Millhaven was bigger than I expected.

  Not a city by any stretch—maybe a few thousand people at most—but compared to that pathetic farming village, it might as well have been a metropolis. Stone buildings lined cobblestone streets, merchant stalls crowded the main square, and I could see at least three different taverns from where I stood at the town's edge. The walls were actual stone too, not the wooden joke I'd seen before, with guards posted at regular intervals.

  Real guards. Not the half-trained idiots from the village, but men who looked like they'd actually seen combat. They wore matching leather armor with the baron's crest—a silver hawk on a blue field—and carried proper steel weapons.

  Good. That meant this place had something worth protecting.

  I pulled my hood lower and joined the flow of people entering through the main gate. The guards were checking wagons and questioning merchants, but they barely glanced at me. Just another traveler's kid, nothing worth their attention. Perfect.

  The moment I stepped inside, I felt it—the pulse of life all around me. Hundreds of people, thousands of heartbeats, an ocean of potential power just waiting to be taken. My fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, to drain them all, to gorge myself on their life force until I was bursting with strength.

  But that would be stupid. Suicidal, even. A massacre like that would bring every knight and adventurer in the region down on my head, and I wasn't ready for that kind of attention yet.

  Patience. Strategy. Take what I needed and disappear.

  I made my way through the crowded streets, listening to conversations, watching the flow of people. Millhaven was a trade hub, that much was obvious. Caravans came through regularly, bringing goods from the capital and the eastern provinces. Which meant money. Which meant weapons.

  I spotted what I was looking for after about twenty minutes of searching—a blacksmith's shop on the edge of the merchant district. The sign hanging above the door showed a hammer and anvil, and I could hear the ring of metal on metal from inside. Smoke poured from the chimney, and the heat radiating from the building was intense even from the street.

  I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The interior was exactly what I expected—a forge dominating one wall, racks of weapons and tools lining the others, and a massive man hammering away at a piece of glowing steel. He was easily six and a half feet tall, built like a bear, with arms thick as tree trunks and a beard that reached his chest. Sweat poured down his face as he worked, each strike of his hammer precise and powerful.

  He didn't look up when I entered. "Shop's closed to children. Come back with your parents."

  I walked up to the counter anyway. "I'm here to buy a weapon. I have coin."

  That got his attention. He set down his hammer and turned to look at me, his expression somewhere between annoyed and amused. "A weapon? Boy, you're what, eight? Nine? You should be playing with wooden swords, not—"

  I pulled out the coin pouch I'd taken from the bandits and dumped it on the counter. Silver pieces scattered across the wood, maybe forty or fifty of them. Not a fortune, but more than enough to buy a decent blade.

  The blacksmith's eyebrows rose. "Where'd a kid like you get that kind of money?"

  "Does it matter?" I met his gaze without flinching. "I have coin. You have weapons. Let's do business."

  He studied me for a long moment, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was trying to figure out if I was worth the trouble, if dealing with a child—even one with money—was going to cause him problems down the line.

  Then he shrugged. "Your funeral. What are you looking for?"

  "A sword. Something balanced, durable, and sharp enough to cut through bone."

  "Practical." He nodded approvingly. "Most kids your age want something flashy. Big and heavy, lots of decoration, useless in a real fight." He gestured to a rack on the wall. "Those are my standard blades. Good steel, well-balanced, will last you years if you take care of them."

  I walked over and examined the weapons. They were well-made, no question about that. Clean lines, solid construction, the kind of blades a professional would use. But they were also... ordinary. Mundane. Nothing special.

  "What about something with an edge?" I asked. "Enchanted. Cursed. Something with power."

  The blacksmith's expression darkened. "Those aren't toys, boy. Enchanted weapons are expensive, and cursed ones are dangerous. Most people who try to use them end up dead or worse."

  "I'm not most people."

  He stared at me again, and this time I let him see it—the darkness that lurked behind my eyes, the cold certainty that I knew exactly what I was asking for. His face went pale, and he took an involuntary step back.

  "What... what are you?"

  "Someone who needs a weapon that matches what he is." I kept my voice level, calm. "Now, do you have something, or am I wasting my time?"

