Chapter 21: Family Matters
Cal found himself once again in his core space, the ethereal realm where the essence and memories of those he had consumed coalesced. The swirling energies were faint this time, barely a fraction of the overwhelming force he had felt when he devoured Fael’s soul. Tain, it seemed, had little to offer. Yet, the memories that accompanied this essence were still potent, still enough to leave Cal reeling, unsteady.
No new rune appeared, no strange power struggled to manifest within him. Without those usual distractions, he was left to face the memories in their raw, unfiltered state. And these memories revealed something that clawed at his consciousness, something that made his insides twist with a sensation he couldn’t quite name.
Tain’s sister. Jora....... Sister
The memories unfolded before him with startling clarity. The manor, majestic and serene in one moment, engulfed in flames the next. The familial bonds that had once been so strong, shattered and reforged in the crucible of tragedy. Jora had been a constant for Tain—an unwavering presence through happiness and horror alike. She was there, through it all, a thread that tied Tain to his past, to his family, to love.
Love.
Cal blinked, the word resonating within him like a tolling bell. It felt foreign, and yet...familiar. His mind reeled, struggling to grasp something just beyond his reach. A memory, perhaps? Or a truth he had long since buried? It was there, just out of sight, poking insistently at the edges of his awareness. What was it that he couldn’t remember? What was it that was so important?
"Do not fret, my chosen," Mistress's voice slithered into his mind, her tone laced with cold command. "You must stand. That was a worthless consumption. Continue in your slaughter."
Her words echoed in his mind, pressing against his thoughts like a weight. He could almost feel her breath on the back of his neck, a chilling presence that sought to steer him away from whatever realization was struggling to surface. But Cal ignored her. Something in Tain’s memories was trying to tell him something, something crucial.
What is it? Why can’t I see? Why can’t I remember?
"My chosen," Mistress’s voice grew sharper, more insistent. "Listen to me. You will continue. Get up."
The command was like a blade slicing through his mind, and something deep within him resisted, tugging back against her influence. He gritted his teeth, refusing to yield. There was something in these memories, something that refused to be ignored.
He delved deeper, letting Tain’s memories wash over him once more. The manor, the fire, the terror that had consumed them all...but even amidst the destruction, even as everything around them fell apart, something had remained. A thread, a bond. Love. Even twisted by pain and loss, love had still bound Tain to his family. To Jora. To his mother, his father, even his brother.
Cal’s thoughts turned inward, focusing on that sensation, that elusive memory of love. It was not something he had felt from Mistress—not even a shred of it. Her presence was cold, dominating, devoid of anything resembling affection or care. Yet Cal knew he had felt love before, somewhere. It was a feeling he recognized, though it was faint, buried deep beneath layers of blood and power.
Where? Where have I felt it?
The fog that had clouded his mind began to thin, the veil over his thoughts slipping away. He could sense it now, that memory, or perhaps it was a truth. It was coming closer, something he had forgotten or maybe had been forced to forget. His heart pounded in his chest as the realization hovered on the brink of consciousness, just waiting to be fully grasped.
But the more he focused, the more the edges of the memory receded, as if it was being pulled away by unseen hands. Mistress’s voice clawed at him, trying to drown out the revelation that was so close, yet so far. But Cal’s determination only grew stronger. He had to know. He had to remember.
The world around him trembled as his mind fought against the chains that had been placed on it. The more he struggled, the more the cloud over his thoughts dissipated. Love. He had felt it before, he was sure of it. But where? The memory, whatever it was, danced just out of reach, teasing him with its proximity.
Cal’s breath quickened. He could almost see it now, the faint outline of a face, the echo of a voice that spoke to him in tones of warmth and kindness. A name whispered on the edge of his consciousness, so familiar yet so distant. It was right there, if he could only reach it, if he could only—
A sharp pain shot through his skull, and the memory fragmented into a thousand pieces, scattering like dust on the wind. Cal gasped, clutching his head as the vision slipped away entirely, leaving him with only the hollow echo of what he had almost grasped.
The cloud descended again, thicker this time, smothering his thoughts. Mistress’s presence loomed over him, her influence tightening around his mind like a vice.
