He had tried to flee, as soon as he started spotting those white robes everywhere. After all, in the dim streets, the fog made every passerby look like a potential disciple in white robes. It covered everything in a haze of illusions, playing tricks with the naked eye. He was too paranoid to stay out for longer than necessary.

  Loen could not enter the arena, it was littered with the knights from the Cathedral. He had already been on their list even before meeting Sol, walking around with his hood up, sneaking behind guards and hiding in the underground city. He could not risk being there, the Cathedral's power resounded within the arena, keeping him far from it.

  It had been days since he last saw either of his friends. He only had two of them, and some merchants or mercenary that he occasionally hung out with. Though, he would not consider those to be his friends. To him, it was still a strange, unfamiliar word.

  Silvanus had separated them during the fight, and it frustrated Loen. Right after the fight, the white robes had appeared to investigate the area, making Loen run to the nearest shelter.

  Ioannis' Workshop.

  And he had been crashing here for enough days to make Ioannis want to kick him out. Ioannis did not look up when Loen entered. He never did. Nor did Loen care enough to greet him each time he decided to crash in.

  "They are everywhere!" The short boy exclaimed, now taking a seat on the stool in amber-lit workshop. It does not feel safe, exactly, but anything was better than being taken to the dungeons by the Sun's disciples.

  "The Church... has began to hunt," Ioannis replied, watching the boy grip his head in frustration, ruffling his pale hair. As if that inquisitor hunting them for the first time was not enough, he had to keep his guard up at every turn after the Cathedral announced patrols right after the Trials ended.

  Just what had occurred there to flip the atmosphere in the already tense Solthar.

  "Hunt who?" Loen inquired.

  "That... child," he continued, trying to recall the name of Loen's friend, "Sol."

  "Sol?" Loen exclaimed again, as Ioannis put down a wanted poster on the counter before Loen. The boy griped it immediately, recognizing the face in an instance. "It really is him!"

  "Ah... He is. Whatever he has done," Ioannis wondered if the boy had used the opportunity to pull out his gun against the Sun's Disciples. Then, he thought it was not entirely unexpected thing to do so. The disciples had made Solthar a nightmarish city with their authority, making the residents grumble and curse under their breathes.

  "He is innocent. I am telling you! Those guys—they must've have gone mad trying to detain a child!" Loen drew a shaky breath, "I need to find him..." If they've already marked Sol... If they are already hunting him... then, there is no time to wait!

  Loen swallowed, forcing himself to calm his racing thoughts. He could not allow himself to feel the fear creeping up within him. Abyss recognized fear.

  "Whatever it takes, I'm going to find Sol and I'm going to survive the Disciples while I do it," he declared aloud, not caring if Ioannis ignored him. What could possibly go wrong?

  "Yes... fear, fear sharpens the mind," something whispered in his mind.

  The bell above the workshop door jingled sharply, and Loen's stomach dropped. Three Knights of the Church strode in, their armor clinking like a funeral march. Each step that echoed against the wooden floor felt heavy and deliberate.

  Ioannis straightened, bowing slightly with his usual dry politeness. "Ah... welcome, gentlemen. To what do I... owe the honor?"

  "We had commissioned weaponry."

  "I recall," Ioannis replied with a blink, and turned to search for the swords he had forged for the Cathedral's knights. They were picky with their weapons, requesting custom made weapons. Not that Ioannis was bothered by it, since they paid him heftily.

  "We are seeking him. Has he been here?" One knight lifted a wanted poster, the same he had given to Loen moments prior.

  "Wanted, yes... seen here? Not that I am aware. Perhaps in the parchment."

  The joke made the men look between the two, before turning to Ioannis with judgment. He simply turned to tinker with the weaponry again, keeping his usual bored look.

  Loen's eyes darted to the back door. He pressed himself too his seat, trying not to make a sound, and shrunk to make himself appear smaller. One knight, slower than the other, tilted his head, sensing something off. He stared at a stiff Loen for a moment before returning to listen to his companion. But before Loen could sigh in relief, the knight snapped back in realization.

  "Hey! you! You look familiar!"

  Loen didn't wait for the rest. He bolted off his seat, hopping over a stack of crates, not caring if something crashed behind him. He didn't even glance back as he bolted out the side door.

  "Stop! That's—hey!" the knight yelled, flailing as he tried to chase. The other following close behind.

  For a moment, he thought he might actually escape. The shadows, the narrow corners, and the forgotten stairwells of Solthar were his allies. Loen's heart slammed against his ribs as he rounded a corner and froze. Blocking his any chance of escape were those imposing figures clad in white hood, their eyes cold and unyielding—The Sun's Disciples.

  He lunged at the nearest robed figure, slashing wildly with his dagger, teeth gritted in frustration. With his dagger held firmly in his hand, he gave him no time to retort before moving on to the next with another threatening arc of his dagger. The disciple barely flinched, parrying with precise, practiced movements. Loen spun, aiming again, only to be met by a swift kick that sent him colliding with the stone wall.

