The darkness fell away.

  There was no new light in the room, but it didn’t matter. He could see the Order wretches around him. Their souls glistening red and vibrant.

  Delicious.

  The priestess in the center flinched, her hand slipping. Blood spilled. He could smell it in the air, rich with potential. Not a lot. Just a little. Just enough to excite him, to whisper of the rich soul that had filled it.

  His hand pressed against the wall that held him. It wavered.

  A rational core at the back of his mind said something about it being a barrier. About how, given time and materials and the right spell, he could break it.

  He ignored that voice. That was too slow. He needed it gone now.

  Force rippled through him. These paladins looked down on him, he whispered to it. These paladins thought him weak.

  Force roared, no meeker, no weaker than that of the dragon still rampaging in the halls. The wall shattered.

  He stepped out. Lightning danced between his fingers.

  There was a snap. The lights were on. The huge tauran rushed him.

  He’s too strong, the rational core said. He’d break before such an opponent.

  A blade of lightning formed in his hand. He brought it level with the rushing paladin and thrust. Lightning shot from the tip, hitting the tauran full in the chest. The man staggard. He shouted something.

  Rude. Disrespectful. Did he not understand?

  The priestess was chanting something.

  Dangerous, the rational voice warned.

  For the mortal he’d been, perhaps. But better not to tempt fate. He burst across the room to her, his lightning blade finding its way into her chest. Her body spasmed, but the crimson core at her center only pulsed.

  He wanted it. It called to him. It would fill him.

  He reached for it, his free hand clawing through flesh after the core, but they found only blood and viscera. How did he grab it? How did he get the delicious potential inside it?

  Sunder (Lvl ?) (???)

  [Crack her open like an egg. Devour her potential.]

  Ah. That was how. He reached out, this time activating the skill, watching with fascination as the ruby core fractured. So many pieces. All so tasty looking.

  She fell limp. The other priests around her broke, running in every direction. The other paladin charged him.

  He ignored them all. This was more important.

  He’d broken it open. Now what? The shards fell through his fingers, the same as the whole core had.

  Devour (Lvl ?) (???)

  [Take what is yours.]

  Of course. How silly of him. The skill sprang to life, and the pieces flew into him. They were warm. Each whispered of a life he’d never lived. A devotion to a goddess. A lover waiting in a far-away city. A garden growing in humble earth. Fractured moments with no context. Whispers and voices and desires. Raw edges, all waiting to be found.

  And power. Oh, so much more power.

  The young man on the altar said something. Called a name. There was pleading in his eyes. Blood dripped down his neck, as ruby red as the core glistening within. A long fracture ran over its otherwise perfect surface. Damaged fruit. How unpleasant. Who had done this to him?

  Who would dare hurt Ahryn while he was here?

  No. Wait. The boy was a sacrifice to the goddess. A meddler. The blemish on his soul proof his only purpose was as an offering.

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  An offering to who?

  To him.

  Sunder the soul, who cared about scars when it would fall to perfect bite-sized pieces at but a thought.

  No. This was Ahryn. He needed to be protected. Weak, fragile Ahryn. Sickly Ahryn. Better sheltered at home with a book than on the training field.

  Better on a sacrificial altar to the goddess than on the training field.

  Better broken to be eaten than given to another.

  The young man was yelling. The words meant nothing to him. Disgusting Jothi, unless he was mistaken. A language of hypocrites and liars. And yet, their souls looked so tasty.

  A sword swung at him.

  At Ahryn.

  He snarled, turning on the interloper. He caught the offending sword on his lightning blade and redirected it wide. His lightning blade swung around, removing the head from shoulders of this fool that dared interrupt him.

  But no, that wasn’t enough. This wretch had threatened Ahryn. Death was too easy. The soul within the man’s chest still flickered, fainter with every passing moment.

  He reached out and crushed the soul. Mashing it into a fine powder. A waste, whispered Devour. But deserved.

  The other wretches faltered. Good.

  Ahryn yelled something in that awful language of the peninsula. A plea. Fearful.

  Blood dripped down the boy’s neck.

