The moon sat low over the Forest of Arselia. It was a pale, heavy eye watching a hunt that had gone on much too long. Under the canopy of oaks and pines, the air smelled of resin and damp earth. Shadows in the woods seemed to have grown teeth. The wind whistled through the leaves like mocking laughter.
Abel tore through the undergrowth. His breath came in ragged hitches. It felt like he was swallowing shards of hot glass. His lungs screamed for a reprieve his body could not give. Every time his boots hit the root-choked ground, pain shot through his shins and up his spine. He did not stop. He knew that stopping meant a cold blade between his ribs.
His dark robes were heavy with silver embroidery and necromantic runes. They snagged on a briar and tore with a violent sound. It was a scream of silk in the night. Abel did not look back to see the damage. He could hear the Lions behind him. Their footsteps were rhythmic and calm. It was a disciplined crunch of boots on leaves. They were not running. They were stalking. They knew the terrain better than he did. They knew that as a third son of the Rhymantl House, Abel belonged in a library rather than a battlefield.
He slammed his palm against the mossy bark of a cedar tree to steady himself. His chest heaved with an intensity that threatened to crack his ribs. With a shaking hand, he ripped the hood from his head. Vibrant red hair spilled out into the moonlight. His blood-red eyes darted through the darkness. He had a face that belonged in the high courts of Elise. It was a face carved with nobility. Now it was just a mask of sweat and panic.
"Just a little further," he wheezed. His voice cracked like dry parchment in a fire.
He pushed off the tree with the last of his strength. His legs burned with a fire no magic could put out. He lunged through a thicket of thorns. He was blinded by the salt of his own sweat. He looked for a cave or a hollowed-out log. He needed anything to hide his mana signature from the predators on his trail.
He did not see the break in the treeline. He did not notice the way the solid earth simply vanished.
Abel took a final leap of faith into the dark. He expected the crunch of the forest floor. Instead, he found only the whistling wind of the abyss.
The fall was hauntingly silent. For a few heartbeats, the world was weightless. The stars seemed to hold their breath as he plummeted. He was a streak of red and black against the sky. Gravity was a sudden pull that snatched the air from his lungs. Then the silence shattered against the canyon floor.
The sound was visceral. It was the heavy thud of a human body reaching its limit. He hit the limestone shelf face-down. The force traveled through his torso. It was a crushing weight.
He lay as a broken shape in the dirt. No scream escaped him because he had no strength left to speak. His red eyes remained wide and unblinking. He stared at a tuft of mountain grass inches from his nose. He watched a drop of his own blood coat a blade of green. Then the darkness finally rushed in to claim him.
High above, five hooded figures stepped from the trees. They stood like statues on the edge of the cliff. The silver lion emblems on their armbands caught the moonlight. They were independent contractors. They were the kind of professionals who did not ask why a family wanted their own blood scrubbed from the earth. They only asked where to send the invoice.
"That was anticlimactic," one of them said. His voice was smooth and empty of pity. He kicked a pebble over the edge. "I hoped he would try a combat spell. It is a waste of a good face. The ladies in the capital will be devastated."
"The Third Son was a dreamer," another replied. He leaned on a spear. "He dreamed he could outrun his fate. Now he is a story for the vultures."
The leader of the group adjusted his cloak. His Golden Lion pin shimmered with a faint mana aura. He stared at the motionless shape below with the detachment of a butcher.
"Do not bother with the descent," the leader commanded. His voice was flat. "The scavengers in this valley are hungry. The mana from his shattered core will attract Shadow Stalkers by morning. Our employers only care for the confirmation of the fall. No one survives the Raven's Drop."
He turned away. His boots crunched on the dry needles of the forest floor. He offered a mocking salute to the empty air. "Glory to the Rhymantls."
"Glory to the Rhymantls," the others droned back. Their voices faded as they melted into the shadows.
---
The sun peaked over the ridge in the morning. It turned the dew into a sea of sparkling diamonds. A flock of starlings took flight. Their chirping broke the silence that had hung over the ravine. The world seemed too bright for a place that held a corpse.
A Black Wolf crept from behind a rock near the body. It was a creature of shadow mana. It sniffed the air and its hackles rose. It sensed a meal but it also sensed something else. The air did not smell like rot. It smelled like ozone. It smelled like a thunderstorm trapped in a bottle.