  He moved again, desperately striking at anyone near, but for every figure he knocked back, two more took their place. He tried to duck into a side street, but another cluster of robed figures closed in with synchronized steps. Their calm efficiency left no room for luck or escape, only fear of what was to come.

  Fear?

  His mind hissed, slipping, and coiling angrily within Loen's mind, "Careless. Foolish." And it wasn't wrong.

  A sharp blow slammed right into his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Another hand yanked his hand, and the useless dagger fell from his grasp. Pain and exhaustion blurred his vision, and Loen stumbled, falling to his knees. A final shove sent the boy sprawling onto the cobblestones. The white robes loomed over him, impassive beneath their hoods.

  He struggled to rise, but the darkness swallowed him.

  They had won.

  · ? ·

  Loen's eyes snapped open to a dim, flickering fires torch. He was blinded by the clash of orange in gloom for a moment, until he got used to the dull surroundings. The air stilled so thick with incense and something metallic, like blood left to sit yet still fresh. He groaned, trying to move, but his arms were bound, wrists chafed raw by coarse ropes. Just how long had he been here? His body and muscles ached after all that thrashing against the disciples, begging to rest into a dreamless slumber once more. His head throbbed, and he winced as he attempted to sit up, and figure out where he was.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  In the suffocating room, the stone walls were etched with runes depicting Sun and eclipses that glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Incomprehensible whispers seemed to crawl from the cracks and seeing the cold door brought back unwanted memories.

  A figure stepped forward, hooded just enough to conceal his eyes, his white robes brushing the floor's dust. "Awake, finally," the voice murmured, "We've waited for you to rise... to embrace your... potential."

  Loen's chest tightened when the words clicked, it took him a moment. "Potential?" He paused. "You mean you want to... use that thing inside me?" He laughed humourlesy waiting for any hint of reaction from the man, "That's funny, if you think you can even do that, bend it to your will, I don't care... but do you really think you can?"

  "Foolish puppets... they will learn too late." He hadn't spoken.

  "Where," the captive rasped, then stopped, swallowing against dryness. "Where am I." He did ask exactly, more like demanded to know. But the captor remained silent, lips still in a thin line.

  "Unbind me."

  A soft chuckle resounded. "Still negotiating. Good," the strange man spoke, "You were remarkable in evading us, but know that we see all. All that is in the light, and beneath the shadows, " he continued, "Still, I wonder what brought someone like you all the way to Solthar city… A fool's journey, isn't it?"

  "I will kill you—I swear—" Loen coughed. His mind sharpened despite the pain.

  This was a ritual chamber, he saw it now. Shadows pooled around him, created by the torches, and he pulled on them, weaving their coils against the ropes that bound him. He focused, drawing on the shadows that resided within him, letting them coil around the mind, his body—One slip, one moment of distraction and he could exploit it—he assured himself through the blur and haze. Loen pulled against the itchy ropes, just enough to know they tightened with each resistance.

  The chanting swelled in the ritual room as low voices weaved together in suffocation. The room throbbed with the heat of the torches and the chant of the worshipers. It wasn't warmth. It was something suffocating, oppressive, like being sealed inside a furnace.

  Ugh... The whispers of incense were heavy in his lungs, making him cough just to breathe.

  The runes carved into the stone walls burned brighter, scarlet, searing into Loen's skull with each pulse. They burned against his consciousness. "Fight. Destroy. Show them the edge of what you carry." They barked, telling him to accept it, use it, let it consume him.

  He let his body sag in the ropes, numbing, breathing ragged, and eyes half-lidded as if lost somewhere far. The whispers coiled eagerly at the edges of his mind pushing around to leave at last. To free itself from the cage of the body. Sharpened by the ritual's pull, it's voice became clearer in his head.

  "Yes... let them drag you under. Just give in!" It begged. Loen bit back a smile at it's words, he was already lost in the lull of the chant. It seeped into his mind to wake the entity within him; that abyssal apparition he, oh, so despised. They weren't trying to kill him. They wanted to peel him open.

  He had lived with this thing too long to not know of its hunger.

  "No." The word came out in a hoarse whisper, broken. Loen shut his eyes tight, before the ache would split his head open. He wasn't sure if he spoke to the cultists or what was inside him. His chest burned, and he forced himself to calm.

  It was impossible.

  The muttering grew louder, slithering through his veins, curling around his thoughts. It wasn't simply pushing against him anymore; it was clawing its way out. Blood ran from his nose, dripping onto his chest and down onto the manic circle.

  Resist it!

  "S-Stop."

  "Why fight me?" The voice inside him was a velvety persuasion, lulling him to acceptance. It slipped more persuasions. He always fell for the words as if a siren was beaconing him beneath the waters. He was sinking now, shutting his eyes once last time as he drowned within himself.

  Ritualists slowed their muffled chanting, exchanging glances among each other. One lowered his staff as another's hood dipped back as he walked to the unmoving boy, to be certain the binding was complete. The figure stepped closer into the blood circle, murmuring triumph under his breath. An old man with wrinkles on his eyes, that were a dull black as if he himself had been possessed by the prior ritual.

