...

Isabella floated in a void, her consciousness adrift like a leaf caught in a storm—time lost all meaning—a minute, an hour, a lifetime? Fragments of memories swirled around her: the earnest faces of those she had mentored, the grateful smiles of villagers she had healed, and the steadfast gazes of her loyal followers pledging their unwavering allegiance. Each memory was a beacon, flickering in the darkness, trying to pull her back from the abyss.

'It was a wonderful time,' she thought wistfully, her mind in a daze. She recalled being nine years old, her days filled with helping those around her using her exceptional skills in medicine and pharmacy. Her fencing was flawless, and every movement was precise as she defended the helpless from marauding monsters. It was the only time in her life when she felt genuinely happy and truly beloved.

'It had to be this cursed [Divinity Line],' she lamented. The memory of the day she opened her [System Window] was as vivid as yesterday. She had hoped for a gift to support others, to heal and protect. Instead, fate had other plans for her—the moment she felt the unsettling [Energy] coursing through her, her world shifted. Her parents grew distant, their warm embraces replaced with cold formality. Servants avoided her gaze, whispers trailing behind her back. Eventually, they locked her away in a remote wing of the estate, a place where she couldn't hurt anyone.

[Divinity Line - Bearer of the Blighted Oath]

A [Divinity Line] was bestowed upon those who walk the razor's edge between life and decay. The Bearer of the Blighted Oath wields the power to heal and harm, channeling pestilence—a [Wild Demon Energy]—as a tool of destruction and renewal. With an unyielding vow to master the delicate balance of vitality and corruption, this [Divinity Line] grants unparalleled control over disease-born [Energy], allowing its bearer to manipulate afflictions to mend wounds, weaken foes, or sow devastation. While their power can cure the gravest ailments, it demands a heavy toll, for the blight they command, leaves a lingering mark on their own spirit.

'It never mattered that I could actually heal,' she mused, feeling a solitary tear slide down her cheek. She remembered the tiny mouse she had saved—a fragile creature, bones jutting out, eyes dim with suffering. With a gentle touch, she had infused it with her [Energy], watching as vitality returned and it scurried away into the underbrush.

What followed was that she became sick, her mind slowly cracking, but she endured and continued her charity, helping everyone she could, no matter how poor or rich someone was—her dream never died.

[First Mystic Skill - Virulent Touch]

Description: By infusing her hands (or other objects) with pestilence-based energy, she could deliver a debilitating touch that spread a controlled sickness to her enemies. This ailment sapped strength and resilience over time but could also be tailored to neutralize harmful conditions in allies by absorbing their afflictions.

Usage: Perfect for weakening opponents in prolonged battles, doubling as a specialized cleansing ability.

She became a paradox—a healer and a harbinger of decay. By day, she protected villagers, taking their illnesses upon herself by night. Each act of salvation came with personal suffering, but seeing their smiles made it worthwhile. Slowly, the people began to love her, their fear overshadowed by gratitude, but it was never enough for her parents.

[Second Mystic Skill - Blight Needle]

Description: A fencing strike so precise it implanted a concentrated shard of pestilence energy into the opponent's body. Over time, the shard spread affliction while amplifying the effects of other attacks on the target.

Usage: A strategic move, amplifying her overall effectiveness against marked enemies.

[Third Mystic Skill - Scourge's Dominion]

Description: She could summon an aura of pestilence that bent the battlefield to her will. Enemies within the aura were weakened, their movements slowed, and their attacks dulled.

Usage: Ideal for controlling the flow of battle, creating a zone that turned the tide in her favor.

But with power came fear. Showcasing Isabelle's exceptional fighting capabilities branded her a walking disaster—a being capable of bringing death with every step. The whispers grew louder. Even as she received her fourth and fifth [Mystic Skills], those of absolute extermination, the chasm between her and her family widened.

'Do I hate it?' She asked herself. 'No.' She reveled in the thrill of combat, the surge of [Energy], the satisfaction of eliminating threats to her people. But the price was high—being seen as a monster, much like her father before he earned his standing, weighed heavily on her.

'Ridiculous,' she thought with a bitter smile. 'Let's see them fend off those demons without me.' As her mind spiraled into spite, her mind began to clear up as the inner rage slowly dispersed the haze.

'What happened?' Confusion threaded through her mind like tangled skeins of yarn. Her thoughts were fragmented, each slipping away before she could grasp it fully. Faces blurred, voices overlapped, her life flashed in disjointed images. Then, like a bolt of lightning, clarity struck.

