A Price Paid in Blood (Part - 1)

The grasslands stretched out under the vast sky, a sea of green rippling in the morning breeze. Pyrrhus sat alone on a small hill overlooking the camp, his five-year-old legs swinging restlessly as he fiddled with a simple needle.

"Stupid unstable mana," he muttered under his breath, tossing the needle in the air and catching it again.

Unstable mana, while powerful and versatile, had a glaring weakness. It allowed for greater control over distance and more flexible attacks, but controlling it also strained the mind, demanding constant focus and precision.

In the forest, he'd discovered a hard limit: he could only control three needles at a time when attacking in the same direction. Splitting his mind to make two needles do completely different things was beyond him, at least for now.

The other weakness he noticed was with the element itself. Wind could create extremely sharp edges but the ephemeral nature of the element also made it quite brittle.

He'd been practicing relentlessly, pushing the limits of his abilities. He could summon gusts of wind that sent tents flapping and trees swaying, but that wasn't enough. He needed something more focused, more deadly.

He'd seen how easily the Ravager had shrugged off the soldiers' attacks, how Bram had struggled even with his enchanted blade. Pyrrhus knew he couldn't rely on brute force alone. He needed finesse, precision.

"Got to find a way to make this thing hit harder," he mumbled, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he summoned a miniature whirlwind around the needle. It spun, a blur of polished steel but seemed to have hit a limit.

No matter how much mana he poured into it, it refused to spin faster.

Frustrated, Pyrrhus dismissed the whirlwind and dove into his mana space. Two sparks, one vibrant yellow, the other a deep onyx, pulsed within a ring of lifeforce. They represented the two types of mana: stable and unstable.

He had just started practicing with the stable mana so the Onyx spark was much smaller than the yellow one. Apparently, as he progressed in ranks the Unstable mana would go from yellow to pitch black and stable mana went from onyx to bright white.

He was still at the first rank, so the amount of mana he had was limited. Once the stable mana also reached his peak, he would have to create more rings of lifeforce and advance to the next level.

Till then, how was he supposed to increase his attack power? Just as he wondered, a buzz resonated in his mind. With a frown, he summoned his system page.

***

[Name]: Pyrrhus

[Mana]: Unstable (Yellow), Stable (Onyx)

[Elements]: Wind, Water, Fire, Earth, Soul

[LifeWeave]: None

[ManaLocks]: None

[Unique Magic]: Flame Dominion

[Flame Dominion]: Flame Dominion commands the essence of fire, binding all flames to the will of its bearer.

***

But just below that, there were new words.

***

[Accessing Codex]

[Enchant the needle?]

[Yes] [No]

[Cost]: Fragment of the flame

***

Pyrrhus stared at the bizarre scene completely confused.

All these years, the system had been nothing more than an information screen. Now, it seemed, it was offering him a path to power.

But what was a "Fragment of the Flame"? And what would it cost him? He hesitated for a while but eventually said, "Yes."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a searing pain erupted in his mind, like a white-hot brand searing his soul. He collapsed to the ground, his vision blurring as he felt something within him tear.

Through the haze of pain, he saw the needle hovering in the air, bathed in an ethereal glow. It pulsed with energy, transforming before his very eyes. He didn't know how long the process lasted, but it felt like an eternity.

When the pain finally subsided, Pyrrhus lay gasping, his clothes soaked in sweat. The needle lay beside him, transformed. Its once smooth surface was now etched with intricate lines, glowing with an inner light.

He picked it up, his fingers trembling. Channeling his mana, he willed the needle to spin. It whirred to life, faster and louder than before, a miniature tornado of razor-sharp steel. The air crackled with energy, the very grass beneath him bending under the force of the whirlwind.

"Whoa," he breathed, his eyes wide. "That's a lot more like it."

But the power came at a cost. In an instant, his mana was drained, leaving him feeling weak and dizzy.

Pyrrhus frowned withdrawing his mana and studying it. How had the system managed to increase the output and why couldn't he?

All of a sudden, a sharp blow to the side of his head sent Pyrrhus tumbling to the ground, a startled cry escaping his lips. The world spun, the grasslands momentarily blurring into a nauseating kaleidoscope of green and gold.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, scrambling to his feet. He hadn't been paying attention, too distracted and neglected his soul sense, leaving himself wide open for an ambush.

"Teach the little brat a lesson, boys!" Milo's voice, dripping with malice, echoed through the air.

Fury surged through Pyrrhus, eclipsing the throbbing pain in his head. He recognized that smug voice anywhere. It was the same voice that had taunted Owen, the same voice that dripped with undeserved arrogance.

This wasn't a random attack; this was calculated revenge.

He tried to summon his magic, to lash out with a defensive gust of wind, but his reserves were depleted.

Another blow landed, this one sending a sharp, agonizing pain through his jaw. A tooth flew from his mouth, landing on the grass with a sickening thud.

"Damn it!" he hissed, scrambling to his feet, but another kick sent him reeling back to the ground.

"What's wrong, little mage?" Finn taunted, his voice echoing with cruel amusement. "All tuckered out?"

Pyrrhus lunged, his fists flying, but the he was only five years old and they were eleven. He was no match for Finn and Erik, who towered over him like giants. Each punch landed with bone-jarring force, their taunts a chorus of pain.

"Where's your wind magic now, runt?" Erik sneered, landing a particularly nasty blow to Pyrrhus's stomach.

"Show us some of that bravado, Snitch!" Milo chimed in, his laughter grating on Pyrrhus's ears.

The world became a blur of fists and boots, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through his tiny body. He curled up, shielding his head and vital organs as best he could, but he was no match for the older boys. They were bigger, stronger, and fueled by a vicious hatred that Pyrrhus could barely comprehend.

Pyrrhus gritted his teeth, the taste of blood filling his mouth. He knew he was outmatched, but surrender wasn't an option. He focused inward, drawing upon the last dregs of his mana, a tiny spark flickering to life within the swirling chaos.

"Alright, boys, that's enough," Milo said, a chilling finality in his voice. "Time to finish this."

A wave of icy fear washed over Pyrrhus. Even Finn and Erik hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances with their leader.

"But Milo..." Erik began, his voice laced with uncertainty.

"Don't worry," Milo assured them, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "It was my father's orders. Bram and Jonathan won't do anything."

Finn hesitated, a flicker of doubt clouding his eyes. But Milo's words were a potent poison, fueling his anger and resentment. He turned back to Pyrrhus, a savage grin spreading across his face.

"This is for my ear, you little freak," he snarled, pulling a gleaming dagger from his belt.

***

A/N:

Sorry about the delay. I wanted to make this chapter really good and edited it five times 🤦.

Might have made it worse instead. Well, l'll leave it to you to decide but I hope you like it. 😞