The change was no longer subtle.
It was in the way I moved. My footsteps, once heavy and weary, were now light and sure, almost silent on the rough stone. It was in my vision; I could see the heat shimmer of a slave's body from across a tunnel, could trace the faint phosphorescent trails of insects in the utter dark. It was in my hearing; I could distinguish the specific rhythm of Borok's gait from dozens of others, could hear the faint, almost inaudible crackle of energy from a Spirit Ore vein ten meters away.
The "Seed" was no longer a separate entity nestled in my gut. It was a network, a symbiotic system woven into my flesh and spirit. Its energy didn't just reside in my core; it circulated through me, enhancing, repairing, optimizing.
The cost was a constant, low-level hunger. Not the desperate, gnawing void of before, but a persistent, background hum—a reminder that this power required constant fuel. My "grazing" had become second nature, an automatic process like breathing. With every breath, I drew in minute traces of the mine's chaotic energy, filtering and converting it.
Overseer Yan's experiments grew more daring. He had me handle increasingly toxic materials, from vials of concentrated Nirnroot extract to shards of ore contaminated with spiritual residue from long-dead slaves. Each time, the "Seed" adapted, its digestive capabilities growing more refined, more efficient.
I was becoming the ultimate recycling machine for the mine's filth.
During one session, Yan didn't present me with a material. Instead, he led me to the metal-lined room where I had faced the Soul Mist.
The formation on the floor was active again, its red lines pulsing ominously. But this time, there was no stone vessel of mist. In the center of the circle stood a man.
A slave. One I recognized vaguely—a quiet, gaunt man who always worked alone. He was shackled at the ankles and wrists, his head bowed. He trembled violently.
My blood ran cold. "Sir... what is this?"
"A test of precision, Wa Lang," Yan replied, his tone devoid of any humanity. "This subject is terminally ill. The healers have given him a few days at most. His 'Seed' is weak, his spirit almost extinguished. He is... surplus."
The cold dread in my stomach solidified into a block of ice. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to touch him. Place your hand on his chest. And then... take from him."
My breath caught in my throat. "Take... what?"
"Everything," Yan said simply. "His remaining life force. The spiritual energy clinging to his 'Seed'. All of it. I want to see if you can perform a targeted harvest. A clean extraction."
This was beyond monstrous. This was... vampiric. He wanted me to consume another human being.
The shackled slave looked up, his eyes wide with terror. He had heard. He knew what was about to happen.
My "Seed" reacted to the proximity of a fading life force. It didn't scream with hunger like towards the elemental, but it pulsed with a low, interested thrum. It recognized potential fuel. Easy, accessible fuel.
No. The thought was mine, pure and fierce. I will not.
"Sir, I... I cannot," I said, my voice tight.
"You can, and you will," Yan's voice was like a whip crack. "This is the next logical step. You have consumed rock, plant, and elemental. Now, you must learn to consume the most potent source of all: sentient spirit. This is the path to true power in the Cult of the Abyss! This is what it means to embrace the Seed!"
The Cult of the Abyss. He had finally said it. The name of the belief system, the religion of this damned place. A creed built on consumption and predation.
The slave began to sob quietly, a hopeless, broken sound.
My mind raced. I could feel Yan's impatience. The guard at the door had his hand on his weapon. Refusal was not an option. They would force me, or kill me for disobedience.
But I would not be their monster. Not like this.
I stepped into the formation. The air grew cold, the red light casting hellish shadows on the slave's face. I approached him slowly.
"Please..." he whispered, his voice a dry rustle. "Please, no..."
I looked into his eyes, trying to convey something—an apology, a promise, I didn't know. I placed my hand on his chest, over his heart. I could feel the faint, fluttering beat, the weak spark of his life.
My "Seed" stirred, eager.
I closed my eyes. I wouldn't let it take. I would give.
I focused my will, not on pulling energy from him, but on pushing my own. I thought of the clean, cold energy of the Darkmoon Cap, the wild power of the elemental. I gathered a trickle of the "Seed's" stored energy, purifying it with my intent, filtering out its predatory nature, leaving only pure vitality.
I pushed it into the slave.
It was like trying to force water upstream. My "Seed" resisted violently. This was a waste! This was against its very purpose! A wave of nausea and psychic pain washed over me as it fought my control.
But I held on. I poured my will into the act, remembering my humanity, my revulsion at this system. I was not a predator. I was a survivor.
The slave gasped. A faint color returned to his pale cheeks. The trembling in his limbs subsided. He looked at me, his eyes wide with shock and confusion.
"What... what are you doing?" he breathed.
"Quiet," I whispered, pouring more energy, sustaining his flickering flame.
Overseer Yan, watching from outside the formation, frowned. "The energy reading is... anomalous. You are transferring energy to the subject? Why? This is inefficient! This is a waste of resources!"
He didn't understand. He couldn't comprehend an act that wasn't about consumption.
After a minute, I pulled my hand away, staggering back. I was drained. The "Seed" was furious, a sullen, hot coal of resentment in my stomach. I had used its power against its will, for a purpose it deemed worthless.
The slave stood straighter, his breathing less labored. He wouldn't live long—the underlying illness was still there—but I had bought him time. A few days, perhaps a week.
Yan strode into the circle, examining the slave with clinical detachment. "Fascinating. A reversal of the flow. An act of... charity?" He spat the word like a curse. "Utterly illogical. But the data is... interesting."
He turned to me, his gaze calculating. "You have demonstrated a previously unrecorded level of conscious control over the symbiotic relationship. You can defy the Seed's base imperative." He nodded slowly. "This has... implications."
He ordered the guard to take the slave away. The man cast one last, bewildered look at me before being led out.
Yan looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something in his eyes besides cold curiosity: a flicker of genuine, strategic interest.
"You are no longer just a subject, Wa Lang," he said. "You have become a variable. An unpredictable one. The Clan despises variables. But I... I find them infinitely more interesting than obedient tools."
He dismissed me.
I returned to my cell, my body weary but my spirit strangely light. I had drawn a line. I had refused to become the monster they wanted me to be.
Old Man was silent, but he placed a small, extra piece of dried fungus next to my usual meager ration. A silent acknowledgment.
The cost was high. The "Seed" was sulking, its energy output diminished. I felt weaker than I had in days. I had sacrificed a portion of my hard-won power for a stranger's few extra days of life.
But as I lay in the darkness, I felt no regret. I had reclaimed a piece of my soul.
The path ahead was darker and more dangerous than ever. Yan now knew I could defy him. He would test my limits in new, more insidious ways. The "Seed" was angry, and I would have to fight for every shred of control.
But I had learned a crucial lesson today: power wasn't just about what you could take. It was also about what you were willing to give up.
The hunt for my own humanity was far from over. In fact, it had just begun.
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