Chapter 14: The Ecology of Cruelty
The problem with predators was they recognized each other through scent, through the particular stillness that preceded violence, through eyes that measured meat instead of meeting gazes.
Orin saw it in their arrangement, the casual mathematics of pack hunting. Five green-stones spreading into optimal strike positions, birthstones burning with essence like small funeral pyres. They moved with the coordinated laziness of people who'd practiced this choreography on previous victims, refined it until their cruelty became muscle memory.
The leader's name floated up from morning assembly introductions. Garrett. Of course it was Garrett. The universe had limited imagination when casting bullies.
"Clock's running, blackstone. Demonstrate or get demonstrated upon." Garrett's smile was architectural, built from generations of people who'd learned that consequences happened to others. "We're not unreasonable. Just curious. Show us something interesting, we let you walk away with all your original teeth."
"And if I don't?"
"Then we educate you about ecological balance. Apex predators, prey animals, the natural order that keeps defectives from forgetting their position in the alimentary chain." He cracked his knuckles, a sound like small bones breaking in preview. "Personally, I'm hoping you choose option two. It's been a dull morning. I really could use the entertainment."
The other four were vibrating with anticipation, essence making them twitchy. Green-stones pumped full of power and boredom, looking for outlets that screamed when pressure was applied. Orin had seen this play before, starred in it from the victim's position until the void stone had rewritten the casting.
*Fifty-six strength could break Garrett's jaw in three places. Fifty-three dexterity could put him down before the others registered movement. Drain them all, take their years, add their techniques to the collection.*
The temptation sang through his nerves like electricity looking for ground. But revelation was suicide wearing immediate gratification's mask. The void stone could feast, yes, but the academy would dissect him afterward, study what he'd become, reduce him to specimens floating in preservation jars.
*Third option. Always a third option if you're willing to bleed for it.*
"I'll demonstrate," Orin said quietly. "But not here. Too many witnesses. Instructors might intervene, ruin everyone's fun."
Garrett's eyes narrowed, recalculating. Prey didn't negotiate. Didn't suggest alternative venues for its own destruction. "You proposing something specific?"
"Equipment shed. North side of the training ground. Private, soundproofed because they store essence-reactive materials." Orin kept his voice level, conversational. "Nobody interrupts. You get your demonstration. I get to lose without an audience documenting my humiliation."
"Trying to preserve dignity?" One of the other green-stones laughed, the sound like glass being ground to powder. "Blackstones don't get dignity. That's for people with actual birthstones, fucking little twerp."
"Then you've got nothing to lose by accommodating my delusion." Orin met Garrett's eyes, held them. "Unless you're worried about fighting without spectators to confirm how dominant you are."
The challenge was subtle, a barbed hook hidden in conversational bait. Garrett's jaw tightened, pride calculating against caution. Boys raised on certainty of superiority rarely developed pattern recognition for their own manipulation.
"Equipment shed. Ten minutes. Gives us time to finish stretching." Garrett's smile returned, sharper now. "But you try running, we hunt you through the entire academy. Make it last days. Understand?"
"Perfectly."
They dispersed, predators confident their prey would arrive for scheduled consumption. Orin walked toward the equipment shed, each step a negotiation between the boy he'd been and the thing he was becoming. The void stone pulsed steady rhythm, heartbeat of something that had never learned mercy.
The shed occupied the training ground's northern edge, where the academy stored weapons, training equipment, alchemical supplies too volatile for general access. Thick walls, reinforced door, windows set high and narrow. Perfect location for violence that needed privacy.
Orin arrived first, spent the waiting minutes studying the space. Weapons lined the walls, practice blades and training staffs and equipment designed to hurt without quite killing. Shelves held essence extracts in sealed containers, monster parts preserved for cultivation exercises. Resources worth stealing if he'd had time or inclination.
*After,* the void stone whispered. Or maybe that was just his own hunger, hard to distinguish the boundary anymore.
The door opened. Five green-stones entered, essence already flooding their systems. They moved with the swagger of predators entering familiar killing grounds, supremacy so absolute it became theological.
Garrett closed the door, locked it. "Appreciate the venue suggestion. More intimate this way. Personal."
"Educational," one of the others added. "Teaching moments work better without distractions."
They spread out again, boxing tactics in confined space. Orin stood center, calculating angles and outcomes, running scenarios through combat instincts stolen from people who'd earned them through decades of bleeding.
"Last chance to perform voluntarily," Garrett said. "Show us how a blackstone does anything worth noticing."
Orin unwrapped his left hand, let the void stone catch the shed's dim light. Silver specks swirled beneath black surface, like a miniature galaxy trapped in flesh.
