Henry Cunningham.

Years of careful effort allowed Henry to become an established figure in the upper echelons of society. He wasn’t someone who caused the world to stop with his name alone, but he was still afforded status. His gift would never move past class-4, so there a limit to his power, but he forged enough connections to keep himself as someone prominent. In order to maintain his level of influence, it was necessary to be active.

That may have been why Henry was returning from a small social gathering amongst the non-gifted elite. Men and women who, while having a large sum of wealth, found it hard to break through the barriers surrounding the exchanges with guild leaders and the gifted who were above class-5. That was where the real power could be found as that’s where the secret auctions and exchanges occurred. Potions which could bring back years of youth, charms which could grant a fortune, and special curealls for any disease.

One of the few people who served as a bridge between the gifted and non-gifted markets was Henry. To keep his position, Henry needed to tread over legal boundaries but he thought that he was careful enough not to draw notice. That was right up until he crossed paths with Casper.

It was dark when men and women began stepping out of the venue. There were a few silver-tongued individuals who made sure to see Henry off in an attempt to gain a leg up.

While he maintained a stoic face on the outside, on the inside he enjoyed watching people fall over themselves in an attempt to earn his notice. Before his awakening, he was an office jockey who would force himself to fawn over his manager.

It was likely his superiors enjoyed the smallest amount of intoxication that came with wielding a great deal of power. He laughed to himself, thinking they wouldn’t be able to feel a tenth of what he felt at that moment.

After some pleasantries, he climbed into a dark sedan before being greeted by his driver.

“Did you enjoy your evening, Sir?” The driver asked in a routine manner.

“I did, very much so,” Henry replied with a blissful smile.

“And will you be returning home this evening?”

“I will, yes–” Henry’s words were cut short as a staggering pain filled his chest. An intangible blue arrow emerged from his chest before flying forward and disappearing.

The veins in Henry’s neck bulged as his organ seemed to be frozen. While he roared in agony, his confused driver attempted to pull over.

“NO! Keep driving!” Henry shouted, clutching at his chest.

Not even a minute later, another arrow zipped through the car and pierced Henry once more.

“Sir, It’s mandatory that we pull over and call for medical attention-” The driver slowed to a crawl but Henry didn’t allow him to stop.

The injured man forced his hands around the driver's neck in a frenzy. Half of him thought the driver was in on the assassination attempt and the other half was desperate to survive, so he threw all reason out of the window.

Henry pushed the man’s lifeless body aside and climbed into the driver’s seat. He thought about gunning it, when a figure dressed in black appeared on the road.

Hardly able to think because of the unending pain, Henry stepped on the accelerator but the mysterious figure in the street burst into a group of crows which quickly dispersed.

The sedan swiveled out of control and collided with a street pole before coming to a complete stop. Casper landed a few meters away from the scene of the crash and summoned both scarlet blades before moving forward.

…

The sedan’s engine hissed, indicating the car was totaled. My spirit vision showed that there was at least one living person inside on the driver’s side. So I guess Henry died?

‘Was it during the crash?’

My attack was reckless but the opportunity was one I couldn’t pass on. I decided to at least make sure the driver was safe and confirm that Henry died before I left. I pried open the driver’s side door and just as I was about to put away my scarlet blades, a body lunged at me.

I felt something sharp pierce my shoulder so I thrust the scarlet blade attached to my free hand in response, striking flesh. I pushed the man away from me and discovered it was Henry who managed to survive.

Henry choked on the blood caught in his throat with a pale blue face. While he rolled around on the street, I took note that Spectral Bow didn’t have the same kill potential for everyone. It seemed that the gifted were more resilient as Henry still had the strength to try and catch me by surprise.

When his body became weaker, all he could do is look up at me with an unwilling gaze that demanded answers from me. I didn’t give him any. I pried out the sharp needle that was embedded into my shoulder as I looked over him.

I was the last thing he saw and his life ended just like that. With him dead, I could finally run away. By now, there were people peeking through their windows or standing in doorways nearby, taking videos of me. I dashed into a side-street and ran for some time until I thought I wouldn’t be discovered before taking to the air.

All the while, I felt my mind growing clearer as well as a weight being lifted from my shoulder.

…

A few hours later and I was dragging my feet to the apartment complex. It was late when I came back and I was tired, but I hadn’t failed. I saw the entire situation going a bit differently in my head. My sore shoulder was a biting reminder of letting my guard down for a moment.

“Hmm?” I softly exclaimed after seeing someone familiar sitting in front of my door.

Speaking loudly, I called out to her, “Rusalka?”

She jolted awake, looking around in a daze before quickly standing. I looked at her closely and she didn’t appear to be angry. Or… well, to tell the truth, it was difficult to make out what her current expression was.

“Were you waiting all this time?” I asked apologetically.

“...Yes,” She said only after a few moments had passed.

I took notice of the notebook in her arms and could see that her desire to learn was her primary motivation. With a wry smile, I moved past her and opened the door to my apartment before gesturing toward her.

“Make yourself at home,” I said, but inwardly I couldn’t help but think that it would be best to just check the grimoire before going to bed.

…

A little while later, I was handing a cup of coffee to Rusalka before sitting across from her.

“So… what is it that you don’t understand?” I inquired.

“Some of the elemental runic signs appear to repeat with minute differences, is there some significance?” She slid a copy of the runes I passed to Evanora toward me.

I scanned over them before nodding accordingly.

“Ah, um, so-” I paused, thinking of how to best explain it.

The structure of the runes was still a bit of a mystery to me, but there were still some things I could easily answer.

“Oh!” I clapped, finally understanding how to explain.

I traced my finger over three similar looking runes and began speaking.

