"That is enough!"

The voice sliced through the darkness like a knife, startling Thorne out of the haze of pain and confusion that had consumed him. The words were familiar, but his mind, battered and broken, struggled to connect them to anything real.

He felt a sudden, violent tugging at his feet and hands, and then, without warning, he was free. The ropes that had held him in place for what felt like an eternity fell away, and he crumpled to the cold stone floor, his body too broken to move, his mind too overwhelmed by pain and shock to comprehend what was happening.

He lay there, motionless, every inch of his body screaming in agony. His muscles refused to respond, and even the simple act of breathing sent waves of fresh pain coursing through his chest. His jaw throbbed, a fractured mess, and he was dimly aware of the blood that pooled in his mouth, the metallic taste making him want to retch.

Suddenly, hands were on him, prying his mouth open with little care for the new pain it caused. His fractured jaw protested violently, but he couldn't summon the strength to fight back. No part of him was left untouched, every nerve ending alight with agony.

A thick, bitter liquid was forced down his throat, and his body's first instinct was to reject it. He gagged, his entire being recoiling from the foreign substance, but the hands clamped down on his mouth, leaving him no choice but to swallow. The liquid burned as it went down, but within moments, a soothing wave began to spread through his ravaged body, dulling the worst of the pain. It wasn't enough to erase the agony completely, but it was a relief—one he hadn't known in days.

Amidst the haze of pain and fleeting relief, Thorne's eyes, unfocused and glazed, caught sight of a figure rushing toward his torturers. The figure slapped them, the sound sharp and echoing off the stone walls. There was yelling, the voice filled with rage, but Thorne's brain couldn't process the words. Everything was a blur, his senses dulled to the point where only fragments of reality seeped in.

Bits and pieces of the argument reached him, the tone frantic and furious, but the meaning was lost to him. He caught flashes of words—idiots, nephew, Uncle—but they floated in and out of his consciousness, unable to form anything coherent. His head lolled to the side, and he saw the figure turn away from his torturers and move back toward him, their movements hurried and panicked.

The figure crouched beside him, hands moving with a sense of urgency as they checked his injuries, their touch far gentler than anything he had experienced in days. Another potion was pressed to his lips, and this time Thorne didn't resist. The liquid slid down his throat, and with it came another wave of relief, though his body was still a battlefield of pain.

As the figure leaned in closer, Thorne's bleary eyes finally managed to focus on the face. It was Lock.

Lock's face, usually so composed and confident, was a mask of fear and horror. His eyes darted over Thorne's broken form, taking in every injury, every cut, every bruise. Thorne wanted to frown, to ask a thousand questions, but even that simple action was impossible. His face felt like it was made of lead, too heavy and unresponsive to obey his commands.

What was Lock doing here? Was he in league with those two? Had he betrayed Uncle? The thoughts swirled in Thorne's mind, each one more terrifying than the last. But then, Lock's next words made his blood run cold, freezing him to his core.

"You're dead, you idiots!" Lock bellowed at the torturers, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "Do you know what Uncle would do to you if he finds out? You were meant to interrogate him, not break him! What will I tell Uncle now? That two overzealous recruits tried to kill his favorite nephew? IDIOTS!"

Thorne lay there, broken and battered, as clarity finally began to dawn. It had been another trial. Another fucking trial! He had been tortured for days because of a trial.

The realization was like a knife to the heart, cutting deeper than any wound those men had inflicted on him. All the pain, all the suffering, all the terror—it had all been orchestrated by the very people he was supposed to trust, the very organization that had sworn to train him, to make him stronger. And for what? To see if he could endure? To test his loyalty? A wave of fury threatened to drown him, for a moment his pain registering as a simple nuisance.

Lock returned to his side, his expression softening as he poured another potion into Thorne's mouth, the liquid cool and soothing against his raw throat. "It's okay, Thorne," Lock said, his voice shaky but trying to be reassuring. "You're okay. You'll just rest for a while, and then you'll be brand new again."

