17.| What Makes Or Breaks A Thrall (2)
Name: Xavier
Race: Human
Class: Thrall
Level: 4
HP: 80/80
MP: 30/30
Strength: 12
Agility: 14
Vitality: 10
Intelligence: 8
Wisdom: 7
Charisma: 6
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Skills:
Reckless Valor (Level 1)
• Activates in high-stress situations
• Boosts Strength by 20%, Speed by 15%, and grants 50% Fear Resistance
• Duration: 5 minutes
• Cooldown: 1 hour
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Blade Dance (Level 1)
• Improves ability to deflect projectiles with a bladed weapon
• Projectile Defense +10%
• Chance to split incoming projectiles
•Duration: 5 seconds
• Cooldown: 20 minutes
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Danger Sense (Level 1)
• Provides a split-second warning before immediate danger
• Slight boost to reaction time
• Chance to activate: 25%
• Duration: Immediate
• Cooldown: 25 minutes
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Adrenaline Rush (Passive)
• Activates automatically in life-threatening situations
• Temporarily boosts all physical stats by 10%
• Ignores 20% of pain/damage while active
• Duration: Immediate
• Cooldown: 15 minutes
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Experience: 350/1000
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I banished the menu by thought alone. The skills weren't as terrible as I'd feared, yet my mind dwelled on more important matters.
Every thrall dragged to this cursed place bore the mark of their enslavement, seared into flesh. This new body of mine, battered and scarred as it was, would soon join their ranks. The thought of the pain to come made my guts churn.
No sooner had the dread taken root than the door creaked open, scraping against stone. I steeled myself, half-expecting some new tormentor to darken the threshold, another face to hate until my dying day. But no—it was Bryard again, grinning like a wolf that's caught the scent of blood.
Sunlight knifed through the barred window, catching on his yellowed teeth as he leered at me. "Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me, eh?"
"Hardly," I spat the words. "Figured you'd come slinking back once you noticed the same dark priest from yesterday."
He chuckled, a low sound that set my skin crawling. "Smart boy." His eyes glittered as he hefted a bundle of tools, metal glinting dully in the harsh light. "Thought I'd pop by, make sure you understand how I feel about liars."
The branding irons clinked together as Bryard laid them out. He stoked the fire, and as the flames licked higher, casting dancing shadows across the white stone, I felt my throat constrict from the smell of heated metal filling the air.
"What's your issue with this particular dark priest? Jilted lover?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them, dripping with sarcasm. Obedience had brought me nothing but suffering, so why bother holding my tongue now?
Bryard's gaze snapped up from the flickering flames, his face a mask of orange light and deep shadow. Those dark eyes of his seemed to absorb the firelight, two bottomless pits of malice.
"I hate them all," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "When the Daemons razed towns and left children's corpses rotting in the streets, the free cities came crawling to the Vatican, begging for help. You know what those bastards did?"
I lifted my chin defiantly, even as fear coiled in my gut. "If it were you, I'd slam the door in their faces too. But tell me, are you any better?" I jerked my head towards the door, eyes narrowing. "There are children here. Innocent—"
"Innocent?" Bryard's laugh was harsh. "A child without a mother is born in sin. All these bastards were cursed the day their whore mothers abandoned them." He picked up a branding iron, testing its weight. "But us Punishers, we filled these free cities. We brought the true teaching of the All Mother."
The conviction in his voice was terrifying. This wasn't just cruelty for cruelty's sake. This was zealotry, a twisted faith that justified every atrocity.
"Ever consider that the free cities won't save anyone worth saving because you Punishers have poisoned them with your twisted beliefs?" I snarled, the words hissing through clenched teeth. My defiance was a thin shield against the terror clawing at my insides.
Bryard approached with the glowing iron , his face a mask of righteous fury. In that moment, I understood with sickening clarity that the true battle ahead wasn't against the searing pain to come. It was against the madness that festered in men like him, the zealotry that turned cruelty into a holy act.
"I see there's no point in trying to enlighten you," Bryard said, his voice eerily calm. "Those who choose to be deaf and blind will remain so."
The iron descended, its heat radiating against my skin before contact. As it pressed into my left pectoral, the world exploded into white-hot agony. My mouth gaped in a silent scream, the pain so intense it stole my voice, my breath, my very thoughts.
"Now," Bryard hissed, his words cutting through the haze of my agony. Flecks of spittle hit my face, forcing me back to the harsh reality of my situation. His eyes, dark and unforgiving, bored into mine. "I'm going to ask you again, and this time it won't be a hot iron that mars that already scarred and fucked up body of yours."
I struggled to breathe through the pain, each intake of air sending fresh waves of agony through my branded chest. The smell of burnt flesh—my flesh—turned my stomach.
"Do you know that dark priest?" Bryard's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
I swallowed hard. "No!" The word came out as a ragged gasp. "I told you, it was the first time I met him. I don't know why he was following me, but I wish I did because he is causing me problems, as you can see."
Bryard's hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of my blonde hair. He yanked my head back, forcing me to look up at him. The sudden movement sent fresh pain lancing through my body.
His face loomed close, so near I could see the flecks of amber in his dark irises, could smell the sour stench of his breath. A smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"Oh, little thrall," he murmured, his voice almost gentle. "You have no idea what problems are. Not yet. But don't worry—I'm going to teach you."
I tensed, anticipating another blow. Every instinct screamed at me to cower, to shrink away from the pain I knew was coming. But something deep within me, a spark of defiance I thought long extinguished, flared to life. I lifted my chin, meeting Bryard's gaze.
"Do your worst," I said, the words falling from my lips with surprising ease. As soon as they left my mouth, I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact.
In that moment of darkness, my mother's face swam before me—her eyes filled with sorrow as she looked down at my broken body lying in the street. The memory of my death, still fresh and raw, gave me a strange kind of strength.
But the expected blow never came. Instead, I heard the sound of retreating footsteps. My eyes flew open in confusion.
"Trynton," Bryard called out, his voice echoing in the white stone chamber, "Unleash him and take him to the training grounds. Let's see what other worth I can wring out of this little mutt."