"Get up," she commanded, her voice like a lash across his consciousness. "Continue, my chosen."
But even as Cal staggered under the weight of her control, the lingering sensation of that forgotten memory remained, like a seed planted deep within him. It was there, waiting to be unearthed, and he knew—deep down—that he would find it again. He had to. Because whatever it was, it was important. It was vital. It was something that could change everything.
For now, though, he would bide his time. But the question remained, echoing in the silence of his core space:
Where had he felt love before?
As the fog closed in once more, that question lingered in his mind, a beacon of hope in the darkness.
And Cal knew that one day, he would remember.
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Jora charged forward, her heart pounding with a mix of fury and grief. Cal stood over Tain’s broken body, the lifeless form of her brother at his feet. The sight fueled her rage, propelling her with terrifying speed. She closed the distance between them, her face a mask of vengeance. But as she approached, Cal turned slowly, locking eyes with her.
For a fleeting moment, Jora’s anger faltered. Cal’s eyes weren’t filled with the cold detachment she expected—they were brimming with tears. Something else lurked there too, a look she recognized, a look that Tain used to give her. Confusion gripped her heart for a split second, but the thought of her brother’s death reignited her fury like a tsunami crashing down on her.
With a roar, she swung her sword with all her might. Cal didn’t flinch, didn’t even raise a hand to defend himself. He simply stepped back, casually, allowing the blade to pass just inches from his body. The ease of his movements only stoked the fire in Jora’s chest.
She immediately adjusted her stance, changing the direction of her swing and thrusting the sword forward with brutal force. This time, the blade found its mark, slamming into Cal’s stomach. She heard the sickening crack of ribs breaking under the pressure, but the expression on his face remained unchanged.
As she lifted her sword, launching him into the air with the force of her strike, she heard his voice, soft and filled with an emotion that froze her in place.
"I'm sorry, Jora. I'm so sorry."
The words echoed in her mind as Cal soared through the air, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her rage like a knife. For a moment, she stood there, her grip on her sword tightening, her breath coming in ragged gasps. What was this? This wasn’t the monster she had expected. This was something...else.
But the memory of Tain’s lifeless body, the promise she had made to protect him, surged back into her thoughts. The sorrow in Cal’s voice only deepened her pain, twisting her fury into something darker, something more desperate. As Cal crashed to the ground, Jora’s resolve hardened. No matter what he said, no matter how he looked at her, she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—let him walk away from this.
Jora stalked toward Cal, her grip on her sword tightening with each step. Cal stood once again, casually dusting himself off as if he hadn’t just been hurled through the air. His gaze remained fixed on her, those eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—comprehend. Beron advanced from her left, and together they began to close in on him. Despite the looming danger, Cal made no move to attack. He just watched her, his expression calm, almost resigned.
Beron, his face set with determination, sent a blade of pure essence soaring toward Cal. The attack sliced through the air like an arrow, aimed to kill. But Cal didn’t even turn to acknowledge it. Instead, he simply smiled—a sad, almost mournful smile—and whispered a single word.
"No."
The essence blade dissolved mid-air, its lethal energy dispersing harmlessly around Cal like a breeze. Beron cursed under his breath, frustration clear in his voice. "My attacks aren’t doing anything to him. I’ll distract him—you have to end this."
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Jora nodded, her eyes narrowing with determination. "My pleasure."
As Jora and Beron prepared to strike, Cal’s mind turned inward, assessing the situation. The use of Command to nullify Beron’s attack had drained his reserves significantly—his stores of essence were now reduced by half. Each time he had invoked the ability, the toll on his essence pool had been immense, a cost he could no longer afford to ignore. And then there was the leak, the constant drain that fueled his essence sense, slowly but steadily depleting his strength.
Something about Command caught his attention, a subtle detail he hadn’t noticed before. The rune in his core, the one representing the ability, was no longer pristine. Cracks had begun to spiderweb across its surface, and it flickered, unstable. He felt no pain when using it, no immediate issues, but the cracks were undeniable. In contrast, the other sigils in his core space remained whole and unchanged, solid as ever.
