Shane Zorn

Shane Zorn POV

The room was suffocating in its silence. Complete, utter darkness wrapped around me like a living thing, I felt completely in my element here. In the middle of the room was the thing I had been training for.

The pentagram—a perfect circle etched into the blackened floor, glowing a soft, eerie purple. It blinked sporadically, a seal to keep beasts inside, Ragnarok's trademark. Within that sigil stood someone... something I'd been waiting for.

Its skin was pale, almost transparent, but streaked with black lines—thick, slithering veins of darkness, twitching beneath its surface like worms trapped beneath a thin membrane. Its single eye, which slid slowly across those black tendrils, did not blink or focus. It simply moved. Aimlessly. Restlessly. It was hideous in its stillness.

I couldn't see my own hands, but I felt the weight of my scythe, familiar and cold. I gripped it tighter as I stepped forward. The tip of the blade dragged lightly against the ground, sending a soft scratching sound echoing through the black.

I stopped just before the edge of the circle, staring at the creature. Its gaze—or whatever passed for one—never settled on me, yet I knew it was staring at me, probably wanting to consume, all beasts were like that.

"Finally," I said, my voice cold, yet filled with an exasperation I didn't know I was feeling.

With one smooth motion, I swung the scythe.

There was no resistance. The blade cut cleanly through the monster's neck, and its head toppled to the ground with a soft thud. The body remained standing, almost unnervingly so, for a moment before it collapsed, the flesh making a sickly, gelatinous sound as it slumped to the floor of the pentagram.

I stepped into the circle, my boots sinking slightly into the thick, jello-like substance that had once been the monster's skin. The purple glow flickered, casting the room in faint, sporadic flashes of light. The smell—it was strange. Not the metallic tang of blood or the rot of flesh, but something... sweet. Almost inviting. Exactly as Ragnarok had taught me.

I knelt beside the fallen creature and plunged my hands into its remains. The texture was strange—cold, smooth, and pliable. It wobbled between my fingers, I brought a piece of it to my lips. The moment it touched my tongue, something inside me snapped. My pupils dilated, and I could feel the raw, primal energy of the beast flooding my veins.

I devoured more, faster, shoving the gelatinous substance into my mouth, letting it slide down my throat. With each piece, I felt myself growing stronger, my body drumming with power. The black lines that had once covered the monster now etched themselves onto my skin, crawling over my arms and chest like living tattoos. My vision swirled, and everything became a blur of sensation, hunger, and raw, unrelenting strength.

As I consumed the last of the creature, something deep within me shifted. The room spun, and I collapsed to the floor, my vision darkening as I lost consciousness.

When I woke, everything felt different. Cold, detached, more so than usual—yet alive in a way that was utterly alien. I looked down and saw nothing. My body was gone, or perhaps it was never there to begin with. There was only mist, swirling and shimmering where my flesh should have been. I tried to reach out, but my hands were no more than shadows, thin and wispy, I had become the ghoul, this was the second trial, to keep my rationality.

The room was still pitch black, the pentagram beneath me barely visible, a faint glow outlining the sigil's edges. I also knew that this was just the beginning. I would be reliving a year of the beast's lifespan.

The hunger came quickly, a gnawing emptiness that threatened to consume what was left of my consciousness. But I remained cold, detached. This was all part of the process, after all. I had been prepared for this, trained to endure it. The hunger was something only lessers succumbed to.

Days blurred into weeks, then months. Time lost all meaning in this form. Every morning—or what I assumed to be morning—a door would creak open, and someone would place a piece of beast meat in front of me. They were careful, always wary, as if afraid of something. I knew it was me they feared, or rather, what this body had done.

The people who visited wore white robes, each adorned with the face of a ghoul—the symbol or Ragnarok. They would speak, their voices little more than background noise, filling the silence with idle chatter. At first, I ignored them, focusing only on the hunger. But after a while, their words started to filter through the haze.

One voice stood out among the rest—a woman with vibrant blue hair and piercing blue eyes, my protector. Her robe was different, bearing the faces of four ghouls instead of one, she was my protector, my valkyrie, Liv an Archdevourer. She spoke to me often, her voice a mix of reverence and panting.

"Baldür," she would say, her tone almost sing-song. "Child of the End. How are you feeling today?"

I hated that name, the name I had been given, after my training, the one that he had given me.

I never responded to her. I knew why she was here—to keep me tethered to my humanity, to prevent me from losing myself entirely to the beast. It was a futile effort. I didn't want her here. I didn't want any of them here. All I felt was a cold, seething hatred for these people, these worshippers who saw me as nothing more than a tool for their prophecies.

"I do hope, this is the year you are reliving, Baldür," she would continue, undeterred by my silence. "Every time, I think of you in there, it just, aahhh."

This woman, was mad, I couldn't believe she was my protector, her disgusting face, continued to blush. But I remained silent, conserving my energy, focusing on the transformation taking place within me. 

So I endured. I consumed the meat they brought me, the best way to keep rationality when undergoing this trial. I listened to the woman's words and moans. And all the while, I waited. For the day when this phase would end, when I would go back into my own body.

The blue-haired woman continued her visits, her words becoming white noise in the background of my existence. "I wonder how much will you retain," she would say. "Aahh, how nice it will be when we meet once more, Baldür."

Again, Baldür. I was Shane Zorn, not their child, and I would see to it, that they would remember that. 

As the year of the beast drew to a close, I felt a shift in the air. The world spun and blurred once more, just like it had done when I first came here, then I lost consciousness.

I felt my eyes flutter open, flesh and bone knitting together in a surge of power. The black lines that had once belonged to the ghoul were now a part of me, pulsing beneath my skin like living tattoos. As I rose to my feet, I began to feel the rise of my hunger.

I flexed my fingers, feeling the solidity of my form again. No longer a specter, I had returned—though how much I had retained from the ghoul I wasn't sure. My body hummed with power, but the hunger, though diminished, still lingered.

"The consumption is complete," I said, my voice cold and detached.

A familiar voice echoed in my mind, cutting through all my thoughts about the consumption.

"Big bro, when are you coming back to me?"

It was her—the one person who still mattered. The reason I had endured all of this. My sister's voice was unmistakable, yet distant. It wasn't really there, but all my instincts screamed otherwise. She was close—closer than she had ever been, but just out of reach. A promise I had made... long ago.

"Soon," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm of thoughts raging in my mind. I had to keep my promise. Not much longer now.