Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7: Soul Devoured
Nikolai stood in stunned silence. His mouth hung slightly open, eyes fixed on the pulsing Voice lingering in his head:
[ SOUL DEVOURED ]
"...Soul devoured?" he muttered aloud, letting the weight of those words settle into his thoughts like falling ash. Something inside him stirred with unease. Just what kind of things could this mist not devour?
He rubbed his temples slowly, deep in thought. Up until now, his strange experiments had revealed that the mist devoured specific types of items. He mentally reviewed the list he'd made from his trials:
1. Weapons.
2. Shields.
3. Armour.
4. Accessories.
5. Magic creatures.
6. Souls.
He frowned, tapping his foot. Accessories still puzzled him. He hadn't found a single one yet, so he had no idea what qualified. Rings? Charms? Bracelets? Something magical, probably. But it didn't matter much for now.
The rest were more straightforward. Weapons gave him well weapons simple enough. Shields improved his defense with an off-hand tool that could be better used as a weapon. Armour enhanced his durability, by protecting his flesh from the various undead that had came to kill him. Magic creatures were unique like the zombies and Orcs—they gave him spells, or passive abilities. The mist gives him only the basic knowledge onwhat the spell is and how to activate the said spell. It sounds like downgraded versions, sure, but then he could enhance them gradually over time through use and regular practice. It was like learning to write.
He chuckled faintly at the thought, then continued the analogy in his head.
It was like... a kid learning alphabets. The teacher teaches the kid how to write it. At first, their writing is complete trash—crooked lines, random sizes, just a mess. But with continuous practice, the handwriting improves. Eventually, with more practice it becomes neat. Maybe eventually even better than the teacher's.
And now, the mist could devour souls.
Nikolai's fingers twitched with unease. A new information was given by the voice inside his head:
[ DEVOUR MORE SOULS TO STRENGTHEN THE MIST ]
He exhaled slowly. That phrase... it made something shift inside him. It was like there was a hollow cup in his chest—his "soul cup," as he jokingly called it. It wasn't truly empty, but what sat inside it was barely a drop, the lingering essence of the grasshopper creature's soul. Barely enough to register.
With UNDEAD VISION still active, the world was cast in monochrome once again. He swept his gaze around, searching for flickers of life... or rather, flames. Flickering soul flames.
The forest was quiet this morning. Light filtered through the canopy above, dappling the ground in shadowy rays. He tugged his cloak around himself and set off into the deeper woods.
---
{ Three Hours Later }
The buck was an impressive animal, standing tall near a gentle stream. It chewed slowly, content. Its antlers were wide, symmetrical—a symbol of dominance during the rutting season. It had every reason to feel secure. It had survived for years, grown strong and wary.
But the forest had changed.
Thwip!
A black arrow cut through the air, piercing its hind leg. The buck stumbled, its knee buckling in confusion. A second arrow slammed into its other leg, dropping it instantly. The animal screamed—not with a sound, but with frantic, wide eyes and trembling limbs.
Nikolai emerged from behind the underbrush, knife drawn.
He grimaced. "I hope I'm not messing with the ecosystem or something..." he muttered under his breath. "Killin' too many of these guys... Isn't good."
He knelt and slit the buck's throat cleanly, letting the blood pour freely into the mossy earth. Steam rose as warmth fled the dying creature's body.
"UNDEAD VISION."
The world turned grayscale once more. A flickering soul-flame hovered above the animal's chest, dim and wavering.
He watched it, breath held. The mist immediately spread and encased the flame in one gulp.
[ SOUL DEVOURED ]
[ SUFFICIENT SOULS HAVE BEEN DEVOURED ]
Nikolai exhaled, shoulders sagging. "Finally..." It had taken six kills—six damn deer—to fill the soul cup. He was rewarded with meat, sure. But this soul hunt felt took almost the entire day with the sky already starting to become dark, nighttime was fast approaching.
He stepped back and waited. With the "soul cup" full, now it was time to see what the mist will do with it.
The warmth spread slowly at first. Like dipping your toes in warm water. Then it rushed upward, into his chest, wrapping around his own soul like a soft embrace. It was comforting... until it wasn't.
