Chapter 2: The Price of Power

The moon hung low, its cold, silver glow casting jagged shadows across the dense forest. Crickets chirped, their song broken by the distant crackle of a campfire. In the clearing ahead lay the bandit camp—a collection of makeshift tents and stolen goods, a nest of chaos and cruelty. For Gideon, it was more than just a camp. It was a tomb, though its inhabitants didn't know it yet.

He stood at the edge of the clearing, his body trembling with an unfamiliar energy. Maelvas's words echoed in his mind: "Your vengeance will be absolute, but remember, all power comes with a price." The bargain was struck, and now, the time for payment was close.

Gideon glanced at his hands. They pulsed with an eerie light, faintly illuminating the darkened forest. The sensation was alien, as though he were holding back a storm that demanded release. It was intoxicating, frightening, and exhilarating all at once.

This is it, he thought, clenching his fists. They'll pay for everything they've done.

**The Bandit Camp**

The bandits were a rowdy bunch, their laughter echoing through the trees. Around the largest fire, they celebrated another night of plunder, passing stolen wine and meager scraps of food among themselves. Scattered around were the spoils of their raids—jewelry, coins, and weapons glinting in the firelight.

Among them, their leader sat on a crude wooden throne, a hulking man with a scarred face and cruel eyes. His name was Karvok, a figure of terror in the surrounding villages. He held a goblet in one hand, its contents spilling as he laughed at one of his men's bawdy jokes.

"Did you see the way she begged?" one of the bandits sneered, drawing laughter from the others.

Karvok raised his goblet in mock salute. "Another fine haul, boys. We'll be kings of this forest before long."

The air shifted. A chill crept into the camp, extinguishing their laughter. The crackling of the fire grew faint, drowned out by an oppressive silence. One of the men glanced toward the edge of the clearing, his drunken grin faltering.

"Boss... someone's there," he said, pointing.

Karvok turned, his gaze narrowing as he spotted the figure standing at the treeline. "Who the hell are you?" he barked.

Gideon stepped forward, his movements deliberate. "Justice," he said, his voice low and cold.

Karvok snorted, standing from his throne. "Justice? You picked the wrong camp, friend." He gestured to his men. "Kill him. Make it slow."

The first bandit approached with a sneer, brandishing a rusted sword. "You'll regret this, stranger."

Gideon didn't flinch. He raised a hand, and the air around him shimmered. The bandit froze mid-step, his eyes widening as an invisible force lifted him off the ground. He thrashed and screamed, but it was futile. With a flick of Gideon's wrist, the man's body twisted unnaturally, his spine snapping with a sickening crack.

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The camp erupted into chaos.

"Get him!" Karvok roared, drawing his axe.

The remaining bandits charged, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight. But Gideon was no longer a mere man. He moved with inhuman speed, his fists and feet striking with the force of a storm.

He grabbed the next bandit by the throat, lifting him effortlessly before slamming him into the ground. The impact left a crater, the man's body crumpling like a broken doll. Another bandit swung a mace at Gideon's head, but the weapon stopped inches from his face, held in place by an invisible barrier. Gideon smirked, shattering the mace and sending shards flying into the attacker's eyes.

Blood sprayed across the clearing, painting the dirt and tents in crimson. Gideon's movements became more savage, more erratic. Where there had once been a man, there was now only a beast.

Karvok watched, his confidence evaporating as his men fell one by one. He gripped his axe tighter, his knuckles white. "You think you're some kind of god?" he spat.

"No," Gideon replied, his voice hollow. "I'm something worse."

Karvok charged, swinging his massive axe with a roar. Gideon sidestepped the attack with ease, his hand glowing with an eerie light. He struck Karvok's chest, the energy surging through the bandit leader's body. Karvok screamed, dropping his weapon as his flesh burned and blackened.

"Mercy!" Karvok begged, falling to his knees.

Gideon loomed over him, his eyes cold. "Did you show mercy to the families you destroyed? To the lives you took?"

Karvok tried to speak, but his words were drowned by the crackling of energy. Gideon clenched his fist, and Karvok's body exploded into ash, carried away by the wind.

As the last bandit fell, Gideon stood amidst the carnage. His chest heaved, his hands and face slick with gore. The power was intoxicating, but with each passing moment, he felt it gnawing at him.

The warmth that had fueled his rampage was now burning him from the inside out. His vision blurred, and a sharp pain shot through his body. He fell to one knee, coughing up blood.

"No... not yet," he gasped, clutching his chest.

But the power was relentless, tearing through his body like a wildfire consuming dry leaves. His skin cracked, black veins spreading like spiderwebs. His breaths grew shallow, each one a struggle.

In the silence of the aftermath, a slow, deliberate clap echoed through the clearing.

"Well done," came a voice, smooth and cold.

Gideon looked up, his fading vision locking onto the figure emerging from the shadows. Maelvas. Cloaked in black, with an otherworldly aura that seemed to consume the light around him, the soul merchant approached with measured steps.

"You... you promised me vengeance," Gideon rasped, blood dribbling from his lips.

"And you had it," Maelvas replied, his tone devoid of sympathy. "But every deal has its cost."

Gideon tried to stand, but his legs gave out beneath him. He glared at Maelvas, anger and despair warring in his gaze. "You tricked me!"

Maelvas knelt beside him, his piercing eyes locking onto Gideon's. "Tricked? No. I simply gave you what you desired, knowing you would never consider the consequences. That is the folly of mortals."

With a flick of his hand, Maelvas summoned an ethereal blade, its edge shimmering with ghostly light. He placed the blade against Gideon's chest, where the black veins converged like roots of a dying tree.

"This is the price of ambition," Maelvas murmured. "Your soul belongs to me now."

Gideon's screams filled the clearing as the blade plunged into his chest. The light in his eyes faded, replaced by an eerie, bluish glow. Maelvas stood, holding the faintly glowing orb of Gideon's soul in his hand.

He studied it for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Another fragment for the collection," he mused before the soul dissolved into his palm, absorbed into his being.

The clearing was silent once more, save for the crackling of the dying campfire. Maelvas surveyed the carnage, his face impassive. To most, this would be a scene of horror, but to him, it was simply business.

As he turned to leave, he paused, his gaze lingering on the blood-soaked ground. "Power is a fleeting thing," he said softly, as if addressing the void. "Those who seek it rarely understand its weight."

The wind carried his words into the night, and with a final glance at the destruction he had orchestrated, Maelvas vanished into the shadows, leaving nothing behind but the echo of his presence.