Beer, mead, and wine - there were drinks for all tastes in The Drinking Rat, and Heitor made sure to take a sip of each one of them. If it wasn't for his ever-shrinking pockets, then he would be in a perpetual state of drunkness. Because every time he was able to walk properly or think clearheaded, other-worldly screams would remind him of his cowardice.

Pleas for help and cries of pain tormented him every night. It has been a month already since he arrived at the small settlement, and the nightmares only got worse with each passing day. At some nights he would be unwilling to go to sleep, instead choosing to wander aimlessly around the city.

Moreover, the only thing which he was able to retrieve from that cursed house was a book. A useless one, nonetheless. After all, which sort of book doesn't have anything written in it? A worthless one, of course.

"Blank pages, blank pages, blank pages, nothing but blank pages..." He muttered at his lone corner of the inn, which everyone made sure to avoid. Contrary to the others though, the innkeeper quite liked his presence. The reason being simple - instead of seeing a broken and unstable man, all he saw was a treasure chest.

Misery is good for business, after all.

"One more?" He asked from the kitchen.

"Money... don't have anymore." He groaned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Oh- I see." The innkeeper immediately went to the back of the pantry and started talking with a tall man. After a few seconds, the man nodded before going towards Heitor's direction.

Approaching him by his side, he said, "Come on friend, no more drinks. You can't stay here anymore."

"Uhh, why can't I?" His words came out slurred, blending in a confusing mixture. A terrible smell of booze left his lips as he spoke.

"Enough is enough." He forcefully grabbed the mead bottle from Heitor's hand.

"Whatcha ar' you doin'? Back, give it back!" He drowsily rose from his seat, his vision swaying a little.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." The tall man punched him in the face without a second thought. A few teeth flew through the air, one even landing right inside the bottle.

Heitor's head rocked back and forth before his whole world went dark and his legs gave way. Falling face-first over the table, just near his useless book, the last thing he remembered was blood dripping down from his mouth onto a small red pool.

"Shit, now I have to clean up this mess." The bodyguard grumbled before noticing the mysterious book. There was this sudden urge to open it, something which made the experienced guard weary of. Cautiously, he reached out for the book. Just as he touched it though, a small stream of blood coming from Heitor's mouth got absorbed by the book pages, painting it a deep color of red.

Retrieving his hand as fast as possible, the guard stared at the book with disgust and loathing.

"What kind of scourge is this?" The previous urge got replaced by a deep-rooted feeling of repugnance towards the object. The bloody pool atop the table nonchalantly crept closer towards it, acting akin to a twisted joke of an alive being. The pages unfolded themselves, and red letters appeared out of thin air.

Making a fast pray, the man quickly threw both Heitor and his book out of the tavern and into an alley. Hoping that he wasn't haunted by the slight touch, he prayed once more before going to the holy church - he had to report this.

Hours later, Heitor finally woke up from is deep slumber. His stiff body trembled in the freezing night, and he immediately felt a few empty spots inside of his mouth.

Now clearheaded, all he could utter was, "Son of a bitch."

At least he could see the shiny bright sky from his position, so not everything was lost. Slowly rising from the ground, he groaned as his joints clacked and did other noises. Just by his side, lay the book.

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"Why do I even keep you?" He asked out loud.

Clutching at his mouth with his right hand, he threw the book away in a fit of anger.

"Useless-" He stared at the book as it hit a wall. What he saw though, went against all of his expectations. There was something written in it!

He quickly unfolded the first page and stared at the text contained within.

"As warm and bright the Sun is, as cold and dark the void is. And as much as one can be hopeful, so much is the depth of despair. Being strong isn't about strength - it is about taking advantage of what you have, be it the light or dark. "

_ Lesson 1, Karacatoa.

Those who choose to help others will be better at aiding. Likewise, those who decide upon killing will be better at it as well. Hence, one must decide their path. Beware though, for all choices have consequences.

"What in the world?"

