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dumpingspot · 9 months ago

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Dread Reaper, Chapter 1

The day begins with the grating clang of metal against metal—an iron bell ringing from above the cavern entrance. The sound echoes through the tunnels, a cruel herald of another day of backbreaking labor. Liora awakens slowly, the thin blanket tangled around her legs, offering no warmth against the chill of the underground. She stares into the darkness for a moment, trying to remember what it was like to wake up to the rising sun. Her memories are distant, like fleeting wisps of smoke.

The guards arrive with their usual mix of sharp barking orders and the occasional smack of a whip. Humans and demi-humans alike patrol the tunnels, some with the scaled arms of reptiles, others with wolfish ears and eyes that glint with predatory intent. Among them are human guards with eyes full of cruelty or indifference—humans made monstrous by choice.

Liora pulls herself to her feet, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, her ribs visible beneath her fur. She can see the other prisoners rising as well: humans, Ratkin, Sheepkin, and the occasional other Rabbitkin like herself. Some of them murmur prayers to forgotten gods, while others say nothing at all. The Rats cling to each other, their large, dark eyes darting nervously at every passing guard. The Sheepkin are silent and reserved, their eyes reflecting a constant, weary resignation.

The guards push them into lines, and the slaves shuffle forward with their enchanted pickaxes slung over their shoulders. These tools seem absurdly heavy, yet they cut through rock like butter. It doesn’t make sense to Liora—none of it does. Why dig through rock with no seams of ore or mineral? What are they searching for?

The man with the hood is there again, as he always is, watching silently with an intensity that chills her. His hood bears a symbol she doesn’t recognize—an asymmetrical swirl with jagged edges that seems to pull her gaze toward it, making her head swim. He never speaks directly to the slaves, only ever whispering orders to the guards in a voice that carries the weight of authority and secrecy.

The line moves, and the slaves are pushed into their designated tunnels. Liora ends up next to an older human man who rarely speaks, his back hunched from years of mining. His name escapes her, like most of their names do now. The guards move in pairs, keeping a sharp watch on them. The reptilian guards are the cruelest, their forked tongues flickering occasionally, tasting the air for the scent of rebellion or weakness.

Liora grips her pickaxe, the handle rough against her palm, and begins to swing. The enchantment takes hold, and despite her thin frame and malnourished state, the tool digs deep into the rock, carving out chunks that she can barely comprehend. She glances sideways, watching as others in her line do the same. No one speaks. There’s nothing left to say.

The man in the hood watches from the shadows, the symbol on his garment almost seeming to pulse in the dim torchlight. Liora shivers, her eyes flitting to the mark again before she forces herself to focus on her work. If she’s caught looking, it’ll only mean more lashes or a day without food.

The hours drag on, and her muscles burn, but the pickaxe keeps moving. Always moving.

The cavern air grows thicker as the day passes. The smell of sweat and dirt is ever-present, clinging to Liora’s senses until it feels like she’s breathing earth. Her pickaxe keeps swinging, the rhythm mindless, the clinking of iron against stone mixing with the distant coughs and muttered groans of the other slaves.

A shout echoes down the tunnels, and the slaves pause, all eyes turning toward the sound. Liora hears the scrape of metal, the hurried whispers of those nearby. One of the Sheepkin had collapsed—an elderly woman who had been struggling to keep up with the others. Her hair was gray and matted, and her eyes were closed as she lay on the ground, motionless.

One of the guards steps forward, a hulking wolfish demi-human with a mane of coarse fur running down his back. He lifts the woman with little care, inspecting her limp form as though she were a piece of broken equipment. He snarls something unintelligible and tosses her to the side, where she lands among the discarded rocks, her body lying still in the shadows.

The man in the hood arrives moments later, his dark robes shifting as if they were alive. He moves with an unsettling grace, his gloved hand extending to point at the fallen Sheepkin. A whisper escapes him, and one of the guards drags the body away into a deeper part of the tunnels, out of sight.

Liora’s breath catches in her throat, and she forces herself to keep working. She learned early on not to let her gaze linger on the bodies that disappear or the places the guards frequent. Whatever fate those taken away suffer, it is better left unimagined.

