Max stared at the skill description, his mind racing.
Five hundred percent power increase. Five times his normal strength. Night would become an absolute monster. His Shadow Slaves would be nearly unstoppable. Every ability would be devastating beyond measure.
But at the cost of triple corruption generation. For five minutes, he would be racing toward the maximum corruption cap, and the skill description made it clear that reaching 100 corruption had "severe consequences."
He pulled up his current stats:
[CORRUPTION: 22/100]
He had 78 points of headroom before maxing out. If he used Absolute Corruption and fought aggressively for five minutes, generating corruption at triple speed...
He could very easily hit the cap.
And then what? The skill didn't say. Just "severe consequences."
Transformation into something inhuman? Permanent personality changes? Loss of control?
The ancient Soulbinder's warning echoed in his mind: "Power without wisdom leads to ruin."
But at the same time... five hundred percent power increase.
Max thought about Thomas dying while he was too weak to save him. Thought about the Ironclad Titan and how helpless he'd been against it. Thought about future challenges, future threats, future moments where being too weak might cost someone their life.
This ability could prevent that. Could give him the power to protect people who couldn't protect themselves.
"You want to protect those you care about," the ancient one had said. "A noble goal. But the path of corruption offers shortcuts to that protection."
Was this a shortcut? Or was it simply using the tools available to him?
Max didn't know.
He looked at Night, his shadow warrior, his companion who had fought beside him through every battle.
"What do you think?" Max asked aloud, knowing the entity couldn't speak but hoping to feel something through their bond.
What came back was complex. Not approval or disapproval, but something that felt like... trust? Night would follow whatever path Max chose. Would support his decisions.
Max closed the notification and looked around the chamber one more time.
This place was ancient, built by a civilization that had mastered corruption and darkness. The Soulbinder who'd spoken to him had built an empire on this power before it destroyed him.
But Max wasn't him. Max had anchors—his mother, his friends, people he cared about who would notice if he started changing into something monstrous.
"That uncertainty? That self-doubt? That is what keeps you human," the ancient one had said.
Max made a decision.
He wouldn't reject the ability. Wouldn't pretend it didn't exist or refuse to use it out of fear. That was the coward's path, and it had nearly gotten him killed.
But he would use it carefully.
He would accept the darkness, as the quest said. But he would not become the darkness.
"Alright," Max said to himself, to Night, to the ancient presence that might still be watching from the void. "I accept this. But I'm going to use it my way."
Max and Night left the Ancient Observatory and emerged into the late afternoon light of the Iron Frontier. The metallic forest stretched before them, and in the distance, the base camp was visible.
The expedition had one more day before the return voyage to Veridian Gate. Max had new questions, new doubts, and a new ability that terrified and tempted him in equal measure.
But more than that, he had clarity.
He understood what he was now. Not just a player or a gamer, but a Soulbinder—someone who walked between light and dark, life and death, power and corruption.
He stopped near the center of the camp, just watching.
An NPC merchant was haggling with an expedition member over the price of healing potions. Her face was animated and when she finally agreed on a price, she laughed.
Max's eyes then moved to a group of NPC laborers repairing a tent that had been damaged in yesterday's storm. They worked together, one holding the fabric while another hammered nails. They joked with each other, one making a comment that caused the others to burst into laughter.
Near the edge of camp, children ran in circles, playing some kind of tag game. A young girl—maybe seven years old—tripped and scraped her knee. She started crying, and immediately her mother appeared, scooping her up and examining the wound.
The girl's tears were real—Max could see them on her cheeks. The mother's concern was evident in every line of her face, in how her hands moved gently.
Max felt something twist in his chest.
What exactly is real?
The question formed in his mind, spawned by everything he'd seen, everything he'd experienced.
Back on Earth—back in the real world, he corrected himself, though the correction felt increasingly uncertain.
Living things had certain characteristics: metabolism, growth, reproduction, cellular organization. And at the core of it all, two fundamental things separated the living from the non-living: blood and consciousness.
Blood—or whatever biological fluid sustained an organism. The physical substance that carried life through a body.
And consciousness—awareness, thought, the mysterious quality of being someone rather than something.
Max looked at his own hand, flexed his fingers. In the real world, blood pumped through his veins. His heart beat in his chest.
But here? His avatar had a health bar. When he took damage, red graphics appeared. When he died, he respawned. There was no actual blood in these veins, no actual heart beating in this chest.
By Earth's definition, he wasn't alive in Aetheria.
So by that same logic, the NPCs weren't alive either. They were code, algorithms, sophisticated AI.
Except...
Max watched as an NPC craftsman cut himself on a sharp tool. The man cursed, dropped the tool, and examined his hand. Blood welled from the cut. He quickly wrapped a cloth around it, grimacing at the pain.
Did that NPC feel pain?