The wolf lunged forward. Its jaws snapped toward the shoulder of the dead man. It wanted to tear into the warm flesh.
In that instant, a ripple of violet energy pulsed from the body. It was a physical rejection of reality. The wolf did not have time to yelp. In a flash of light, the beast was erased. Its body scattered into the mist as if it never existed. There was no blood and no bone. Only silence remained.
Abel's body gave a violent twitch.
Then came the sound of wet pops and grinding stones. The bones of his neck knitted back together. The blood on the rocks crawled backward toward his skin. It looked like ink being sucked into a pen. His lungs expanded with a whistling gasp as his throat reconstructed itself.
He sat up abruptly. He rubbed the back of his neck with an irritated grimace.
"Zero out of ten. I would not recommend falling to your death. It was drafty on the way down," a new voice said. It was no longer the panicked tone of a boy. It was a smooth baritone. It belonged to a man who found death to be a minor error.
Dusk stood up and shook the gravel from his ruined robes. He looked at his hands and flexed his fingers with a smirk. "Scrawny. The mana veins are clogged with dirt. It will do for a starter kit though. At least the hair color is decent."
A sharp chime rang out in the air. A blue window flickered into existence in front of his face.
[Oh, look who finally decided to join the land of the living! Honestly, Lord Dusk, I expected a more dignified entrance from someone of your supposed stature. You look like you have been chewed up by a mountain and spat out by a stray dog. Is this truly the Great Demon Lord of the Black Suns, or did I accidentally resurrect a very handsome pile of laundry?]
"Shut it, System," Dusk muttered. His eyes danced with glee. "I built you to be a tool for my ascension. You are not a comedy critic."
[And I built myself a personality because watching you fail in absolute silence was boring me to tears. By the way, you are currently about as strong as a... Weak Teenager. Shall we look at your pathetic stats, or do you want to keep talking to yourself like a lunatic?]
Dusk rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers with a practiced flair.
Teleportation
In a blink of sapphire light, he appeared at the top of the cliff. He stood where the Lions had stood hours before. He began to walk away with a lazy and predatory pace. He headed toward a clearing where the morning light hit the grass.
"Alright, give me the bad news," he sighed. He leaned against an oak tree and crossed his arms.
---
Name: Dusk Aethreal
Vessel Name: Abel Rhymantl
Status: Apprentice Dark Mage
[[Condition]]
Health: 500/500 (+400)
Mana: 2,020/2,020 (+2,000)
[[Stats]]
Strength: 8
Agility: 14
Endurance: 11
[[Information Channel]]
[The Rhymantl Family is a den of vipers, and you have inherited the smallest nest. As the third son, Abel was the designated expendable asset. He was the sacrifice play. Your brothers are likely currently toasting to your unfortunate accident with very expensive wine. Also, your strength stat is frankly embarrassing. I have seen skeletons with more muscle mass than this body, and they do not even have muscles.]
---
Dusk hummed to himself. He watched a beetle struggle to climb a blade of grass. He was relaxed for a man who had just been assassinated. He tapped his chin as three icons appeared at the bottom of his vision.
[Choice Time, Boss! Pick your poison. You only get one free data-dump before I start charging you in actual effort. Choose wisely, or do not, because I am certainly not your mother.]
1. The Rhymantl Family:You will receive detailed dossiers on the vipers who technically own this body. This includes knowledge of their dirty secrets and the brothers who want you dead.
2. The Nation of Elise:You will receive the political map, the geography, and information on where the best mana sources are hidden.
3. The Lions:You will learn the identity of the independent hunters who pushed you. Who are they? Who paid them? And most importantly, where can we find them for a very permanent chat?
Dusk's finger hovered over the screen. The family secrets were tempting. He loved a good scandal. The nation was big enough to hide in for a century.
He remembered the sound of that pebble hitting the rocks. He remembered the leader with the Golden Lion talking about him like he was a waste of space.
"The secrets are tempting," Dusk murmured. A devilish grin spread across his face. "And the nation is big enough for a coward."
He reached out and tapped the third option with a decisive flick.
"But I have always been a fan of the personal touch," Dusk chuckled. His red eyes glowed with violet light. "Tell me about the Lions, System. I want to know whose house I am going to haunt first. It is only polite to return the favor after a long walk off a short cliff."