19. Two Sides

Is there really anything left worth fighting for?

Is there anyone worth saving?

These thoughts gnawed at Seiito's mind, devouring his resolve. His beliefs, his hope—all crumbled like fragile sand, swept away by the chilling winds of despair. The sting of failure was suffocating, as though death itself had cast its shadow over him, relentless and inevitable.

More crimson liquid gushed from the stump where his hand once was. Blood, vivid and fierce, dripped onto the cold, unyielding ground. The sight of it ignited something dark inside him—a rage that consumed reason and stoked the fires of madness.

"You dare… take my hand…" His voice was a growl, low and feral, like a cornered beast ready to lash out. His teeth clenched and bared like fangs as fury welled up within him.

"Heal…" He gritted his teeth and pressed his remaining hand to the wound, muttering through the pain.

Heal! He poured his magic into it, but the blood wouldn't stop. His magic could only do so much. The jagged white of his bone peeked through the mangled flesh—a reminder of his own helplessness.

Before he could even register the movement, the Rancor closed the distance. Its body moved like a shadow, impossibly fast, its claws slashing through the air.

…!

Seiito's body was thrown back with devastating force, crashing into the jagged, spiked walls of the cavern. A sharp pain tore through his body, and he coughed up blood. Before he could regain his bearings, another blow came—this time, the Rancor's knee buried itself in Seiito's abdomen, driving the air from his lungs and leaving him gasping in agony.

"Buaaah…!!" He spat more blood, the sharp taste of iron filling his mouth.

The Rancor's twisted grin stretched across its monstrous face, lips peeling back to reveal jagged fangs stained with the remnants of past victims. Its golden eyes gleamed with sadistic glee, savoring the fear it saw flicker across Seiito's expression. A deep, rumbling chuckle escaped the creature—low and cruel, like a predator toying with prey already caught in its jaws.

Seiito's breath hitched as clawed fingers buried into his scalp, yanking his hair with brutal force. Pain shot down his neck and spine, making his vision swim. His body dangled helplessly, suspended like a rag doll in the beast's merciless grip.

Seiito's eyes blazed with fury, but it was a hollow fire. His rage was meaningless against the overwhelming strength of the beast. The weight of his powerlessness was crushing.

Damn it… Damn my weakness…

The Rancor's hand transformed, its claws extending into a spear-like shape. Without hesitation, it drove its hand into Seiito's abdomen, piercing deep.

"GAAAAAHHH!!" The scream tore from Seiito's throat, his body wracked with unbearable pain.

And then the stabbing began again. Over and over, the Rancor's claws drove into his flesh, merciless and unrelenting. Each stab ripped through muscle, bone, and soul. Time slowed, the agony dragging on for what felt like hours, each second a fresh hell.

Stab, stab, stab.

Blood soaked the ground, the walls—the very air itself seemed to be drenched in the life that was leaving his body. The Rancor didn't stop, not until Seiito was reduced to a mass of broken limbs and failing breaths.

And yet, he didn't die.

The Rancor's frustration grew, its snarls turning to roars. How was this weak human still clinging to life after so many wounds? With an enraged snarl, it grabbed Seiito by the throat and tore through his flesh with its claws, ripping his neck open. Blood gushed out like a fountain, soaking his clothes, his skin, his soul.

"Haghhh…" Seiito's vision blurred, the edges of his consciousness fading. The pain was no longer bearable—it had become something beyond pain, a numbing abyss of torment.

But even then, his instincts screamed at him to live. His one good hand shakily pressed against his throat, and he whispered through trembling lips: "Heal…"

The wound closed slowly, imperfectly, leaving behind an ugly, jagged scar. His hand was drenched in his own blood, a stain that would never wash away.

The Rancor howled in fury, its roar shaking the very walls of the tower. Its body surged with power, muscles bulging as it activated a skill, one that increased its already overwhelming strength.

Seiito took the chance. With all the strength he could muster, he kicked the Rancor away and scrambled to his feet. His body was broken, barely functioning, but he forced it to move. He ran, desperate to escape the beast's grasp.

How… can I beat this thing?

Seiito's thoughts were consumed by the enemy behind him, his mind racing for a way out. How could a healer—a simple healer—fight against a monster like this?

All his research, all the training, all the knowledge he had gathered… none of it seemed to matter now. None of it had prepared him for this.

Magic creates… magic sustains… and magic destroys…

The words echoed in his mind, something he had read long ago but had never fully understood. Magic had two sides, like a coin—creation and destruction. Healers were bound to creation, to sustaining life.

But could he, too, wield destruction?

A claw flashed before Seiito's eyes, a searing pain tearing through his face. Before he could even comprehend what had happened, his vision blurred, and his left eye was wrenched from its socket in a horrifying instant.

A gut-wrenching scream erupted from his throat. Seiito stumbled backward, clutching the bloodied side of his face, desperate to quell the agony.

"Heal!!!" The word came out in a furious, primal roar.

Blood soaked his vision, the sticky warmth of it running down his cheek, dripping from his fingers. His world was reduced to a blur of red, and the pain—the blinding, unending pain—filled him with a rage he had never known.

I've lost a hand… and now an eye…

The Rancor loomed before him, a sardonic smirk twisting its grotesque lion-like features. It raised its claw, Seiito's severed eye still impaled upon it. Without hesitation, the creature popped the eye into its mouth and swallowed.

Seiito's stomach churned at the sight. Nausea twisted within him, but something else—something darker—rose to the surface. The humiliation, the mockery, the sheer belittlement he had endured… something inside him snapped.

His mind shattered, and in its place, something else was born. The kind-hearted healer was no more.

