Sleep should have been a refuge.
But Blackthorn Keep had no mercy, and neither did Alden.
I awoke to the creak of a door hinge, faint shadows slipping across my quarters. Two figures moved with silent precision—hired knives. Their footsteps were calculated, their intent unmistakable.
I could have risen, fought openly, and crushed them. But the System whispered a better way.
[Devour] available. Estimated gain: 8 AP. Pain risk: elevated.
I flexed my fingers slowly, letting them brush the blankets. Hollow Palm hummed faintly in my consciousness, a mechanical reminder: precise, efficient, hungry.
They stepped into the room. One moved to my chest, dagger raised; the other circled to my side.
I feigned a shiver, groaning, letting my body slump.
"Please… I'm not worth it…"
They laughed quietly, closing in.
Perfect.
I waited until they were within arm's reach. Then I struck.
The first man's chest exploded in black veins as Hollow Palm flared. His scream was brief; life drained cleanly into me. A second later, his body crumpled into ash-like dust on the floor.
The second moved faster, startled—but I was faster. A flick of my wrist, a strike to his throat, and the same hollow black energy devoured him. His vitality fed the System; his corpse stored neatly in a shadowed corner, nothing left to mark his presence.
[Devour Successful: +8 AP][Hollow Palm Rank I stabilized.]
The room was silent again, the only sound my ragged breathing.
I surveyed my handiwork, calculating risk, tallying gain. Everything precise. Everything clean.
And above, faint but unmistakable, the golden thread shimmered brighter, quivering as if Heaven itself had noticed.
Good. Let it watch. Let it stir. Let it send its hounds.
I was no longer the trash who crawled back from the battlefield. I was the shadow in the corner of every plan, the hunger behind every blade.
And I would not be caught.
Not by man, not by Heaven.