Corrupted Truths

The antidote worked faster than Elion expected.

But not fast enough to stop the shaking in Jordan's limbs. His friend's breathing had steadied, sure—but there was still a tremor in every exhale. Sweat clung to his forehead like dew on glass. He looked better than he did five minutes ago—no longer ghost-white and barely conscious—but "better" was a generous term.

Jordan shifted and let out a low groan, clutching his left shoulder. "I didn't think getting poisoned would hurt this much," he muttered, trying to force a grin. "I give it… zero stars. Would not recommend."

He tried to chuckle at his own joke, but the sound came out as more of a wheeze. Elion watched him struggle to sit up, wincing with every movement like the poison still hadn't finished punishing him.

Some part of Elion wanted to joke back—say something snarky, lighten the mood. But the words wouldn't come. He was too busy watching how Jordan's fingers still trembled when they reached the cave. How his body leaned too much to one side. How his smile never quite reached his eyes.

"I'm just saying," Jordan added weakly, "if this happens again, I'm putting you in front next time."

Elion forced a breath through his nose. He sat beside Jordan as Ronan finished wrapping the last of the bandages—neat, precise, not a trace of panic in his movements.

"You're lucky Ronan's here with us," Elion finally said, his voice low. He hesitated, then glanced at Jordan. "If it had just been the two of us… I probably would've been dragging your corpse back to the city."

Jordan smirked and shook his head slowly. "Please. No way you could drag me that far. You'd be dead before we made it two blocks."

He meant it as a joke. But Elion didn't laugh.

Because he wasn't sure that Jordan was wrong.

Across the fire, Ronan sat back, brushing the dirt from his hands like he'd just finished fixing a tent instead of saving someone's life. His expression was unreadable, the firelight dancing along the edges of his jaw like flickers of judgment.

Elion's eyes lingered on him.

The calm. The ease. The control.

For someone who just watched other person nearly die, Ronan hadn't flinched. Hadn't rushed. Hadn't panicked. Elion tightened his jaw. He looked at Jordan—half-slouched, fighting to stay upright. Then back at Ronan.

"You could've helped sooner, right?" Elion said.

Not loud. Not angry.

Just a thought, slipping out like steam from a cracked pipe.

Ronan paused before answering. He leaned back, stretched his arms, and then relaxed. He let out a short laugh—dry and unexpected. It was rare for them to see him laughing even though it was not even a day they knew each other.

"That's a good lesson for everyone," he said, a hint of amusement in his golden eyes.

Elion frowned. "A… lesson?"

Ronan nodded. "Three, actually."

He held up a single finger. "First lesson, Jordan learns the hard way not to get too excited about fighting beast-men without knowing what they're really like."

Jordan sat up and rolled his shoulder to test how stiff it was. "Yeah, I get it," he said. He winced. "Poison claws suck."

Ronan smirked. "They do and you're lucky that… you're still alive."

He raised a second finger. "Second lesson, Jordan understands that the pain inflicted by beast-men isn't just for show. You feel it. It stays with you. You don't forget it."

"You're right. But…" Jordan let out a shaky breath and nodded, wincing slightly as he adjusted his posture. The usual spark in his eyes was dimmed, but his voice carried a trace of stubborn humor. "Are all three lessons for me? Then hurry up and hit me with the last one—before I pass out."

Ronan ignored him as his third finger went up. "And the last lesson?" He turned his gaze to Elion, his expression unreadable.

Elion swallowed. He did not know how, but he believed that the last lesson was going to be directed at him and he was right.

"If Jordan wasn't in a life-or-death situation, you wouldn't have jumped in," Ronan said. "You would keep on thinking and waiting. Never be the first to attack."

Elion was stunned. "What do you mean? I did my job as the bait."

Ronan took a moment before saying, "I understand this is your first time. But if you keep hesitating, it might be your last."

"My last?" Elion's hands curled into fists—not out of anger, but frustration. Ronan hadn't said it harshly, but the words still stung. Maybe because they were true. Or maybe because they came from someone like Ronan—someone who'd grown up in the Beast World, where hesitation probably got you killed. Elion didn't come from that world. And yet… the weight of the judgment still landed hard.

"It just doesn't make sense," Elion muttered, keeping his voice steady. "What makes you believe that I was hesitating?"

Ronan tilted his head slightly. "Are you sure you weren't?"

The question wasn't mocking. It wasn't meant to cut. It was calm. Measured. Like he was offering Elion a chance to tell the truth—to himself, more than anyone else.

A few feet away, Jordan leaned against the cave wall, wrapped in fresh bandages, pale and barely upright. He was quiet, still recovering, but his eyes stayed locked on them. He'd already been called out. Now, it was Elion's turn.

Elion didn't answer right away. He stared into the fire, its warmth brushing his face while everything inside him felt cold. His thoughts went back to the fight—Jordan falling, the ape-man charging, and him… still stuck playing the bait. Watching. Waiting.

He hadn't attacked when it mattered.

Ronan had seen it—what Elion didn't want to admit. He'd hesitated. Not because he was a coward, but because he didn't believe he could actually win. Not against something like that. He wasn't strong enough. Wasn't ready.