But Thorne could see the truth in Lock's eyes. The man wasn't trying to reassure him—he was trying to reassure himself. Lock was terrified, and for good reason. The punishment for failing Uncle was severe, and these men had come dangerously close to killing the one person Uncle valued most... At least to their eyes.

Thorne wanted to argue, to demand justice, to scream at Lock and those bastards who had put him through this nightmare, but his body felt impossibly heavy, the exhaustion pulling him under like a relentless tide. His vision blurred, the world fading to black around the edges. The last thing he saw was Lock's haunted face, his mouth moving in words Thorne could no longer hear.

And then, mercifully, he slipped into unconsciousness once more.

*

Thorne awoke to the sensation of soft, luxurious sheets beneath him. The bed cradled his aching body in a way that felt almost foreign, and for a moment, he remained still, his mind struggling to grasp where he was. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking against the bright light that filled the room. The space around him was unfamiliar yet unsettlingly familiar, his surroundings making him feel both comforted and on edge.

The room had no windows, its walls made of the same cold stone that had surrounded him during his ordeal, but the chamber was far more comfortable. Sparsely decorated, the furniture was of high quality—polished wood and rich fabrics that gave the room an air of understated luxury. Despite the elegance, the room had the unmistakable feel of the guild. It was a place meant to heal, to restore, yet it reminded him of the very institution that had brought him to the brink of destruction.

Thorne's mind struggled to connect the dots. How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was the blinding pain, the cold stone floor, and Lock's frantic face. As memories began to flood his mind, a surge of panic gripped him. His breath quickened, chest tightening as he fought to make sense of it all. The days of torture, the endless questions, the agony—it all came rushing back with brutal clarity.

He felt as if he was suffocating, the room spinning as his heart pounded in his ears. His hands trembled as they clutched at the sheets, and a low, strangled sound escaped his throat. He was back in that dark room, back with those faceless torturers. The pain, the terror—it was all happening again.

But then, slowly, he forced himself to breathe, to regain control. He counted his breaths, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest until the panic began to recede, leaving him drained and shaky. He wasn't in that room anymore. He was safe—or as safe as he could be in the guild.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Thorne tried to think rationally. What had happened? Lock had found him, pulled him from that nightmare. But why had he been there in the first place? Had the torture really been another trial? And if so, why hadn't anyone intervened sooner? Questions swirled in his mind, but no answers came.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, insistent chime. Thorne blinked, momentarily confused, before realizing that it was coming from within him—a series of notifications, blinking at the edge of his vision. He focused on them, willing them to appear, and a familiar translucent screen materialized before him, displaying the effects of the past days' horrors.

Skill Level Up Notifications:

Skill Level up: Echoes of Truth (4 levels gained)

Skill Level up: Mask of Deceit! (2 levels gained)

Skill Level up: Resilience! (11 levels gained)

Skill Level up: Thick Skin! (15 levels gained)

Thorne stared at the notifications, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Echoes of Truth had leveled up four times, and Mask of Deceit twice. But it was Resilience and Thick Skin that truly shocked him. Eleven levels gained for Resilience, and fifteen for Thick Skin. The sheer scale of the increase was unprecedented—he had never experienced anything like it before.

It was as if the days of torture had forcibly dragged his body and mind through some brutal gauntlet, toughening him in ways he hadn't thought possible. There was a twisted sense of accomplishment buried beneath the horror, a small, grim satisfaction that at least something good had come from the torment.

But as Thorne's eyes lingered on the notifications, his thoughts began to drift. The memories of the torture, the relentless pain, the voices of his torturers—all of it came rushing back, and without realizing it, he was reliving the horror in vivid detail. He could feel the knife slicing into his flesh, the searing heat of the metal rod, the crushing pain as his bones snapped under the pliers. His mind looped through the memories, again and again, each replay more suffocating than the last.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He stared blankly into space, lost in the nightmare, until another chime broke through the haze, snapping him back to the present.

