Edward floated in a place that was not a place. The Abyssal Bazaar was a chaotic ss of sights and sounds that hurt his mind. Stalls of bone and shadow sold weapons that cried and potions that squird. The air felt thick and greasy. Like breathing in old, dark secrets. He was still reeling. The shock of eting the 50% soul corruption requirent to even get here. Not a club you wanted to be a mber of.
The shadowy rchant in front of him had no face. Just a shifting void beneath a hood. Its voice was a dry rustle. Like dead leaves skittering across pavent. "The Life-Eater Plague," it rasped. Its long, thin fingers tapped on a counter made of solidified nightmares. "A nasty thing. It turns the soul to soup from the inside out. Very ssy. But we have a cure."
Edward felt a small spark of hope. Imdiately suspicious. In his experience, hope was usually the bait in a very sharp trap. "What’s the price?" he asked. His voice sounded thin.
"Oh, nothing so crude as soul points or gold," the rchant said. It waved a hand. An image appeared in the air between them.
It was Sarah.
She was standing in the small safe house. The light from a single lamp caught her face. She looked up from a book. She saw him. And a smile blood on her face. Not a huge smile. Small. Gentle. Filled with a simple, honest warmth that felt more real than anything in his dark world. A smile that said, ’You’re ho. You’re safe. You’re still you.’
That was the mory. The one that played in his head after a hard fight. The one that reminded him what he was fighting for. His anchor in the storm of souls that raged inside him.
"We can turn that poison in your veins into a weapon," the rchant continued. Its voice was smooth as oil. "Make you stronger than ever before. All we ask in return is that mory. The mory of the one you are trying to protect."
Edward stared at the image. His blood turned to ice. The plague eating him felt like a warm hug compared to the cold horror of the rchant’s offer. He felt a surge of anger. So pure and hot it almost burned away the Bazaar’s chill.
’Of all the things to ask for,’ he thought. A bitter, humorless thought. ’Couldn’t you just take a kidney? I’ve got two. I’m pretty sure I only need one.’
"Why that?" Edward managed to ask. His teeth were clenched. "Why not a mory of a fight? Or my childhood? Why that specific one?"
The rchant let out a sound that might have been a chuckle. "Because it has value," it said simply. "Painful mories are cheap. We have plenty of those. Happy ones, true ones... they are rare. They have flavor. Yours is particularly potent. It is the mory that keeps you human. It is the heaviest thing you own. We like heavy things."
The choice was cruel and simple. On one hand, survival. If he died here, The Unchained would lose their leader. Fenris, Selene, and all the others would be hunted down. Sarah would be alone and unprotected. His death would an their deaths. He had to live. For them. Taking the deal was the logical choice. The smart choice.
On the other hand, there was the price. To give up that mory... it felt like giving up his own soul. If he survived but forgot why he was surviving, what was the point? He would just be a monster fighting other monsters. A weapon with no purpose. An empty shell. The thing inside him, the Soul Dev-ourer, would finally, truly win.
He thought about what Sarah would say. She would tell him to let go. To die as himself rather than live as sothing else. But he couldn’t do that. He was a protector. His job was to stand between them and the darkness. Even if it ant becoming dark himself.
The conflict tore him apart. He had to survive. He had to protect her. But the tool to protect her was the mory of her. An impossible choice.
A surge of defiance shot through him. He would not play this ga. He was the Soul Devourer. He was the Wild King. He was not so helpless custor.
"I have a better idea," Edward snarled. "I kill you, and I take the cure."
He lunged.
The most useless attack of his life. Before he could even move a foot, invisible walls slamd into him from every direction. Like being hit by a mountain. He was frozen. His muscles screaming. Unable to move a single inch. He was completely, utterly powerless here.
The rchant didn’t even seem to notice. "How charming," it rasped. No fear in its voice. "A spark of defiance. We admire that. But you misunderstand the nature of this place. You cannot take anything from the Bazaar. You can only trade."
The pressure vanished. Edward stumbled back, gasping. Humiliation burned in his gut. Hotter than the plague. He was a bug trapped in a jar. And he had just tired himself out by flying into the glass.
He looked at the image of Sarah’s smile one last ti. He saw the warmth. The trust. He imagined his life without it. A cold, empty road stretching into darkness. He would be strong, yes. He would be a king. But a king on a throne of ash. Ruling over a kingdom of ghosts. With no mory of the sun.
He had drawn lines in the sand before. He wouldn’t kill for hire. He wouldn’t sacrifice his friends. Now, he found a new line. Carved not in sand. But in the bedrock of his soul.
Edward looked up at the faceless rchant. The pain from the plague made his vision swim. He straightened his back. Not as a king or a warrior. Just as a man making a choice.
"No," he said. The word was quiet. But it echoed with the force of a hamr blow. "The price is too high. I’ll keep the mory."
The rchant was silent for a long mont. Edward braced himself. Expecting to be destroyed. Instead, the creature’s shoulders shook in a silent, mocking laugh.
"Very well," it rustled. "A bold choice. Sentintal, but bold. We respect it. But all custors return to the Bazaar eventually. We are very patient." The rchant waved a dismissive hand. "We will keep it on hold for you."
Before Edward could respond, the world twisted. A giant, invisible hand had grabbed him by the soul. And thrown him across the universe. He was tumbling through a screaming vortex of color and noise. His mind pulled apart and slamd back together.
He woke with a gasp. His back arching off the cold stone floor of the caravan. The world ca rushing back. A wave of agony. The plague was still there. A fire in his veins. If anything, it felt worse. His body was convulsing. Black, ugly veins were spreading across his skin. He had refused the deal. He had kept his soul. And now he was going to die for it.
But then, sothing strange happened.
The plague’s fire did not go out. It began to change. The brief touch of his soul against the raw power of the Abyssal Bazaar, even without a deal, had left a mark. Like a drop of potent ink in a glass of water. Changing everything.
The searing pain began to cool. Solidifying into sothing different. It was still a poison. But no longer a wild, mindless fire. It was becoming a cold, sharp, and focused energy. It felt like the plague was not just inside him anymore. It was listening to him. The chaotic corruption began to bend to his will. Twisting and reforming into a new, dark power that was now his to command.
He watched in numb fascination as the black veins on his arm receded slightly. The corruption stabilizing. A new, green-tinged notification, one he had never seen before, appeared on his HUD.
[Contact with the Abyssal Plane has altered the soul-plague’s structure.]
[Your defiance has asserted dominance over the foreign corruption.]
[New Skill Acquired: Plague Soul (Passive).]
[Description: Your physical attacks and soul-based abilities now carry a soul-corrupting toxin that weakens and damages enemies over ti.]
Edward stared at the notification. A tired, bitter laugh escaped his lips. He had faced the abyss. Looked at its tempting offer. And chosen his humanity. He had refused its gift.
And the abyss, with its twisted sense of humor, had given him one anyway.
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