His soul—once pure—was now a swirling abyss of rage and hatred. The flames of hell had devoured every remnant of innocence, leaving nothing but ash. Pain, once an enemy, had become his greatest ally. Anger was his joy. Bloodlust, his twisted kindness. Death… his solace.

Seiito ground his teeth together so hard that blood dripped from his gums. His voice, low and venomous, broke the silence.

Ye talentless is thine specialty. A whisper echoed.

[Magic Reversal] is for the talentless.

Let thine emotions consume thee.

For it is needed.

For your ascention.

"If I can heal…" His voice was a dangerous whisper, sharp enough to cut through the thick air around him.

He dragged his feet forward, the crunch of gravel mixing with the squelch of blood-soaked earth beneath his boots. His remaining eye blazed with a crimson fury, the kind of rage that burns quietly, waiting to erupt. Tendrils of darkness coiled around him, seeping into the cracks of his broken soul, wrapping around his twisted heart.

"…then I can destroy."

The golden shimmer of healing magic in his hand was no longer a symbol of hope—it was tainted, laced with shadows, its light warped into an unholy blend of crimson and black. The very air around him vibrated with a vile frequency as if reality itself recoiled at the malice that seeped from his magic. It throbbed violently, threatening to tear the world apart. Any mortal who dared listen to its hum would have their eardrums burst, the sheer pressure reducing them to lifeless husks.

With a flick of his wrist, Seiito sent his magic toward the Rancor. It should have healed—but instead—

"ROOOAAAARRR!!!" The Rancor's defiant roar turned into a pitiful cry as its nose, mouth, and ears began to bleed uncontrollably. Blood poured from every orifice, the creature choking on its own gore as its body convulsed.

The Rancor stumbled back in terror, its once overwhelming presence diminished.

Seiito was thrown back. He couldn't believe his power had become putrid, oppressive, and dark. But this was it. This was what he wanted and needed, and it scared him. It made him uncertain of who he was: a healer or a killer.

Seiito let out a slow, deliberate grin—diabolical, drenched in madness.

He knew the answer to that, and he couldn't hesitate anymore.

"Heal." His voice dripped with cruelty as he sent another wave of healing magic toward the beast.

The Rancor shrieked, its body writhing as if being torn apart from the inside. Blood spurted from new wounds—holes where no blade had struck, nor claws had pierced.

Seiito's eye gleamed with dark satisfaction as the Rancor's right hand—once his own tormentor—was suddenly severed, just as his own had been.

"Interesting…" Seiito mused, watching the creature flail helplessly. He realized then—his healing magic had reversed. Every injury he had suffered, he could now inflict.

Electrocution, burns, poison, stab wounds, slashes, a torn throat, bludgeoning—every pain he had endured, he could now reflect tenfold.

The Rancor's body was riddled with phantom wounds. The stab marks that littered Seiito's abdomen mirrored the beast, its fur drenched in blood as it struggled to stand.

Its eyes were wide, wild with fear as it looked at Seiito.

With one final, sickening grin, Seiito raised his hand. "An eye for an eye."

The Rancor's remaining eye exploded in a shower of blood.

The creature stumbled, screaming in agony, blood pouring from its face. It could no longer comprehend how this weak, fragile human had transformed into something so demonic, so overwhelmingly powerful.

Seiito stepped closer, his voice low and filled with venom. "A soul for a soul."

With a sickening squelch, the Rancor's neck was sliced open, a fountain of blood erupting from the wound. The creature gurgled, collapsing to the ground as the life drained from its body.

Seiito stood over the fallen beast, drenched in blood. His once soft eyes now gleamed with the red glow of madness, and the cave had become a grisly, blood-soaked battlefield. The air was thick with the stench of death.

"Heh… heh heh… HEH HEH HEHEHEHE HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Seiito's laughter echoed through the cave, wild and unhinged.

For the first time, he had killed something with his own magic. For the first time, he had taken a life for his satisfaction. And for the first time… he felt free.

His mockery, his pain, his pent-up fury—all of it poured out of him like lava from an erupting volcano. The satisfaction he felt was intoxicating, like a poison that had seeped into his veins.

The healer was gone. In his place stood something else—something far more dangerous.

"Whoever stands in my way… I'll kill them!" Seiito growled, his voice laced with a twisted resolve. His goal was now clear: he would escape the World Tower, no matter the cost, no matter who he had to kill.

Seiito collapsed against the rough, jagged wall of the cave, gasping for air, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. Blood still seeped from the stump where his hand once was, and his vision was blurred by the crimson streaks running down his face.

With trembling fingers, he focused on his remaining strength, calling forth the only magic he had left.

"[Bleed Stop]…" His voice was barely a whisper, but the spell worked. The bleeding slowed, and the flow of blood ceased, leaving the raw, exposed flesh in its wake.

He let out a low growl, frustrated by the limitations of his power. His healing magic could mend wounds, close cuts, and restore flesh, but it couldn't regenerate what had been lost. He couldn't bring back his severed hand, nor the eye that had been torn from him.

Not yet.

"I need more…" he muttered under his breath, clenching his teeth as he healed whatever he could. His body trembled with the effort, and his mana was almost depleted. The pain was maddening, but what infuriated him even more was his helplessness.

He slammed his fist into the rocky ground, sending a ripple of pain through his arm, the frustration burning deeper into his mind.

"I will get my eye back… and my hand," he swore to himself, his voice thick with determination and a growing edge of desperation. "There has to be a skill… something… something to make me whole again."

His gaze, now half-blind, glared into the crimson-soaked cave as the echoes of his rage reverberated in the hollow space. He wasn't going to stop. Not now, not ever. Whatever it took, whatever power he needed, he would find it.

And when he did, the World Tower would pay.