"Look, the kid has no use; just get rid of him already." "But where else can I get free labor without paying for a slave? The little shit is better than nothing." "Do whatever you want, but don't come to me when he breaks more of your shit."
Sitting in the middle of the animal shed, Alaric could only listen to the words of his bosses. He knew what they said wasn't wrong, but he also knew he could not leave. To be back out on the streets was a death sentence.
As the daylight bled away and moonlight filtered through the slats, he lay down on the piles of hay, attempting to find some semblance of rest. But the hunger gnawing at his stomach, the cold seeping into his bones, and the deep, throbbing ache from fresh bruises conspired to keep him awake.
Late in the night, the shed door creaked open. Alaric looked toward the entrance and saw the tavern owner standing next to a hooded man.
"The kid's about eighteen, no family, no past, barely even remembers his name," the owner spoke, his voice slick with greed.
Before Alaric could even process the words, he felt a binding force paralyze him. The hooded man walked toward him, his movements fluid and predatory.
"Hmm, has a decent body, but the bruises will bring the price down... Fifty silver for him," the hooded man's voice was a dry rasp.
"Really? You got yourself a deal! Finally, a use for the boy," the owner said with a grin.
Unable to speak or move, Alaric could only watch as his freedom was stripped away for a pocketful of coins. His humanity was sold for the price of a cheap meal.
Once the transaction was complete, the hooded man returned to Alaric and held his hand out. A blue magic circle flared to life, and an irresistible wave of sleep washed over him.
...
"Wake up, boy, we have much to do."
Alaric jolted awake as ice-cold water slashed across his face. He gasped for air, only to be hit with another wave of frigid water. Attempting to wipe his face, he panicked as he realized his hands and feet were bound tightly to a cold, wooden operating table.
"W-what's happening?" Alaric stammered, fighting against his restraints, but it was useless.
"You, my boy, will help me unlock the secrets of human immortality," a man with long, shaggy black hair and deep purple eyes said. He wore a manic grin as he pulled on a pair of leather gloves and stood over a bench laden with sharp, gleaming tools and bubbling potions.
"Wait... please don't do this, please!" Alaric begged as the man picked up a wicked-looking knife.
"Now, now, just calm down," the man said, his tone deceptively gentle. "If you keep screaming like that, I will have to remove your larynx." He smiled as if scolding a child.
Standing over Alaric, the man placed the knife on his abdomen and pressed. The skin broke, and the blade sank deep. A raw, agonized scream tore from Alaric's throat. With every cut, every break, every tear and subsequent, magical repair, Alaric screamed.
He screamed not just from the agony, but from the profound unfairness of it all. Time lost all meaning. He became a factory of limbs. Around him lay his arms, legs, organs, and muscles, parts of him that wouldn't kill him if removed.
At some point, he could no longer scream. It wasn't just because the man had made good on his threat, but because he had lost the will. His spirit was a frayed thread.
"You have been the best specimen I have had so far," the man mused, his grin widening. "I think we are finally ready for the main event. We shall remove your heart."
The man grabbed a new set of terrifying tools. He cut open Alaric's chest, his ribcage cracking as he pried it open.
Forcing another regeneration potion down Alaric's throat and casting a high-level healing spell to keep him alive, the man severed the heart's connections and lifted it free in a single, fluid motion.
Seeing his own heart beating in the man's hand, Alaric felt something fundamental change. It was as if a memory, a crucial part of his very soul, had been ripped away with the organ.
"W-what is this... this isn't a human heart... what the hell are you?" the mage stammered, staring at the organ. It wasn't just muscle and vessel; it pulsed with a deep, crimson light, and something ancient and powerful radiated from it.
Before he could finish his thought, Alaric's heart flared with blinding crimson light. Tendrils of vein and flesh, thick as pythons, erupted from the open wound in Alaric's chest. They shot across the room, wrapping around the heart and yanking it back into the dying body.
Chaos erupted. Alaric, on the very brink of death, sat up. The leather restraints snapped like thread. He stood before his torturer, a silent figure of wrath.
"What are you?!" the mage shrieked, stumbling back.
Alaric couldn't speak, but he didn't need to. He held his hand out, and every limb, every organ, every scrap of flesh that had been taken from him began to stir. They slithered across the floor, converging, merging into a single, writhing amalgamation of bone, flesh, and blood. Dozens of eyes, all glowing with the same crimson light as his heart, opened across its surface, all fixed on the mage with a primal, collective hatred.
"Stay back!" the mage roared, his fear turning to fury. He thrust his hands out, and bolts of crackling, purple-black energy shot toward Alaric. "Shadows of the Void!"
The dark magic struck Alaric's chest and simply... vanished, absorbed into the crimson glow emanating from him. The mage's eyes widened in terror.
Like a flash, a dozen tendrils shot from the writhing amalgamation on the floor. They wrapped around the mage, pinning his arms and lifting him into the air. The mass of flesh and bone beneath him began to shift, contorting into a gaping, demonic maw filled with rows of needle-like teeth.
"No! No! I am your master! I gave you this power!" the mage screamed, casting another spell. A shield of dark energy formed around him, but the tendrils simply passed through it, phasing through his magic as if it weren't there.
The maw yawned open and pulled him in. There was a sickening crunch, a final, muffled shriek, and then silence. The creature dissolved, its form seeping back into Alaric's body, returning to their rightful places as his wounds sealed shut.
[The Progenitor Bloodline has awakened]
[You have consumed a Lv. 120 Dark Mage]
As the glowing red screens appeared before him, Alaric's body went limp, and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.