The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 158: To Write Fate

Chapter 158: To Write Fate

The moment the amulet touched my skin, a withering gust of mana blasted into my soul, overwhelming my senses and leaving me blind to everything but the excruciating pain. Even Grand Inquisitor Korvin’s hand on my shoulder, dangerously close to the Sunpurge, faded from my mind.

The mana circled the countless fragments of my soul, tearing them apart before reassembling them, as a doctor set a broken bone. But unlike a mortal healer, the amulet spared little effort in preserving my comfort, completing the task in a ruthlessly efficient manner.

As the process was completed, more mana coiled into compressed cords, spinning tightly around my soul. More and more strands tightened into place until my entire soul was bound in a layer of mana. More cords arose, bearing tapered tips, that then dove through the membrane, piercing my soul through entirely. The threads wove a complex tapestry of supportive mana, suturing the damaged fragments together.

As they drew taught, the pain of thousands of punctures grew, nearly transcending the original agony of the sea of mana as it broke my soul. Vaguely, in some corner of my mind, I could feel myself thrashing and screaming, but the physical sensations were so far detached I couldn’t linger on them.

An eternity later, the mana stilled, and the pain began to subside. Gradually, my senses returned, and I was able to feel my soul once more. A violent shudder coursed through me as I embraced my mana, tears streaming from my eyes as the familiar sensation filled me. I couldn’t tell where the amulet’s threads ended, and my soul began, but it was enough. My magic had returned.

Breathing deeply, I called upon my mana, saturating every fiber of my being. The air pulsed as Adaptive Resistance answered my call, sheathing me in its invisible protection. More mana flowed into me until my soul trembled, and the sutures of the amulet began to strain. But even as a thrill of pain shot through me, I persisted. The slave crest shook, its shroud beginning to disintegrate, exposing me to the clean, undefiled freedom that had always been beyond reach.

"That’s quite enough of that."

A cold voice cut through my premature ecstasy and the amulet’s bindings tightened, compressing my soul. Immediately, another wave of agony roared through me as my gathered mana surpassed my soul’s new, reduced size. Reluctantly, I could only watch as the tides of mana slipped away, draining out until I held scarcely enough for a fifth-circle spell. The slave crest immediately began renewing its grip, clamping down on my soul until the thick layers of oily darkness seemed to coat everything once more.

"Why...?" I whispered as the final taste of freedom disappeared.

"You have the audacity to ask, Filthblood?".

My eyes flew open at the unbridled hatred in Korvin’s voice. He sat across from me once more, a hand raised above the table. A shining ring, a large diamond set atop bands of gold, shone on his finger. I felt a subtle connection with it, similar to the slave crest’s bond I shared with Soltair.

"It seems I forgot to mention something," The Grand Inquisitor said. "That amulet does more than repair your soul but also serves as a method of control. Right now, I have set your limits to fourth level. Unless I say otherwise, it will never increase, regardless of how much training you do. Where the slave crest controls your body, this," he tapped his ring, "allows me to control your soul. You are mine, now, filthblood."

It was as though he’d taken off a mask. Instead of the impassive, if somewhat reliable, old man, his face twisted in scorn and hatred. Malice dripped from every word he spat, as though he hated the fact he was forced to waste words on me.

"W-who are you?" I mumbled, hand falling on my horn.

"Are you so simple-minded you’ve forgotten one such as I? I am Grand Inquisitor Korvin, hand of the gods. I exist to hunt your kind and purge the filth from your veins. Unfortunately, the gods have ordered me to stay my hand, but I pray every hour it won’t be for long."

His predatorial aura leaked once more, and I finally understood it. As with the basilisk and dragon, he was a hunter, and I was his prey. My demonkin blood instinctively understood it, filling me with an inexplicable terror in his presence.

Suddenly, Soltair’s voice came from behind. "Is it done?"

"Of course. The demon is chained," Korvin said smugly. "It was as you said. She was so desperate for a kind, helpful word she immediately believed me, an inquisitor, to be on her side."

It was all...lies? My hand flew to the Amulet, but before I could rip it off, Soltair’s voice commanded, "Xiviyah, I forbid you from ever allowing that amulet to be removed." He turned to the inquisitor. "There, I did my part. Now the ring," he said, holding out his hand.

