The chest opened, revealing several small, dark vials inside, each one swirling with a shadowy substance that seemed to pulse with energy.
"This," Kierlan said, gesturing to the vials, "is the essence of the power I offer. The Mark of the Great-Horned Rat. Once you receive it, you will become more than what you are now. Faster. Stronger. Even attuned to the shadows and the night, the home of the blessed one.
Your enemies will never see you coming."
Lassim’s eyes remained fixed on the dark vials, the swirling substance inside both mesmerizing and deeply unsettling.
He could feel the eagerness radiating from the other rogues as they leaned in, drawn to the power Kierlan was promising. It wasn’t just the allure of strength, stealth, or the ability to evade their enemies.
But Lassim wasn’t convinced. His instincts screamed at him to stay back, to not trust anything this creature—this Nevaks—offered. The catch or downsides to such a power offered by mortals must be massive. The only way he knew for anyone that wasn’t the gods to bless allies with their elements were all non-permanent. Like the rune enchantments that could be given out to buff others.
Yet, amongst the crowd, he couldn’t afford to stand out. He’d been careful so far to keep up appearances, to blend in with the others despite his clumsy performance during the raid.
If he refused now, it would draw the wrong kind of attention, especially from Selira, who already had her suspicions.
Kierlan’s beady red eyes swept over the group, lingering on each rogue for a moment before moving to the next.
His smile stretched wider, revealing more of his jagged yellow teeth. "I see the hunger in your eyes," he said, his voice almost a squeaky purr, though it was layered with something feral. "You’ve waited long enough. It’s time to show you what the Mark can do."
He gestured to one of the smaller Nevaks beside him, the rat-like creature with a hunched back and rough fur. The Nevaks scurried forward and retrieved one of the vials, bringing it to Kierlan’s outstretched hand. Kierlan raised the vial, the shadowy substance inside swirling faster as if responding to his touch.
"To receive the Horned-Rat’s Favor is to be marked by his blessed one’s power," Kierlan said, his voice low but clear. "You will gain a small amount of control over shadows, the night, even if your main element is not night itself. But more than that small, meager blessing, you will become part of something far greater—my vision for the southern desert."
Lassim’s unease deepened. He didn’t like the way this was going. He’d seen enough in his time as a cultivator to know that power like that didn’t come without a price and it was all too similar to the abyss’ whispers. Though, thankfully, there was not even a tiny speck of abyssal energy present anywhere among the vials or on the Nevaks themselves. This was just some odd bestial technique at play.
Lassim kept his expression neutral, hiding the growing knot in his gut, but his mind was racing. He couldn’t refuse this Mark, not without raising suspicion, but accepting it could be even worse. Now, just how exactly would he avoid being forced to absorb whatever was inside those night elemental vials?…
Kierlan’s smile sharpened as he turned his gaze to one of the rogues standing near the front—a burly, but somewhat ugly man that Lassim remembered was named Gareth, who had been with the group longer than most with a large tent of his own among the encampment.
Gareth stepped forward without hesitation, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as he knelt before Kierlan.
"You, are you ready to become more?" Kierlan asked, his voice almost mocking.
Gareth nodded, his weak looking jaw clenched with determination. "Yes, I’m ready."
Without another word, Kierlan uncorked the vial and poured the shadowy substance directly onto Gareth’s bare shoulder. The liquid seemed to cling to his skin, seeping into his flesh almost instantly.
For a moment, nothing happened. Gareth remained kneeling, his head bowed as if in prayer, the chamber silent except for the faint crackle of the torches.
Then Gareth gasped, taking a deep breath, his back arching and twisting as the Mark took hold.
Dark, night elemental twisting lines began to spread across his skin, starting at his shoulder and moving down his arm like the scratching from claws of a rat.
His muscles tightened, his veins bulging as the shadowy substance pulsed through his body. His breathing became labored, his hands gripping the dusty ground as if he was trying to steady himself against the unseen force.
The other rogues watched in rapt attention, their eyes wide, but none of them moved to help. This was part of the process. This was what they wanted.
Lassim, standing at the back, felt his pulse quicken. This was no ordinary power transfer. The Mark was changing Gareth, reshaping him from the inside out.
After several agonizing moments, Gareth let out a guttural growl, his body shuddering before going still. The dark lines that had spread across his skin began to settle, forming into a jagged, tattoo-like pattern that glowed faintly in the dim light. He rose to his feet, his eyes now a deep, unsettling red, the same color as Kierlan’s.
In that moment, Gareth raised his head and seemed to see something in the sky or something super far away. His body shuddered slightly as he took in the majesty of whatever it was he saw, giving a slight bow of thanks, before his attention returned to the Nevaks in front of him.
"Good," Kierlan said, his voice filled with approval. "You wear the Mark well, Gareth."
Gareth flexed his hands, a look of awe spreading across his face as he tested his newfound strength.
The other rogues murmured in approval, eager to receive their own Marks, but Lassim remained silent, his unease growing with each passing second.
Gareth had changed—there was no doubt about that—but it wasn’t just physical, rat-like features he was growing. The man standing before them now had an entirely different atmosphere and feeling that was different. It even stretched to the minor things like his posture, the way he held himself, even the way his eyes darted across the room—it all screamed of something more feral.
Like he was becoming a Nevaks himself.
"Show them," Kierlan commanded, stepping back with a gleam in his eye. "Show them what the Mark can do."
