Reivo sat cross-legged on his bed, the system screen hovering silently before him, casting a pale blue glow across the dark room. His sharp green eyes scanned the options, calculating, judging, doubting.
Waking Terror. A low-tier fear spell. Illusions and panic. Simple, but too unreliable. Reivo's enemies wouldn't be simple minds to trick.
Veil of the Forgotten. More interesting. Rare. Tactical. Cloaking himself and his summons in a shroud of unreality... but the drawback made him pause. Every time it activated, it would numb his own senses as well. A double-edged veil.
Then his eyes landed on the third option:
Nightborn Pact.
A chill brushed his spine. The description was sparse, but the meaning behind the words was clear. It was not just a skill. It was a contract.
> Enter a self-induced sleep state to reach a Nightmare's personal realm. Within this dream-territory, you must survive its test. If successful, forge a permanent contract with a powerful Nightmare.
Reivo stared at it for several seconds more, then inhaled slowly. He'd survived goblins. Trauma. Torture. The death of everything he'd loved.
He wasn't afraid of nightmares.
"I choose Nightborn Pact."
The interface shimmered, then vanished.
He sat there for a long moment, the silence of the room pressing in like a physical weight. Then he lay back onto the mattress, arms crossed behind his head, eyes staring at the ceiling.
"No fear. No hesitation. If this is the path I've been given, then I walk it now. Power doesn't wait for those who hesitate."
He closed his eyes and activated his skill.
---
He fell asleep.
But there was no sensation of sleep. One moment he sat in the silence of his room, the next, the floor had vanished from beneath him. Wind roared in his ears. Blood-slick mist whipped past his face.
Then—he felt his feet touching the floor.
But not on stone. The ground beneath him was wet.
Blood.
It pooled thick and cold beneath his hands, rippling faintly with his movements. A forest stretched around him—twisted trees, black and gnarled, with bark like cracked bone. The sky overhead was a hollow void, where stars bled red instead of shining.
A crimson mist slithered through the branches, and the silence was absolute.
No birds. No insects. Just the sound of distant dripping.
Reivo stood slowly. His boots squelched in the blood. He reached for a weapon, but had none.
"Of course," he muttered. "A test."
He began to walk, drawn to the dripping sound.
Hours seemed to pass. Maybe days. Time was strange here. The trees never changed, the red fog thickened and faded without reason, and scattered through the forest were corpses. Mutilated, twisted corpses. Some human. Others... not. Creatures with horns, talons, too many limbs, or none at all. All of them broken. All of them drained of blood.
At last, in a clearing lit by a sky that wept crimson tears, Reivo found it.
The Nightmare.
It stood motionless at the center of the clearing.
A tall figure wrapped in a tattered, rotting robe that dripped with gore. Its chest was bare muscle, cords of flesh twitching with unnatural movement. A heavy iron mask hid its face, rusted and cracked, with a mouth-slit that wept a constant trickle of crimson ichor.
Its arms were the worst.
Twisted, elongated, ending in blades of rusted bone—not held, but formed from its very limbs. Like its hands had been reshaped by agony and alchemy into living weapons.
It didn't speak.
It didn't move.
But Reivo felt it. A pressure in his skull. A voice without sound, clawing at the inside of his thoughts.
"Bleed for me."
Suddenly, the world shifted.
The forest blurred.
And Reivo found himself somewhere else.
---
A long corridor. Stone. Cold. Lit by rows of candles that dripped red wax.
He stood in front of a door. On the wood, carved deep: Only the guilty bleed.
His hands were covered in blood. Fresh. Warm.
The door creaked open by itself.
Inside—
His family.
Alive.
His mother looked up from the table, smiling gently. His father gestured for him to sit. His sister grinned, tossing him a wooden sword. "Come on, hero. Training time."
Reivo staggered forward.
This was wrong.
He knew it was wrong.
He took a step—and their faces changed. Twisted. Mouths stretching impossibly wide. Eyes melting into black pits. Blood sprayed from their ears, mouths, throats—
Then silence.
They slumped dead at the table.
A voice echoed in his mind again:
"One cannot wield what one refuses to understand. To command the darkness, you must first walk unflinching through it."
The door behind him shut. The room burned away.
Reivo fell again.
---
Back in the clearing.
The creature now stood closer.
"A trial of guilt," Reivo whispered. "Of pain. Of memory."
He understood.
To earn power over this thing, he had to suffer. He had to accept everything. Not reject it. Not fight it. Endure it.
He stepped forward, unarmed.
The Nightmare raised one of its blades.
Reivo didn't flinch. He spread his arms, welcoming the blow.
"Bleed me, then," he said. "See if I break."
The blade slashed.
Pain seared his side. Blood poured freely.
The second blade came. Another cut. And another. It carved through flesh, shallow but cruel. Over and over. Carving symbols into his skin, making him a canvas of agony. His vision blurred. His breath came in ragged gasps. But he stood.
Days passed. Or hours. It didn't matter.
The world became pain.
But Reivo never screamed.
At last, he dropped to one knee, shuddering.
The Herald raised a hand.
And paused.
Its iron mask tilted slightly.
Then—
It bowed.
A final system chime echoed.
[Contract Formed]
Reivo collapsed forward into darkness, a faint, bitter smile ghosting his lips.
He had won.
And now, it would serve.