  The blacksmith swallowed hard. For a moment, I thought he was going to throw me out, maybe even call the guards. But then something shifted in his expression—fear mixed with resignation, like he'd decided that refusing me would be more dangerous than helping me.

  "There's... one blade," he said slowly. "In the back. I don't sell it because no one can use it. Every person who's tried has either gone mad or died within a week."

  "Show me."

  He led me through a door behind the forge, into a storage room filled with half-finished projects and old equipment. At the far end, locked in a reinforced chest, was a sword wrapped in black cloth.

  The moment I saw it, I felt the pull. A resonance, like the blade was calling to me, recognizing something in my nature that matched its own.

  The blacksmith unlocked the chest with shaking hands and unwrapped the cloth.

  The sword was beautiful in a terrible way. The blade was black as midnight, with veins of dark red running through the metal like frozen blood. The edge gleamed with an unnatural sharpness, and the crossguard was shaped like skeletal hands reaching up to protect the wielder. The pommel held a dark crimson gem that seemed to pulse with its own inner light.

  "It's called Nightfall," the blacksmith said quietly. "Found it in a ruin about ten years ago. The moment I touched it, I knew it was wrong. Cursed. It whispers to whoever holds it, promises power, tries to corrupt them. Three people have tried to wield it. All three are dead."

  I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the hilt.

  The whispers hit me immediately—a chorus of voices speaking in languages I didn't know, promising strength, offering knowledge, trying to worm their way into my mind and take control.

  I laughed.

  "You think you can corrupt me?" I said to the blade. "I'm already corrupted. I'm already damned. You've got nothing I haven't already embraced."

  The whispers faltered, confused. Then they changed, shifting from seduction to recognition. The blade wasn't trying to control me anymore—it was acknowledging me. Accepting me.

  I pulled it from the chest and gave it a few experimental swings. The balance was perfect, the weight exactly right for my current size. And I could feel the power thrumming through it, dark magic that resonated with my own.

  "How much?" I asked.

  The blacksmith was staring at me like I'd just sprouted a second head. "You... you're not affected by it."

  "I asked how much."

  "Take it," he said quickly. "Just take it and get out of my shop. I don't want your money. I don't want anything to do with whatever you are."

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  I considered arguing, but honestly? Free was better than paid. I gathered up my coins from the counter and headed for the door.

  "Boy," the blacksmith called after me. "Whatever you're planning to do with that blade... don't come back here. Don't ever come back here."

  I didn't bother responding. I had what I needed.

  The sword felt right on my hip as I walked through Millhaven's streets. Nightfall. A fitting name for a weapon that would help me bring darkness to everyone who'd wronged me. I could feel its power humming in tune with my own, amplifying my connection to the dark magic that flowed through my veins.

  But a weapon was just a tool. I needed to test it, to understand what it could do, to see how it would work with my magic.

  I needed a target.

  The opportunity came sooner than expected.

  I was passing through a narrow alley between two warehouses when I heard voices—rough, aggressive, the kind that meant trouble. I paused at the corner and peered around.

  Four men had cornered a woman against a wall. She was young, maybe twenty, dressed in simple traveling clothes. One of the men had her by the arm, while the others blocked any escape route.

  "Come on, sweetheart," the leader was saying. "Just hand over the coin and we'll let you go. No need to make this difficult."

  "I don't have anything," the woman said, her voice shaking. "Please, just let me—"

  The leader backhanded her across the face. "Don't lie to me. We saw you at the merchant's stall. You've got money."

  I should have kept walking. This wasn't my problem. The woman was nothing to me, just another sheep in a world full of predators.

  But then I thought about the weapon at my hip, about the need to test it, and about how these four idiots had just volunteered themselves as practice dummies.

  "Hey," I called out, stepping into the alley.

  All four men turned to look at me. The leader's expression went from surprise to amusement in about half a second.

  "Well, well. What do we have here? You lost, kid?"

  "Not lost," I said, walking closer. "Just wondering if you four are as stupid as you look."

  The amusement vanished. "You got a death wish, boy?"

  "Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing."

  The leader nodded to one of his companions. "Teach this brat some manners."