Still, her mind wanders as she digs. What is it that the man in the hood seeks? They carry out rocks in wheelbarrows, but there’s no sign of any precious ore or material. Some of the rocks are carried to a deeper tunnel, beyond where the slaves are permitted to tread. A gate blocks the way, with a pair of human guards standing ever-vigilant, eyes fixed forward like statues.

Another clang of metal snaps Liora out of her thoughts, and she shifts her grip on the pickaxe. The old human man beside her mutters something under his breath—a name, she thinks, maybe a prayer. His voice is so faint, his words swallowed by the cavern. He looks at her for a moment, his eyes clouded with despair, before he resumes digging.

The guards watch closely, their eyes like vultures. They seem to be waiting for someone to falter, for an excuse to bring down their whips or claws. Liora keeps her head down, ignoring the fatigue in her bones and the emptiness gnawing at her stomach. The hooded overseer walks past her tunnel, his presence casting a shadow that feels far colder than it should be.

His gaze lingers on her, and she feels a sharp pang of fear in her chest. For a moment, she thinks he might speak, but he merely turns away, his focus shifting to another part of the mine. His figure fades into the darkness, and Liora exhales a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The work continues. Rocks are unearthed and carried away, and the tunnels stretch endlessly into shadow. Liora digs with no purpose, no understanding of what they’re after or why. All she knows is that if she stops, she’ll end up like the Sheepkin woman—dragged away into the unknown, another body discarded in the shadows.

She swings the pickaxe again, her eyes empty and her movements mechanical, the weight of hopelessness pressing down on her like the earth itself.

Liora’s body felt numb, her mind hazy with pain and disorientation. Her pickaxe had just struck stone when the ground beneath her gave way. It happened without warning—an ear-splitting crack echoing through the tunnel as the earth split apart beneath her and her neighbors.

Her pickaxe slipped from her hands, and she felt herself falling. Her surroundings turned into a chaotic blur of dirt and rock. She heard the screams of those around her, though she couldn’t tell if they came from others or herself. Her world spun violently as she plunged into the darkness, the crash of collapsing stone deafening her.

Suddenly, she collided with the wall, a sharp agony flaring through her side as her arm and leg twisted unnaturally. Her scream was swallowed by the rumbling earth, and she felt the snap of bone echo through her body. The fall seemed to last forever before she splashed into a pool of icy water, the cold a shocking contrast to the heat of her pain.

When she surfaced, coughing and sputtering, the taste of blood filled her mouth. She tried to move but felt her broken arm and leg scream in protest. She began dragging herself, inch by inch, out of the pool, every movement sending fresh spikes of pain through her limbs. Each breath came out ragged, and she could feel her consciousness wavering as the edges of her vision blurred.

The sounds of movement behind her made her freeze. She turned her head, straining her injured neck to see the Wolfkin guard emerging from the water, shaking droplets from his coarse fur. He looked less injured—his larger frame and natural resilience had absorbed much of the impact. He growled as his eyes landed on her, his lips curling into a sneer.

“Meat,” he muttered, the word laced with disdain. He strode forward and grabbed her by the back of her collar, hauling her limp form across the ground. Liora couldn’t even struggle—her limbs felt heavy and useless, her thoughts disjointed from the pain. She barely registered the surroundings as the Wolfkin dragged her through a series of ruined stone corridors, remnants of a place buried deep beneath the mines.

The Wolfkin stopped in a room lit faintly by an ethereal glow. He tossed Liora aside carelessly, and she landed hard on her side, her vision going dark for a moment. She blinked, trying to focus, and saw the source of the light: a strange, ancient book resting on a pedestal of crumbling stone. Its cover was worn and scarred, but it pulsed with a soft, hypnotic light that drew her gaze irresistibly.

Something within the book seemed to call out to her, beckoning. Liora extended her trembling hand toward it, her fingers brushing the surface. A voice filled her mind—smooth, enticing, like silk over the edge of a knife.

