I was thrumming with a foreign power. The sheer volume of mana I had absorbed from the orc horde was a heavy, intoxicating weight in my soul. It was a feeling of profound density, as if my very bones had been reinforced with lead and lightning. In the novels I had read, characters in my situation would be greeted by a glowing blue screen, a "system" that would neatly quantify their gains with stats and skill trees. Here, there was no such convenience. This world was analog, its power raw and unquantified. I was a blind man suddenly gifted with a new sense, and I had to learn its language through touch and feel alone.
The pain from my wounds was gone, replaced by a restless energy. The bruises and shallow cuts that littered my body were trivialities, fading reminders of a weakness I had already surpassed. I was excited. I was hungry to test the limits of this new strength.
My eyes fell upon the corpse of the Orc Champion. It was the centerpiece of this gruesome tableau, a monument to my team's desperate struggle and my own cunning victory. It was also the most valuable resource in the clearing. My five puppet slots were full, occupied by the spectral echoes of Derek and his lieutenants. They were useful, versatile tools. But they were shadows of men. This orc was a beast of pure, physical power. An upgrade was in order.
I walked toward the massive corpse, my boots leaving prints in the blood-soaked ash. I dismissed the weakest of my current summons, the shadow of the Graviton user. Its spectral form wavered for a moment, then dissolved into a wisp of black smoke, returning its borrowed energy to me. A slot was now open.
I knelt beside the champion's severed head, its tusked face locked in a final expression of defiant rage. I closed my eyes and reached out with my will, not just to reanimate, but to dominate.
"Your war is over," I commanded in the silence of my mind. "Your strength is now mine. Your soul will join me. You will be my slave."
I could feel its spirit, a raging, incandescent thing, a bonfire of pride and warrior fury. As I tried to pull it into my grasp, it fought back with a violence that dwarfed even Derek's resistance. A psychic scream of pure, primal rage slammed into my consciousness. It was the roar of a king refusing to bow, the fury of a warrior whose afterlife was being desecrated. Images flooded my mind: epic hunts under a blood-red sun, brutal duels for dominance within the pack, the taste of blood and the thrill of battle. It was a lifetime of savagery, all of it now directed at me, the intruder, the defiler.
I growled in pain, a real, audible sound this time. My head throbbed, and a fresh trickle of blood dripped from my nose. The orc's will was like a mountain, and I was trying to move it with my bare hands. But I was a tyrant, and mountains were meant to be broken. I poured every ounce of the new, stolen power into my command, my own will becoming a black hole, cold and absolute, pulling its raging fire into my void.
"You have no choice," I hissed through clenched teeth.
For a moment that stretched into an eternity, our wills clashed. Then, with a final, defiant roar that only I could hear, its spirit shattered. The resistance broke. A massive, dark shadow, far larger and denser than any before, flowed into me, settling into the empty slot in my soul with a shuddering finality.
I opened my eyes, panting. The process had left me drained, but triumphant. The corpse of the Orc Champion remained still, but I could feel its powerful new echo tethered to my will, ready to be summoned.
When I finally turned, it was to face the terrified stares of my team. Rina was in the center of the group, her healing light moving from Jin to Eric, but her work was mechanical. Her eyes, and the eyes of everyone else, were fixed on me. They weren't looking at their leader anymore. They were looking at a monster who had feasted on the dead while they bled.
I didn't mind. Fear was a far more reliable tool than loyalty. Fear would not question my methods. Fear would not hesitate when I gave an order. It was better this way.
Then, a figure stumbled out from the group, breaking the stunned silence. It was Erica. Her clothes, already damaged in her previous fight, were now little more than strategically placed rags. The explosive force of her final attack had shredded the fabric, leaving her almost completely exposed. Her breasts, barely contained by a strip of torn cloth that did little to protect her modesty, heaved with every ragged breath. She was a vision of savage beauty and raw power, a valkyrie fresh from battle.
She rushed to my side, her eyes wide with a frantic, possessive concern. "Dante, are you okay? Are you hurt?" Her gaze shot over to Rina. "Hey! Rina! Leave that new boy, what's his name. Come here! Heal Dante immediately!"
