The bear's life force hit me like a damn avalanche—raw, primal, overwhelming. My body convulsed as the energy flooded through me, more powerful than anything I'd consumed before. The rabbits, the wolves, even that damn deer—they were nothing compared to this. This was pure, concentrated vitality, and it burned through my veins like liquid fire.

  I collapsed to my knees, gasping, my hands digging into the forest floor as the transformation took hold. My bones ached, my muscles screamed, and for a moment I thought maybe I'd bitten off more than I could chew. Maybe this beast's life force was too much, too strong, too—

  No. Fuck that. I didn't survive abandonment, starvation, and this godforsaken forest just to die from being too greedy. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to breathe, to control the flow of energy instead of letting it control me.

  "Come on... come on, you piece of shit body... take it... TAKE IT ALL!"

  The energy settled, finally, spreading through every fiber of my being. When I opened my eyes, the world looked different. Sharper. Clearer. I could see in the darkness like it was midday. I could hear a stream running somewhere a mile away. I could smell every creature within a hundred yards.

  I stood up slowly, looking down at my hands. They were bigger. Stronger. I'd aged again—probably another year, maybe more. I was getting closer to what I'd been in my past life, at least physically. Good. Being a damn child was getting old fast.

  But something else had changed too. Something deeper.

  There was a pressure building inside me, right in the center of my chest. Not painful, exactly, but... insistent. Like something was trying to claw its way out. I pressed my hand against my sternum, feeling that dark energy swirling beneath my skin, and suddenly I understood.

  The life force I'd been consuming wasn't just making me stronger physically. It was feeding something else. Something magical.

  "Well, well, well," I muttered, a grin spreading across my face. "Looks like this curse has more tricks than I thought."

  I'd seen magic in this world, of course. My father had used it—basic elemental shit, fire and wind, the kind of flashy garbage nobles loved to show off at parties. My mother had healing magic, all soft and gentle and useless for anything except looking pious. The church bastards had their holy light, which apparently couldn't do shit against someone blessed by the gods of death and despair.

  But my magic? I had a feeling it was going to be different.

  I closed my eyes and focused on that pressure in my chest, that swirling darkness that wanted out. I could feel it responding to my will, eager, hungry, just like me. It wanted to be used. It wanted to be unleashed.

  But how?

  I thought back to what I'd seen, the incantations and gestures the nobles used. They always made it look so damn theatrical—big sweeping motions, shouting their spell names like idiots. Part of me wanted to mock it, but another part... another part recognized that maybe there was a reason for it. Maybe magic needed a focus, a channel, a way to direct all that raw power into something useful instead of just letting it explode randomly.

  Fine. I could work with that.

  I extended my right hand, palm up, and focused on the darkness inside me. "Alright, you bastard," I whispered. "Let's see what you can do. Come forth."

  Nothing happened.

  I frowned. "Come... forth?"

  Still nothing.

  "Oh, for fuck's sake." I shook my hand like that would somehow help. "What, you need a magic word? Some fancy bullshit phrase?"

  The darkness swirled but didn't manifest. It was like it was waiting for something, some key I hadn't found yet.

  I thought about my blessing, about what that fat priest had screamed before running away like a coward. Darkness. Hate. Death and despair. Those were my domains, apparently. The gods of death and despair had marked me as their own.

  Death and despair. Life and suffering.

  I'd been taking life force, consuming it, making it mine. That was the core of my power—the theft of life itself. So maybe my magic needed to reflect that. Maybe it needed to be more than just pretty words and hand-waving. Maybe it needed... sacrifice.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  I pulled out the crude stone knife I'd made weeks ago, the edge still sharp enough to cut. Without hesitation, I dragged it across my left palm, hissing as blood welled up from the wound.

  The reaction was immediate.

  The darkness inside me surged, responding to the blood, to the pain, to the offering of my own life force. It rushed up through my arm and into my bleeding palm, mixing with the crimson liquid, turning it black as pitch.

  "Now we're talking," I growled.

  I focused on that black blood, on the power swirling within it, and spoke—not some flowery incantation, but the truth of what I was, what I wanted, what I would become.

  "From death, I take. From life, I steal. By blood and darkness, my will made real."

  The black blood lifted from my palm, defying gravity, swirling in the air like smoke. It coalesced into a sphere of pure darkness, crackling with energy, pulsing with stolen life force. I could feel it connected to me, an extension of my will, waiting for direction.

  Holy shit. I'd actually done it. I'd created magic.

  A laugh bubbled up from my chest, wild and unrestrained. "Ha! HA HA HA! You see that?! You see what your cursed, abandoned son can do?!"

