not yet aware of what it would entail. And then, I caught sight of me.

I stood there, seemingly frozen in time, deathly pale and motionless. My eyes, turned inward, were blank white orbs. Then, the body that had been mine for fourteen years collapsed to the floor. A sickening panic gripped my gut. I had left my former body.

The mind of the man I had entered had been extinguished. Yet, so had the mind of a child before me. Now, a child had merged with a man. Our two consciousnesses melded together, neither vying for control nor attempting to dominate, but rather two halves of a whole. Suddenly, my sense of self began to fade, as if I were observing myself from a distance.