I shouldn’t use it again until I figure out what’s going on
He refocused just in time. Beron was right in front of him, swinging his blade with deadly precision aimed at Cal's head. Jora was circling to strike from the other side, her eyes burning with a mixture of rage and sorrow. The coordinated attack was about to descend on him like a storm.
But Cal stood his ground, his mind racing to find a way to end this without using Command again.
Cal’s body tensed as he felt the pressure of the dual assault closing in on him. Beron’s blade was mere inches from his neck, and Jora’s massive sword was descending like a guillotine. The situation left him with no other choice.
Essence Burst.
A powerful wave of energy exploded from Cal’s core, slamming into his two attackers with brutal force. Beron was thrown backward, flipping through the air before landing on his feet with practiced grace. Jora, on the other hand, braced herself against the blast, leaning into the wall of force with sheer determination. The impact slowed her, but didn’t stop her; she pushed forward with a growl, her muscles straining as she fought against the essence wave. Finally, she broke through, her sword swinging with all her might.
Cal dodged backward, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike. But Jora was relentless. Each swing came closer, her speed and ferocity forcing Cal to retreat rapidly. She aimed for his head—miss. His leg—miss. His arm—miss. Then, her blade found its mark, slicing across his chest. Blood sprayed across the floor before his regeneration kicked in, sealing the wound, but the pain was sharp and immediate.
Beron, recovering quickly, charged forward once more. Jora, seizing the moment, swung her sword down with the intent to finish Cal off. He couldn’t dodge both attacks simultaneously.
Essence Burst.
Another wave of force erupted from Cal, less powerful than before, but still strong enough to send Beron stumbling backward. Jora’s strike was deflected, the sheer energy of the burst causing her blade to rebound. Cal used the brief opening to leap further back into the room, creating a small buffer of space.
As the two warriors regrouped and prepared to charge again, Cal considered a different approach. He raised his hand towards Beron, concentrating on the essence within his core, attempting to isolate the burst into his palm, a focused, directed push instead of the usual all-encompassing wave.
Essence Burst.
The attempt didn’t succeed as he’d hoped, but something within the rune in his core shifted, a subtle change that caught his attention. There was a potential here, something he hadn’t realized before. Cal’s eyes narrowed in determination as he decided to try again, this time focusing his energy on Jora as she rushed toward him.
Essence Burst.
The ground beneath them cracked as another wave of force rolled out, powerful and unrelenting. Beron was thrown back again, his feet skidding across the stone floor as he struggled to maintain his balance. Jora, too, was pushed back, her feet digging into the ground as she fought against the wave, but she didn’t fall. Cal, however, noticed something crucial—the essence burst was being drawn toward his command rune, an unexpected convergence of power.
Acting on instinct, Cal visualized the runes in his core, maneuvering them closer together, then layering them on top of one another. The lines of energy from each rune began to intertwine, and for a brief moment, they fused.
Essence Burs—
Before he could finish activating the ability, the two runes pulsed with an intense light, essence from his core flooding into both simultaneously. The runes began to merge, parts of the command rune dissolving while most of the essence burst remained intact, though altered by new, intricate lines that formed within. The process was agonizing, unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Cal screamed, the sound echoing through the cave as the transformation completed.
Beron and Jora, seizing the opportunity, launched their attacks. Beron’s blade sliced into Cal’s collarbone, while Jora brought her sword down like a hammer, aiming for his skull.
But even as their weapons struck, the force of the merging essence and command runes exploded outward.
Essence Burst once again surged from Cal, but this time it was different, more concentrated and powerful. Beron and Jora were blasted away with incredible force. Beron was sent crashing into a wall, the stone shattering around him from the impact, while Jora was hurled backward, her body slamming into the cave floor and skidding across it, leaving deep gouges in the stone.
As the dust settled, Cal stood in the center of the room, panting heavily. The pain was still there, throbbing in his chest and head, but something had changed within him. The merging of the runes had altered his abilities, given him something new, something stronger.
Cal could feel the name of his new ability echo in his mind: Essence Command. It was a fusion of the raw power of Essence Burst and the control once offered by Command, though much of the latter's functionality was lost in the process. The absence of Command felt like a heavy hit—a tool he had relied on stripped away, leaving him with something new, yet somehow less than what he had before.
