The Making of a Winner: DethnusAckearose

(Inspired by Soul Sacrifice)

What makes a victor?

This question eluded my mind the moment it was asked of me. The child who had proposed the question died moments later by my hands. The price of becoming a monster. My life as a sorcerer demanded these things. Life after life was devoured into my right arm. As the child faded, his emotions and mindset washed into my own. His question echoed thousands of times, it being the reason for his transformation.

He had been bullied. Those who did these things knew no bounds. Beaten, bloodied, and battered, he wandered to his home, only to find them robbed and slaughtered like helpless lambs. This had enraged him. The child blamed himself for being one who lost constantly. A silver chalice had appeared, the child made his deal, and the monster was born.

It was things like this, mere human cruelty, that bore all the monsters of the world. Why could they not see this? I returned to Magasar and reported no new information on the Chalice. He seemed displeased. We had both been sure.

“You look as if you have a question, friend?” Magasar asked me. His right arms’ eyes all stared my way in question. My own right arm had yet to manifest a form. Perhaps this was because I had no special traits or excessive emotions? I knew not.

“The child I sacrificed wanted to know what makes a victor,” I said, flexing my right arm and hearing the child’s voice alongside a multitude of others. Sometimes I forgot who I was. It was only after looking at my journal that I remembered.

Magasar pondered this questioned as we started toward our next job. “The pretext of a victor is someone who is victorious. This raised the question if we are really winning these battles or simply righting the losses.”

I thought about Magasar’s words for a time. “We are winning these fights, Magasar,” I said, “I believe we are victors.”

“Why do you say we win, old friend?” The elder sorcerer said slowly.

“We save people,” I said, “and that is reason enough.”

Magasar nodded and the child’s voice grew quiet. Yes, he was slated for the time. The child had feared his own weakness due to the horrors he believed he awoke through loss. He feared them enough to want to be a victor. This is a fatal flaw. One must not seek victory to be a victor, but to protect others. The child had learned the lesson too late, though you, reader, are not too late. Be wary of your own emotions and remember what it is to be a winner.

The End

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