I waved a hand, stopping Rina before she could move. "It's okay," I said, my voice steady. "I'm fine. In fact," I allowed a small, confident smile to touch my lips, "I've never been this fine."
"But these bruises," Erica insisted, her hand reaching out as if to touch a cut on my cheek. "You need to patch them up, or they'll scar forever, you know."
"It's okay," I repeated, my gaze pointedly dropping to her state of undress. "Kael looks more beaten up than me. I'll wait. And can you please… step back? You're almost naked."
The bluntness of my statement seemed to finally register. She looked down at herself, at her torn clothes, at her exposed skin. A deep, crimson blush spread from her neck all the way to her ears. She let out a small squeak and quickly crossed her arms over her chest, a futile gesture of modesty.
"I… I didn't know," she stammered, moving aside, her previous ferocity completely gone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Please, forgive me."
"Just chill," I said, my voice softening. I knew how to handle this. "I know you care about me. And for that, I am thankful. So don't ever say sorry to me."
"But…" she started, her eyes shining with gratitude and adoration.
Before she could say more, Masha stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Erica's shoulder. "Erica, just stop already. There's no need for that." Her expression was a mixture of concern for her friend and a simmering frustration. She turned her sharp gaze on Erica. "Besides, what in the hell got into you? Do you have any idea what you just did? Your attack on Rhonda… it wouldn't have just killed her. It would have killed me. And not to forget, it would have killed Dante, too, if Kael hadn't intervened."
Masha then turned to me, her eyes demanding an answer. I simply nodded in agreement. Her assessment was correct.
Erica looked chastened. "I'm sorry," she whispered, looking at the ground. "I was just… so angry. I don't know what happened. To be honest, I couldn't control my mana at that time. It was like a reflex."
"No worries," I said, cutting off any further scolding from Masha. I offered Erica a reassuring smile. "We are all safe, and that's the thing that matters. Plus, becoming strong doesn't mean you have to be sad about it. Now, glow up, girl. You were magnificent."
A radiant, happy smile bloomed on Erica's face, her previous shame forgotten, her mood completely lightened by my praise.
"Yeah, yeah," Masha said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she crossed her arms. "The only person who is happy, or who should be happy, is you, Dante."
Her gaze hardened, and the simmering resentment finally boiled over. "You stole all our rewards. Every last drop of mana. We fought, we bled, we nearly died, and you took it all. We would have been much stronger if we had shared that power."
I feigned a look of surprise and regret. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice laced with a carefully crafted sincerity. "I was just… I was close to a corpse, and I was losing my sight. In a desperate attempt to get back into the fight, I consumed it. It gave me a boost, and I was back. Isn't it good for our team? Now I'm stronger, which means the whole team is safer. And," I added, playing my trump card, "we have access to one more shadow. A very powerful one, at that."
"Just a correction," Masha shot back, her eyes narrowing. "You have access. Not 'we'."
"Come on," I said, affecting a wounded tone. "We're a team. So technically, we are one."
"If we were a team," she said, her voice dangerously low, "you wouldn't have hoarded all the power for yourself while the rest of us were still fighting for our lives."
"Now you're at it again," I sighed, playing the part of the misunderstood leader. "Look, I said I was sorry. And it was for our own good. My strength is the team's strength."
Erica, her loyalty absolute, jumped in. "Enough, Masha! Don't tease him anymore!" She glared at her best friend, her protective instincts completely overriding their history. "And as for the rewards, if I hadn't used my spell and caused all that destruction, the orc horde wouldn't have even come here! So technically, it was my mess, and my reward to give. And I don't hold a single grudge against him for taking it. In fact," she looked at me, her eyes shining with fanatical devotion, "I never will."
Masha stared at her, speechless. She looked from Erica's zealous face to my own calculated, calm expression. She saw the new hierarchy forming, the cracks in our old bonds widening into a chasm. She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again, a look of weary resignation settling over her. She had lost. She knew it. The team was no longer a democracy. It was a tyranny, and its subjects were too afraid, or too in love with the tyrant, to rebel.