Awakening of the Devourer

As Varis slowly regained consciousness, his awareness ebbed back into the world, the veil of darkness gradually lifting. Everything around him was a haze of pain, disorientation, and shattered memories. His body felt as though it had been run through a meat grinder—bruised, battered, and broken. Every breath he took sent waves of agony coursing through him, each heartbeat a thunderous reminder that he still clung to life.

With a groan, Varis blinked his eyes open, and his vision struggled to make sense of the blurred and chaotic landscape. He was lying on the ground, his body sprawled on the rivers shore. He was feezing and the rocks dug painfully into his already cut up back. 

However the shock of still being alive struck him like a bolt of lightning. He remembered the battle, the clash with the Manticore, the venomous tail, and the final, fatal fall. He had been on the brink of death, his senses fading into oblivion. Yet somehow, against all odds, he had survived.

As Varis tried to move, the pain lanced through him like a thousand needles, and he gasped for breath. His limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, and his body ached with a level of pain he had never experienced before. It was as if his very bones had been shattered, his muscles torn, and his flesh ripped apart.

He glanced down at his torn and bloodied clothes, his breath hitching at the sight of the black katana still clutched in his hand. Memories of the battle rushed back—the frantic strikes, the desperate parries, the relentless pursuit of victory. THE HUNGER. He had been outmatched, outgunned, and yet, by some twist of fate, he had managed to score a death blow against the Manticore.

Varis's thoughts were a maelstrom of confusion. He couldn't fathom how he had survived the fall, the venom coursing through his veins, and the merciless wounds inflicted upon him. He had been pushed to the brink of death, and yet here he lay, still breathing.

With great effort, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his body trembling with the strain. Despite the torment that wracked him, Varis's mind raced with questions and uncertainties. How had he survived? He obviously should be dead with all the damage his body has taken. 

As he surveyed his surroundings, the broken and twisted landscape, the bizarre aftereffects of the battle, and the black katana gleaming in his hand, one word echoed in his thoughts—Devourer.

How had he survived? He couldn't fathom it. He had been pumped full of manticore venom, his body broken from the fall. He thought of how close he had come to the abyss, the edge of oblivion that had almost claimed him.

As he slowly crawled further onto the shore, each movement seemed to take immense effort. He let out a bitter laugh, a sound tinged with self-loathing. How stupid had he been, to venture out into the wilds alone, powerless as a rune-less orphan? He cursed his own recklessness, his own impulsive desire to prove himself.

Despite his tagic state, his muddy thoughts once again turned wandered to the battle he had fought, the struggle against the manticore. A creature of legend, a challenge that even a level 5 Player might hesitate to face. Yet he had managed to score a death blow—a feat that defied logic and reason.

He stared at the black katana still clutched in his hand, its blade now devoid of the eerie red glow it had exhibited during the battle. He blinked in surprise as he noticed that some of the grime and rust that had marred the blade was gone. The sword looked newer, more refined, as if the trash it had been before had transformed into something else entirely.

His gaze was fixed on the blade, his mind mired in a whirl of thoughts and emotions. It was then that he heard it—a voice, dark and emotionless, like a whisper from the abyss. The words echoed in his mind, a statement that seemed both surreal and ominous.

"Host recognized: Devour system installed."

Suddenly, a searing pain enveloped Varis, consuming him in its grasp. It was a sensation beyond agony, a feeling as if his very body was being torn apart and then fused back together. He writhed in the dirt, his voice a guttural scream that seemed to blend with the rustling of leaves.

The pain was all-consuming, obliterating his senses and breaking down his sense of self. Time lost its meaning, every second an eternity of suffering. The hunger that had once emanated from the blade now consumed him, tearing at his being like a ravenous beast.

It felt as though hours—or maybe mere seconds—had passed before the pain finally began to recede. Varis lay panting on the riverbank, his body weakened and battered. He felt as if his very essence had been stretched and remolded, reshaped by forces beyond his understanding.

The wound from the manticore's poisonous tail had healed, leaving only a scar as a reminder of the battle. Varis's breaths were ragged, his body aching from the ordeal he had endured. His gaze drifted to the blade in his hand, and he blinked in astonishment.

The sword seemed different again—not just in appearance, but in its essence. The blade still radiated a hunger, but it was different now. The sensation was familiar, yet altered, as if the blade had undergone an internal transformation of its own.

As Varis stared at the blade, his focus was drawn to a blinking red dot that appeared in the corner of his vision. In confusion his gaze honed in on it, and a feeling of recognition flared within him. The dot seemed to pulse, and suddenly, a crimson demonic rune materialized before him.

Intrigued and bewildered, Varis watched as the rune flared to life, illuminating his vision with an eerie glow. Words and symbols appeared, forming a status display that seemed to float before him. 

A firey red message appeared on a dark black screen. 

The Devourer System shall grant you dominion over the weak,

Allow you to draw strength from your enemies,

And ascend to a realm where power knows no bounds.

The words held an undertone of menace, a whispered temptation that tugged at the corners of Varis's consciousness.

Embrace the hunger, Host, for it shall grant you the power to rule.

Varis's mind swirled with conflicting emotions, his thoughts a tumultuous sea of uncertainty and apprehension. The Devourer System had bestowed upon him a formidable ability, but at what cost? The promises it made were alluring, yet they carried a darkness that hinted at consequences he could not fully fathom.

