The Anomaly's Path

The hallway was dark and narrow, lit by a single oil lamp that flickered with every draft from the cracks in the walls.

I stood outside the basement door for a long moment with my hand resting on the cold iron handle, listening to the silence on the other side. I pushed the door open and walked down the stone steps, my boots echoing off the walls like the ticking of a clock counting down the last seconds of someone’s life.

The basement was damp and cold, the air thick with the smell of old blood and rusted iron. Two torches burned in brackets on the far wall, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor like grasping hands.

Silla and Grog were chained to the far wall.

Their wrists were bound with heavy iron cuffs connected to thick chains bolted into the stone.

Grog sat on the floor with his back against the wall, his massive head bowed and his breathing slow and heavy. The wound in his side had been bandaged, but dark blood had already soaked through the cloth and dripped onto the stone floor beneath him.

Silla was awake. Her wild eyes tracked me as I descended the steps, following my every movement with the intensity of a predator who had been caged for too long and was already planning how to tear open the throat of whoever opened the door.

"...So," she said, her voice a low rasp that slithered through the silence. "The little spark survived."

I did not answer. I walked to the center of the room and stopped with my arms crossed and my eyes fixed on her face, letting the silence stretch between us.

The knight who had been guarding the door shifted uncomfortably behind me. His boots scraped against the stone floor, and I could hear the nervousness in his voice when he spoke. "Do you want me to stay, Leo?"

"...No," I said. "Leave us."

He hesitated. His eyes moved to Silla, then back to me, and I could see the conflict written across his face. "Are you sure?"

"I said leave."

He nodded and walked up the stairs, his footsteps fading into the darkness above.

Silla smiled. Her sharp teeth glinted in the torchlight, and her eyes narrowed with something that might have been amusement or might have been hunger. "You have grown bold," she said, leaning forward as far as her chains would allow. "Leaving yourself alone with us. Do you think those little chains can hold me?"

"I think you are not stupid enough to try."

Silla’s eyes flickered, and I watched her composure shift as she tried to regain control of the conversation. "I knew something was wrong when I felt a familiar mana. But I did not believe it was you. I watched you die in Wayford."

"Neither did I, and yet here I am."

She leaned forward, bringing her face inches from mine. Her breath was hot and sour, and her eyes burned with a fire that had not been there a moment before. "...How?"

I just looked at her with the same hollow emptiness that had been living in my chest since the day I watched Roran’s head roll across the floor. "I do not know," I said. "...Maybe the world wanted me alive so I could kill you. Maybe that is the only reason I am still breathing."

Silla laughed. It was a dry, rasping sound. "Kill me? You could not kill me in Wayford, little spark. What makes you think you can kill me now?"

"You are not as fast as you think," I continued, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. "And you are not as strong as you believe. You rely on speed and surprise, but I have already seen how you fight. I have already learned your patterns. You always feint left before you strike right. You always step back before you lunge."

Her smile disappeared, wiped from her face.

"I know you, Silla, and you do not know me at all."

She hissed, a sound of pure frustration that echoed off the stone walls. "You think you can break me with words?"

"I think I can break you with my hands."

Grog lifted his head, his small eyes filled with fear. Not of me, but of the darkness coming out of me.

"You want information," Silla spat, her voice rising. "That is why you are here. You want to know where Voss is hiding. You want to know where the children are. You want to know where Kael is."

"Yes."

"Then ask nicely."

I took a step closer, and the sound of my boot on the stone floor was loud in the silence. "Tell me where Voss is?"

"No."

I took another step. "Where are the children?"

"No."

"You will tell me," I said. "One way or another."

Silla laughed again, but the sound was weaker this time, more forced. "And what will you do, little shit? Torture me? I have been tortured before by people who knew what they were doing. You are just a boy playing at being a killer."

I reached down and grabbed her by the throat.

Her eyes went wide, and for a moment, I saw something other than defiance in them. Fear. Real fear. But she did not struggle. She just stared at me with those wild, burning eyes, and her smile returned, though it did not reach her eyes.