'Mother!' Her mother's sorrowful voice echoed in her ears—the soft tone masking the sting of betrayal. Rage flared, hot, and fierce. She tried to bolt upright but was abruptly halted. Restraints bit into her wrists and ankles, anchoring her in place. The world around her was a haze, barely extending beyond an arm's length. Her [Energy] flow was suppressed, leaving her hollow.

She struggled against the chains, the clinking echoing in the dim space. A cold metal collar weighed heavily around her neck—a slave collar. The realization settled like a stone in her stomach. 'They actually did it,' she thought bitterly. Memories of a time she'd fought hard to forget flooded back—the first tumultuous surge of her powers when her own family had treated her like a wild animal needing to be caged.

'I hate this damn family,' she seethed. The helplessness, the isolation—they feared what she could become. Instead of support, they offered shackles.

She leaned back against the damp, rough stone wall and closed her eyes to steady herself. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and decay, a stark contrast to the jasmine and lavender of her cherished gardens. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, a slow, torturous rhythm.

'Do they think they can keep me here? Stop me from fulfilling my purpose?' A steely determination settled within her. 'They underestimate me.'

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Her thoughts turned to Alexander, the young noble whose vision mirrored her own. His potential was a beacon in this shadowed world. 'I need to reach him.' He needed guidance and protection. Every moment here was a moment wasted, and she had to purge it from the boy's mind when someone else she despised came beforehand.

It didn't matter what her parents thought about him or her—such geniuses, born with mind, heart, and strength, were rare if not legends from fairy tales—losing someone like that would be something she could never forgive herself for, 'I just need to cut off one foot and—'

A faint sound pulled her from her reverie—the distant scrape of metal on metal. Her ears perked, straining to catch any hint of movement. Footsteps echoed, unhurried, almost casual.

"Well, ain't this a fine mess ya got yourself into, eh?" a familiar voice drawled, dripping with biting amusement. "Fancy new jewelry, boss. Though gotta say, those cuffs ain't exactly your style."

Her heart leaped. "Thomas?" she rasped, her voice rough from disuse.

From the shadows emerged Thomas, her most trusted retainer and confidant. The flickering torchlight danced across his sharp features. The mouse-kin exuded roguish charm at a modest five and three feet (~160cm). His black-furred ears twitched with mischief, a sly grin playing on his lips. Dressed in dark leathers that blended seamlessly with the gloom, he was every bit the street-smart rogue she relied upon.

"In the flesh," he smirked, twirling a lockpick between nimble fingers. "Ya didn't think I'd leave ya hangin', did ya?"

She managed a wry smile. "Took you long enough."

He feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Ouch! Here I am, riskin' life and limb, and that's the thanks I get?"

"Just get me out of here," she sighed, relief washing over her.

"Your wish is my command," he declared with a mock bow, setting to work on the locks. His fingers moved with practiced ease, the lockpick dancing as he manipulated the mechanisms with his [Energy] and [Mystic Skills]—a born thief.

As he knelt beside her, the familiar scent of leather and the faint hint of spices enveloped her. Memories of their escapades flooded back—the late-night runs through cobblestone streets whispered strategies under moonlit skies, and his unwavering support during her darkest hours.

When she became a monster, saving everyone she could, almost breaking down due to her need for approval and closeness, Thomas was there after receiving a new lease on his life. He stopped her and showed her that one could have fun in other ways—a friend she couldn't be happier to have.

"Ya know," he mused, "these folks sure got a flair for the dramatic. All these chains for lil' ol' you?"

"They're being cautious," she replied dryly.

He snorted. "Against their own flesh and blood? Real tight-knit family ya got here."

The first shackle clicked open. She flexed her wrist, wincing at the stiffness. "You have no idea."

"Oh, I might have some inkling," he said, moving to the next lock. "Remember when they locked ya up during your first—"

"Don't," she interrupted sharply, a flush creeping up her neck.

He chuckled. "Touchy subject. Got it."

Silence settled between them, broken only by the soft clicks of the locks. She watched him, noting the concentration etched on his face—a rare seriousness beneath his carefree façade.

"How'd you get past the guards?" she asked, eager to shift the topic.

He grinned wickedly. "Ah, ya know me. Got a way with people."

"You drugged them?"

He shrugged. "Let's just say I found yer stash. Didn't peg ya for the type to keep such... potent concoctions."

She raised an eyebrow. "Everyone needs a hobby."

