Haneef_Metlo

Power comes at a price. His is everything.

Branded a traitor and left for dead, Malric awakens to a voice in his head—and a system that feeds on death. The Forsaken System grants him power by devouring the abilities, memories, and souls of those he slays. Each kill makes him stronger. Each use chips away at what little humanity he has left.

Hunted by the Church, stalked by monsters, and haunted by the very powers he steals, Malric must walk a brutal path through a world that has already turned its back on him.

But he's done begging.

If the gods won't give him justice, he'll carve it out himself.

A dark fantasy progression novel with system mechanics, soul-devouring, and a slow descent into monstrosity.

System of the forsaken

The storm passed in the night, leaving the battlefield soaked in rot and silence. Crows feasted on the fallen, wings slick with gore. Somewhere, far off, a horn blew—meaningless now.

Malric limped through the corpses, hand pressed against the half-healed wound in his side. Every step felt like tearing open stitches, but he pushed forward.

He had no home to return to. No family. No banner.

A ruined camp lay at the ridge ahead—tents torn, supplies abandoned in panic. A few bodies lay scattered. Bandits, maybe. Or deserters. He didn't care.

He needed a weapon. Food. Somewhere to think.

Inside a half-collapsed tent, he found a pack with a half-loaf of stale bread and a short, curved dagger. Not much—but enough.

His hand trembled as he picked it up.

> [Devour compatible: Item Rank D | Bonefang Dagger]

[Optional: Consume for passive bonus? Y/N]

He stared at the blade, knuckles white.

"Even steel?" he muttered. The system pulsed in response, eager.

He chose No. He needed it—for now.

Then came the sound. Leaves crunching. Soft, deliberate.

A man approached, limping slightly, but still strong. Older. Scarred. Chainmail stained with dried blood. A blade drawn.

One of the mercs from his old unit—Darran, the bastard who baited the trap and left Malric for dead.

Malric's heart surged. Not with fear. With clarity.

"You're alive?" Darran's voice held surprise—but no relief.

"Not for long," Malric replied coldly, eyes narrowing.

Darran raised his sword. "Orders are orders. Sorry, kid."

He lunged. Dagger met steel. Sparks flew.

He wasn't stronger. Not yet. But the system whispered behind his eyes. Every movement, every twitch—it showed him what to take.

Darran overcommitted on a downward swing.

Malric dodged, slid behind—and stabbed him in the gut.

Then he reached out—and devoured.

Black tendrils shot into Darran's flesh, and the man screamed as his body convulsed. Muscles twitched. Eyes rolled. His breath left in a rattling gasp as Malric absorbed him.

[Devour Efficiency remains: 10% | Rank F]

Malric dropped the corpse. The world felt brighter—sharper.

He flexed his fingers. His grip was stronger. His heart beat calmer.

He looked down at Darran's lifeless face.

s. No kings. No one to command him.

From now on, he would take what the world owed him.

Chapter Two: A Blade for No One