“The slight variations in the runes are actually pretty important. For example, this wave-like character means water, right? The character next to it may look similar but it means rain. The third one is a bit more complicated as it can mean, fog, mist, or cloud. So, while they are all related, each one would have a different result when applied. Imagine thinking you tried to use fog to cover your escape, but you accidentally made a little rain instead.”

I chuckled to myself but stopped after noticing Rusalka seemed to lack an active imagination. Yeah, it was definitely her and not me who was the problem.

“Okay, I think I understand,” She spoke aloud, but it didn’t feel as if it was directed at me.

She traced the water sign across the table and left a trail. Before I could ask about it, a small- and I mean tiny- cloud of condensed fog rose up and began to float in the air.

“You…” I wasn’t sure how she did it or-

“Wait, is that apart of your innate gift? ” I asked.

Rusalka simply nodded her head before dissolving the rune she drew and moved onto the next one.

“Does this rune mean ice?”

“Snow,” I corrected her.

The rune in question resembled a straight line with three solid circles above it. Alternatively, hail was represented by three diamonds above the straight line. Ice, the main rune, was symbolized by three overlapping lines. Just one or two lines were, in fact, the earth sign.

Complicated, yes

Runes representing blood, poison, and things that didn’t represent elemental signs were even harder to decipher. Funnily enough, the runic alphabet was pretty straightforward when comparing it to everything else.

We went over the signs a bit more and Rusalka surpassed all expectations I had, almost instantly comprehending them. I asked if all witches could learn as fast as she had and she told me it varies.

So, it was a matter of talent I guess. I was a little jealous, to begin with since I thought all witches were fast learners, but seeing as she was just a genius made me feel a tiny bit better. After all, a majority of my comprehension came from the grimoire on my hand rather than directly learning.

A little over an hour later, she left after imparting me a formal ‘thank you.’

After making sure my door was locked, I headed to my room and unsealed the grimoire from its ring form. Opening it expectantly, I was happy with what I began to read.

When you choose a path, you must walk with conviction, some roads offer no return.

You have settled a debt with the dead, gaining a deeper affinity with death. Select an additional path, but be warned, it cannot be changed afterward. All of your current knowledge will be altered to fit both your current path and whichever you select, should you choose to do so… expect your body to resist.

Once again and for the last time, you must choose:

Path of the Curse Wielder: The first lich spoke in a cruel tongue, one that could rival the song of angels, and those who were made to listen to it were broken, unable to bear the sound of it. Inherit the language of the first lich and let yourself be heard until they cannot hear anything more.

Path of the Death Priest: There is something divine in death, this cannot be denied, no matter the path you take. If you choose to embrace that innate divinity, the long forgotten and otherworldly deities who can exert control over death may embrace you as their saint. Each sacrifice made in their name will bring you closer to something greater.

Path of the Dread Sorcerer: The ancient arcana found in this path were built on the concepts of life and death. This path is an affront to all of creation and to embark upon it means to stand in solemn defiance, drifting between the barrier of both living and dead and areas even beyond that. Shallow words denoting the harsh realities of this choice are not necessary. You will be broken.

I carefully poured over each line, finding the descriptions had become more elaborate and hinted at some history that wasn’t of this world. If that wasn’t obvious enough.

I felt my heart race a little. Not from the idea of gaining more power, but the fact that the artifact in my possession seemed to be far stronger than I thought. Unless it was false-advertising inscribed on the pages in front of me, then I was looking at an opportunity to exceed some of the strongest gifted. That was a prospect that was equal parts exciting and daunting.

My finger hovered over each, now finding them to be more complex than I originally knew. If my previous comprehension was too little, then what was the true nature of the Path of the Death Bringer. How would it affect my current choice?

When I thought that, a new line of text appeared.

During the twilight hours, Penelope made a promise with a being of unspeakable power. She would serve in both life and death. To become a Death Bringer is to draw from an echo of that old promise. For Death Bringers, the night is eternal and the wars are endless because they are the heralds of both.

Goosebumps rose on my skin as I read it. Did I sell my soul away unknowingly?

No, it didn't say so– Besides, even if I did, the moment I chose to enter the tomb which sealed the grimoire was essentially the moment I relinquished my freedom. I could have died then or I could’ve been possessed- or any number of terrible things.

The main point is, I made a choice while fully aware of the consequences. It would be idiotic to think this sudden change in my life didn’t have any strings attached.

“Whatever comes, comes,” I said aloud.

I spoke to the grimoire, but it didn’t respond. Even still, I wanted it to know that I wasn’t afraid of whatever else came.

I contemplated the weight of each choice and thought if I even wanted an additional path, but in the end, I decided to take one.

To become a Curse Wielder would be a callous decision. If I couldn’t guarantee that I could control the language mentioned, I faced the possibility of inadvertently hurting a lot of people. I had no desire to endanger random people in the pursuit of power.

Much like the first time, my sense of hesitation toward being a Death Priest hadn’t changed. Although it seemed like a beneficial relationship, the ones who hold all the power would be the deities I needed to appeal to. Though I wasn’t religious, I was hardly ignorant about the subject. Nearly all religious texts had some example of some dumb ass who ended up invoking the wrath of an angry god or even multiple gods. I had no confidence that I would somehow end up differently.

So, my eyes landed on Dread Sorcerer. It the most imposing choice of the three, but the one that gave me the biggest sense of security. By now, I realized there was pain involved in everything in this grimoire.

Weapons that hurt me, skills that broke my bones, knowledge that burned itself inside of my mind. The idea that more pain would come was hardly off-putting.

The grimoire understood my choice and the words began to fade before it rose into the air and slammed shut. The moment it did, I felt like a puppet with its strings cut and instantly collapsed.