I stumbled out of the tavern, the cold night air clashing with the warmth of the alcohol that rushed through my veins. Giddiness swirled within me, a maelstrom of confusion and anticipation about the enigmatic power I had been promised. My mind raced with questions of when and how this promised power would manifest.

The streets of the Thorn Kingdom buzzed with life, their shadows flitting across the cobblestones under the indifferent gaze of the moon. Here, people of low status but not of insignificant means walked with abilities beyond my reach. I was the despised one, the outcast, the one who was devoid of such gifts.

As I moved through the crowd, a viscous spit struck my cheek, and a deliberate shove sent me sprawling to the ground. Anger, a constant ember within me, flared into a blaze. I rose, shaking, the filth of the street clinging to my clothes. Bitter curses fell from my lips, but I walked away, knowing all too well the cruel place society had carved out for me.

An otherworldly sensation suddenly arrested my movements. It was as if invisible chains had wrapped around me, pulling taut. My heart pounded against my chest, a drumbeat heralding the onset of something momentous. The voice of the mysterious man from the tavern echoed in my ears, taunting me for my discarded pride, for embracing the darkness that now beckoned me.

My vision tinged red as rage consumed me. I turned and charged toward the crowd that mocked me. A man, confident in his rock-like skin, sneered—until my fist connected with his face. Again and again, I struck, each blow fueled by centuries of hate and humiliation.

The man beneath me could only cower as I rained down fury upon him. Then, in a surreal horror, his head dissolved, melting into the ground like wax, leaving a smoldering crater where a face had once been. My hands—no, not just my hands, but something flaky and hard encasing them—were not my own. The transformation was fleeting, an ephemeral armor that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The crowd's jeers turned to screams. "Murder! Murder has been committed!" they cried out as they advanced, their thirst for retribution momentarily overcoming their fear. But propelled by a newfound primal instinct, I fled into the labyrinthine alleys of the city.

In the darkness, my breaths came ragged and my mind raced. For the first time, they hadn't looked at me with disgust; it was fear that filled their eyes. "How did I do that?" I wondered, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and awe. "Was it the man's promise that ignited this power within me?"

I touched my face, half expecting to find it altered by the monstrous act I had committed. But my skin was as it had always been—flesh and blood, not the stone of the man I had destroyed. A dark chuckle escaped me, the sound echoing off the walls. "Maybe my laborious exertions were not in vain," I mused.

Yet I couldn't deny the adrenaline surging like a tempest through my veins. I had taken a life with my bare hands, and the world within me had shifted. There was no remorse, only the thrill of newfound power and the realization that I was no longer at the bottom of existence's hierarchy.

Leaning against the damp wall, I let the reality of my actions sink in. I had killed a man. Not with the feeble strength of a human, but with a force that was otherworldly. In that moment, I understood the true nature of the transaction made in the tavern.

The power offered was not a gift; it was a catalyst, turning my vengeance into an inferno. I had become the instrument of my own liberation, the executor of my revenge. A smile, a harbinger of the cataclysm to come, spread across my face.

I no longer belonged to the world of men. The night, the shadows—they were my true companions. As dawn approached, its light threatening to unveil me, I knew that the darkness I had embraced would be my cloak, my shield, my sovereignty.

I rose, my body stiff from the cold and exertion, and merged into the pre-dawn haze. Mozar Sain, once an heir and now an outcast, had been reborn in the crucible of his own heart of hate—a heart that no longer beat for love or mercy but for the pursuit of a power that would turn the tables of fate itself.