The Fool's Freedom

The room had suddenly grown much smaller. Shadows whirled around Alan like a hurricane, reflecting the storm inside of him, as he rushed with full speed toward Bonez.

The [Warlock] screamed as the first shadow blade landed on him and cut apart his robes. The leather armor held, surprisingly. Whether it was enchanted or simply sturdy didn’t matter. Alan let out a flurry of savage attacks, without a trace of the grace and technique Zirida had tried to instill in him in their short training session.

Bonez used his hands as shields and retreated. He seemed helpless and confused and the shadows cut into him again and again. However, the cuts were shallow – stopped by the thick layer of bone beneath.

Alan didn’t care. There was blood, and there were parts that were still squishy and fleshy. And he focused on that. Again and again, he stabbed, sliced, turned his daggers into hammers to try and crush bone, and back to blades again when that didn’t work.

The whispers in his ears became deafening, demanding, overjoyed. They were there with him and they were feeling each step of his descent. There was no point in holding back, to think, or to act with consideration.

All he wanted was to destroy the person before him. To punish him. To repay the suffering he had experienced.

But how?

Alan kept his attacks going until finally, the leather armor gave way. It was not cut, but the sliver of Alan’s raging will had made it dry out and crack after a long while. Whatever enchantments held it fell apart under the relentless and furious attacks filled with shadow and a will that screamed for vengeance. Piece by piece it broke apart.

And if it had eventually fallen beneath the shadow’s rage, so would the strong bones beneath. No matter how long it took. Alan felt no fatigue. His body was easy to move, light as a feather and strong as stone.

Alan didn’t even bother activating the enchantments on his daggers either. He kept going until Bonez was a bloody mess of white bone and red blood whimpering on the floor. Strips of ugly skin hung loosely, stripped away from the body they covered. The wounds were shallow and the best he managed was a scratch mark on the skull, but the [Warlock’s] face was barely recognizable despite his efforts to protect himself. From time to time Alan would feel the mana inside of Bonez surge in an attempt to form into a skill, but it fell apart worthless.

Enid had given him a gift he would never forget.

Alan finally stopped. Shadows billowed out and around him, as he took a deep breath and stared at the pathetic mess at his feet.

He wished he had Zirida’s abilities. He would make the man’s blood burn through his veins and bones and reach the marrow inside. He would make it twist around each nerve and play them like the strings of a harp. He would poke his eyes out with a drop taken from the core of his still-beating heart.

Or maybe he could be like Kalyntha and use steel to break through the shell. He would smash the bones into fine dust one by one and force the man to watch. He would bind him and break each piece of him centimeter by bloody centimeter until there was nothing left to safely break. Then he would find someone to mend him, and do it all over again.

Or maybe, he could use fire? He could burn the skin, the tendons, the eyes, and the lips. He could see how much it takes for the magical skeleton to burst or melt from the heat.

But he had shadows, and the ability to shape them. And he had a single mind skill, weak and useless in this case. He could use his curse, and twist it like he had done to other skills perhaps. Maybe he could turn the man’s life against him and show him a world of agony he hadn’t seen even under the hand of his master. After all, if Bonez had tasted even a fragment of what Alan had, then he knew pain. What Alan had done so far was pretty much nothing.

The thought grounded him and the roaring anger took a backseat to a more rational stream of thought still aiming to deliver pain. Enid’s lingering touch helped once again as Alan remembered it, and how it had felt. It helped him to turn the anger into something sharp and cold.

As he paused, the whispers intensified. Alan’s gaze swam for a moment as a wisp of shadows passed by his eyes.

He saw silhouettes of many until one became clear. It was a woman with the palest skin and the darkest of eyes. Her grin was carefree and mocking, and her body was bleeding darkness. She was sitting on the top of a stairwell, casually looking directly into him. Something in her eyes…

He blinked.

He was back staring at the pathetic form of Bonez. Alan’s face was stretched into the grin of madness and desire to inflict pain and agony. To slowly bleed the light out of his enemies’ eyes. The shadows whispered like ghosts from a distant past, and for the first time, Alan understood them clearly. A single word. A word that hurt. Did they mock him, or were they trying to help him?

“Broken. Broken. BROKEN. BROKEN!”

They whispered the word like it was a mantra. They overlapped, echoed, licked at his ear, and shouted it from far away. They were beneath the earth, far out in space, and inside his mind and heart. Shadows of distant past that didn’t bow to the passage of time. They were here with him now. All as one.

Alan nodded to himself. Yes, he was broken no matter how he hid it and how strong he got. Ignoring years of being a person waiting for death was not the answer. He had embraced parts of his primal nature, and he had decided to become colder, more merciless, to throw away part of the humanity that made one fit for society and life. Was that truly the answer though?

It was all a small part of who and what he was, and what he was shaping to be before the world changed. There was a lot more darkness inside of him and a lot more self-inflicted suffering. It was different than the one he had experienced in the Bone Lord’s realm. It was worse because it was created by him. And all he had done was bury his shadows deep inside of his heart.

And now the anger was pushing it all to the surface. Time had eroded their meaning and reason, leaving behind only fiery emotion that twisted and turned into a tidal wave that threatened to make his weak body burst from the inside.

Was that not the answer? He was not the smartest by far, nor the fastest or strongest. He was probably the shittiest mage in the universe! A broken body and a broken mind. He was blindly following a path obscured from view and reason and constantly falling into shit situations.

Why not just break things then? Why not just break it all? Isn’t that what his will reflected? Wasn’t it what made him special? Maybe, just maybe there was a reason the second skill he had received attacked people’s minds. He had strayed away from that path a long time ago.

He was broken, and right now he wanted to break another. And who better to break a person, than the person’s own mind?

