A Fool's Gamble

I was never a firm believer in higher powers, nor did I subscribe to the idea of miracles.

History, after all, is written by the victors, and victors have the luxury of shaping reality as they see fit. That was my truth. That was the foundation of my judgment.

So, following Dwayne's ridiculous advice of spilling my blood onto a card and tearing it in half? It sounded like something out of an occult ritual, a desperate act rooted in blind faith. And faith was something I did not possess.

Yet, right now, in this very moment, I was exhausted, beaten down, humiliated, and stripped of any semblance of dignity. Every day was the same: the pain, the taunts, the helplessness. A weak, pathetic failure unable to fight back, unable to escape.

And I was done.

"Look at him! Do you think acting pitiful will get you out of this? Too bad, I don't buy into that pity crap."

Laughter erupted around me, their jeers cutting deep, but I was beyond caring. As they indulged in their amusement, I slipped the card from my pocket, clutching it with trembling fingers.

I didn't need to injure myself. The blood I required was already spilling from my mouth, the bitter taste lingering on my tongue. Slowly, I raised a finger, smearing the crimson liquid onto the surface of the card.

Madness. That's what this was.

But desperation has a way of making even the absurd seem reasonable. I had been backed into a corner, pushed further than I ever thought possible. So if there was even the slimmest chance, no matter how irrational of finding a way out, I would take it.

A bead of blood trickled down my wrist as I sat there, weakened yet waiting, clinging to a sliver of misplaced hope.

"The hell is that?"

Justin's voice rang out, cutting through the moment like a blade. He had approached just in time to witness my actions, suspicion flickering in his eyes.

"Hey, Justin! I think he's cursing you." One of his lackeys piped up.

"Yeah, I read about that online. Smearing blood to cast a curse on someone you hate the most." Another chimed in, fueling the absurdity.

Justin chuckled. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he sneered.

"Is that it, Potty? Are you trying to curse me?"

There was no fear in his voice. Only mockery.

Truth be told, I didn't believe in it either.

Even as I held the card in my grasp, doubt gnawed at me. What was I expecting? That tearing a bloodstained card in half would summon some unseen force to end my suffering?

No. That was fantasy.

And yet, humans have a strange way of seeking out hope even in the most illogical of places. Perhaps this was my attempt to escape, to believe, if only for a second, that there was something beyond this miserable existence.

And so, gripping onto that foolish notion, I tore the card in half.

The sound of paper ripping echoed through the restroom, my gaze locking onto Justin's as I did so. For the first time, I met his eyes not with fear, but with something dangerously close to defiance.

A bold move. A reckless one.

The air stilled.

Justin's expression darkened at my audacity, his lips curling in displeasure. But before he could react...

A sudden gust of wind erupted from the torn card.

It wasn't a gentle breeze. It was a violent force, surging through the enclosed space with such intensity that it shoved Justin and his lackeys backwards. Even I, slumped on the floor, felt its weight pressing against me.

The restroom, once suffocating with the stench of damp floors and sweat, was now a vortex of swirling air.

"Yes! Yes!" My voice rang out, raw with exhilaration as I forced myself to my feet, resisting the gales that threatened to knock me down.

"Come on now, Justin! Feel the wrath of the occu—"

BOOM!

A fist slammed into my face.

Pain exploded in my skull. My vision blurred, the world spinning out of focus. My body tilted, the sensation of falling slow yet inevitable.

"Shut the hell up, you freak!"

I barely registered the words as my head collided with the cold, unforgiving tiles. A deep ringing filled my ears, drowning out everything else.

When I finally managed to gather my bearings, I found myself sprawled on the floor, my cheek swollen, my limbs aching.

The wind... the one thing that had given me hope... It was gone.

Nothing remained out of the ordinary. The restroom stood as it always had, the air still, the walls unchanged.

A cruel trick.

"Damn near scared the crap out of me," Justin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly unsettled but unwilling to admit it.

"You trying to curse me or something? Go on, do it! Let's see what happens!"

He punctuated his taunts with a sharp kick to my ribs. Pain flared through my body, but I was too drained to react.

Curled up, arms raised in a weak attempt to shield myself, I realized the gravity of my mistake.

I had angered him. And now, I would pay for it.

What was I even thinking? That some ridiculous ritual would grant me power? That a mere card could change my fate?

I was a fool. A desperate idiot clinging to fantasies. And now, because of it, I had only made things worse.

But then—

< +1 Strength >

I gasped.

Had I imagined that?

No. I was certain I heard it.

< +1 Strength >

There it was again. A faint, almost mechanical voice, whispering directly into my mind.

< +1 Strength >

The third time. Clear as day.

I wasn't imagining this. I wasn't mishearing.

Then, the voice changed.

< You have used a +3 Card. >

< First-time user detected. >

< Card ownership: Braveheart IX. >

< Title Earned: Sire of the IX Braveheart. >

< Eligibility confirmed. >

< You have been recognized as a Card Bearer. >

A chill crawled down my spine.

Something had changed.

And for the first time, I wondered—

Had I truly been a fool?

Or had I just taken my first step toward something far greater?