Without hesitation, Gareth turned toward one of the unmarked rogues standing nearby—a smaller man named Dael.
Before Dael could react, Gareth’s form blurred, moving with a speed that Lassim hadn’t seen him use before. In an instant, Gareth was behind Dael, his hand outstretched.
A ripple of darkness spread from Gareth’s palm, tendrils of shadow wrapping around Dael like chains. Dael let out a strangled cry as the shadows tightened, pulling him to his knees. His energy seemed to drain away with his skin growing pale as the shadows sapped his strength by choking him out.
Lassim’s heart shook at the display. Gareth wasn’t a night elemental cultivator at all, he had a Nature elemental power with a focus on moving Earth to fight his opponents. Yet, he had just gained the ability to control the very essence of another element in a surprisingly proficient manner.
"Enough," Kierlan said, waving his hand.
Gareth released his hold on Dael, the shadows dissipating as quickly as they had appeared. Dael collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, his face ashen and his body trembling. He looked up at Gareth with fear and awe for the mark, clearly shaken by what had just happened.
The other rogues were silent as they watched, all used to brutal displays of power and doing what you needed to survive without the backing of a powerful sect.
Kierlan’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he surveyed the group’s reactions.
"This is the power of the Horned-Rat’s Favor," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Those who wear the Mark will have the strength to claim what is theirs. To take from the weak. To dominate the shadows and the night."
Lassim swallowed hard, his mind racing. He couldn’t let himself be marked. Whatever this power was, it came with too high a cost.
Gareth had been transformed, not just physically but mentally as well. He had lost something of himself in the process, and Lassim had no doubt that the more Gareth used the Mark’s power, the less human he would become. Lassim’s enhanced senses notice the now growing tiny hairs all over Gareth’s body that started to grow as soon as he used the mark’s power.
Also, the natural presence of the nature element that Gareth exuded seemed to be weakening as well somehow. It was very likely that the mark was feeding off his own element and elemental companion somehow.
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But refusing the Mark wasn’t an option either. Kierlan’s gaze swept over the group once more, his red eyes narrowing slightly as they landed on Lassim.
There was a knowing look in the Nevaks’ expression, a sense that Kierlan was aware of Lassim’s hesitation, even if he hadn’t voiced it aloud.
"Who’s next?" Kierlan asked, his voice a purr.
The question hung in the air, the other rogues shifting uneasily as they glanced at one another. Some of them were clearly eager to receive their Marks, while others seemed more cautious now that they had seen the reality of what it entailed as they too noticed the same details Lassim had picked up on.
Lassim took a deep breath, keeping his expression to be as neutral as possible as he considered his next move. He had to be smart about this.
Before anyone else could step forward, Selira broke the silence. "I’ll take the Mark next, my Lord," she said, her voice steady and calm.
All eyes turned to her as she stepped forward, her posture confident and unshaken by what she had just witnessed.
Unlike the others, she didn’t seem fazed by the transformation she had seen in Gareth. If anything, she seemed more determined.
Kierlan’s smile sharpened as he gestured for Selira to approach. She moved without hesitation, standing before the Nevaks with her chin raised, her eyes locked on his. There was no fear in her expression, only resolve.
As Kierlan prepared the next vial, Lassim’s mind raced. Selira was no fool—she had to know the risks, the cost of the Mark. But what did she see in it? What did she hope to gain by aligning herself so fully with Kierlan’s power?
The room was silent as Kierlan poured the shadowy substance onto Selira’s arm, the dark liquid seeping into her skin just as it had with Gareth. The twisting lines of the Mark began to spread across her flesh, and Lassim watched closely, trying to gauge her reaction.
At first, there was nothing—just the slow, methodical expansion of the dark lines from before. But then, Selira’s breathing hitched, her muscles tensing as the Mark began to take hold.
Unlike Gareth, who had growled and shuddered through the transformation, Selira remained silent, her body rigid as she endured the process.
When it was over, she stood still for a moment, her eyes closed, her hand flexing slightly as she adjusted to the new power coursing through her veins. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes. They were no longer the cool, calculating eyes of the woman Lassim had known. They were red, glowing faintly in the torchlight, just like Kierlan’s.
She too seemed to look at something far beyond what the others could see in front of her and shuddered as if witnessing some terrifying, horrid beast. The instinctual and primal fear her body radiating for that brief moment was concerning.
Yet, she then pulled herself together as she did her best attempt at full bow while maintaining eye contact with whatever she was looking at, before uprighting herself.
"Good," Kierlan said softly, his voice dripping with approval. "You wear the Mark well."
Selira didn’t respond. She simply stepped back into line, her expression as unreadable as ever. But there was a subtle difference now—a sharpness to her movements, a ferocity and untamed wildness in her that hadn’t been there before.
The other rogues murmured among themselves as to who would step forward next, but Lassim’s unease only grew.
Selira had accepted the Mark without hesitation, and now she was bound to Kierlan’s power just like the others. His "vision" for the Southern Continent involved building his own personal army and who knew what else the Mark held in store for its users?
What if it also allowed for him to control them somehow like the zombie monkey king had done with his undead monkeys back in the Spider Queen’s threads? How was he going to avoid this?
Lassim felt the innate pathways of his progenitor marks in that moment as his cultivator naturally circulated. His eyes glanced to his own arms and body where the progenitor marks resided as he felt the need to make a quick decision.