I Became the World's Deadliest Artist

The door groaned as Kael pushed it open, the sound reverberating through the stone hallway like a dying man's last breath. Beyond the threshold was a darkness deeper than any he'd seen so far, a black void that seemed to swallow the light whole. Cold air poured out from the chamber beyond, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and decay. It made him hesitate—just for a moment.

Behind him, faint footsteps echoed through the corridor. They were growing louder, closer, urgent. Kael exhaled sharply and stepped through the door, his hand brushing against its rough iron surface as he pulled it shut behind him. The sound of the door slamming shut reverberated through the hollow space, leaving him in silence.

The darkness closed in around him like a shroud. For a moment, Kael's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He raised his hand, expecting his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but the void was absolute. He couldn't even see his fingers an inch in front of his face.

But the shadows—he could feel them. They clung to him, curling at the edges of his awareness like coiled serpents waiting to strike. He reached out instinctively, brushing his fingers against the inky blackness. The tendrils of darkness responded, cold and alive, wrapping themselves around his hand like smoke.

Kael closed his eyes, focusing. The shadows pulsed faintly, their presence sharp and visceral, and with a soft exhalation, he willed them forward. Slowly, faint tendrils of darkness began to glow in his mind's eye, carving a path through the void. The air grew colder as the shadows rippled outward, illuminating faint outlines of the chamber ahead.

The room was cavernous and empty, its walls rough and uneven, carved directly from the bedrock beneath the guild's stronghold. Cracks splintered across the stone like veins, and water dripped steadily from above, collecting in shallow pools on the ground. The faint smell of mildew clung to everything, mingling with the coppery tang of old blood.

Kael stepped forward cautiously, his boots splashing softly in the water. The chamber was vast, but its emptiness felt unnatural, as though something had once filled this space but had long since disappeared.

As his senses sharpened, Kael noticed faint markings on the walls. Symbols. They were carved deep into the stone, their edges worn by time and damp. His gaze lingered on them, his eyes tracing the unfamiliar shapes. They weren't like the assassin sigils he had seen during the fleeting flashes of memory from his body's previous life. These were older, more intricate—sprawling spirals and angular lines that seemed to shift under his gaze.

A faint hum stirred in the back of his mind as he studied the symbols, a deep, resonant vibration that felt like it was coming from the walls themselves. The sound wasn't audible—it was something he felt, a pulse that seemed to echo within his chest.

Kael took a step closer, his fingers brushing against one of the carvings. The moment his skin touched the stone, a sharp jolt shot through him, cold and electric. He jerked his hand back with a sharp gasp, his heart pounding in his ears.

The shadows around him rippled violently, their tendrils recoiling as though in pain. For a brief moment, the symbols seemed to glow, faint and pale, before fading back into the darkness.

A whisper cut through the silence.

"Kael..."

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was faint, almost inaudible, like a breath carried on the wind. He turned sharply, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement, but the chamber remained empty.

"Kael..."

This time, the voice was clearer. It wasn't external—he realized that now. It was inside his mind, a low, melodic murmur that echoed faintly in the space between his thoughts. It carried a strange weight, a resonance that made his chest tighten.

His name. The name of this body. Whoever—or whatever—was speaking, it knew him.

Kael shook his head sharply, forcing the whisper to the back of his mind. He couldn't afford distractions. Not now. The pursuers were still out there, hunting him relentlessly.

He turned away from the symbols and moved deeper into the chamber. The floor sloped downward, the air growing colder with every step. The faint hum of the symbols faded behind him, replaced by the steady drip of water and the occasional scuttle of unseen creatures in the shadows.

The descent felt endless. The corridor narrowed, its rough walls pressing closer, until Kael was forced to crouch slightly to avoid the jagged overhangs of stone. The shadows clung to him more tightly here, their cold tendrils wrapping around his limbs as though seeking warmth.

The pain in his chest—the toll from earlier—lingered. It wasn't sharp, but it gnawed at him, a dull ache that pulsed faintly with every step. He pushed it aside, focusing instead on the rhythm of his movements.

At last, the narrow passage widened into another chamber. This one was smaller, its ceiling low and its walls lined with crumbling stone shelves. The shelves were littered with remnants of the past—broken daggers, rusted chains, scraps of cloth that had long since decayed into little more than dust.

Kael stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room cautiously. The air was stale and heavy, but there was no immediate sign of danger. He moved toward one of the shelves, his fingers brushing against the hilt of a rusted blade.

The whispers returned.

This time, they were louder, clearer.

"You do not belong here..."

Kael stiffened, his hand clenching around the blade instinctively. The shadows around him pulsed, their tendrils curling tighter as though sensing his unease.

"Turn back..."

The voice was different now—no longer melodic, but cold and sharp, filled with something that felt like disdain. Kael turned sharply, his eyes scanning the chamber, but there was nothing. Only darkness.

He exhaled slowly, forcing his breathing to steady. Whatever this presence was, it wasn't physical. It wasn't here. Not yet, at least.

A faint sound broke the silence—a soft click that sent a chill racing down his spine.

Kael moved on instinct, throwing himself to the side just as the ground beneath his feet gave way. A section of the floor collapsed in a spray of stone and dust, revealing a jagged pit lined with rusted spikes. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs, but he scrambled to his feet immediately, his body moving before his mind could process the near-death experience.

The whispers grew louder, their tone sharper, almost mocking.

"Clever... but not enough."

Kael clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the rusted blade. The toll in his chest flared again, stronger this time, but he forced himself to stand tall.

"Keep talking," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and steady. "I'm still standing."

The shadows pulsed around him, their cold presence growing stronger. Kael straightened, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He didn't know what lay ahead, but he knew one thing for certain: he wasn't turning back.