Garrett's expression shifted through confusion toward something approaching uncertainty. "What is that? Your birthstone looks like someone dropped it in stars."
"Damaged in our last fight... Though you probably don't remember that do you Garrett, why would you, you left me bleeding on the floor... So makes things interesting." Orin flexed his fingers, felt essence circulation responding to intention. "You wanted a demonstration. Here's the educational portion: never assume defective means harmless. Sometimes it just means different."
He moved.
Fifty-three dexterity translated to speed that looked like teleportation to people expecting blackstone limitations. Orin closed the distance before Garrett registered a threat, palm strike to solar plexus delivering fifty-six strength into the center mass of Garetts smug existence.
Garrett folded, air evacuating his lungs in an undignified wheeze. Orin caught him as he fell, pressed the void stone against Garrett's green birthstone.
The pull established immediately, ravenous and absolute.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" One of the others lunged, fist enhanced by essence channeling.
Orin pivoted, used Garrett's collapsing body as shield. The punch connected with their leader instead, friendly fire converting pack tactics into chaos. He released Garrett, let him drop, turned to face the remaining four.
**"ESSENCE ABSORPTION ACTIVE. TARGET: GARRETT VANCE, GREEN-STONE CULTIVATOR."**
The void stone was feeding, drinking Garrett's cultivation while he lay gasping, too winded to understand what was happening. Orin could feel the technique knowledge flowing in, combat patterns Garrett had spent years developing, now being copied and consumed.
**TECHNIQUE ACQUIRED: [OVERWHELMING FORCE ASSAULT - BASIC]**
The others were recovering from surprise, coordinating for combined assault. Two came high, two low, standard pincer movement. Orin dropped beneath the high attacks, rolled through the low ones, came up behind their formation.
Caught the nearest green-stone's wrist, twisted it into position borrowed from the Iron Grip Method. The wrist folded wrong, cartilage grinding. The boy screamed, essence disrupted by pain.
Orin pressed the void stone to his birthstone. Started draining.
"He's some kind of vampire!" The third green-stone backpedaled, horror replacing arrogance. "He's stealing essence! Draining birthstones!"
"Then kill him before he drains us!" The fourth one grabbed a practice sword from the wall, metal singing as it cleared the rack.
The blade came fast, aimed at Orin's throat. He released his current victim, swayed aside, let the sword pass close enough to part air. Countered with a palm strike to the attacker's elbow, fifty-six strength shattering the joint with sound like wet wood breaking.
The sword fell. Orin caught it before it hit ground, reversed it, drove the pommel into the attacker's skull. Not enough to kill, just enough to introduce unconsciousness.
Two down, three remaining. Garrett was stirring, his birthstone faded to dull gray, essence mostly drained. The boy who'd received the friendly fire was clutching his ribs, trying to breathe through pain and confusion. The one who'd called him vampire was frozen, fight-or-flight instincts canceling each other into paralytic indecision.
"Last chance," Orin said, voice steady despite adrenaline singing through his nerves. "Leave now. Tell nobody what happened here. Forget you ever questioned a blackstone's position in your precious hierarchy."
"You're insane." Vampire-boy's voice cracked. "You attacked green-stones. Drained their cultivation. That's an execution offense. They'll hunt you. Dissect you. Find out what you are and eliminate it."
"Maybe. But they'll have to catch me first." Orin advanced, sword held casual but ready. "And you'll have to explain why five green-stones cornered one blackstone in a locked equipment shed. Why you targeted someone you considered defective. How that looks to instructors who pretend to care about academy regulations."
The math was brutal and clear. Reporting him meant confessing their own predation. Staying silent meant living with fear that the defective might visit them again.
Vampire-boy grabbed the one with broken ribs, hauled him toward the door. "This isn't finished."
"Yes it is. You just haven't accepted the conclusion yet." Orin unlocked the door, held it open. "Tell your friends that blackstones bite now. Ecology's changing. Apex predators might want to recalibrate their assumptions."
They fled, leaving Garrett and the unconscious one behind. Orin knelt beside Garrett, studied the drained green-stone with clinical detachment. The boy's birthstone was ash gray, circulation gutted, years of cultivation reduced to empty reservoir.
"What did you do to me?" Garrett's voice was barely whisper, vocal cords struggling with the effort. "I can't feel my essence. Can't circulate. It's like being hollow."
"Taught you about ecological balance. That prey animals sometimes evolve teeth." Orin stood, moved toward the shelves holding essence extracts. Grabbed three vials, grade-three materials, pocketed them. "You'll recover, probably. Birthstone might regenerate capacity if you're lucky. Either way, you'll remember that defectives aren't always defenseless."
