Chapter 8

CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!

Two wide-open beaks snapped in greedy rhythm, wings flapping with excitement as Nikolai tossed another strip of smoked meat toward the hungry ravens. He couldn't help but laugh at the sight of them scrambling and squawking over every scrap.

"You know," he said, squinting as the smoke from the fire curled up into his face, "you two gonna eat all my meat if you keep this up." He smiled warmly, though there was no real worry. The ravens didn't consume enough to matter. He was just teasing.

The two birds answered with enthusiastic caws, as if agreeing to the challenge. He chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. "Artom, Igor," he said. The names came naturally, like he always knew them. It was funny, really. They looked identical—glossy black feathers, sharp beady eyes—but he could tell them apart. He just... knew. Maybe it was the magic bond between him and his familiars. It wasn't something he could explain, but he felt it in his bones.

Though only a week old, the birds had grown fast. Unnaturally fast. He didn't question it too much. After all, nothing about his life now followed the rules.

After feeding them, Nikolai turned to his daily training. Lifting logs in place of weights, sprinting across the uneven terrain, and doing pushups until his arms burned. He trained like a madman. It wasn't just survival anymore—it was about getting stronger. The undead weren't getting any weaker.

Each day had sharpened his body. His muscles had thickened, his stamina stretched further, and his reflexes sharpened. He wasn't the same boy who had woken up scared and clueless in a basement. No, that version of him had long been buried in blood and rot.

When night rolled in like a slow-moving curtain of smoke, he prepared dinner. The smoky scent of preserved venison filled the cabin. The meat from last week's buck soul hunt had kept well. He'd harvested six in one run, a small miracle considering the monsters crawling in that cursed forest.

He tore into a piece of meat with his teeth, chewing slowly. A chill ran down his spine as he remembered the passive skill he had gained from those rotting orcs: ORCISH PHYSIQUE.

It was a gift and a curse.

"Fucking hurts," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

The passive wasn't just about muscles. Orcs were monsters for a reason. Fast-healing, rapidly maturing, obsessed with food and fighting. Now that power ran through him. And it came with consequences.

He'd become hungrier, constantly craving meat. Not just craving—it was like his body needed it, like a fire that would go out if he didn't keep feeding it fuel. Orcs matured in one year. Nikolai was starting to feel like his body was trying to do the same. He was growing faster, hairier, stronger, and his hoarder instincts were in constant agony every time he had to consume his smoked stockpile.

"No gift is free," he muttered between bites. "Always gotta pay price."

He wiped his greasy hands on his pants and looked around. It was time to feed the ravens again. But they weren't in their usual spot on the perch.

"Artom? Igor?" he called, poking his head out the cabin door. No answer.

Then he heard it. A series of caws coming from below—the basement. Alongside it, dull thud sounds, like something heavy being dropped.

Alarmed, Nikolai rushed down the stairs, pulling the creaky door open with one hand and grabbing his dagger with the other. The air inside was damp and cool, filled with the smoky scent of stored meat—and the metallic tinge of something else.

There, near the racks of smoked venison, stood his two birds, each gripping a large rat in their talons. The rodents were bloody, their bodies riddled with holes. It looked like the ravens had stabbed them repeatedly with their beaks.

"Ah, damn rodents again," Nikolai said, sighing in relief. "You two really did a number on them, huh?"

Artom tilted his head and cawed proudly, dragging the twitching rat closer to him. Igor did the same. They looked up at him expectantly.

"Is this a gift?" he asked.

The two birds gave a firm caw.

He smiled and crouched down. "Good work. Papa proud." He gently stroked the tops of their heads with one finger. The ravens closed their eyes and leaned into the touch. For creatures not even able to fly yet, they were massive. Bigger than any juvenile raven should be.

'They're not normal,' he thought. 'But then again... what is?'

He looked at the twitching rats again. Blood seeped into the wooden floorboards. The souls... he could use them.

He cast UNDEAD VISION. The rats' spirits flickered, barely clinging to life. The mist responded.

Two wisps of silver light spiraled out of the rats and into the air before vanishing into his chest.

[ SOULS CONSUMED ]

[ SOUL CUP OVERFLOWING ]

Nothing changed. He wasn't surprised. The Soul Cup had been full for days. But he couldn't waste a soul, not even a weak one.

Then new text appeared.

[ YOU HAVE RECEIVED A TRIBUTE FROM YOUR FAMILIARS ]

[ BLESSINGS CAN BE GIVEN TO YOUR FAMILIARS ]

[ AVAILABLE BLESSINGS: ]

SENTIENCE

UNDEAD WILL

ORCISH PHYSIQUE

Nikolai blinked. "What the hell…"

The mist curled around his hands like a curious cat, glowing faintly. 'Just what are you?' he thought.

It never answered.

But the options intrigued him.

"SENTIENCE would make them smarter. Maybe they learn words or somethin'. UNDEAD WILL… maybe they don't die? And ORCISH PHYSIQUE…" He frowned. "That means more meat. Little bastards already eat so much."

But he couldn't deny it. If they were going to survive here with him, they needed strength. Maybe even more than him. The idea of those two sweet birds being torn apart by undead hands made his gut twist.

He looked at them again, lovingly. "You two wanna get strong?"

They cawed back, not understanding the words, but sensing the intent. They looked at each other, then back at him with burning curiosity.

They wanted to help. They wanted to protect their strange featherless father.

[ BLESSINGS HAVE BEEN GIVEN ]

The air grew cold.

Suddenly, both birds screamed. Their wings beat violently, their bodies seizing. Nikolai leapt forward, catching Artom and Igor in his arms as they convulsed.

"Hey! Hey! Easy! I got you, shhh…"

They writhed against him, beaks snapping in panic. Their eyes were wide, glowing faintly with unnatural light. Nikolai held them tight, whispering comfort, guilt wracking his heart.

"What did I do?" he whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you…"

He rocked them gently as the seizures subsided. The glow faded. The birds lay limp in his arms, breathing hard, but alive.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Papa's sorry."

They chirped weakly, leaning into his chest. They forgave him.

He sat there for what felt like hours, just holding them, waiting for their breathing to return to normal. Their feathers shimmered slightly now, a dark sheen that hadn't been there before. Their claws looked sharper. Their eyes… deeper.

Whatever he had done, it had changed them.

He didn't know what kind of monsters the world had just inherited… but he knew they would never be the same.

They would protect him. They would fight for him. They were his children, and they had been reborn.

And in the eyes of the supernatural world, two monsters now existed where only birds once were.

Artom: The Butcher and his brother,

Igor: The Demon.