Why do you always have to fuck around? Now look what you did,
Despite this loss, Cal could intuitively sense the capabilities of Essence Command. It allowed him to send his essence out in attacks similar to Essence Burst, but now with more control over the strength, range, and spread. It was useful, albeit simple. He could still direct essence outside his body, though not as effectively as before, and the need to speak commands had vanished. Now, it was more about guiding the essence rather than commanding it with the force of his voice. It wasn't a true waste, and there was even a silver lining: with enough focus, he could gather essence in one spot and condense it, though the effort required was much greater than before.
The cracks that marred Command were absent from this new ability, offering a small sense of relief. Essence Command wasn't perfect, but it was stable, and it still held potential. There were some positives, even if the cost was significant.
Cal stood panting, his opponents mirroring his exhaustion. He called out, his voice steady despite the intensity of the battle, "There is no need to fight, Jora. You have no essence. Taking your soul would not benefit me. Killing you would mean nothing."
Jora's eyes flared with rage, her voice trembling with fury. "Taking soul? Is that what you were doing—taking my brother's soul?"
"Yes," Cal replied calmly, "and I must thank you. It offered incredible insights into my own situati—"
Before he could finish, Jora charged at him, her eyes ablaze with even greater anger than before. Beron slowly circled around, trying to find a better angle to strike.
Cal continued talking as Jora attacked, each of her strikes met by his newfound abilities. Essence Burst flowed from his hands in small, controlled waves, slowing her attacks. He deflected her blows with hard bursts of essence that shot out like cannonballs, and small bursts from his feet propelled him smoothly across the ground, almost as if he were gliding on roller skates. Combined with his constantly enhanced body and rapid regeneration, Cal felt untouchable, and even if a strike landed, it caused him no harm.
As she swung at him, he kept speaking. "I'm sorry, Jora. I know you're mad. I could see what he meant to you—I can feel the love, the strength. You are a good sister. Tell me, do I seem like someone who had a sister? I feel the love that he felt from you, but I don't know where it's from."
Jora swore under her breath, exhaustion creeping into her movements. "Fuck you. FUCK YOU. MONSTER."
"I am no monster," Cal responded, almost to himself. "I am... Well, actually, I don't know who I am. My name is not clear."
"Shut up," she snarled, her voice breaking with frustration.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize," Cal continued, a hint of mockery in his tone. "I just love conversation."
"SHUT UP!" Jora screamed, her voice raw.
"If we continue to fight, you may get hurt," Cal warned. "I've already said I don't want to kill you."
"Then die," Jora spat back, her voice trembling with emotion, "because one of us is moving to the afterlife."
"Not if I eat your soul, but I guess the sentiment is there," Cal replied coolly.
"GAHHHHH!" Jora's roar of frustration echoed through the cave.
At that moment, Beron rushed in from behind, momentarily forgotten by Cal. But Essence Sense picked up the gathering of sword essence just in time. Cal ducked the blow and reached up, grabbing Beron's red beard with a vice-like grip, pulling him close. He pressed a hand to Beron's head.
"Though you have plenty of essence, so you must die," Cal whispered,
A small, concentrated burst of essence shot from Cal's hand into Beron's skull. The red-haired warrior's eyes widened in shock and pain, his body stiffening as the essence tore through his mind. Beron fell to the ground in a lifeless heap.
Jora, seeing her comrade fall, let out a howl of anguish and rage. But Cal, now fully in control, simply turned his cold gaze toward her, his expression unreadable. "You’re next, Jora. But it doesn’t have to be this way. You can still walk away."
But Jora's eyes were wild with grief, and there was no reasoning with her now. The battle would continue, even though it was clear who would emerge victorious.
Cal examined Beron's lifeless body. There was something peculiar about Beron’s soul and body; perhaps it was due to his status as an Art user. The soul felt more solid and anchored, not flitting about as others did. Beron’s body was rich with essence, a fact Cal noted with interest. He would investigate further and consume Beron’s essence once he had dealt with Jora. For now, he needed to focus on the immediate threat.