"Careful," she whispered. "Kael will—"

"Fuck Kael."

Her smile froze on her face, and I watched the color drain from her cheeks.

"Fuck you too. I do not care about Kael," I said, my voice cold and flat, devoid of any emotion. "I do not care about Morana. I do not care about your masters or your mission or your cause. I care about one thing. Where is Voss?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but I did not let her.

"Your death is already decided," I continued, tightening my grip on her throat just enough to make her gasp. "There is no escaping it. There is no bargaining out of it. The only question is how much pain you will feel before it comes. And believe me when I say this, Silla. I will make sure you feel every single moment."

I let go of her throat and stepped back, watching her cough and sputter as she sucked in air.

"You watched children die in Wayford. You laughed while they begged for their lives. You licked their blood from your fingers and smiled."

I paused, letting the weight of my words settle onto her shoulders like a physical weight. "I want you to remember every face. Every scream. Every name. Because when I am done with you, you will beg for death the same way they begged for life."

Silla’s composure cracked. I saw it happen in real time, the way her eyes darted to the side, the way her hands clenched into fists.

"You think you are the first person to threaten me?" she hissed, but her voice lacked the confidence it had held before. "You think you are the first person to make me afraid? You are nothing. A child. A weak, pathetic child who could not even save his own master."

"..."

"Roran died because of you," she continued, her voice rising with every word. "He died protecting you. He died because you were too weak to fight your own battles. And now you stand here threatening me, pretending to be strong, pretending to be something you are not."

She leaned forward, her chains rattling.

"But I know the truth. You are still weak. You are still afraid, and deep down, you know that you will never be strong enough to save anyone."

I looked at her for a long moment, letting the silence stretch between us like a blade waiting to fall.

Then I smiled.

"You are right," I said. "I am weak. I am afraid. I could not save Roran. I could not save the children. I could not save anyone."

I took a step closer. "But I am not trying to save anyone anymore. I am trying to make sure the people who hurt them never hurt anyone again."

I reached down and grabbed the chain that bound her wrists. The metal groaned under my grip, and the links strained against each other.

"Now. Where is Voss?"

Silla stared at me. Her wild eyes searched my face for something, weakness or fear or doubt, but she found nothing. "Free me," she said. "Fight me. If you win, I will tell you everything."

I tilted my head. "You want to fight me?"

"I want to see if you are as strong as you pretend to be."

I gave her a long, silent look.

"Okay," I said.

I stepped forward and unlocked the cage. I reached out and unshackled her wrists. The chains hit the floor with a heavy clang.

Silla froze for a split second, surprised that I had actually done it. Silla rubbed her wrists, her eyes never leaving my face. She flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulders and stood up slowly, testing her limbs as if she could not quite believe she was free.

Grog stirred behind her. "Silla, do not—"

"Shut up," she said, not looking back.

She stepped away from the wall and raised her hands. Her fingers curled into claws, and her lips peeled back from her sharp teeth. "I am going to enjoy this," she said.

She lunged at me very fast.

I did not move. I did not even blink. I just read her movement, my instinct guiding me, helping me predict her possible route.

Left feint. Right strike. She always does the same thing.

I stepped to the side.

Her claws passed through empty air, slicing through nothing but the shadows. Her eyes went wide, and I saw the realization dawn on her face a moment too late. She tried to stop and turn and recover, but her momentum carried her forward, off balance and helpless.

I was already there.

My hand closed around her face, my fingers digging into her cheeks and my thumb pressing against her temple. I felt her jaw shift under my grip, the bones grind against each other as she tried to pull away.

I slammed her into the ground.

The impact cracked the stone floor beneath her head, and a spiderweb of fractures spread out from the point of impact.

Blood sprayed from her lips, hot and dark, and she gasped for air that would not come. Her body went limp for just a moment, stunned by the force of the blow, but I did not let go. I pinned her to the ground with my weight and raised my fist.

Lightning crackled along my knuckles, black and hungry.

