Echoes of Power

The silence after the fight is deafening. My apartment looks like a war zone—shattered glass, splintered furniture, and black ichor staining the floor. My heart is still pounding, adrenaline burning through my veins, but my hands won't stop shaking.

Cain doesn't seem fazed by the destruction. He calmly slides his knife back into its sheath and crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on me.

"Not bad for your first real fight," he says, as if this is just another day for him.

"First fight?" I snap, standing up despite my wobbling knees. "That thing came out of nowhere and tried to kill me! You call that 'not bad'?"

His expression is unreadable. "If you hadn't fought back, you'd be dead. Simple as that. You've got potential, but you're rough. Untrained. If you want to survive, you'll need to fix that."

I open my mouth to argue but stop when I catch my reflection in the shattered remnants of the mirror on the wall. My face is pale, my hair sticking to my forehead from sweat. But it's my eyes that catch my attention. For a moment, I think they're glowing faintly, the same sickly green as the runes on the staff.

"What's happening to me?" I ask, my voice quieter.

Cain exhales and leans against the wall, looking me over like he's deciding how much to say. "The Corrupted Priest isn't just a weapon. It's alive, in a way. The more you use its power, the more it integrates with you. That's why it's dangerous. It gives you strength, sure, but it comes at a price."

"A price?" I echo, my stomach twisting.

"It changes you," Cain says bluntly. "Corrupts you. Every time you call on its power, it takes a little more of you. Mind, body, soul—it doesn't care. You need to learn how to control it before it controls you."

The weight of his words settles over me, heavier than I'm ready to deal with. I want to scream, to throw him out, but deep down, I know he's right.

"Fine," I say, clenching my fists. "How do I control it?"

Cain's lips curl into a faint smirk, like he was waiting for me to ask. "That's more like it. Training starts tomorrow. But first, you need to clean up this mess. We don't want anyone asking questions."

I glance around at the destruction. He's right—this isn't something I can explain away. But the thought of scrubbing black ichor off my floor after fighting for my life makes my blood boil.

"You're joking," I mutter.

Cain shrugs. "Think of it as your first lesson. Always clean up after a fight."

The morning comes far too quickly. I barely sleep, every sound outside my window setting me on edge. By the time the sun rises, I feel like I've aged a decade.

Cain is already waiting for me when I step out of my apartment. He leans against the wall in the hallway, casual as ever, like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"You look terrible," he says by way of greeting.

"Thanks," I mutter. "What's the plan?"

He straightens up, his expression turning serious. "We're going to test your limits. I need to see what the Corrupted Priest can do—and how far you can push it before it pushes back."

That doesn't sound ominous at all.

We end up in a secluded clearing on the outskirts of town. The trees form a natural barrier, blocking out the noise of the city, and the ground is littered with fallen leaves.

Cain gestures for me to stand in the center. "Alright. Summon the staff."

I hesitate. "What if I can't?"

"You can," he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "You've already done it twice. Focus on that feeling—the pressure, the heat. Let it come to you."

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. The memory of the staff's weight, its hum of energy, rises to the surface. The pressure in my chest stirs, faint at first, then growing stronger.

When I open my eyes, the staff is in my hands. The runes glow faintly, pulsating in time with my heartbeat.

"Good," Cain says, nodding. "Now let's see what you can do."

Before I can ask what he means, he lunges at me.

His knife flashes in the sunlight, and I barely manage to raise the staff in time to block. The impact sends a jolt through my arms, and I stumble back.

"Hey! What the hell—"

"Focus!" he barks, slashing at me again. "The Corrupted Priest responds to your instincts. Stop thinking and fight!"

I grit my teeth, parrying his attacks as best I can. The staff feels alive in my hands, shifting and twisting to match my movements. Every swing sends a pulse of energy through my body, urging me to hit harder, to take him down.

Cain moves like a blur, his attacks relentless. My arms ache from the effort of blocking, and I can feel the corruption surging just beneath the surface, whispering to me.

More power, it seems to say. Use more power.

"No," I mutter, shaking my head.

Cain steps back, his knife still raised. "What are you waiting for? Let it out!"

"I don't want to lose control!" I shout, slamming the staff into the ground.

The energy erupts from the weapon in a shockwave, tearing through the clearing. Leaves scatter, and a few trees creak dangerously, their branches swaying. Cain is thrown back, landing on his feet with a grin.

"Not bad," he says, brushing dirt off his coat. "But you're holding back too much. If you don't push your limits now, you won't survive when it matters."

I grip the staff tighter, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The corruption still lingers, a dark cloud at the edge of my thoughts.

"I'm not afraid of the power," I say, my voice low. "I'm afraid of what it'll do to me."

Cain studies me for a moment, then nods. "That fear will keep you alive—for now. But you'll have to face it eventually. You don't get to choose whether the Corrupted Priest is a part of you. The only choice you have is how you use it."

I don't respond. Instead, I look at the staff in my hands, the glowing runes casting eerie shadows. It hums faintly, as if waiting for my decision.

Whatever comes next, I'm starting to understand one thing: this power isn't going away. If I want to survive, I'll have to learn to control it—before it controls me.