Everyone’s mind held shadows willing to turn against their host, their creator… Especially the mind of a man like Bonez.

Another curtain of shadows passed before Alan’s eyes and he saw the same pale woman, grinning and surrounded by shadows. This time, there was light in her eyes – warm, innocent light that made no sense. Curiosity perhaps? Like that of a child seeing the world for the first time. There was no good and evil there.

She laughed as a man sat on a gilded chair grabbed at his head and screamed as if he was being tortured. The shadows around the hall trembled in silent laughter too. The crown on the man’s head fell to the stone floor and burst apart into wisps of darkness that flowed toward the pale woman.

The man cried, clawed at his eyes until they were no more, and pulled at his hair until blood dripped down the side of his face. His skin was peeled away by his fingernails, which in turn broke as they scraped on the flesh and bone beneath.

And then Alan was back staring at Bonez. The man was whispering something, trying to use his skills, but nothing seemed to happen. The blow was probably akin to what Alan had felt at first, only worse.

The vision was a clue, however. The whispering shadows were helping him somehow – a strange development considering that they were a result of [Monochrome Armor’s] unknown transformation.

Alan knelt and pulled at the curse mark. The tiny drop of life force went straight into his new skill as two translucent shadows appeared on each of his sides. Their dark chains bound Bonez in a split second. The figures were silent, hazy things, reminiscent of a person’s shadow beneath the sun. So very fragile, yet immovable and untouchable.

Alan put his hand on Bonez’s sweaty skull. [Mind Jab] was the blueprint this time, just as [Mana Zap] had been for the servants. Alan vaguely remembered the skill and what it had felt like. It had been a weak thing, but rapid casts had still netted good results. [Synaptic Failure] was too different, too situational. It had to change too, but that would come with time.

He could feel the excitement of the shadows. They wanted to help.

For now, Alan wasn’t trying to advance a skill or create a new one. He was trying to inflict as much suffering as possible on the one who had brought so much to him. And what better way, than to use the man’s own buried demons?

Connecting to the outer layer of Bonez’s mind was easy. He knew the feeling of Xil speaking to him intimately, and the experiences with Florence and his own skills helped too.

The shadows guided his touch, moving along with his will – his intent to bring untold harm. They were ever present in his mana now, slithering like snakes, wrapping themselves around the tendrils he tried to slip into Bonez’s mind. It almost felt like they were letting him borrow something that he had no right to own. A concept that was far removed from his current level of power.

There was thin hope inside of Alan that even a hint of what he was doing would reach the Bone Lord. That the mighty bastard would rage and throw an impotent tantrum. He was almost a god, and Alan was an ant. However, there were rules. Everyone said so. Rules made by the strongest.

He grinned.

Fueled by his turbulent will, the shadow mana turned and twisted into the [Warlock’s] open mind. Bonez's eyes widened and for the first time since the beginning of the beating, he looked at Alan. There was fear in his eyes now. Not fear of being left without the guidance and power of his patron. No. It was fear of Alan.

And it felt good.

“You’re a piece of shit, but just so you know… so am I,” Alan whispered, his voice coming from near and far, echoing like those of the shadows around.

After a few seconds, the bloodshot eyes of the [Warlock] darkened.

And then the first tear fell. And as it became one with the warm blood covering most of Bonez’s face, the screaming began.

***

Bonez prayed to his patron, to his Lord, to his only savior and friend. He prayed, but no one answered. His skills were refusing to work like never before. He didn’t know how to make his mana turn into skills! It just happened thanks to the System and the guidance of the Bone Lord.

He felt something bind him tighter, but didn’t really care. As long as he could reach the Bone Lord, all would be well. He didn’t know what prevented him from doing so. It made no sense. Had the Lord given up on him? Was he thrown away because of his mistake? No, a [Pact] couldn’t dissolve just like that!

His fellow [Warlock] was too weak to be responsible. Who was it then? Who? WHO?!

He felt something touch his mind but he ignored it. No one could hurt his mind. He had protections beyond a mere reinforced skeleton.

However, the intruding energy was strange. It did nothing to harm him. Not at first. Not before it wormed its way into the depths of his mind.

His eyes widened as it prodded and started digging. He looked toward his fellow [Warlock]. The one he had tried to help. The one he had tried to lead to power!

He was like a nightmarish creature surrounded by swirling translucent shadows. There was only hate in his gaze and a cruel smile played on his lips.

Why?

The memories of a past life he had long forgotten swam up to the surface on wings of shadow and Bonez found himself in another time. Another life.

His sister was there to greet him. She smiled at him, and he smiled back with tears in his eyes. How close they had been. Helping their parents in the business, playing on the street with the other kids. He had wanted to be a [Baker] then, like his father. It was a tier-one profession, but it led to a good calm life. The smell of fresh breath was everything. He felt long-forgotten love blossom in his chest.

His little sister smiled wider. And wider.

She smiled until the corners of her mouth tore, and blood started leaking from her beautiful face. Her eyes, so full of love and innocence became dark holes of hatred.

“You left me to die. You killed me, big brother.”

He felt his heart sink. No, he hadn’t! He had tried to save her! He had tried to give them all a better life! He tried to argue but his voice refused to come out. His sister screamed at him as blood poured out of her mouth, eyes, and ears. Her body was a disemboweled mess as she ran up to him.

He tried to scream, to close his eyes, to stop this vision. It was not how things had happened! These were not his memories!

In the next moment, he was in the embrace of his parents, barely a toddler. Oh, how they had loved him. How great his life had been then.

But something changed. Their rotting corpses tightened their grip and bit at his flesh.

“It’s your fault, your fault, your fault, your fault!” they chanted as they tore him piece by piece.

Bonez begged for salvation as he had once before.

But no one answered.