The cold air of the servants' quarters clung to Elion's skin as he emerged from the storage room, the weight of the talisman gone, but its power thrumming within him. His senses were sharper now. The faint echoes of footsteps down distant halls, the smell of smoke from the fires ravaging the estate, even the subtle shifts in the air—all of it became clearer, as though the world had unveiled a hidden layer beneath its surface.
He moved swiftly through the dark corridors, his mind racing. He knew the estate’s inner turmoil would soon reach this far corner. The assassins wouldn’t spare a servant, and the clan wouldn’t mourn a lowborn boy. But Elion was no longer the helpless, invisible shadow he had been for the past fifteen years.
Tonight, everything would change.
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**The Servants’ Fate**
The commotion of battle grew louder as Elion approached the main hall that connected the servants’ quarters to the rest of the estate. Shouts, explosions of magic, and the unmistakable clash of steel echoed through the stone corridors. The rival factions of the Blackstone Clan were tearing each other apart, a civil war hidden under the veil of night.
Elion stopped at the edge of the hall, peeking around the corner. A group of five servants huddled in the center, their faces pale with fear. One of them, Elion recognized—Bran, a towering brute who had made Elion’s life a living hell since childhood. Bran was the head servant, a cruel man who had enjoyed lording his minor power over those beneath him.
Bran spotted Elion from across the room and sneered, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who had never been challenged. “Elion! You pathetic little rat. Where have you been hiding? Thought you’d escape while the rest of us burn, huh?”
Elion stood his ground, his mind calculating quickly. Bran was a problem he had tolerated for too long. The man had tormented him for years, humiliating him in front of the other servants, doling out punishments far harsher than needed. But tonight was different. Elion’s hand drifted toward his chest, where the talisman had once been, now feeling the dark power pulsing within him.
“You should’ve stayed hidden, Elion,” Bran growled, his voice dripping with menace. “But I’m glad you didn’t. I’ve been wanting to put you in your place for a long time.”
The other servants shifted uncomfortably, clearly torn between their fear of Bran and the terror of the unknown chaos erupting in the estate. But Elion’s gaze was fixed solely on the man in front of him.
Bran stepped closer, cracking his knuckles. “Think you’re special now, do you? I don’t care if you die tonight, but first, I’m going to make you regret crawling out of your hole.”
Elion didn’t respond. His mind raced, assessing the situation. He wasn’t a fighter, not in the traditional sense. But what he had now went far beyond physical strength.
He had power.
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Bran lunged, a meaty fist aimed at Elion’s face. But before it could connect, Elion moved—not by instinct, but by something deeper, something primal. His hand shot forward, and dark energy erupted from his palm, striking Bran in the chest.
The brute staggered back, eyes wide with shock, clutching his chest as tendrils of black energy wrapped around him like chains. He let out a strangled gasp, his body convulsing as the dark magic seeped into his skin, draining the life from him.
The other servants froze, horror etched on their faces as they watched Bran, the man they had feared for so long, crumble to his knees. His skin grew pale, his veins turning black as the energy consumed him from within. His mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound came out.
Within seconds, it was over.
Bran’s body hit the stone floor with a dull thud, lifeless and shriveled, as if the very essence of his being had been sucked dry. Elion stood over the corpse, his heart steady, his breathing calm. The dark energy that had erupted from him still crackled faintly in the air before dissipating, leaving the hall eerily silent.
He looked down at Bran’s corpse with cold detachment. The years of torment, the beatings, the humiliation—it was all over now. Bran was nothing. A pile of flesh and bones at his feet.
The other servants stared at Elion in stunned silence, their expressions a mixture of terror and disbelief. The boy they had once ignored, once ridiculed, had just killed a man with a flick of his hand.
Elion's eyes swept over them, his voice as cold as the power he now wielded. “Go. Hide, or fight. It doesn’t matter to me. But cross my path, and you’ll end up like him.”
None of them dared to speak. Without another word, they scattered, fleeing down the dark corridors, desperate to escape the nightmare that had unfolded in front of them.
Elion watched them go, feeling no guilt, no remorse. The world had always been a cruel place, and tonight, he had proven that he could be just as ruthless. Bran was the first, but he would not be the last.
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**The Assassins’ Hunt**
With the servants gone, Elion turned his attention to the estate. The power struggle within the Blackstone Clan wasn’t just a distant skirmish—it was closing in on him. He could hear the footsteps of approaching assassins, mercenaries hired to purge the estate of any opposition. They would kill anyone in their path—servants, soldiers, even children.
But now, Elion had something they didn’t.
As he moved through the corridors, he felt the energy of the talisman still flowing within him. The Dark Sage’s teachings had only begun to reveal themselves, but already, Elion could sense the possibilities. He could feel the power coiling inside him, waiting to be unleashed.
He rounded a corner and came face to face with two assassins dressed in dark leathers, their faces hidden behind cloth masks. Their eyes gleamed with the cold efficiency of killers, and without a word, they advanced, blades drawn.
Elion didn’t hesitate. He raised his hand, and this time, the dark magic came to him more easily, more naturally. Tendrils of shadow burst from his fingers, spiraling toward the assassins with lethal precision. The first one tried to dodge, but the tendrils were too fast, wrapping around his neck and chest like serpents.
The assassin let out a choked scream as the shadows squeezed tighter, crushing his windpipe and suffocating him in seconds. His partner lunged forward, trying to close the gap between them, but Elion’s magic was faster. He extended his other hand, and a wave of black energy slammed into the second assassin, sending him crashing into the stone wall with bone-shattering force.
Both assassins lay dead at his feet within moments, their bodies twisted and broken by the unnatural power Elion now wielded.
Elion exhaled slowly, his body humming with the afterglow of magic. He hadn’t expected the power to come so easily, but it was as if the darkness inside him had always been there, waiting to be unlocked. And with each use, it became stronger, more familiar.
He knelt down and rummaged through the assassins’ bodies, pulling free a small pouch of coins and a short dagger from one of them. The dagger was finely crafted, its blade etched with runes of protection. He slipped it into his belt—useful, but not essential. His real weapon now was far deadlier than any blade.
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**The Ruthless Road Ahead**
Elion stood in the silent hall, the bodies of his enemies strewn around him, and felt something he had never felt before: control. For years, he had been at the mercy of others, powerless to change his fate. But now, the world had shifted. Power wasn’t something given to the worthy. It was taken. Seized. And he was ready to take it.
The Dark Sage had promised him freedom through strength, and now he was beginning to understand. Morality, compassion, mercy—these were chains meant to keep men weak. He would break those chains.
Elion glanced down at the corpses of the assassins. They had come to kill, but they had died instead. Not because he was stronger physically, but because he had the will to use whatever means necessary to survive. He would take that lesson to heart.
This was just the beginning. The Blackstone Clan was still tearing itself apart, and soon, others would come. More assassins, more rivals, more enemies. But Elion was no longer prey. He was the predator, and anyone who stood in his way would fall.
He would rise, no matter the cost.
And the world would learn that Elion Blackstone had no mercy.
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