His words dragged themselves, frozen stiff into the air. There was something odd bout' those words, something clearly wrong, sick. They were written by a mad man, it could only be; jagged and piercing letters, the madness seemed to corrupt the book itself. The words were as vivid as their color - they seemed to move, jumping out of the pages like haunting spirits. Closing it in a hurry, Heitor leaned heavily on a trash bin, forcefully pulling onto his hair. His head hurt, but not physically, no... he couldn't feel it, but he knew it was there. A phantom pain, invisible and yet disturbing.

One must choose their path. Choose. Choices. Lack of choices...

The more he tried to shut away those thoughts, the more intoxicating they became. Images of his sister flashed in his mind, her last moments before her body fell stiff onto the cold floor. Her empty eyes staring straight at him. No matter where he went or how much he drank, those eyes would never leave him.

For all choices have consequences... Consequences.

Consequences.

Deaths.

Consequences.

Deaths... consequences... death-

Heitor screamed in pure agony, trying to shake away his sister's eyes as they stared at him. Punishment, he was being punished for what he has done - he concluded as the book compelled for his attention. The words trembled in pure excitement as their striking red danced onto the white canvas. To help others or to kill - what would be his choice?

"She wants revenge, that's it! HER stare won't leave me until I kill those who've ended her life." A huge smile crossed his lips as he cried softly, thanking the book for sparing his soul and offering redemption.

Then there was a clear shift in the air and the letters moved across the pages to form new words.

Your strength is within your enemies' blood - all there is to their lives is the ultimate sacrifice. Drench Karacatoa onto their life essence, and you shall be awarded with their power.

Meanwhile, a huge crowd formed in the city's main square. The only sounds one could hear were whispering among the people and the muffled pleas of a tied man. Speaking low onto her neighbor's ear, a young woman asked, "Isn't that Garoth, the inn's bodyguard?"

"Yes, it's him." He answered.

On top of the raised platform, a cleric preached to the people, "Good people of Northwood! I've come to present to you an unfaithful man, a person whose beliefs are centered around the dark arts. He, like many other disloyal servants, has allied himself with the scorn. BUT- there is still a chance for forgiveness, for our Lord is merciful!"

He took out the rope binding Garoth's mouth shut.

"Where is the cursed book?" The preacher asked.

"I swear to you, I don't remember where I've thrown it! I'm sure it is in an alley somewhere-" The cleric put the rope back, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Burn him." He commanded without hesitation. Instantly, the straw pile ignited, and the flames exploded upwards. At first, the screams were for mercy, but then they transformed into cries of excruciating pain. His flesh was burning and he could feel it in his very bones. Not only that but even though the agony was unsurmountable, he didn't blackout, instead suffering till his very death. By the end of the whole ordeal, death came like an embracing breeze, brushing away all the pain.

Likewise, the crowd was dead, dead silent. Even though they were used to bandit executions, those were by hanging at worst, not by burning to death. It was the first inquisition they've witnessed in their little town, and it sure made a deep impression.

"Now, a man is hiding inside this village. A man who has brought with him a cursed book, the sort which teaches dark sorcery, and is roaming around these streets. All of you should know him as the one who wanders the streets alone and drinks every day. May this act like a warning then, for anyone who dares to help him hiding or fleeing will be treated as a sinner and put down as such. Furthermore, if one of you finds a book by the name of 'Karacatoa' and retrieves it to the church, a reward will be thoroughly awarded." He declared with a righteous tone before exiting the stage. Garoth's limp corpse was left behind though, being used as an example for the Lord's traitors.

Another cleric swiftly followed him, saying, "We need to reach the capital as soon as possible to report this. There is no time to lose preaching in here! Just put a price on the head of that man and be done with it already."

"Don't fright, I understand the severity of the situation just as well as you do. Prepare the wagon, we will leave by tomorrow morning." He said before going back to the church.

Just as he was left alone, the other apostle whispered in a low voice, "Lord save us."