Blood dripped constantly, striking the dusty floor. Luka's hands trembled hard, but he did not release the glass shard slicing into his palm. The clouded mirror held the reflection of a hunted beast cornered by a predator.
Rhea stepped forward without a sound. She grabbed Luka's wrist, her pale fingers pressing in to force his fist open. The red-stained glass shard fell with a faint clink. Rhea took a roll of clean cloth from the basket, binding the torn wound on the man's palm. Tactical. Swift. She ignored the muffled groan escaping from between Luka's teeth.
Luka gasped for air, the moss-scented breeze coating his throat. "Why is my body this weak?”
Rhea pressed the final knot on the bandage and stood, freezing air replacing her body heat. "Power in this world does not come from thin air or training, My Lord. It comes from spiritual cannibalism.”
Luka furrowed his brow. His throbbing head processed the string of words.
"The Law of Erosion and Awakening," Rhea said. "Those who hold control over Soul Energy are called Resonant by the nobles. The commoners call them something fouler. Soul Eater. And that power is gained through one method." She stared straight. "Devouring the heart of a fresh kill."
Luka's bile churned. His calf muscles tensed. Pulling his body back.
"Your soul's foundation is a total ruin," Rhea continued. "Ulric's sword slash tore your energy vessel to nothing. The fire inside your body is extinguished. That is why your posture is crooked. Why your hands are as rough as a vagrant's. The Law of Erosion devoured your remaining nobility. Your muscles lost their past memory. You are a spiritual defect."
Luka touched his neck. The thick stitches below his ear throbbed hot. The explanation made sense. This filthy, vile body was compensation for a ruined soul foundation. Ulric robbed everything.
"To reclaim the throne, you must reignite that hearth." Rhea turned toward the shack's wooden door. "You must begin the ritual."
The door wrenched open. Oesteria's storm wind crashed inside. Carrying specks of dirty snow. Rhea stepped out for a moment. The scrape of a heavy object dragging against frozen dirt echoed.
Rhea threw something into the room.
Striking the floorboards. A heavy thud.
A human.
A man in a thick uniform. His leather armor bore the hound crest—the royal forces. Ulric's soldier. Both hands bound by thick iron chains to his back. His legs shackled in barbed wire. His mouth gagged with a thick roll of burlap.
The soldier thrashed wild. His back arched. His boots kicked the wooden floor. Seeking a foothold. His eyeballs darted fast. Full of ruptured red veins. His gaze struck the wooden walls. Struck the medicine basket. Stopped rigid, staring at Luka on the bed.
Tears and snot soaked the soldier's cheeks. He wept. Muffled groans seeped from behind the gag. The sound of a pig dragged to the slaughter block.
Luka backed away. His spine hit the board wall. The stench of sour sweat, urine, and fear stung his nasal cavity. His instincts rebelled. His gut contracted, fighting nausea. He might have experienced life-or-death combat in the past, even if his muscles forgot how to hold a sword. Yet this man was bound. Powerless. This was a one-sided murder. A naked execution.
Rhea walked to the shack's corner. Grabbing a severe rusted longsword. She shoved the iron right in front of Luka's chest.
"You must devour a fresh heart to reignite that fire, My Lord."
Luka stayed silent.
His jaw muscles locked. Looking down at the sword. Then looking at his prey. Executing a bound human triggered an inner rejection. His gut kicked his ribs. A hard rejection against tearing flesh and eating a raw organ. His hands went paralyzed. Refusing to grab the iron hilt.
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The soldier shook his head. Begging. Tears soaked the wooden floor.
Rhea's pale face was rigid. Cold calculation played in her eyes. She walked a slow circle around the kneeling soldier. Standing right behind him. Rhea's hand gripped the soldier's short hair. Yanking his head hard backward. The man's neck exposed wide. His veins tensed, enduring the forced pull.
"He was there," Rhea whispered. Her voice was low. Stabbing the empty space in Luka's head. "This soldier stood in the front lines during the coup. He held the torch that burned the palace wing curtains. He kicked a maid begging for mercy." Rhea strengthened her pull. "He cheered when Ulric's sword severed your father's neck."