  "At last, you see the truth," he said. Loen did not move. Breathing steady, he sat there with his head low, eyes shut.

  The man knelt before him, raising a hand to pull Loen's head, but in a flash a blade slid into his throat. Right in the middle of his throat, it dug deep, slowly and splattering arterial blood everywhere. It's color matched with the eyes of the boy who finally raised his head to look up in rage. He had freed himself of the tight bindings that bit his skin a second ago.

  The cultists were fools, he would have thought if his mind was not consumed by the abyss. The ritual circle faltered, runes flickering in protest.

  "I see no truth in your corrupted ideals," Loen rasped.

  "Yes!" the entity exulted, thrumming with delight. "More! More!" The shadows writhed violently in the heated air, lashing in all directions as they bloomed from the ritual circle. One cultist shrieked as tendrils coiled around his neck tightly before dragging him into the circle's edge to feed. The others staggered but held their chant, desperate to keep control.

  It was a futile effort.

  Loen pulled free as the last threads of rope snapped away. The ritual circle that was drawn in blood, sputtered, torches guttering under the backlash as the abyss within him was unsealed for a moment. Inside his skull, the entity purred, "Yes. Yes. That's it. You need me. You like the way it feels when they break beneath you."

  He loved it.

  Loen's pulse thundered with adrenaline and power. The taste of power was an intoxicating drug, a flood of heat in his veins.

  One cultist raised his staff, desperate to regain the rhythm.

  "Hold him—!" He commanded and the shadows answered, sliding across the floor like spilled ink. They coiled around his wrists, his ankles like ropes that one bound the big. Tendrils ran up the cultist's body and snapped upward like blades, lashing across the figure's chest and mask.

  The entity exulted, thrumming with delight, "More! Unleash me—let me finish them!"

  The chanting collapsed into panicked cries. Shadows thrashed through the air like whips as they consumed one after another, feeding the abyssal existence. Energy surged through him but he gripped it with iron focus, refusing to let it drown him.

  The entity hissed with delight, calling out to him once more. "Now let's finish them. Tear the circle down with their screams!" The entity howled in glee, certain he was falling, but its laughter was cut short when he caged it again, forcing silence into the corners of his mind.

  Peace and quiet.

  Loen planted his feet, his eyes slowly returning to their original paleness, forcing the shadows to withdraw. He shook his head, breath harsh but steady at the effort.

  "No," he whispered, more to the voice than to his enemies this time. His mind was clear, though not entirely. "Not on your terms."

  In the corner of this eye, a masked figure, on his knees, tried one last spell, hands trembling as he traced symbols in the wood with his blood, but Loen was already moving. An axe manifested itself in the air with his unspoken command, spinning in an arch as it sliced the man's head clean off. The body fell limp besides the circle, fresh scarlet blood mixing with all the other splatters in the room where a single boy now stood. He wipes the side of his cheek, smudging a splatter of blood.

  "I choose what I carry, and what I leave behind. You can offer the abyss to quench it's hunger all you want," Loen whispered to emptiness, "perhaps you’ve underestimate it. That is your mistake, because it has tasted already what it hungers for."

  They thought they were using him, Loen scoffed. "You'll tire, little master. One day you'll need all of me." The entity had controlled him long before.

  The torches along the corridor burned low, casting twisted, dancing shadows on the walls of the labyrinth. Loen dragged forward as his body weakened after the use of abyssal power. He had sworn not to use it, not until today. The breathe escaped him shallowly, listening to the laughter in his mind. It was annoying, like a constant nag, a constant poke. He couldn't subdue it, and Loen liked to believe he had become used to it, after carrying it for so long. It was false, he knew that well.

  Once he felt the gust of wind blowing within, what seemed to be an underground hall, he didn't wait, he darted through the narrow labyrinth. The dungeon had been a cage but now it was a stage of slaughter left behind in his wake.

  A hooded figure screamed, voice echoing off the walls of a desolate chapel, "Stop him! Do not let him leave!"

  Loen rounded the final corner, seeing the tunnel's mouth ahead and barely guarded. He lunged off the concrete earth, using a pulse of the entity to throw the nearest guard against the wall, the man collapsed in a heap. The rest of men who were alerted began to chase his shadow, but Loen was faster on his feet, using the last bit of everything he had.

  He stumbled into the night, gasping as adrenaline and dark power coursed through him, eyes flashing a red before returning to their warmth. Behind him, the Cathedral's knights erupted in chaos, the cultists struggling to regain control over what they could not comprehend. It was a scene of bloody horror, leaving them gasping the moment they burst into the ritual room.

  A faint smile ghosted across Loen's face, and he vanished into the darkened streets.

  The gears roared in a distance, the grass billowed beneath the wind like waves, and Solthar stood in a distance from where he himself stood, breathing ragged after all that running. Loen looked back one last time before he dropped onto his knees on the lone path, and a comfort of complete black consumed him.