[ MIST HAS BEEN IMPROVED ]
A moment later, pain exploded in his skull.
"Ghhahhh!" he clutched his head and fell to his knees. It was like someone was hammering knowledge into his brain with a spike.
Ten seconds. Maybe less. But it felt like hours.
Then—clarity.
[ FAMILIARS CAN BE CONTRACTED ]
His breathing steadied.
"Familiars..." he whispered, blinking at the voice that came from his head. Knowledge appeared in his mind, and it gave him some information on what familliars are. The feeling of knowledge suddenly appearing in in his head was such an odd and alien feeling, it was very hard to describe it, he felt that it will cause another headache if he tried to explain that feeling even to himself. But so far, what he did know that familiars were assistants, guardians, pets, even combat partners. Useful in battle and support.
He rubbed his temples again, still recovering from the migraine, when—
CRACK.
A sudden impact hit the top of his head.
He panicked, spinning around and firing off a black arrow instinctively.
SQUAWK!!
The arrow found its mark, and a crow screeched before slumping on a tree branch. Impaled. Dead.
Something dripped down Nikolai's face.
"…Egg?"
He touched the wetness. Pale goo stuck to his fingers—runny yolk and a bit of blood. He looked down. A tiny, broken hatchling lay crushed at his feet, having fallen from the nest above.
"Oh..." he said quietly. "Blyat."
The crow's corpse dislodged from the branch as the arrow vanished, thudding to the ground beside her offspring.
Nikolai stared at them both. "...Blyat."
He bowed his head slightly. "Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't mean to kill you."
CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!
Startled, he looked up. More cawing.
He climbed the tree quickly and peered into the nest. Two small hatchlings remained, weak and trembling. Their beady eyes locked onto him. Instead of fear... they opened their beaks wide,they were expecting him to feed them.
"...You guys think I'm your dad?" he asked, dumbfounded.
He fished out some smoked meat from his pouch, chewed it, and spat small bits and fed into their open mouths with his fingers. They peeped happily, completely unaware of his guilt.
"You two sure are... ravenous," he chuckled softly at the pun. "Little ravens, huh?"
They kept chirping, mouths wide. He sighed and gave them the rest of his meat. He hadn't eaten since morning, but seeing them so eager sparked something inside him. Something soft.
A strange warmth bloomed in his chest—not from the mist. Something older. Something human.
He looked at them, then nodded to himself.
"Yup... I'm adoptin' you both."
[ BONDS HAVE BEEN MADE ]
[ YOU HAVE OBTAINED TWO FAMILIARS ]
He chuckled, picking up the nest carefully.
"Guess I'm a dad now."
---
{ Somewhere Beyond the Forest }
Evening had settled upon the small village nestled at the forest's edge. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys. Children laughed, old men traded stories, and women prepared stew by candlelight.
The people here lived simple lives, clinging to ancient traditions. Their gods were not the ones preached in towering churches. No, these were old gods. Nordic gods. Odin. Freyja. Thor. To outsiders, they were called pagans. Heretics. But to each other—they were kin. They were believers.
Their temple stood at the village's highest point, a stone structure shaped like a longhouse, carved with runes and animal totems.
Life was slow. Peaceful.
Until—
"EVERYONE RUN!"
A hunter burst from the forest, shirt torn, face pale with terror.
"WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
"THEY'RE COMING! A HORDE IS—"
Thunk.
An arrow silenced him. It lodged in the back of his skull, and he collapsed face-first into the mud.
Screams erupted.
From the tree line, dozens—no, hundreds—of shapes emerged. Undead. Rotting. Armed. Glowing eyes. Some dragged rusted swords. Others clawed forward with broken fingers. All with one purpose.
To kill.
"TO THE TEMPLE! EVERYONE TO THE TEMPLE!" roared a burly man with an axe. "BARRICADE IT! GET THE ORACLE—TELL HER TO PRAY TO ASGARD! WE NEED HELP!"
Children cried. Mothers screamed. Warriors grabbed what weapons they could.
The dead had come. And they would not stop.