  The thug drew a knife and came at me, probably expecting me to run or cry or beg. Instead, I drew Nightfall.

  The blade sang as it left the sheath, a sound like wind through a graveyard. The thug's eyes widened as he saw it, but by then it was too late.

  I moved.

  The sword cut through his knife like it was made of paper, then continued through his arm, his chest, his neck. Three strikes in less than a second, each one precise and lethal. The thug collapsed in pieces before he even realized he was dead.

  The other three stared in shock.

  "What the fuck—" the leader started.

  "Chains of the Damned."

  I thrust my free hand forward, and black chains erupted from the shadows, wrapping around all three men before they could react. They screamed as the chains tightened, biting into their flesh, draining their life force directly into me.

  But this time was different. The sword was amplifying the effect, channeling the stolen life through the blade and back into my body with twice the efficiency. I could feel myself growing stronger with each passing second, my muscles developing, my bones lengthening, my power expanding.

  "Please," the leader gasped. "We're sorry... we didn't know... we'll leave... we'll—"

  "You know what I hate most about people like you?" I said conversationally, walking up to him as the chains held him immobile. "You prey on the weak because you think you're strong. But you're not strong. You're just bullies. Cowards who only feel powerful when you're hurting someone who can't fight back."

  I pressed Nightfall's point against his chest. "Let me show you what real power looks like."

  "Reaper's Judgment."

  Dark energy flowed from my hand, through the blade, and into his body. His eyes went wide as the magic tore through him, not just draining his life but consuming his very essence. His screams echoed through the alley as he withered, aged, and finally crumbled to dust.

  The other two died seconds later, their life force feeding the growing inferno of power inside me.

  When it was over, I stood alone in the alley with the woman, who was pressed against the wall, staring at me in absolute terror.

  "You're... you're a monster," she whispered.

  I looked down at Nightfall, at the blood that should have been coating the blade but had instead been absorbed into the metal, feeding its hunger.

  "Yeah," I said. "I am."

  I turned and walked away, leaving her alive. Not out of mercy—I didn't do mercy—but because she was harmless. A witness who would spread stories about a child with a cursed blade who killed four men without breaking a sweat.

  Good. Let the stories spread. Let people start to fear the darkness.

  I left Millhaven that same night.

  There was no point in staying. I had my weapon, I'd tested it in combat, and I'd already drawn more attention than I wanted. The woman would talk, the guards would investigate, and eventually someone would start asking questions I didn't want to answer.

  Better to disappear before that happened.

  As I walked the road heading north, away from the town, I took stock of my situation. The life force I'd absorbed from those thugs had pushed me further along—I looked about ten now, maybe eleven. Still a child by most standards, but getting closer to the age where I could move through the world without constantly being dismissed or underestimated.

  The sword at my hip felt like an extension of my own body. Nightfall wasn't just a weapon—it was a partner, a tool that understood what I was and amplified my power instead of trying to control it. Together, we were something far more dangerous than either of us alone.

  But I was still weak. Still vulnerable. I'd killed bandits and thugs, sure, but what about trained soldiers? Knights? Mages with real power? I needed to keep growing, keep hunting, keep consuming until I was strong enough to face anyone.

  The road ahead was dark and empty, lit only by moonlight. Perfect.

  I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses, feeling for life in the surrounding area. There—about a mile off the road, in the forest. Something big. Something powerful.

  A predator.

  I smiled and changed direction, heading into the trees.

  Time to hunt.

  The creature was a dire wolf, easily twice the size of a normal one, with fur black as pitch and eyes that glowed red in the darkness. It was feeding on the carcass of a deer when I found it, tearing into the meat with savage efficiency.

  I watched it for a moment, studying its movements, its strength, the way it carried itself with absolute confidence. This wasn't some desperate animal fighting for survival. This was an apex predator, a creature that had never known fear.

  Good. That would make it more satisfying.

  I stepped out of the shadows, Nightfall drawn and ready.

  The wolf's head snapped up immediately, its glowing eyes locking onto me. It growled, low and threatening, blood dripping from its jaws.

  "Come on then," I said quietly. "Show me what you've got."