It wasn't until Jordan was about to die that he moved. Not out of courage—but fear. Desperation. And if that was the only thing that pushed him forward… then maybe it wasn't enough. Elion glanced down at his legs—the same legs that had kicked a beast-man off its feet. It felt unreal. Like it belonged to someone else.

Would he have done that if Jordan hadn't been in danger?

He doubted it.

He would've stuck to being the bait. It was safer. Smarter. Use his speed. Stay ahead. That was the plan. That was what he believed. But plans didn't save people. And now, he wasn't so sure what he believed anymore.

"You're right," Elion said. "I'll never attack. I was too afraid."

"Don't worry too much." Jordan, always positive, gave him a hard pat on the back. "At least we're both learning something tonight, right?"

Elion scoffed, rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah. Great lesson."

But Ronan wasn't finished. For a moment, he looked at the two of them—not with judgment, but with something harder to read. Then his voice dropped, quieter now. Almost distant.

"To be honest, this…" he said, nodding toward Jordan's bandaged side. "This is nothing."

Elion glanced at him, frowning.

Ronan didn't look up. His gaze lingered on the fire for a beat longer, like he was watching something none of them could see.

"One day," he said, "you'll be in the middle of a fight, and you'll watch someone fall. Someone you care about. And you won't be fast enough. Or strong enough. And no antidote will fix it."

His words landed with a heavy stillness.

Jordan stopped moving. Elion's breath caught in his throat. Because of the way Ronan said it didn't sound like a warning. It sounded like a memory.

"Being a Slayer," Ronan murmured, "is more than just fighting monsters. It's surviving when others don't."

Elion had no response. Because what could he even say? He had never been so focused on getting stronger—on learning how to fight—that he hadn't even thought about what it really meant to be a Slayer. He never wanted to be part of all of this. But now? Did he have a choice? Would he be able to handle that? Would he be able to keep going when the worst happened? He didn't know. And that scared him.

Elion exhaled. His head was spinning. There was so much he didn't know—so much he still had to learn. One thing was for sure. This journey was only beginning. He stared at the flames, the questions piling up faster than he could sort through them.

The rings.

The beast-men.

The transformations.

The insane strength.

He understood the history, about the First Slayer, about the wars between humans and beasts—at least, what little information that Ronan had shared with them—but the details?

That was still a blur.

One thing had been nagging him since the fight, though. He glanced across the fire at Ronan, who sat casually, legs stretched out, his golden-black ring catching the firelight with a faint, pulsing glow.

"You used a beast ring, too," Elion said, finally breaking the silence. "But… you didn't fully transform like the others."

Ronan's gaze slid to him, one brow raised. "Yeah?" he said. "And?"

Elion frowned. "The other beast-men that we faced, they went full monster mode. You just… changed your arm. Why?"

Jordan, still leaning weakly against the wall, perked up with a wince. "Oh yeah. That was bugging me, too. You looked partial-beast, more Ronan, the gorilla cowboy."

Ronan smirked and reached for his ring, casually spinning it between his fingers. The metal caught the light again—black and gold, ancient and alive.

"Smart question," he said, slipping it back onto his finger.

As it touched his skin, a subtle glow shimmered along the surface—like heat barely visible in the dark.

"My ring's different."

Elion blinked. "Different?"

Ronan nodded. "The ones those beast-men were using? High-tier white rings. But corrupted. That's why they looked black. Something… tainted them."

"Tainted?" Jordan echoed. "By what?"

"By something the Lord designed," Ronan said his tone flattening. "A dark essence—harvested from the worst parts of human nature. Rage. Greed. Desperation. Few others. It's sealed inside the Corrupted Beast Rings."

Elion's eyes narrowed. "So the corruption is intentional?"

Ronan gave a single nod. "Very. The Lord created these corrupted rings to be addictive. The more power you draw from them, the more they rewrite you. Twist you. Until the beast you summon… becomes who you are."

"I see…" Jordan's voice dropped to a whisper. "So that's why most of those things weren't human anymore."

"They were—once," Ronan said. "But the corruption consumed them. Bit by bit. Only the strong ones managed to remain sane."

He touched his ring, the golden-black surface catching the firelight. "That's the real danger. These rings don't just enhance you. They change you. And corrupted ones? They break the line between man and monster—on purpose."

Elion's brow furrowed. "But yours… doesn't do that?"

Ronan flexed his fingers slowly, watching the firelight ripple across his knuckles.

"No. Most rings don't," he said. "Corrupted ones are the outliers. Normal beast rings don't force full transformation. They work with the user, not against them."

He added, "I don't have to go full beast. I can shift only what I need. An arm. A leg. My senses. Whatever the situation calls for."

Jordan let out a low whistle. "Okay, yeah, that's way better. Full beast mode is creepy as hell."

"Agreed," Ronan said with a short laugh. "Honestly? What you've seen so far? That's just the ugly end of the spectrum."

Elion raised an eyebrow. "There's a… less ugly end?"

"Oh, definitely." Ronan's smirk widened. "Some forms don't even look beastly. Some are sleek. Subtle. Smart."