He left them there, locked the shed from outside, pocketed the key. Someone would find them eventually, investigate the incident, ask questions that wouldn't get satisfying answers.
The training yard was emptying, students filtering toward afternoon cultivation classes. Orin joined the flow, hood up, birthstone wrapped, just another forgettable blackstone navigating the academy's digestive system.
*Drained another green-stone. Stole their techniques. Confirmed every suspicion Varen was developing.*
The void stone pulsed with satisfaction, silver specks swirling faster. It had fed well, added more stolen cultivation to the infinite reservoir.
**ORIN FOX**
**AGE: 15**
**ESSENCE STORED: 28/∞**
**ATTRIBUTES:**
**STRENGTH: 60**
**DURABILITY: 46**
**VITALITY: 29**
**DEXTERITY: 57**
**SPEED: 45**
**TECHNIQUES:**
**[FLOWING KNIFE FORM - BASIC]**
**[IRON GRIP METHOD - BASIC]**
**[STEADY AIM DISCIPLINE - BASIC]**
**[OVERWHELMING FORCE ASSAULT - BASIC]**
Sixty strength now. Approaching veteran levels in primary attributes. Each feeding pushed him higher, made him more dangerous, confirmed the void stone's appetite was bottomless.
*How high before it's too much? Before the power consumes whatever I was before moonlight rewrote my fundamental nature?*
The question tasted like philosophy and self-deception, asking itself whether the monster remembered being human or just pretended the distinction mattered.
Lyra Ashmont appeared beside him, materialized from the crowd with the casual precision of someone who'd been tracking his movement.
"You look different. Tense. Like you just finished doing something you'll regret later but couldn't avoid now." Her ice-blue eyes studied him with uncomfortable focus. "What happened?"
"Ecology lesson. I merely demonstrated that food chains are negotiable constructs."
"Cryptic, and also a little concerning." She matched his pace, close enough for conversation, distant enough to maintain plausible deniability. "There are rumors already. Five green-stones entered the equipment shed. Three left conscious, two stayed behind drained and traumatized. Instructors are investigating."
"Bloody hell that's a fast rumor mill."
"Violence in a hierarchical institution spreads like disease through populations without immunity." She glanced at his wrapped hand. "The green-stones are claiming they were attacked by something using essence-draining techniques. Something that shouldn't exist outside historical records and nightmare taxonomies."
"Maybe they're lying. Covering up their own failures with monster stories."
"Maybe." She didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe the blackstone who passed impossible trials is more impossible than anyone realized. Maybe he's something the system hasn't categorized yet, something that breaks all their careful rules about who's apex and who's prey."
They walked in silence through the academy's stone corridors, past classrooms where students learned to kill efficiently and call it service. The weight of her observation sat between them, accusation and curiosity blending into something that felt dangerous.
"If I were something the system couldn't categorize," Orin said quietly, "what would you do?"
"Study you, probably. Try to understand the mechanism before it consumed itself or got eliminated by people who prefer predictable hierarchies." She stopped outside a classroom, turned to face him directly. "But I'd also warn you that anomalies have short lifespans in institutions designed to eliminate variation. You can hide for a while, but eventually the performance costs more than revelation. When that inflection point arrives, hope you've cultivated allies instead of just enemies.. failing that be strong enough to negotiate."
She entered the classroom, leaving him standing in the corridor with implications that felt like blueprints for his own autopsy.
*Allies or enemies. Binary choice in a world that only pretends options exist.*
Orin continued toward his basement cell, descending into the academy's bowels where blackstones were stored like damaged equipment awaiting disposal. His room waited, empty and cold, stone walls that had witnessed previous failures and were patient enough to witness his.
He locked the door, pulled out the stolen essence vials, studied the grade-three materials that could push him higher. The void stone was hungry, always hungry, bottomless appetite that mistook consumption for progress.
*Feed it. Get stronger. Survive long enough to figure out what survival even means anymore.*
The logic was circular, self-consuming, hunger justifying itself through the fear of starving.
He pressed the first vial to his birthstone, felt the familiar pull, the pain of transformation, the numbers climbing in his mind like accusations counting themselves.
Outside his window, the memorial garden waited, patient as graves, ready to plant whoever failed to navigate the academy's educational brutality.
Inside his cell, Orin Fox fed the void, climbed higher, and wondered if reaching the top meant discovering there was nothing there except the view of everything he'd destroyed getting there.
The void stone pulsed, satisfied and eager.
Sixty strength today.
What would it be tomorrow?
And would he recognize himself when he finally reached whatever altitude the hunger was climbing toward?
The questions dissolved into pain as essence integrated, and pain was easier than answers anyway.