With no urgency in his voice, Greaves said, “Now.”

  Without another word, the six older nobles loosed their arrows. The other riders watched. The younger nobles gripped their bows as if itching to join the hunt… to join the kill.

  One after another, shafts flew… not to the heart, but to the legs, the haunches, the lower ribs. All six arrows thudded into flesh with sickening precision. The stag grunted in pain and fell to its knees, blood slicking its flank, but still it lived.

  The six nobles turned their attention to Jack.

  Jack stared, shocked, stunned… and vulnerable. “Stop tormenting it. Just kill it,” he whispered.

  Greaves grinned and nodded to the others.

  The predator. No, not a single predator, but six of them. They were no longer watching. They’d found their weakness, their opening, and they pounced.

  Jack’s thoughts throbbed with pressure. They tore at his mind.

  The nobles released again, six more arrows. None struck to kill. It was deliberate, calculated, and cruel.

  Jack’s mental defences weakened.

  The stag collapsed on its side, quivering. Not dead or dying fast enough, but ready for ritual slaughter.

  “Perfect,” said Baron Argil. He dismounted, drawing a silk kerchief across his brow at the exertion.

  Baroness Quill’s eyes gleamed as she looked at Jack. “A fine display of restraint, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The others chuckled.

  “He’s ready,” Greaves declared.

  The others nodded.

  The predators licked at the back of Jack’s neck. He felt vulnerable, exposed, and malleable; his mind was lay bare. He slid from his saddle, his heart pounding. The stag twitched, its breath ragged and wet.

  Greaves dismounted beside him and gestured towards Jack.

  “You’ll want this kill,” the Baron said, smiling. “A true hunter finishes what they’ve begun.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Jack said mechanically. He retrieved his bow from his back.

  Greaves shook his head. “Too clean and easy. The blade is more personal. A rite of passage, not just a kill. And it’s yours, my boy.” He placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

  Jack didn’t flinch. He dropped his white oak bow without hesitation. “The Baron knows best.” His fingers closed around the hilt of his dagger for the first time that day. All his anxiety, hatred, and rage poured into the dagger as he drew the blade clean from its sheath. It felt right.

  The Baron stood at his side. So close, Jack could see the pores on the noble’s grinning face. For a fleeting moment, he considered striking Greaves and the others, but only for a moment. It felt wrong to attack them; they’d treated him well.

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  Baron Greaves frowned and narrowed his eyes before relaxing.

  Jack felt compelled to kill the stag. I have to, for my family. The deer met his gaze; there was no fear left, only pain and acceptance.

  “You must, Jack,” said Baroness Vampese, her voice absolute. “The Fates chose you. Take your kill.”

  Jack nodded. “I want the kill.”

  Baron Argil leaned in. “You must spill blood to claim your place.”

  Jack felt something pulling him, but it felt wrong. He stepped forward. It still felt wrong, but he couldn’t stop. The predators were no longer beside him, they were guiding him… controlling him.

  The dagger felt heavy. The stag made a low, bubbling sound.

  Greaves placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “We’re with you, son. Join us.”

  Jack nodded and took another step forward; this one felt right. One quick stroke, that’s all it would take. The Baron knows best. He’s a good man. I should listen to him… follow him.

  Something didn’t feel right, it was like a tide trying to drag him under where his true self would drown. He’d been feeling it since meeting with the nobles earlier, like he was being watched by predators from a distance.

  But now they were nearby and overwhelming. They had him by the throat. No… not his throat. They held his hands in guidance.

  Jack clenched the dagger in his hand and felt comfort as he remembered the vengeance he sought…

  Mom… Justice.

  Dad… Balance.

  Polly… Revenge.

  Richard… Retribution.

  Jack remembered what mattered most. Greaves will fucking die! His mind screamed. The haze shattered in an instant as though waking from a long dream. What did they do to me? He shook his head to clear his mind.

  Stay in control… don’t let them know. Fuck! They had me. By the Gods, they had me. He knelt beside the stag and felt empathy for its suffering. Poor thing. Its hide was slick with blood, its chest rising in shallow breaths. It was going to die, but it wouldn’t be fast.

  Jack drew a breath, remembering how Greaves had taken his time killing him. His fingers curled tighter around the blade. Placing his left hand on the stag’s neck, he felt a tear trickle down his cheek. I’m so sorry, he thought. If only you were Greaves…

  And then… one clean thrust to the heart and the blood spilt across his hand.

  He held the blade in place as a wave of power surged through him… warm, alive, too much like pleasure. His palm itched where the blood-red rose thorn had scratched him at Demeter’s temple. And just like before with the orc warrior, the goblin, and the rat-faced rogue, energy passed through him.

  The stag shuddered under Jack’s touch as its warm blood poured from its chest and over his hand. Then the deer lay still. The pulses of power he felt stopped and his palm stopped itching. It happened again?

  Baron Argil leaned in towards Greaves and whispered, “He’s awakening… You were right. He’s one of us.”

  Greaves chuckled. “Of course I’m right. I felt it the moment I saw him.”

  Fatigue vanished. In its place, something inside him shifted… like bones healing in a new shape. Not just changed, but refined, improved, and empowered. It had happened before with the other kills, but this time he felt it clearly. He was benefiting from the kills. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew he got something from this. Something primal.

  The older nobles applauded, like patrons at a theatre. The commoners joined in with the applause like obedient automatons. The younger nobles didn’t hide their disappointment or growing disdain.

  “Well done,” Greaves said, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Well done, my boy.”

  Jack gritted his teeth at the touch, but controlled himself. They tried to do something to me. Control me. He felt the rage within grow. He wanted nothing more than to gut the bastards now. Don’t let them know it failed.

  “Elegant,” Baroness Quill added.

  He forced a smile and swayed, as if his body didn’t belong to him for a moment. The forest looked too sharp and bright. He stood, wiping the blade with a cloth handed to him by a servant. He trembled, but not from exertion. As he wiped the blood from his hands, he caught Greaves watching him. Not with triumph, but pride.

  Everything felt wrong. And yet… also right. He’d done what they asked and killed what they had broken. But he hadn’t just ended a stag’s life. No. He’d given them something they wanted. Confirmation that he was one of them.

  Jack could see it in their grins. He could see it in how they looked at him.

  The six nobles smiled and nodded to one another.

  Baroness Idrisa murmured, “The stag was the first. The next will be… easier.”

  They no longer saw him as potential prey. They saw him as one of them. Another blood mage, and worse… he wasn’t sure they were wrong.

  ? Phoenix Flight [Lite LitRPG - Dungeon Diving - Slow Romance] ?

  by RainyLiquid

  Weak to Strong, gathering of powers, skills, and spells.