"Can't argue with that," he quipped as the second shackle fell away.

Thomas released the final lock with a satisfying click. He stood, extending a hand to help her up. As she rose, a wave of dizziness washed over her. She stumbled slightly.

"Whoa there," he steadied her, his grip firm. "They must've given ya a hefty dose of somethin'."

"They suppressed my [Energy Flow]," she murmured, pressing a hand to her still and unmoving solar plexus where her core was. "It's like part of me is missing."

He reached into his pouch, producing a small vial filled with shimmering blue liquid. "Here, drink this. It'll help clear the fog."

She eyed it suspiciously. "What's in it?"

He winked. "Just a lil' pick-me-up. Trust me."

With a resigned sigh, she uncorked the vial and took a sip. A cool, sharp, and invigorating sensation spread through her. The numbness faded, replaced by a tingling warmth as her [Energy Flow] slowly reignited; her veins and core began moving again, even though gradually.

"Better?" he asked, watching her closely.

"Much," she nodded. "Thank you."

"Anytime, boss." He slung his satchel back over his shoulder. "Now, we gotta skedaddle before they realize you're missin'."

"Wait," she said, glancing around the cell. "I need my things."

He tapped the side of his nose. "Already taken care of." From behind his back, he produced a small spatial bag and tossed it to her.

She caught it, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "You're insufferable."

"But ya love me," he grinned.

She began equipping herself swiftly. The familiar weight of her armor, the comforting grip of her rapier—it grounded her. As she adjusted her gauntlets, she glanced at him.

"Will you follow me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Now, what kinda question is that? 'Course I'm comin' with ya. Can't let ya hog all the adventure."

A soft laugh escaped her. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Besides," he smirked, "someone's gotta keep ya outta trouble."

"I think it's usually the other way around," she retorted playfully.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "Details."

She stepped forward, confidence returning. "Let's move."

He held up a finger.

she gestured.

They navigated the winding corridors, shadows their allies. The estate was eerily quiet, the usual bustle subdued. As they passed portraits of stern ancestors, she felt a disconnect—a lineage she long ago didn't feel part of.

"Ya sure about this?" Thomas whispered as they paused.

She met his gaze. "I am."

"Then let's get ya outta here."

They slipped through a side door into the crisp night air. The gardens stretched before them, moonlight casting silver hues over the manicured hedges and blooming flowers. The scent of jasmine enveloped them—a bittersweet reminder of home.

"Freedom smells good, doesn't it?" he grinned.

"Bittersweet," she admitted.

They moved swiftly across the grounds, sticking to the shadows. As they approached the outer wall, voices drifted on the breeze.

"Patrol," Thomas hissed.

They ducked behind a stone bench, crouching low. Two guards strolled by, lanterns swinging.

"Can't believe they locked up the young miss again," one muttered.

"She's dangerous," the other replied. "Best for everyone."

Isabella's jaw tightened, and her heart clenched. 'Why—' Before her darkest thoughts could pull her mind into the abyss again, she felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder—Thomas. She nodded toward him, her easy teary but filled with resolve.

Once the guards passed, they scaled a section of the wall where the stones jutted out just enough to provide footholds. Dropping down on the other side, they landed softly in the dewy grass—she couldn't use any [Energy] as it would alarm everyone due to the pungent smell, making the suppression of her [Energy Flow], which still recovered, a blessing in disguise

"Where to now?" he asked.

She looked toward the distant horizon. "To Alexander K. Leonandra."

He nodded. "Figured as much. Got a couple of our folks waitin' nearby with supplies."

She glanced at him, gratitude in her eyes. "You thought of everything."

"That's why ya keep me around," he winked while handing over some hooded cloaks and masks.

She put them on without hesitation and sneaked through every suspicious alley Thomas knew in Coyoteteeth, always avoiding the guards who patrolled and focusing on the most active areas at night.

After hours, they soon left the city, the estate fading behind them—a shadow of a life she ignored for now as there was a beacon of light she wanted to see and sense, someone like her, perhaps a saintly figure, 'Soon.' She didn't know what to expect, but her gut told her to go there no matter what.

But, before she could get lost in her daydreaming again, she looked to the side, seeing the tired face of her first retainer, best friend, and first lover. "Thomas," she began hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For always being there," she blushed slightly.

He gave a lopsided grin. "Don't get all mushy on me now. We've got a campaign ahead."

She laughed softly. "Right."

They walked in comfortable silence, the canopy of stars guiding their path.