Anazor stood in front of the full-length mirror in his dimly lit room, his body mostly bare except for the essential coverings. His focus was razor-sharp as he raised his right arm.
Suddenly, black veins swelled beneath his skin, twisting and pulsing like something alive. His muscles expanded, his arm growing larger with unnatural strength.
Then, with a thought, he willed the dark force to shift. The black substance receded from his right arm, slithering across his chest and pouring into his left arm. The transformation repeated.
He exhaled slowly.
He was getting better at controlling it.
From his experiments, Anazor had learned four things about the entity inside him:
First, it was a parasite, something foreign yet bound to him. It consumed Vahl and turned it into something… else. Something only he could command.
Second, unlike ordinary warriors who distributed Vahl evenly throughout their bodies, Anazor could focus all of his power into a single point. A single limb. This made which makes that limp exponentially stronger, his speed faster, and more resilient—even the cells can heal in exceptional rate.
Third, and most importantly—this power came at a cost.
He turned to the far side of the room, where a large portrait hung on the wall.
A woman in her thirties gazed back at him. She had brown hair, black eyes, white skin, and a cold expression—yet to Anazor, she had once been the only warmth in his world.
Once.
Now, as he looked at her, the emotions he once felt—pain, sadness, anger—were simply... gone.
Anazor raised his arm again.
The black Vahl responded, writhing under his skin before suddenly bursting from his forearm like a jagged blade. Flesh tore open, blood spilled, yet his face remained blank.
He stared at the wound.
"I can't feel anything," he murmured.
Not pain.
Not sadness.
Not even hunger—food had lost its taste.
His body was healing fast, the torn flesh knitting itself together. As the last of the wound sealed, Anazor turned his gaze back to his mother's portrait.
"It's not all about emotions," he whispered. "I will take your revenge mom."
With that, he dressed in a light training outfit and exited his room.
Outside, near his door, Nisrin stood motionless.
Her body was stiff, her movements mechanical. She no longer acted—she simply existed.
The fourth and final thing Anazor had learned was that the parasite could be transferred.
Injected into another host, where the parasite will take over the parasite in his body.
Which Anazor can command by his will just like the Vahl in his own body.
Now Nisrin's body was moving only when Anazor allowed it. But Nisrin wasn't gone completely deep in her eyes, Anazor could still see her.
A fragment of her former self.
She was still there, still aware, trapped in her own flesh. A prisoner in her own body.
Anazor didn't dwell on it.
He walked down the corridor, and Nisrin followed in silence.
As they moved, servants and maids instinctively stepped aside, pressing their backs to the walls. Their usual whispers were different now—no longer filled with mockery or disdain.
Now, they spoke in hushed, fearful tones.
"Just what happened to him he look so different"
"Yes he look so scary…"
"Even Nisrin—she moves like a corpse. What did he do to her?"
Anazor was aware of the change in how they looked at him.
Yesterday, their gazes had been filled with resentment.
Today, they were filled with fear.
And fear, Anazor thought, was far more tolerable than disrespect.
..
The training yard was quiet when they arrived.
Anazor turned to face Nisrin, his expression blank. Then, he focused his Vahl—letting it surge into his legs.
And without wasting any time In an instant, he launched himself forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet.
As he reached Nisrin, the Vahl raced up his body, concentrating into his arm. He swung a devastating punch—
But Nisrin dodged with ease.
Before he could react, her fist struck his chest, sending him skidding backward.
Anazor staggered, catching his breath.
His chest ached. He hadn't been able to replicate the power he had wielded that night.
That night, when something else—someone else—had taken control of his body.
The being inside him had defeated Nisrin effortlessly.
But he?
He wasn't even close to that level.
Anazor clenched his fists.
Then he resumed training—not just for himself, but for Nisrin as well.
Just as he could manipulate the Vahl within his own body, he had begun experimenting with controlling Nisrin's Vahl too.
Just like his Vahl could sense move and even focus the Vahl in Nisrin's body but it wasn't as easy.
Controlling his own Vahl was like moving his own limbs.