The seal shattered.
The thick wall holding back the trauma in Luka's head collapsed. His dark past memories exploded out. Torturing his gray cells with raw agony. A rusted nail hammered through his skull from the inside. Bloody memory flashes crashed into his eyeballs. Fire licking stone pillars. Marble floors drenched in red puddles.
Father.
A sword blade cleaving a neck. A gold-crowned head rolling, striking a wall.
The friction of Luka's jawbones rang loud. His chest puffed out by force. The throb at the base of his neck burned his skin. His breaths hunted rough. Pumping hot blood into every vessel with a killing rhythm. The Sin of Wrath awakened, responding to his trauma. His vision narrowed. His focus locked sharp on a single point. The soldier's neck.
Luka snatched the sword from Rhea's hand.
The rusted iron's weight vanished. His arm muscles, trembling weakly from erosion, now hardened, fueled by wrath. The stench of urine and filth no longer triggered nausea; it turned into fuel. Saliva pooled thick at the base of his tongue. A feral hunger bit at his stomach lining.
He took one step forward.
The wooden boards creaked. The soldier's eyeballs bulged out, his body thrashing wildly. Iron chains scraped his wrists until the skin tore and bled. His groan turned into a scream swallowed by the cloth gag.
Luka closed his eyes.
He raised the rusted sword to shoulder height, his arm veins tensing.
The air split.
Rusted metal struck the dead center of the soldier's chest.
Crunch.
The sound of cracking ribs clashed with iron as flesh tore. The sword blade pierced the bone cage by force, tearing through internal organs and nailing the soldier to the wooden floor. Thick red fluid spurted hard into the air, soaking Luka's face, bandages, and shirt. Hot drops stung his cheek.
Luka opened his eyes, his chest heaving with ragged gasps.
The soldier spasmed for a moment before his neck veins went limp. His groan died, leaving only the sound of bloody air bubbles popping from the gaping chest wound. The corpse slumped fully, flooding the wooden boards with dark red.
Luka stood petrified, his hands gripping the embedded sword hilt. The execution was finished.
Rhea released her grip on the corpse's hair and stepped back one pace, letting her Prince complete the recovery ritual.
Saliva dripped from the corner of Luka's lips. His jaw moved wild. Hunger burned his ribs. He dropped his knees, shattering the blood puddle.
A wet splash echoed. His trousers absorbed the warm, thick fluid. He let go of the sword hilt. Both hands crawled forward. He forced his fingers to infiltrate the torn chest cleavage. The edges of broken ribs scratched the back of his hands bloody. The foul stench of entrails hit his esophagus. His body swallowed the nausea response by force. His fingers groped a slimy meat lump inside the chest cage.
Wet muscle. A heart that just lost its beat.
Luka gripped it tight. Yanking the organ out. The sound of severing vein fibers rang wet and loud.
A thick lump of meat rested in his trembling palm. Blood dripped constant, striking the floor. The recovery medicine for his soul energy. Rhea's words buzzed in his ears. Ulric. Coup. Revenge.
He brought the lump to his mouth. The scent of old iron flooded his taste buds. He opened his jaw wide. His teeth pierced the thick meat.
Muscle fibers resisted the chew. Red fluid filled his oral cavity. Spilling past his lips. Flowing to his chin. Luka chewed by force. Swallowing the rough chunks down his esophagus. Swallowing a lump of wet embers.
The moment the heart dropped into his gut, the energy exploded.
His pupils expanded. Pitch-black widened, swallowing his iris color. His heart stopped beating for one full second. His blood froze inside his vessels. Boiling in an instant with high pressure. A deafening hum ruined his auditory space.
The wooden room shook. The copper light sliver from the window died.
Shatter.
The physical room ruined. The reality around him cracked. Shattered to pieces. The shack wall fragments scattered into invisible dust.
Gravity lost its pull. The blood-stained wooden floor beneath Luka's knees vanished. He fell. Free-falling through the void. His body slammed downward. The freezing air turned into a choking thick fluid. He drowned. Sucked into a thick sea of blood toward a foreign dimension.