“You meet the requirements,” the voice whispered. “Would you like to bond? To reach new heights of power?”

“Yes…” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. The pain and darkness consumed her completely as she lost consciousness.

When Liora woke again, the air was thick with dust and the scent of blood. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw the Wolfkin guard locked in combat with a massive stone golem, its limbs heavy and slow but devastating in their movements. The golem’s arm swung toward the guard, who dodged and lunged in with a snarl, sinking his claws into the construct’s stone chest.

The battle was brutal, each strike shaking the floor beneath them. Liora struggled to sit up, her mind still reeling from pain and confusion. But something felt different now—her body, which had been so frail and weak, seemed to hum with a latent energy.

The Wolfkin finally managed to shatter the golem’s core with a vicious punch, and the construct crumbled into rubble. The guard turned back to Liora, his eyes gleaming with savage intent. He limped slightly, his fur matted with his own blood, but his strength was still formidable. He advanced on her, reaching out with one clawed hand.

Instinctively, Liora raised her own hand, and something within her stirred—an ancient knowledge imprinted on her soul. Words she had never known flowed from her lips, and the Wolfkin froze mid-step. His eyes widened in confusion, then in horror.

“Soul Assimilate,” Liora whispered, her voice no longer weak and trembling but steady and commanding.

A dark mist enveloped the Wolfkin, his struggles growing more frantic as the spell took hold. Liora felt his life force seeping into her, his essence becoming hers. His memories flooded her mind, images and whispers merging with her own consciousness. She saw glimpses of orders given by the hooded figure, of secret tunnels and a buried ruin they were desperately trying to unearth. And she felt a surge of physical power—his raw strength and resilience now coursed through her veins.

The guard’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, as the spell completed. Liora felt a rush of vitality and mana, her wounds knitting together with unnatural speed. She gasped, the sensation both agonizing and exhilarating. Her body seemed to reshape itself, muscles strengthening and expanding, her bones reinforcing and realigning. When she stood up, she found herself towering over the remains of the golem and the lifeless Wolfkin, her new form both powerful and alien.

She looked down at herself, seeing her newly transformed body—a Rabbitkin no longer thin and frail, but a tall and athletic figure, her muscles defined and her posture predatory. Her fur had darkened in places, and her eyes were no longer the dull, lifeless brown she had grown accustomed to. Instead, they gleamed with a sharp intensity, reflecting her newfound power.

Liora flexed her fingers, feeling the immense strength within them. Her broken arm and leg were now healed, the pain completely gone. She let out a laugh—a strange, disbelieving laugh that echoed through the darkened ruins. It was a sound she hadn’t heard from herself in a long time, filled with something between relief and madness.

As the knowledge of her new abilities settled into her mind, she felt a rush of elation. She was no longer just a broken prisoner or a dying slave. She was something new—something dangerous. She could feel the knowledge left behind by the absorbed soul, the secrets of the mines now clear to her, and the lingering echo of the guard’s memories whispering in her thoughts.

Liora stood alone in the darkness, the ancient ruins surrounding her like the remnants of an old nightmare. But she no longer felt fear. Instead, she felt only anticipation for what she would become.

She laughed again, this time with the full force of her new voice—a laugh that carried through the empty halls like a predator’s howl.

Liora stood amidst the fallen rubble, her body still humming with the newfound energy coursing through her. Her heart was racing, and she could feel the echo of the Wolfkin’s strength reinforcing her muscles, her senses heightened beyond anything she had ever known. She flexed her hands, marveling at the solidity in her grip and the absence of pain in her limbs. It felt surreal, as though she had awakened from a terrible dream only to step into a reality even stranger.

What have I become? The thought lingered, and she reached for some form of understanding, some explanation for the transformation she had undergone.

In response, the same smooth, inviting voice that had first offered her the bond began to speak again, resonating directly in her mind.

“You possess the Eyes of the Covetous Beast,” the voice intoned, its words flowing like a dark stream. “Your senses now exceed mortal limits. With them, you can detect movements in the shadows, perceive magical auras, and read the emotions of those around you. Trust your instincts; they will guide your path.”

