Blade of Hunger
1334 Words
Cassian Valthorne stood alone on the east wing balcony, black crystal blade gripped so tight the veins in his hand stood out like black lightning.
Moonlight struck the edge—razor-sharp, already dark with old blood that never quite dried.
The blade pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Alive.
Hungry.
Below, the manor grounds had become a storm of fire and fear: torches whipping in the wind, guards bellowing orders, servants fleeing like rats from a sinking ship.
Lady Seraphine’s chamber window glowed violent red—flames l*****g the curtains, smoke pouring like black blood.
Cassian’s whisper cut the night.
“She’s dead.”
The servant beside him—pale, trembling—bowed so low his forehead nearly kissed stone.
“Yes, my lord. Throat opened ear to ear. No sign of the killer. The guards are tearing the grounds apart.”
Cassian’s laugh was low, jagged, tasting of ash.
“Tearing apart? They won’t find him.”
He turned the blade slowly, watching crystal veins throb darker.
“He’s not hiding. He’s coming.”
The weapon had been Duke Blackrock’s gift—forged in the mine’s deepest f*******n veins, quenched in the blood of slaves who screamed until their voices broke.
It drank life.
It fed power.
And now it craved one specific soul: Aric Valthorne. Aryan Khanna. The ghost from the mines.
Cassian’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Triple the guards at every gate. Quadruple the patrols in the forest. Wake the alchemist. I want poison—something that can kill whatever monster he’s become.”
The servant fled without another word.
Cassian stared into the black forest beyond the walls.
Somewhere in that darkness, the boy he had sold was riding closer.
The brother he had betrayed.
The son he had helped poison.
Cassian smiled—cold, certain, teeth flashing in moonlight.
“Come then, Aric.
Come and die again.”
Deep in the forest, Aryan rode at the head of the stolen horse, group trailing behind like shadows on foot.
Moonlight sliced through the canopy in thin silver razors.
Pine needles crunched under hooves and boots.
No one spoke.
The only sounds were ragged breaths, distant manor bells fading to nothing, and the slow, hungry pulse of the pendant against Aryan’s chest.
Renn finally cracked the silence.
“How far to the alchemist’s mill?”
Aryan didn’t turn.
“Two hours if we push. Three if someone slows us.”
Lira kept pace beside the horse, eyes locked on Aryan’s profile.
“You’re going to kill him too?”
Aryan’s voice came flat, emotionless.
“If he lies—yes.
If he talks—maybe not.”
Renn swallowed hard.
“He’s the one who brewed the poison… the one that killed your father.”
Aryan’s knuckles whitened on the reins.
“And the one who knows how to break Cassian’s black blade.
We get that knowledge.
We get the upper hand.
Then we end Cassian.”
Silence fell again—heavy, electric.
They rode another hour.
Trees thinned.
A wide river gleamed ahead—slow, silver, moonlit.
Aryan raised a fist.
“Stop.”
He dismounted in one fluid motion.
Betrayal Sense ignited—bright, close, burning red.
Not guards.
One lone figure waited on the far bank.
Dark robes. Hood up. Staff in hand.
The alchemist.
Aryan’s eyes narrowed.
“He knows we’re coming.”
Lira whispered.
“How?”
Aryan touched the pendant—warm, pulsing.
“Memory Echo.
He saw Tobin’s final thoughts before I devoured him.
He knows I’m coming for answers.”
He stepped forward.
The group stayed back—frozen.
Aryan waded the shallow ford, water rising to his knees, cold biting like teeth.
The alchemist lowered his hood.
Old face—sharp as broken glass.
Eyes like poisoned wells.
Thin lips curled in a mocking smile.
“Aric Valthorne. Or should I say… Aryan Khanna?”
Aryan stopped ten feet away—close enough to smell the herbs and rot on the man’s robes.
“You know my name.”
“I know everything.
Lady Seraphine told me before the blade found her throat.
She said you were coming.
She said you would devour me.”