Below the message there were several greyed out tabs that he couldn't make out but one tab called STATUS that glowed with the same message as the ominous message before. 

Strength: 12

Dexterity: 14

Endurance: 13

Luck: 6

Intelligence: 15

Charisma: 8

His eyes widened in shock as he absorbed the information. A quick self-depricating thought crossed his mind. Funny how my luck and charisma seem to track so closely with how utterly messed up my life has been.

He scanned the status screen, his heart racing as he realized the implications. A new entry caught his attention, and he felt a shiver run down his spine as he read the word "Devour."

Devour: Level 1 Ability to steal the abilities and stats of defeated enemies.

Note: Failure to satiate the hunger will result in loss of sanity and eventual transformation into a mindless beast.

Varis's mind raced as he absorbed the information. He had gained not just a system, but a Devourer System—a name that sent a shiver down his spine. His newfound ability was both intriguing and terrifying, a power that could change the course of his fate.

But there was a catch—a price he had to pay for this power.

As Varis lay panting on the riverbank, his mind whirled with confusion and a growing sense of dread. The Devourer System had been forcibly installed into him, and its nature was unlike anything he had heard of. It was neither a gift nor a curse, but something in between—a sinister force that connected him to the black katana he held in his hand.

He couldn't help but ponder the strange connection between the system and the sword. It was as though the blade had chosen him, just as much as he had chosen it in that dimly lit blacksmith's shop. But now, there was something more to it, something ominous and dangerous.

Images of his battle with the manticore flashed through his mind—the searing pain, the rush of adrenaline, the moment he had delivered the fatal blow. It was as if the sword had absorbed the essence of the creature, its abilities, its stats. The Devourer System, with its ability to steal the powers of defeated enemies, was somehow linked to this blade.

A chilling thought crept into Varis's mind. If he could gain more strength, more power by defeating other formidable foes, he might be able to take the first proper steps toward his ultimate goal—revenge. Revenge against Malachai, the arrogant young noble who had tormented him for years. Revenge against the 'family' that had thrown him away. Revenge against the very system that had shaped his cruel fate.

But as he entertained these dark thoughts, Varis felt something within him shift. It was subtle at first, a change in the way he perceived his own desires. The hunger he felt was no longer just for strength or power; it was a deeper, more primal craving. It was a thirst for vengeance that bordered on obsession, a bloodthirsty yearning that frightened him.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he clenched the black katana in his hand. The blade seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, resonating with the darker facets of his newfound hunger. Varis realized that he was not just a Player seeking power; he was becoming something else entirely.

The anger and hatred that had simmered within him for so long now threatened to consume him. The desire for revenge was no longer a distant dream but a relentless drive, a compulsion that he could not ignore. It was as though the Devourer System had tapped into his very soul, amplifying his darkest emotions.

*System Alert*

Warning: Energy Reserves Depleted

Healing Processes: Incomplete

Hunger: Growing

Varis blinked as the message from the Devourer System flashed before his eyes in stark crimson letters. The words sent a shiver down his spine, a cold realization settling in his chest. He had expended too much energy during the battle with the manticore, from the magical healing of his wounds and now it was time to pay the price.

The sensation of hunger that had gnawed at him since the installation of the system had intensified. It was no longer a mere craving; it had become an insatiable need, a relentless demand for sustenance. Varis knew he had to act quickly, or the consequences would be dire.

The message continued, a threat that hung over him like a shadow.

Please Devour Something. Anything.

Or GLUTTONY will be activated.

Varis's heart raced as he read those last words. He didn't fully comprehend what "GLUTTONY" meant in the context of the system, but it sounded ominous, like an impending doom. His thoughts raced, and he knew he had to find a way to satisfy the Devourer System's hunger, or risk the consequences of activating something beyond his control.

A countdown suddenly appeared before his eyes, a stark reminder of the passage of time. The numbers ticked down from 5, and panic gripped Varis's chest. He had been unconscious for hours, and now the countdown told him he was on the brink of transformation—a descent into madness.

His pulse quickened, his thoughts a whirlwind of desperation. He was about to lose his mind, his sanity, to become a mindless beast. His body moved with a frantic urgency, his recently healed limbs shaking as he struggled to rise to his feet. The world around him seemed to blur, his vision tinged with red as the seconds slipped away.

The countdown was a bizarre occurrence he had never heard of happening to other Players. It was like the opposite of gaining a soul rune—a curse rather than a blessing. It made him question what had happened to him, what the true nature of the Devourer System was. Was this a soul rune? No, it was something different, something darker.

Five.

He stumbled forward, his legs unsteady, his heart pounding in his ears.

Four.

His surroundings spun, his breaths ragged, each moment a reminder of the danger that loomed.

Three.

His steps were stumbling, his mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions. He had come so far, fought so hard, and now it seemed he was on the precipice of losing himself.

Two.

He pushed himself forward, his body driven by a desperate need to avoid the impending transformation.

One.

His vision was dyed red, a pulsating hue that consumed his world. Fuck he was losing concioussness again.

And then, as the countdown reached its final second, his last coherent thought echoed in his mind.

"Well, shit."