"How...?" she wheezed, her eyes darting in a panic she could not hide.

I did not answer. I brought my fist down.

The first punch broke her nose. Cartilage crunched under my knuckles, and a hot spray of blood painted my face. Her head snapped to the side, her teeth clicking together with a sickening jar.

I did not give her a second to breathe before the next one landed, splitting her cheek open. I felt the skin tear, felt the warmth of her blood coating my fingers as her attempt to scream turned into a wet gurgle.

I did not stop there.

The third blow swelled her eye shut, the skin bruising purple and black in an instant. The fourth caught her jaw, cracking her teeth. I felt them give way, the sharp edges cutting into my own skin. Blood poured from her mouth, mixing with the mess from her nose and cheek, pooling on the cold stone floor.

Each strike was for Roran, for the way he had died with a smile on his face, telling me I would be stronger than him. I hit her for Maya, for Lily, for Tobin, for Sera, and for every name I had carved into a wooden stake in the mud of Wayford.

Punch after punch followed, a rhythmic and relentless thudding that echoed in the small room. I lost count after the tenth.

Silla stopped struggling early on. Her body went limp, her eyes rolling back as she slipped into the dark. Blood pooled beneath her, black in the flickering torchlight, mixing with the dust and the fragments of her broken teeth.

I stood over her, my chest heaving, and raised my fist one last time. My knuckles were raw, dripping with a mixture of her blood and mine, but the void inside me was still screaming for more.

I raised my fist again.

"Stop," she whispered. Her voice was barely audible, broken and wet, bubbling up through the blood in her throat. "Please... stop."

I lowered my fist.

She was crying. Tears mixed with the blood on her face, tracing pale lines through the red. Her lips trembled, and her chest heaved with ragged, broken sobs.

The woman who had laughed while children died was gone. In her place was just a broken creature, bleeding and weeping on the cold stone floor.

"Sorry... Please... I am sorry...," she whispered. "...Stop... please."

I stood up.

My hands were covered in blood, dripping from my fingers and pooling in the creases of my palms. My face was covered in blood, splattered across my cheeks and my chin and my lips. My hair was matted with it, black and white strands sticking to my forehead like wet paint.

"Do not you want to laugh now?" I shouted, my voice rising. "The way you laughed when you killed someone? Do not you fucking want to lick the blood like you did? Fuck you, bitch! You do not deserve any mercy. All the people who died, what about them? Why the fuck did they all have to die?"

My voice echoed off the stone walls.

"Whole village was massacred. A lot of dreams died that day just because of someone’s choice. People like you deserve more than death."

I took a breath.

"You want to know how I beat you? You are stronger than me, and you know that. But you are a reckless and ignorant bitch who thinks she can do anything and get away from it. But you are wrong."

I knelt down beside her.

"You were already weak. You were chained to that wall for three days without proper food or rest. Your mana reserves were low. Your body was broken."

Her eyes flickered.

"You overestimated yourself. If you were at full strength, I would not have won. But you are not at full strength. You are barely standing." I leaned closer, close enough to see the fear in her eyes. "And I did not need to be stronger than you. I just needed to be smarter."

I stood up.

"Strength is not just about rank. It is about knowing when to strike and knowing when to wait. It is about using every advantage you have and denying every advantage to your enemy. That is why you lost. Not because I was stronger. Because I was smarter."

"Please...," Silla whispered, her voice cracking. "...Kill me. End it."

I looked at her for a long moment, at the blood and the tears and the broken teeth. Grog did not speak. He just stared at me with wide, terrified eyes.

I gathered some lightning around my palm. The black lightning was flickering around my hand, dancing between my fingers like hungry snakes.

"You know what?" I said, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. "I have learned some amazing things about lightning. Everyone has lightning in their body, flowing through their nerves and their veins. It is what makes them move, what makes them feel, what makes them alive."

I crouched down beside her.