  His hand reached out to it. The potential within was quickly evaporating into the aether, yet what remained sang to his broken soul.

  What would Ahryn taste like? It was a waste to give him to the goddess, wasn’t it? He needed to be protected. Where would be safer than within his own soul?

  He reached for Sunder but faltered. It was bad enough that poor Ahryn’s soul had been scarred. How could he consider adding to that damage?

  Wait. No. This was an opportunity. He, too, had been weak but a moment ago. But he had devoured a soul and become strong.

  Ahryn could do the same.

  He just needed an appropriate offering…

  There! He bolted across the room, snatching one of the sniveling robed men as he ran for the door. The core within quivered, but it was packed to bursting with potential. Yes, this would do.

  A pair of paladins surrounded him, shouting, swords and shields raised.

  They were in the way. His sword flashed out, slamming against the one in front’s shield. Metal scorched where lightning burned against its surface.

  Meanwhile, the other paladin swung at his back.

  He twisted, dropping his prize for a moment to trace out a pattern of lightning and force with his gloved off hand. Balls of lightning materialized in the surrounding air. With a flick of his wrist, they shot down like comets around him, striking cultists indiscriminately, burning through metal and cloth and flesh with the sizzle of electricity.

  The man before him crumpled under the onslaught, the one behind retreating in hopes of safety.

  He returned to the altar, sacrifice wriggling in hand.

  There were words for the rite of offering souls. Words in disgusting Jothi.

  No. That was unnecessary. Completely unnecessary when he could do this. His hand reached out to the quivering core and squeezed, Sundering it to pieces.

  He plucked a larger shard from the mess and held it up to the boy’s lips. Nothing happened. Why? Why was his offering rejected?

  Was this not the right way?

  Oh. But of course. There was not space in his core for this. It needed to be widened.

  He reached out again, carefully, delicately pulling at the scar across the boy’s core. If he just widened this, there would be plenty of space.

  The boy screamed, clutching at his chest. Screaming for mercy. For it to stop.

  There was no need for that. This would make him strong. He just needed to accept it. Inch by inch, the wound across the boy’s core widened. Widened until it was all but folded open.

  The boy’s screams ricocheted around the room, terrible and delicious. Potential rolled before him. Perhaps a taste was in order before…

  There was movement out of the corner of his eye. The big tauran was on his feet again. More yelling. More revolting Jothi. The man charged again, his sword swinging wildly.

  How dare he swing that in front of Ahryn? This was a sacred place. Not a place for barbarics. Paladins, honestly. They thought they were in charge because they were the martial branch? What did they know of the rite?

  He raced forward to meet the tauran. His lightning blade met the hulking man’s long sword. His body buckled under the tauran’s Strength. Only level 40, yet he was struggling so much? That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

  How was he to—

  —protect Ahryn?

  —defend his goddess?

  —kill the Jothi woman that had done this to him?

  —devour them all?

  Their swords clashed again and again. Force rippled through him. Lightning leaked into the air. All the while, the tauran’s core pulsed beautiful and delicious. Just out of reach.

  Every hand reaching with Sunder was slapped aside by the tauran’s blade.

  It didn’t matter. He’d get it, eventually. The dance of swords was enough for now. His father would be impressed he was keeping up with a level 40 swordsman. This would show those martials they weren’t that special. Anyone could do this. The tauran’s blood would be a treat before the main event.

  He lunged with his blade of lightning. The tauran turned him aside with that giant shield and returned the favor with a powerful downward swipe of his long sword.

  He couldn’t dodge. Filthy martial, using his greater Strength and Dexterity to bully non-martials. He’d show the stupid Lord Talus who was really in charge. He whispered the chant of Fortitude’s Protection. He wasn’t the head priestess for no reason. His chant was the fastest. His shield, the strongest.

  The green shield appeared between them. Lord Talus’s sword landed squarely on it, yet moved no closer. The tauran’s eyes widened in surprise. Idiot. Did he really look down on him so much?

  His lightning blade darted around, snaking through the tauran’s guard and into his side. The tauran didn’t so much as grimace. Not until the Sunder cracked at his core.