Aryan’s voice was winter.
“She wasn’t wrong.”
The alchemist laughed—dry, brittle, echoing off the water.
“You think you can end me?
I’ve poisoned kings.
I’ve forged blades that drink souls.
You’re just a boy with a borrowed system.”
Aryan’s eyes flared crimson.
“Devour.”
The alchemist raised his staff.
Green mist exploded from the crystal tip—nightshade vapor, thick, choking, death in the air.
Aryan activated Poison Resistance (Lv.1)—30% mitigation.
The mist hit like acid rain.
It burned lungs, scorched skin—but not enough to stop him.
He charged.
The alchemist swung the staff like a scythe.
Aryan ducked inside the arc, came up fast, slammed the dagger into the man’s shoulder—deep, twisting.
The alchemist screamed.
Aryan leaned in close.
Shadow Whisper.
“Confess. Everything.”
Eyes glazed.
The alchemist’s voice cracked open.
“I brewed the nightshade-mana poison for Lady Valthorne.
Slow. Painless. Untraceable.
Cassian knew.
He paid me double to keep silent.
The formula is in my mill—hidden under the furnace, third brick left.
Pull it.
You’ll find the Poison Codex… and the black blade’s weakness: overload it with pure vengeance energy.
It shatters.”
[Major Betrayal Detected – High Potency]
Aryan’s grin was feral.
“Devour.”
Black tendrils erupted—hungry, merciless.
The alchemist shrieked as memories ripped free—every poison recipe, every death he caused, every secret he buried.
[Successfully Devoured Major Betrayal]
Vengeance Points +480
Level Up! Level 14 → 16
All base stats +20
New Active Skill Unlocked: Poison Forge (Lv.1) – Craft deadly poisons from devoured memories (Cooldown: 1 hour)
HP Overflow: 500/500 → 700/700
The alchemist collapsed—gasping, hollowed.
Aryan crouched over him.
“The formula. Exactly where?”
Blood bubbled on the man’s lips.
“Under the furnace… third brick left… pull.”
Aryan stood.
“Thank you.”
He drove the dagger into the heart—clean, final.
The alchemist died with a wet gurgle.
Aryan turned to the group.
“The mill is half a mile east.
We get the Codex.
We get the blade’s weakness.
Then we go for Cassian.”
Lira stared at the body.
“You didn’t hesitate.”
Aryan wiped the blade on the alchemist’s robe.
“Hesitation killed me once.
It won’t again.”
They moved.
The mill rose through the trees—old stone, waterwheel groaning in the river current, no guards.
Aryan kicked the door open—wood splintering.
Inside: furnace still warm, shelves lined with vials that glowed faintly, books of f*******n formulas.
He went straight to the furnace.
Third brick left.
He pulled.
A hidden compartment yawned open.
Inside—a leather-bound tome: The Poison Codex.
Aryan flipped through—pages stained, ink dark.
Nightshade + mana crystal essence = slow, traceless death.
Black Crystal Blade weakness: Overload with concentrated vengeance energy → catastrophic shatter.
He closed the book.
Everything he needed.
He turned to the group—eyes blazing.
“We have the proof.
We have the weakness.
We have the weapon.”
Lira asked—voice steady, fierce.
“What now?”
Aryan looked toward the distant manor lights—tiny, fragile against the night.
“Now we end it.”
He touched the pendant around his neck.
Vengeance Pendant – Activated.
The stored memory exploded in his mind—vivid, merciless.
Lady Seraphine pouring poison into the wineglass.
Cassian watching, smiling, nodding.
The Baron drinking—trusting.
Dying slow.
Aryan’s eyes burned pure crimson.
“Cassian.”
He stepped out of the mill.
The night was suddenly quiet.
But far away, in the manor, Cassian’s black crystal blade pulsed once—sharp, warning.
It knew.
The Devourer was no longer coming.
He was here.
And this time, there would be no mercy.
To be continued…
- Writer