Jora charged at him, her rage driving her forward despite the toll the battle had taken on her. Her movements were ragged, almost drunken, a stark contrast to the skilled warrior she had been moments before. Exhaustion, both emotional and physical, weighed heavily on her. Yet, she fought with a fierce, unyielding determination.
Cal watched her approach with a calm, almost detached demeanor. Each step she took was slower, less controlled. Her once-precise strikes were now wild and desperate. She swung her sword with all her remaining strength, but her exhaustion made her attacks less effective. Cal, with his enhanced senses and reflexes, easily dodged and parried her blows.
"Jora," he said softly as he sidestepped a particularly clumsy swing. "You don’t have to do this. You’re fighting a losing battle."
But Jora’s eyes were filled with a mix of pain and rage. She didn’t respond to his words; instead, she pressed on, her attacks becoming more erratic. Her face was streaked with sweat and tears, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The sight of her brother’s lifeless body, still fresh in her mind, fueled her fury.
Cal moved with a grace that belied the brutal reality of the fight. He deflected Jora’s wild swings effortlessly, his own attacks measured and precise. Each movement was calculated, conserving his strength while exploiting her weaknesses. He knew that Jora was running on sheer willpower, her body and mind pushed to their limits.
Despite her state, Jora’s resolve was unshakable. She swung again, her blade whistling through the air. Cal barely had to move, his enhanced agility allowing him to dodge with minimal effort. Her exhaustion was evident in the slowness of her movements, the way her sword wavered as it cut through the air.
“Why do you persist?” Cal asked, his voice steady and calm. “You’re fighting a losing battle, Jora. I have no intention of killing you.”
Jora’s only response was a guttural roar of defiance. Her face was a mask of anguish and anger, her emotions spilling out in every strike. She lunged forward, her sword coming down with all the force she could muster. The blow, while powerful, lacked precision. Cal easily sidestepped it, the blade slicing through empty space.
“You can’t win this fight,” Cal continued, his voice almost gentle. “Your strength is fading. You’re fighting not just me, but your own limitations.”
Jora gritted her teeth, her eyes locked on Cal with a fierce, unwavering glare. Her attacks grew more desperate, more frenzied. Each swing of her sword was met with effortless evasion from Cal. He could see the pain and frustration in her eyes, and he knew that her fight was as much against her own limitations as it was against him.
With a swift motion, Cal disarmed her, knocking the sword from her hand. Jora stumbled back, her strength all but spent. She fell to her knees, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The rage in her eyes was replaced by a look of sheer exhaustion and defeat.
Cal approached her slowly, his expression a mix of pity and determination. He knew that Jora’s fight was over, but he also knew that her spirit would not easily be broken.
“Jora,” he said, kneeling in front of her. “You’ve fought bravely, but this is the end of the line. I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to see this through.”
Jora looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “You took everything from me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “My brother... my family... everything.”
Cal’s heart ached at her words. He could feel the weight of her grief, the depth of her loss. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I never wanted any of this.”
Jora’s head fell forward, her strength and her heart finally giving out. Cal gently lifted Jora’s head, his hands trembling. He sensed that her soul was simply ready to pass on. As he observed her fading spirit, he watched it bounce around, a spectral presence filled with fear and confusion.
He decided to leave her soul alone, allowing it to make its journey to the afterlife undisturbed. The cave’s oppressive silence seemed to deepen as Jora’s essence softly dissipated, her soul finally finding its way to peace.
Once Jora’s spirit had fully departed, Cal approached Beron’s lifeless form, his movements deliberate and methodical. He first removed Beron’s breastplate, the heavy metal clanking as it hit the ground. The warrior's chest was now exposed, and Cal positioned himself to proceed with his task.
He took Beron’s sword, its edge still sharp and cold, and carefully used it to make a precise incision across Beron’s chest. The blade cut through flesh and bone with practiced ease, blood flowing freely as the incision widened.
With steady hands, Cal reached into the incision, feeling for the soul within Beron’s remains. His fingers grasped the spectral form, and he began to pull it free from the body. The soul was a delicate, ghostly presence, resisting slightly as it was drawn out.
Then he placed it in his mouth.
Consume