Chapter 3

Host

Sabo backed into the corner, chest heaving, pulse loud as thunder in his ears. The voice had been in his head—a guttural growl with an edge of cruelty that dug into him, echoing against his thoughts. His whole body trembled, his vision swimming as he looked around the dim hold, expecting . . . something. Anything.

“What . . . what is this?” he stammered, his voice hoarse with panic. “Who . . . who’s there?”

The voice grumbled again, low and gritty, like a beast too old to be tamed. Sabo’s skin prickled, goosebumps racing along his arms as he watched a strange, dark line form on his forearm, like a burn but alive, moving. It spread slowly, dragging a searing heat with it until his skin split open in a grotesque line, pulling apart like some horrific blooming flower to reveal sinew and dark red tissue beneath.

He swallowed hard, revulsion seizing his stomach. And then—he saw them: sharp, jagged teeth lining the bloody edges of the wound, clamping into a grin that split his arm. A thick tongue slid out, curling through the air and licking across his skin, leaving a sticky trail of purplish saliva. It twisted back into the cut with a lazy, almost mocking flick, and Sabo felt the brush of its tongue like fire against his nerves. A mouth?! Sabo blinked once, twice—willing this nightmare to end.

He stumbled backward, hands shaking as the mouth curled into a smile, as wicked and dark as the voice that had spoken to him moments before.

“What do we have here…?” The mouth growled, voice low and rumbling like distant thunder.

Sabo’s breath hitched, his throat clenched tight with fear. He could barely move, barely think. The thing on his arm laughed, a rasping, hollow sound that scraped against his ears.

A flash of searing pain clawed through his chest, then slithered down his spine, twisting like a molten brand that threatened to burn through his skin from the inside out. The voice grumbled, irritated, as though distracted, and then . . . something strange settled over him—a sensation of prodding, digging through his mind, fingers curling through his thoughts like pages rifled through in a book.

“No, no. . .” the voice muttered, almost to itself. “This won’t do at all. This is the hand I’ve been dealt? I suppose I can work with this. We’ll need to fix it, change it. But later. . .” The words held a cruel promise that only deepened Sabo’s dread. “. . . Now, I’m hungry.”

Sabo’s pulse thundered as he watched the wound mouth slither up his skin, its teeth scraping across his arm and shoulder until it paused, curling open just below his ear. The sensation of his neck splitting open was. . . unsettling. He felt it widen, warm and wet against his neck. Its tongue flicked out once more, tasting the air.

“Let’s find something to eat.”

Without warning, a strange, powerful sensation surged through Sabo. It wasn’t hunger—not exactly—but a gnawing, aching emptiness, a hollow pit that roared to be filled, to be satiated. He gasped as the sensation grew, spreading through him and beyond, like tendrils reaching out, feeling, tasting, searching.

For a moment, the strange, silver script filled the righthand corner of his vision.

[Skill: Aura Sense (Passive)]

[Level: B-1]

[Skill: Aura Sense – Seeking Hunger]

[Level: C-9]

His vision dimmed, the ship’s hold fading from view, replaced by some internal map of scent and sensation that led his mind’s eye deep into the ship’s underbelly.

Below deck, there it was—the scent, the taste. The aether sap harvested from the Green Sea, thick and thrumming with latent power, stored in sealed jars. The essence of it coiled around him, a seductive whisper, and he felt his mind reach out, gripping the raw energy. It was almost like his mind was a hand, and he instinctively willed it to take what he desired and claw it towards him. He took the power from the aether sap and pulled it into his core. It surged into him, hungry and raw, filling the emptiness with heat and light, devouring it like a starving man at his first meal in years.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Sabo felt the mouth on his neck lick its lips. The voice in his mind hummed with satisfaction.

Strength flooded his body, spreading through every muscle, setting his nerves alight with power. Colors sharpened, sounds intensified, the flickering shadows in the hold grew vivid and deep. He could feel each heartbeat of the ship’s wooden frame, sense the trembling breaths of every prisoner standing on the deck above him, smell the metallic tang of blood.