"Very well. I am convinced by your devotion. You have been a faithful servant of the gods so far, and I expect to see that continue. Do not allow this filthblood the chance to escape. Her demonic nature is sure to expose itself soon, and millions will die. If that happens, their blood will be on your head," Korvin threatened.

The inquisitor tossed the ring to Soltair, who caught it and slipped it on. Immediately, the thread connecting me to the ring wrapped around the slave crest, joining me more fully to Soltair.

"You...Why?" I asked, staring duly at Soltair. Had this entire thing been scripted from the start?

"To protect you, of course," Soltair replied confidently. "But even if it was the only way, I knew you wouldn’t agree to it, so we were forced to resort to this."

"You could have just commanded me through the slave crest," I exclaimed.

He shook his head. "The amulet only takes effect if it’s completely voluntary. When Grand Inquisitor Korvin arrived last night, he explained the details and we came up with this plan."

Korvin stood, his chair scraping back against the floor. "Don’t be ridiculous. You leaving the pastries to lower her guard and creating a fake meeting was simply unnecessary. Manipulating such a simple-minded bitch takes no effort. The lie her life was on the line was enough."

"I-It’s not?" I mumbled, staring at the floor.

My soul was recovering, then, and it had all just been part of an elaborate trap. And now, when I was so close to freedom, Adaptive resistance would never be allowed to break the curse. I had reached the required power, but all it took was a simple word. Unless Soltair was stupid enough to allow my soul to return to its full strength, such hopes were a distant dream.

"No, the plan was flawless," Soltair argued. "Besides, how could you possibly plan a deception without a plan? Fortunately, everything went perfectly. Now you can spare her life."

"For now," Korvin grated. "But that’s enough wasting time. Let us depart for the gate."

"Finally," Trithe muttered, alerting me to her presence behind Soltair.

"Come, Xiviyah. Stay close," Soltair ordered.

As he turned to leave, I jerked up from my seat, moving with the stiff, purposeless motions of a marionette. I had expected something like this to happen. I knew they wouldn’t allow me to break free, and that I’d end up the church’s slave. That was why they were going to send the Arbiter. But...why did it hurt so much? Soltair’s blatant betrayal felt like a hot knife in my heart. His kindness hadn’t been to cheer me up but as a setup for this deception.

Was Fyren the same? His absence allowed the Curse Demon to cast its spell, forcing my hand during the battle. If he’d been there... And Elise? Was she plotting something against me, too?

Doubts clawed through my heart, tainting the peace I’d felt with those I’d considered friends. But the moment they reached the small, flickering light Elise lit within me, they recoiled. And beside her, there was Korra. In the many long, dark months since we last met, my memory of the Water Hero had grown hazy, but her figure, standing protectively above me during the banquet, was emblazoned in my mind. I clung to their memories, retreating into their warmth even as tears of despair trickled down my cheeks. It was there that I hid my hope, a small, wavering candle flame waiting for the time it could shine forth once more.

But until then, I could live the hell that had been granted me. At the very least, my mana had returned, and I could cast spells once more. As I wiped away my tears, my vision took on a golden tint, and the Eyes of Fate activated for the first time in months. My soul, which I had only been able to feel, was laid bare before me. The amulet’s threads crisscrossed every fiber of my being, embedded so deeply that removing them would shred my soul into countless fragments again, likely killing me immediately.

But I could see, and could cast, and was protected by my resistances. Armed with my abilities and with my hope sheltered between the love of my friends, I took a deep breath, my step taking on a renewed sense of purpose. I would endure this darkness, regardless of what the future held. Despite its premise, the thought was an anxious one. It was so easy to give in, to surrender to circumstance, and what appeared to be my fate. To accept and take comfort in the pain, knowing there was no other choice.

But fate wasn’t written, nor was it determined. The first vision I ever had depicted a moment we left a cottage, high in the mountains. Fyren had been there, comforting me. Although he’d done that many times, he was gone now, and that exact scene had never occurred. That was proof that fate could change. So, even if it was scary, I wouldn’t give up. Fate may be inevitable, but it isn’t written until it happens.

And this time, I was tired of letting others dictate. I would write my own fate.