Jordan's eyes lit up despite the lingering fatigue on his face. "Alright, now that sounds cool. How cool are we talking?"

Ronan leaned back, arms behind his head.

"Think high-tech beast armor," he said. "Integrated weapons. Just war gear designed for slaying monsters."

"Cool." Jordan gave a tired but genuine grin. "Now we're really talking."

"But," Ronan added, stretching his arms behind his head, "Earth doesn't have enough energy to support that kind of transformation. At least for me."

Elion frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Ronan said lazily, "the world itself doesn't have enough energy. Back home, in the Beast World? Full armor or weapons are easy. But here?" He shook his head. "Really hard. The energy here is too weak."

Elion thought back to Ronan's earlier fight. "So, you're forced to use… what? A weaker version?"

"Not exactly weaker," Ronan corrected. "More like the most ideal. If I fully transformed here, I'd burn through my mana too fast. Would take way longer to recover." He tapped the ring. "The beast form? I can sustain it longer and recover my mana faster."

Elion absorbed that. The idea that a place existed where full transformations were normal—where this wasn't even considered strong—was insane. And concerning.

Then, something else clicked in his mind.

He pointed at Ronan's ring. "Your ring isn't normal either, is it?"

"This one?" Ronan held up his hand, letting the fire reflect off the golden-black metal. "Nope," he said. "It's special."

Jordan leaned in. "Special, how?"

Ronan grinned. "See the black streaks running through the gold?"

Elion and Jordan both nodded.

"This ring is designed to capture Corrupted Essence." Ronan's voice was casual, but there was something sharp beneath it. "The black smoke you saw coming from the beast-men's rings? That was Corrupted Essence. It gets stronger by devouring the souls of its victims."

"Souls?" Jordan was confused.

Elion's eyes narrowed as the pieces began to fit together.

"So the Lord's goal… Allows the Corrupted Essence devoured the souls and he is to grow stronger by collecting Corrupted Essence," he said slowly.

Then, a realization hit him. "That's why the rings exist—to spread it. To harvest it. The corrupted ones—they're not just weapons. They're tools. Enforcers."

He looked up at Ronan.

"The more they kill, the more souls they devoured. And all of that… feeds back to him, doesn't it?"

Ronan nodded slowly, his expression darkening.

"That's one way to simplify it," he said. "His end goal is to reclaim every Corrupted Ring—and consume the essence and souls trapped inside. That's how he plans to evolve. To become something far more stronger and dangerous than he already is."

"That's sick," Jordan muttered, his voice low. Not the cool kind of sick. The monstrous kind.

Elion felt a chill crawl down his spine. His eyes flicked to Ronan's hand. "But… your ring absorbs it?"

"Absorb and trap," Ronan confirmed, looking at the golden-black ring on his finger. The firelight danced across its surface, casting warped shadows that seemed to flicker with something darker.

"Both the corrupted essence and the souls. This ring's been modified—enchanted to contain the chaos instead of letting it run wild." He paused, then added, "But it's not perfect. I can't afford a high-grade version. Mine only captures a portion of the corruption. Maybe a bit more than half on a good day."

Jordan grimaced. "So you're still… trapping souls? People?"

Ronan didn't flinch. "I am."

He turned the ring once more, then slid it back onto his finger. "It's a rotten choice. But I have no other choice. At least this way, they're not being fed to a lunatic trying to become a god."

Jordan looked down, the weight of that truth settling in his chest. He understood. He really did. But that didn't make it any easier to swallow.

"For the greater good, huh?" he said softly.

Silence followed.

Heavy. Uncomfortable.

Because deep down, they all knew he was right. The corrupted rings weren't just weapons—they were harvesters. Tools of war collecting fuel for something far more terrifying. And for every corrupted ring out there, it meant someone—some human—had already been consumed.

Elion glanced toward the forest beyond the cave mouth, the shadows stretching long and cold. He wondered how many people had already fallen. And how many more would. Elion exhaled as he studied Ronan carefully. He still had a few more questions to ask. Especially the beast rings. He needed to learn about them better.

"So, is this your main ring, or you have another ring?"

Ronan let out a laugh. "Hell no."

Jordan stiffened. "Wait—what?"

"This isn't my main beast ring," Ronan clarified, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I'm only using this one for this mission."

Jordan's jaw dropped. "What? You're telling me you have an even stronger ring?"

Ronan grinned. "Oh, absolutely."

Elion wasn't sure if he felt better or worse after learning all of that.

Jordan sighed and rubbed his face. "Man, I thought we were getting close to understanding this, and now you tell us that?"

Ronan chuckled. "Get used to it."

Elion leaned back, running a hand through his hair, mind spinning. Different ring grades. Color tiers. Corruption, transformation, essence. And now this—Ronan's current power wasn't even close to his full strength?

He wasn't sure if they were lucky to have Ronan on their side… or if that meant the threats ahead were even worse than they imagined. And one thought settled uneasily in the back of his mind—quiet but hard to shake.

If this wasn't Ronan at full power… then was there something out there waiting—one that would actually force him to use it?