"Get your hands off me!" Milo yelled, scrambling backward as the boots hit the floor outside.
Bram didn't let go. His grip on Milo’s wrist was like a vice, his eyes locked on the glowing Sigil burned into Milo's skin. The mark wasn't just humming anymore; it was pulsing a violent, jagged crimson.
"You're not just a rookie," Bram hissed, his voice dropping an octave. "That's a Void-tier mark. You're dead, kid. The Council doesn't leave things like that walking around. They're already here."
*Boom.*
The door didn't just open; it exploded inward in a shower of splinters and dust. Two figures in matte-black tactical gear stormed in, their visors reflecting the dim, grimy light of the black market stall. They didn't ask questions. They didn't announce themselves. They just fired.
"Down!" Bram shoved Milo hard, sending him sprawling across a table of rusted scrap.
Metal shrieked as a bolt of energy slammed into the spot where Milo's head had been a second ago. He scrambled, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He had no weapon. No shield. Just a glitchy mark on his arm and a mouth that wouldn't stop running.
"Is this the part where you save me?" Milo screamed over the noise. "Because I'm really feeling the lack of a plan here!"
"Shut up and crawl!" Bram yelled back, diving behind a heavy iron crate and returning fire with a compact pulse-rifle.
Through the haze of smoke, a third figure stepped through the wreckage. Selene.
She looked like a goddess of death in the flickering light, her silver blade humming with a low, lethal frequency. She didn't look at Milo. She looked at the assassins. With a blur of motion, she vanished and reappeared behind the first soldier, her blade slicing through his neck armor with a sickening *shink*.
Blood sprayed, hot and metallic. Milo gagged, pressing his back against the cold floor.
"Too much blood," he whispered. "Way too much blood."
Selene spun, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on him. There was no pity in her gaze—only a cold, hard calculation. She stepped over the body, the tip of her blade dripping.
"You're a liability, Milo," she said, her voice like ice. "Bram, why is this waste of space still breathing?"
"He's got the mark, Selene! Look at it!"
Selene paused, her eyes dropping to Milo's wrist. The crimson glow was intensifying, reacting to the presence of the dead soldiers. Milo felt a strange, magnetic pull. It wasn't fear—it was hunger. The Sigil wanted something. It wanted the energy leaking out of the dying man on the floor.
"I can't just... stand here," Milo gasped. He crawled toward the fallen assassin, his movements jerky.
"Get back here, you idiot!" Selene commanded, her voice sharp.
But Milo didn't listen. He couldn't. The pull was too strong. He reached out, his fingers brushing the cold, armored chest of the dead soldier.
*Suck.*
It didn't feel like magic. It felt like a straw hitting the bottom of a milkshake. A surge of raw, violent power ripped from the corpse and slammed into Milo's arm. He screamed, his back arching, his eyes snapping open wide.
[Looting...] [Skill Extracted: Shadow Step (Rank F)] [Integration: 12%... 45%... 89%...]
"What the hell are you doing?" Selene shouted, stepping forward to grab him, her hand closing around his shoulder to yank him away.
"I'm... taking... it!" Milo choked out.
Suddenly, the integration hit 100%. The power didn't just settle; it detonated. A shockwave of dark energy blasted outward, knocking Selene back a step. Milo's body seized. His muscles locked, his breath hitching in a jagged sob.
He felt like his veins were being replaced with liquid lead. His vision blurred, the world tilting sideways.
"Milo!" Selene's voice sounded distant, stripped of its usual ice.
He looked up. Above him, a translucent screen was flickering frantically. The numbers were jumping—not by one, but by tens.
[Level 1... 4... 9... 15...]
"It's too much," Milo whispered. He could feel his chest tightening, a pressure building behind his sternum that felt like a bomb about to go off. "Something's... wrong."
"Your mark is overloading," Selene said, her face pale. She reached for her blade, not to attack, but to stabilize him. "Stop drawing power! You're going to burn your own heart out!"
"I can't!" Milo yelled.
*Crack.*
An audible snap echoed in his chest. A blinding white light erupted from the center of his chest, tearing through his shirt. The pain was absolute. It wasn't a burn; it was an explosion from the inside out.
He gasped, his lungs refusing to take in air. His world narrowed down to the silver of Selene's eyes and the cold steel of her blade. He felt himself slipping, his balance gone, his strength evaporating into the void.
He reached out, his fingers trembling, trying to grab onto her sleeve, her arm—anything to keep from falling into the dark.
"Selene... help..."
His hand missed.
Gravity took him. He fell forward, his vision swimming, and the last thing he saw was the razor-sharp edge of her blade, positioned perfectly to catch him as he collapsed.