Notification: Your Thick Skin skill is ready to evolve.

Choose a new branch of evolution:

Stoneflesh: Your skin hardens like stone, providing exceptional defense against physical attacks. Your resistance to cutting and piercing weapons is greatly enhanced, and your body can shrug off blows that would cripple a lesser warrior.

Titan's Endurance: Your body evolves to withstand extreme conditions and physical punishment. Your skin and muscles adapt to absorb massive impacts, making you capable of enduring blows that would pulverize bones and organs without flinching.

Aetheric Skin: Upon contact with an attack, your skin instantly responds by channeling aether to the point of impact, neutralizing or greatly reducing the damage. This response is immediate and precise, ensuring that you remain protected without unnecessary aether expenditure.

Thorne's breath caught in his throat as he read the notification, the implications hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had heard of skills leveling up, even of rare skills evolving after reaching a certain threshold, but it was something he had never personally experienced—something he had only heard whispered about in the darkest corners of the guild.

He blinked at the screen, the three options laid out before him in elaborate lettering that left him breathless. Stoneflesh, Titan's Endurance, Aetheric Skin. Each one was powerful, each one a potential game-changer. But which one to choose?

Stoneflesh would turn his skin into an almost impenetrable barrier, making him nearly invulnerable to physical attacks. It would make him a walking fortress, able to withstand the sharpest blades and the deadliest arrows.

Titan's Endurance would push his physical resilience to an almost superhuman level, allowing him to absorb blows that would shatter lesser men. His body would become a weapon in itself, able to endure the kind of punishment that would kill others.

But it was Aetheric Skin that gave him pause. This skill would allow his skin to channel aether, neutralizing or greatly reducing the damage from attacks. It wasn't as purely physical as the other two options, but it was precise and reactive, providing an intelligent defense that responded instantly to threats.

Thorne's mind raced as he weighed the pros and cons of each option. He had always relied more on his stamina than his aether. His stamina points were nearly double his aether points, and he used stamina much more frequently in combat. The first two options, Stoneflesh and Titan's Endurance, seemed to align more closely with his existing strengths, both relying on physical resilience and endurance. They would turn him into an unyielding force, a wall against any physical threat.

But the idea of evolving beyond just physical endurance, of incorporating aether into his defense, was tempting. Aetheric Skin would allow him to harness aether in a way that was both defensive and efficient, protecting him without draining his resources unnecessarily. It was a strategic option, one that could give him an edge in situations where raw physical power wasn't enough.

He hesitated, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty. Any of these choices would make him stronger, more capable of surviving the harsh realities of his world. But which one would serve him best in the long run?

After what felt like an eternity of deliberation, Thorne made his decision. He chose Aetheric Skin. Despite his reliance on stamina, the potential of using aether as a reactive defense was too valuable to ignore. It would diversify his abilities, giving him a level of adaptability that could mean the difference between life and death.

The moment he made his choice, he felt a profound change ripple through his body. It wasn't painful, but it was intense—a deep, almost seismic shift in his very being. His skin tingled, the sensation spreading outwards from his core, as if his entire body was being rewritten on a fundamental level.

Thorne lay there, breathing deeply as the transformation took hold. The agony of the past days still lingered in his mind, but beneath it, he felt a new strength, a new resilience growing. As the initial shock of his transformation settled, curiosity got the better of him. He summoned his character sheet, eager to see how his torment had shaped his progress.