"I learned a new technique from Seraphina. That woman is really scary. She taught me something called Neural Shock. It sends a tiny, controlled surge of lightning into the nervous system. It does not burn the skin or leave any marks, but it causes intense, unbearable pain. It feels like every nerve in your body is on fire."

Her eyes widened.

"I have been wanting to try it on someone."

I placed my hand on her arm.

She screamed.

It was not a normal scream. It was high and wet and desperate, the kind of scream that came from somewhere deeper than the throat. Her body convulsed under my grip, her back arching off the stone floor, her fingers clawing at the ground.

"AAGGHHH! STOP! PLEASE!"

I held on for three more seconds. Then I let go.

She collapsed, gasping and sobbing, her body trembling uncontrollably.

"This is just the start," I whispered.

I raised my hand again.

The screams that followed echoed through the basement for a long time.

_

Upstairs, the knights stood in a circle, their faces pale. They could hear the muffled thuds from the basement. They could hear the rhythmic, relentless sound of a person being broken. Nobody spoke. Even the seasoned veterans looked away when the heavy door finally creaked open.

I stepped out of the darkness.

The hallway was empty, but I could feel eyes on me from the shadows.

The knights who had been waiting outside their rooms, the servants who had been cleaning the floors, the patrons who had been drinking in the common room, they all watched me as I walked past.

My appearance was a nightmare.

Blood was splattered across my face and my chest. My black and white hair was matted with red, and my hands were dripping. I did not look at any of them. I simply walked through the hall, the knights parting for me like the Red Sea.

They looked at the blood on my face, my hands, and my clothes, and I saw the way their faces changed. Some turned away, unable to look at what I had become. Some stared, unable to look away. Some whispered to each other behind their hands, their voices too low for me to hear but their meaning clear enough.

I did not care.

I walked to Seraphina’s office and knocked on the heavy wooden door.

"Enter," she said from inside.

I pushed open the door.

Seraphina sat behind her desk with a stack of papers in front of her and a quill in her hand. Cassian stood by the window, his golden-blue eyes soft and warm, the same way they always were.

They both looked at me.

Seraphina’s eyes moved over my face as she saw my appearance. For a moment, something appeared in her eyes, maybe recognition. She had seen this before.

"...Go wash up," she said. "Then come back."

I nodded and left.

The water was cold.

I stood at the basin in my room and scrubbed the blood from my hands, watching it swirl down the drain in pink spirals. I scrubbed until my skin was raw, until I could not feel anything except the cold and the roughness of the cloth against my fingers.

I looked at the mirror.

A stranger stared back at me. Black hair streaked with white, pale skin, hollow eyes. Blood still clung to the strands near my temple, dark and thick, and I had to wet my hair to work it free.

I washed my face. I washed my hair. I changed into clean clothes.

Then I walked back to Seraphina’s office.

I sat down across from her. Cassian remained by the window, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

"So, did you kill them?" Seraphina asked.

"...Yes."

She was quiet for a moment.

"You know," Seraphina said finally, her voice softer than I had ever heard it, "I wanted revenge once. A long time ago. I wanted to find the people who hurt my family and make them suffer. I thought it would make me feel better. I thought it would fill the empty space inside me."

She looked down at her hands.

"But when I finally got my revenge, I felt nothing. Just emptiness. Just the same hollow ache I had been carrying for years."

She looked up at me.

"Revenge does not heal you, Leo. It does not bring back the dead. It does not make the pain go away. It just leaves you standing in the blood of someone else, wondering why you still feel so empty."

Cassian spoke for the first time, his voice gentle. "I know you might be scared of becoming a monster. You started killing, right? The first kill is the hardest. The second is easier. The third is easier still. And before you know it, you stop counting. You stop feeling. You stop caring."

He looked at me with those soft, golden eyes.

"But do not let that happen to you, Leo. You are not a monster. Do not become one."

I sat there in silence, their words hanging in the air between us.

I stared at my hands. "...I see. Thanks."

Then my expression turned serious. "I found the information about Voss."

They both became alert.

"He is in the Crimson Mines."