As the voice spoke, Liora felt a sharp clarity in her vision, despite the dim surroundings. The smallest shifts in the dark caught her eye—a rat scampering behind a fallen stone, the tiny currents of air moving dust motes in the thin shafts of light. She closed her eyes and opened them again, focusing her thoughts. She could feel faint echoes of fear, curiosity, and pain radiating from the shadows—a lingering residue of emotions left by those who had suffered here.

Liora tried to reach out mentally, to question the voice, her thoughts feeling almost like shouting into a void. Who are you? she asked. What do you want from me?

The voice gave no answer to her questions. It continued instead with cold certainty. “You have learned Soul Assimilate, a gift of dark sorcery. This power allows you to consume the soul of your target, restoring your own vitality and replenishing your mana. In consuming the essence, you gain access to their memories, knowledge, and even a portion of their strength. You may also inherit abilities unique to the souls you absorb, becoming something… more.”

Liora’s breath caught as she felt the lingering presence of the Wolfkin’s memories stirring within her. Fragmented images flickered in her mind—the hooded overseer barking orders, a meeting with guards planning shifts and tunnel placements, whispers of a long-buried ruin hidden beneath the endless stone. These images were like ghosts, fleeting and incomplete, but they granted her a deeper understanding of what lay beneath the mines.

She tried again, reaching out to the voice. Why did you choose me? Her mind pushed against the silence, seeking any response beyond the recitation of abilities.

The voice remained unresponsive to her question, its tone neither cruel nor kind—simply neutral and informative, like a book reading itself aloud. “You have acquired the Warrior’s Physique. Your body has adapted to the strength and resilience of the consumed Wolfkin. You are no longer bound by the frailties of your past self. Your reflexes and durability now match that of a seasoned predator.”

She felt the truth of these words in every inch of her transformed form. Her previously thin and malnourished body had been replaced with an athletic frame, her limbs now brimming with power and vitality. The physicality of a warrior now belonged to her, and she knew instinctively how to use it—every muscle, every movement etched into her mind as though she had trained for years.

Liora closed her eyes, trying to focus her thoughts. What is this grimoire? What are you? She pushed, her voice inside her head now almost desperate.

But the voice ignored her once more, reciting only what she was now capable of. “You are a Soulbinder, bonded to the Grimoire of a Covetous Chimera. Your hunger for power is no longer a mere longing—it is your weapon. Use it wisely.”

She opened her eyes and let out a frustrated breath, staring at her hands, still trying to make sense of what had happened to her. There was no answer forthcoming to her questions—only an eerie silence in response to her attempts to communicate with the voice.

Is this all you’ll tell me? she asked, more out of resignation than hope.

The voice offered no affirmation, no comfort, and no further words. It had said all it intended to, and now it was gone, leaving Liora alone with her thoughts and her new abilities.

She let out a shuddering sigh, her mind racing with possibilities and fears. But despite her uncertainty, she couldn’t deny the surge of excitement running through her. For so long, she had been powerless—nothing more than a slave toiling away in the dark, clinging to life without hope or purpose. But now… now she felt something different.

She felt powerful.

A dangerous, predatory grin spread across her lips as the knowledge settled in her mind. She had been granted abilities beyond anything she could have imagined, and while she did not fully understand why or what the cost might be, the mere thought of wielding such power was intoxicating.

Liora laughed again, softly this time—a low, predatory chuckle that echoed through the ruins. She could feel the remnants of fear and pain still lingering in her mind, but they seemed distant now, overshadowed by the rush of her new strength.

No longer was she the helpless Rabbitkin girl, struggling to survive each day in the mines. Now she was something more—something powerful and dangerous.

She could still sense the echoes of the other slaves in the tunnels above, the overseers barking their orders, and the hidden machinations of the hooded figure. But she no longer felt fear in their presence.

Instead, she felt anticipation.

And with that anticipation came the creeping realization that she had been given a chance—an opportunity to seize control of her own fate. To take the power she had been denied and forge her own path, whatever that might be.

For the first time in a long time, Liora felt alive.

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