Name: Thorne

Level: 33

Race: Human

Age: 14

Special Trait: Elder Race

Health points: 860/860

Aether: 540/540

Stamina: 900/900

Strength: 63 → 68

Agility: 80

Dexterity: 78

Endurance: 85 → 90

Vitality: 83 → 86

Spirit: 98 → 100

Wisdom: 54

Intelligence: 50

Skills:

Tracking: 25

Foraging: 6

Archery: 19

Running: 46

Stealth: 40

Reading: 15

Arithmetic: 12

Herbalism: 6

Acting: 22

Haggling: 10

Deception: 25

Sleight of hand: 20

Pickpocketing: 18

Lockpicking: 15

Resilience: 30 → 41

Thick Skin: 36 → 50 → Aetheric Skin: 1

Acrobatics: 37

Daggers: 41 → 42

Escape Artist: 33

Shadow Meld: 26

Mindguard: 10

Echoes of Truth: 14 → 18

Unarmed Combat: 23

Combat Reflexes: 30 → 31

Hunter's Insight: 10

Stealth Strike: 18

Cunning Trapper: 11

Critical Eye: 6

Crossbows: 7

Throwing knives: 9

Sword mastery: 6

Lethal Flurry: 4

Backstab: 6

Mask of Deceit: 1 → 11

Swimming: 2

PRIMAL AETHER MANIPULATION: 15

AETHER BURST: 9

AETHER SURGE: 7

AETHERIC GRIP: 5

The sheer scale of his progress left him breathless. His Thick Skin skill had indeed evolved, transforming into Aetheric Skin and resetting to level 1.

The torture had nearly broken him, but it had also forged him into something stronger, something more dangerous. And yet, as he looked at his character sheet, Thorne felt a creeping sense of disorganization. He had accumulated so many skills, so many abilities, that it all felt chaotic and overwhelming. He couldn't help but feel like he was losing control over his own growth, like his power was sprawling out in every direction without any clear focus.

As soon as he recognized the chaotic state of his abilities, the letters and numbers on his character sheet began to shift and move. The screen flickered, and suddenly, the entire sheet seemed to come alive, letters and numbers flying across his vision in a dizzying array of movement. Skills, stats, and abilities reorganized themselves, reshuffling like a deck of cards in the hands of a master dealer.

Thorne watched, wide-eyed and disoriented, as the chaotic mess began to take on a new form.

Name: Thorne

Level: 33

Race: Human

Age: 14

Special Trait: Elder Race

Health Points: 860/860

Aether: 540/540

Stamina: 900/900

Core Attributes

Strength: 68

Agility: 80

Dexterity: 78

Endurance: 90

Vitality: 86

Spirit: 100

Wisdom: 54

Intelligence: 50

Combat Skills

Daggers: 42

Lethal Flurry: 4

Backstab: 6

Unarmed Combat: 23

Combat Reflexes: 31

Sword Mastery: 6

Throwing Knives: 9

Crossbows: 7

Critical Eye: 6

Archery: 19

Stealth & Deception

Stealth: 40

Shadow Meld: 26

Deception: 25

Sleight of Hand: 20

Pickpocketing: 18

Lockpicking: 15

Stealth Strike: 18

Escape Artist: 33

Survival & Miscellaneous Skills

Tracking: 25

Foraging: 6

Acrobatics: 37

Running: 46

Herbalism: 6

Hunter's Insight: 10

Cunning Trapper: 11

Swimming: 2

Mental & Social Skills

Acting: 22

Haggling: 10

Reading: 15

Arithmetic: 12

Mindguard: 10

Echoes of Truth: 18

Mask of Deceit: 11

Defensive Skills

Resilience: 41

Aetheric Skin: 1

Aetheric Abilities

Primal Aether Manipulation: 15

Aether Burst: 9

Aether Surge: 7

Aetheric Grip: 5

He marveled at the transformation, feeling a sense of clarity he hadn't known he needed. And as the new Aetheric Skin pulsed faintly beneath his flesh, Thorne felt a sense of anticipation. He was ready to test his new skill.

Too absorbed in his newly transformed layout Thorne failed to hear the faint creak of the door.

"You are awake!" Sid sighed in relief.

PS: I am thinking of spending all my hard earned Patreon money on another ad here on RR. I will use one of the images I have created for my chapters on Patreon. Which one do you think is best?

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2. <img alt="image" src="https://i.imgur.com/57xtJEc.png"/>

3.<img alt="image" src="https://i.imgur.com/YHLc78J.png"/>

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