  It lunged.

  The wolf was fast—faster than anything I'd fought before. It closed the distance in a heartbeat, jaws wide, going for my throat. But I was ready.

  "Shadow Step."

  I dissolved into darkness and reappeared behind it, Nightfall already swinging. The blade bit deep into the wolf's flank, drawing a howl of pain and rage. Dark blood sprayed across the forest floor, but the wound was already closing, the creature's natural regeneration kicking in.

  Interesting.

  The wolf spun and came at me again, this time more cautiously. It circled, looking for an opening, its intelligence evident in every movement. This wasn't just a beast—it was a hunter, and it recognized me as a threat.

  We danced through the forest, trading blows. The wolf was stronger and faster, but I was smarter and had magic on my side. Every time it lunged, I used Shadow Step to dodge and counterattack. Every time it tried to overwhelm me with raw power, I used Chains of the Damned to bind it in place.

  But it was learning. Adapting. Each exchange taught it more about my patterns, my limitations.

  I needed to end this.

  "Nightfall," I whispered to the blade. "Let's see what you can really do."

  The sword pulsed in response, dark energy flowing through the metal. I could feel it offering me more power, more strength, but at a cost. The blade wanted to feed, wanted to consume, and it was willing to lend me its full strength if I let it.

  Fine. I'd already sold my soul once. What was one more deal with darkness?

  I accepted the offer.

  Power flooded through me, so intense it was almost painful. My body moved faster, hit harder, my magic amplified to levels I'd never reached before. The wolf lunged one final time, and I met it head-on.

  "Reaper's Judgment: Execution."

  Nightfall blazed with black fire as I drove it through the wolf's skull. The creature's howl cut off mid-sound as the blade's power tore through it, consuming not just its life force but its very existence. The massive body convulsed once, twice, then collapsed.

  I stood over the corpse, breathing hard, feeling the stolen power flowing into me. This was different from the thugs, different from the bandits. This creature had been strong, truly strong, and its essence was like a feast compared to the scraps I'd been taking before.

  My body responded immediately. I could feel myself growing again, muscles developing, bones lengthening, my physical form catching up to the power I'd been accumulating. When the transformation finally stopped, I looked down at myself and realized I'd aged another year or two. Twelve, maybe thirteen now.

  Good. The stronger I got, the faster I could move toward my goal.

  I cleaned Nightfall on the wolf's fur and sheathed it. The blade was satisfied, sated for now, but I could feel its hunger lurking beneath the surface. It would always want more. Always need to feed.

  Just like me.

  I made camp in the forest that night, too far from any roads or settlements to worry about being disturbed. As I sat by a small fire—more for light than warmth—I thought about what came next.

  Millhaven had been useful, but it was small-time. If I wanted real power, real resources, I needed to aim higher. Bigger cities. Stronger opponents. Places where I could test myself against people who actually knew how to fight.

  And eventually, Valdris. The capital. Where my family lived in luxury while I'd been left to rot.

  But I wasn't ready for that yet. Not even close. I needed more time, more power, more experience. I needed to become something that even the strongest knights and mages would fear.

  I pulled out the map I'd taken from the merchant back in that first village. It was crude, hand-drawn, but it showed the major cities and trade routes in the region. Millhaven was marked, along with several other towns. And there, in the center of the map, was Valdris.

  My finger traced the route from where I was to the capital. Weeks of travel, maybe months depending on how many detours I took. Plenty of time to grow stronger. Plenty of opportunities to hunt.

  "Soon," I whispered, the same promise I'd made before. "But not yet."

  I closed my eyes and let the darkness wrap around me, Nightfall's presence a cold comfort at my side. Tomorrow I'd continue north, toward the next town, the next challenge, the next step on my path.

  And with each step, I'd become more of what I was always meant to be.

  A monster.

  A weapon.

  Death's blessing made flesh.

  The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows across the trees, and somewhere in the distance, something howled. Not a wolf this time—something else. Something that had sensed the dire wolf's death and was coming to investigate.

  I smiled and rested my hand on Nightfall's hilt.

  "Come on then," I said to the darkness. "I'm not done hunting yet."