  I thrust my hand forward, and the sphere of darkness shot out like a bullet, slamming into a tree twenty feet away. The impact was devastating—the bark didn't just splinter, it withered, rotting away in seconds as the dark energy consumed it. The tree groaned and collapsed, dead and decayed as if it had been standing for a hundred years past its time.

  I stared at the destruction, my heart pounding with exhilaration. This wasn't just magic. This was power. Real, tangible, devastating power. The kind of power that could make kingdoms kneel. The kind of power that could make my family regret every decision they'd ever made.

  But I wasn't done experimenting. Not even close.

  Over the next few weeks, I pushed myself harder than ever before. I hunted, I consumed, and I practiced. Every creature I killed fed both my body and my magic, making me stronger, faster, more dangerous. I learned that the blood sacrifice wasn't always necessary—that was just for the big spells, the ones that needed extra juice. For smaller magic, I could channel the darkness directly, using gestures and will alone.

  I developed my own style, my own techniques. A slashing motion with my hand would send a blade of dark energy cutting through the air. A stomping motion would send tendrils of shadow erupting from the ground, grasping and draining anything they touched. Pressing both palms together and then pulling them apart would create a barrier of darkness that could block attacks—I'd tested that one against a charging boar, and the stupid thing had practically disintegrated on contact.

  But the most useful discovery came when I was fighting a pack of wolves that had gotten too bold. I'd been surrounded, outnumbered, and for a moment I'd actually felt a flicker of concern. Then instinct took over.

  I'd slammed my hand into the ground and shouted, "Grasp of the Grave!"

  Black hands—dozens of them—had erupted from the earth, skeletal and wreathed in shadow. They'd grabbed the wolves, holding them in place while draining their life force directly into me. I'd stood there, watching as the beasts withered and died, their strength becoming mine, and I'd felt like a god.

  That's when I realized the truth: my magic wasn't just destructive. It was vampiric. Every spell I cast that connected with a living target fed me, strengthened me, sustained me. I was a walking, talking predator, and magic was just another way to hunt.

  But there was still something missing. Something I needed to truly become the force of destruction I was meant to be.

  I was sitting by my fire one night, roasting some meat and thinking about my progress, when it hit me. I'd gotten stronger, faster, more skilled with magic. But in a real fight—against trained soldiers, against knights, against anyone with actual combat experience—I'd still be at a disadvantage. Why? Because I was fighting with my bare hands and crude stone tools like some kind of savage.

  I needed a weapon. A real weapon. Something that could channel my magic, amplify it, make it even more lethal. Something worthy of the power I was building.

  In my past life, I'd never been much of a fighter. I'd been a fool in love, soft and weak and pathetic. But I remembered weapons. I remembered seeing soldiers with swords, guards with spears, assassins with daggers. I remembered the cold steel that had ended my life, the blade that bitch had used to cut my throat.

  Yeah. I needed a blade. But not just any blade. I needed something special, something that could handle the dark magic flowing through me without shattering. Something that could grow with me as I got stronger.

  "Where the hell am I supposed to find something like that out here?" I muttered, poking at the fire with a stick.

  The answer, of course, was that I wasn't. Not in this forest. Eventually, I'd have to leave, venture into civilization, take what I needed. But not yet. I wasn't ready yet. I needed to be stronger, more skilled, more dangerous. I needed to be absolutely certain that when I finally revealed myself to the world, no one—not my family, not the church, not the entire damn kingdom—could stop me.

  I looked down at my hands, at the black veins that now ran beneath my skin, visible when I channeled my power. I clenched my fists, feeling the strength in them, the magic thrumming just beneath the surface.

  "Soon," I promised myself. "Soon I'll be ready. Soon I'll walk out of this forest, and the world will learn what happens when you abandon a child blessed by death itself."

  I stood up, stretching, feeling my muscles coil with predatory grace. I was probably eight years old now, physically, maybe even nine. Still young, but not a helpless child anymore. And with every day, every hunt, every spell, I was getting closer to the man I needed to become.

  The man who would make them all pay.

  I extinguished the fire with a wave of my hand, shadows smothering the flames instantly. Another trick I'd learned. Another tool in my arsenal.

  As I settled down to sleep, I let my mind wander to the future. To the day I'd return to the Silvertin estate. To the looks on their faces when they realized their "dead" son had come home. To the moment I'd make them understand exactly what they'd created when they threw me away.

  "Sleep well, Mother. Sleep well, Father," I whispered into the darkness. "Enjoy your peace while it lasts. Because I'm coming. And when I do..."

  Dark energy crackled around my fingers as I smiled.

  "...death and despair are coming with me."