[Skill: Physical Enhancement]

[Level: E-5]

He could feel the aether he had drawn from the sap below around his body. He could feel his body channel it, burning it and turning it into power that flooded his veins, circling through his limbs alongside the life essence pumped by his beating heart, which seemed to be working double time.

Instinctively, he shifted his weight, feeling the metal chains drag against his limbs. He clenched his fists, the metal biting into his skin, and then—snap! His arms jerked free. The chains clattered to the floor as he felt the last shackle give way, releasing him from his bonds. He could barely believe it, staring down at his wrists, raw and bruised, but finally free. His hands trembled, and he didn’t know if it was from fear, excitement, or something more . . . feral.

The mouth on his neck split wider, teeth glinting, a hideous, eager grin. “Come, come, mortal. . .” it purred, voice thick with malevolent hunger. “It seems my next meal was delivered right to our doorstep.”

The words coiled around Sabo, filling him with a strange, simmering rage. He could feel his thoughts shifting, turning dark, tinged with a bloodlust that wasn’t entirely his own. The two Morduin knights—he could hear them up above, still interrogating the prisoners, their voices harsh and cold. They had hurt Vitomir, bled him like some sacrificial lamb.

A deep throb of anger burned in his chest. Vitomir, lying on the deck with his life pooling around him . . . He ground his teeth. The anger flared in his heart. Wait! The thought was a knife of clarity through the haze of anger beginning to fill his mind. Are these really my emotions? Or, had whatever this entity was made him feel that way? Sabo fought against the urge of the aether filling his body—the need to move, to act.

In his time as a prisoner, no matter what freedoms he had stripped away by the Empire, he had always had the sanctuary of his mind to retreat into. The early days, thoughts of escape or revolt fueled him. And after his will had been eroded, losing himself in idle thoughts and the beating of the drum had saved him from insanity. No matter what happened, his mind had always been his alone. Unconquered. He didn’t understand what was happening to his body, but he wasn’t going to let this alien force control his mind or emotions.

He focused on that feeling he had in his mind, of the foreign entity leafing through his thoughts. He found it and pushed back with all the mental effort he could exert. Stop it! My mind is mine! His mouth opened in a silent scream. Then, something in his mind ‘clicked’—the sensation of something being shoved to the side.

My. Mind. Is. Mine! Mine, alone!

The voice grumbled, but this time it came from the mouth on his neck. “I was simply using what was already there. . .! See for yourself, mortal.”

Sabo’s mind cleared, feeling suddenly evacuated of a mental burden he had been carrying. His breathing calmed, but the anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface. The smell of Vitomir’s blood, and the sound of the two Morduin knights interrogating the other prisoners stoked it. It had been his anger all along. An anger that had been buried by futility, and now uncovered by the power that filled his core.

Thoughts and images raced through his mind. Images of imperial troops razing Solstice, the place Vitomir and him had both called home. Memories of being on the run, of being captured. Images of the Morduin knight so carelessly opening Vitomir’s chest, when all the old man wanted was an end to the mindless violence. Yes, he had been angry. Angry for a long, long time. And now, he wanted to do something about it.

Each step up the narrow stairwell resonated like the beat of a war drum in his mind.

His foot hit the deck, his senses alive, his vision blazing as he took in the scene. The Morduin knights stood at the other end of the ship’s deck, hoods shadowed, their masks a bright, gleaming red against the darkness of their armor.

And there, sprawled at their feet, lay Vitomir. Sabo’s fists tightened as he saw the old man’s face pale and slack, his blood streaking the wood in a wide, red arc. The sight fueled something hot and fierce within him, something that felt foreign but also painfully familiar. Fury. I’m sick of simply being angry. You wanted to feast? Well, here you go!

The voice in his mind rumbled with satisfaction.

One of the knights turned, as though sensing him, and Sabo locked eyes with the empty black hollows of his mask. The mouth on his neck widened into a feral grin, sharp teeth glinting in the low light of the dying sun. Sabo could feel it twist against his skin, eager, ravenous.

It licked its lips, and he felt the slick, wet sensation against his neck. It was time to feast.