Controlling Nisrin's was like pulling strings on a puppet—unwieldy, imprecise.
But he would learn.
Because he had to.
And soon… he would no longer be just a parasite's host.
He would become its master.
A Prison Without Chains
Memoirs of Anazor
Training was interrupted by a hesitant voice.
"Young Master."
I turned to see a maid standing at the entrance of the training yard, her hands clasped tightly together as if steadying herself. She kept her gaze low, avoiding my eyes.
"The First Commander has come to visit you. He's waiting in the reception room."
Achraf.
One of the five commanders of the Northern Castle. Once my mother's right hand—now the one who had taken her place.
I exhaled slowly, letting the Vahl within me settle. Without a word, I left the training yard. Nisrin followed in silence.
In the reception room, Achraf sat lazily on a sofa, his wide shoulders and massive stomach making him appear even shorter than he was. Despite his relaxed posture, his presence filled the room—his aura was heavy, suffocating. A man who had stood at my mother's side for years, wielding power second only to hers.
Now, he was the Northern Castle's overlord.
I entered with confident steps, meeting his gaze without hesitation. Nisrin remained at my side, still and silent.
Achraf studied me for a moment, confusion flickering across his face.
What kind of expression is that?
He was expecting someone else. The Anazor he had known—the quiet, nervous boy who always lowered his head in his presence. The boy who flinched under his gaze.
I was no longer that boy.
He quickly masked his surprise with a smile. "How are you, Anazor? It must have been hard on you these past few days."
I didn't answer. I moved to my seat across from him and sat down. "You wanted to see me?"
His smile faded slightly. I could tell he wasn't used to this—me speaking to him so directly, without hesitation.
Achraf exhaled through his nose, then leaned forward. "Alright, Anazor, I'll be direct. I'm here to talk about the future of the castle—the position your mother left behind."
I cut him off before he could continue. My voice was steady. "The title of Overlord can only be obtained through inheritance or by a vote from all the commanders. As my mother's heir, the title should have gone to me. But since I showed no significant results in the Rite, the commanders opposed my claim. You saw an opportunity and took it."
Achraf's brows furrowed, but I continued.
"But it seems you don't have the full support of the commanders either. So now, you've come to me—because my support could tip the balance. Am I right?"
For a moment, there was silence.
Achraf's smile disappeared completely. He studied me, his expression unreadable.
Then, a chuckle—low and amused. "It seems I underestimated you, Anazor." His voice lost its warmth. "So what do you intend to do?"
"I won't give up my rightful title."
Achraf leaned back in his seat, nodding slightly. His expression hardened. "I see. Then you have no choice but to prove that you deserve it."
"And how will I do that?"
His answer was immediate. "Win the upcoming Ranking Trial. Take first place."
I had expected as much.
I tilted my head slightly. "The Ranking Trial… It's three months away. You know as well as I do that my Vahl reserves are average at best compared to the other participants. Not to mention Lisa, who trains under the Overlord of the Western Castle, and Lucas, the 'Lament of the Decade,' personally trained by the Chief of the Tribe himself. And you expect me to defeat all of them—without any support?"
Achraf's lips curled slightly. "The Overlord of the Northern Castle must be capable of at least that much. If you take first place, the commanders—including myself—will support your claim."
A test. One he was confident I would fail.
I let the silence stretch between us before answering. "Fine. But I have the right to a trainer."
Achraf stood. "I'll send you a list of available trainers."
The Next Day
Breakfast was tasteless, as it had been for weeks. I ate only because my body required it. My attention remained on the papers spread across the table—trainer profiles that Achraf had sent me.
Just as I expected, they were all second-rate. Some were in the first stage, but none were remarkable. All common, all weak. A calculated move. Achraf would allow me a trainer, but not one that would actually help me win.
I didn't mind.
I had already chosen the martial art I wanted to learn.
My eyes landed on one particular name. The image showed a middle-aged man with hollow eyes and a deeply fatigued expression.
The title beside his name caught my interest.
"Master of the wind slap Martial Art."
Perfect.