The Slayer Ascension: Cursed and Blessed.-Chapter 45: Finally, my lucky day

Chapter 45

Minutes later, the parents stood at the side of the altar.

The woman dressed entirely in black stood before them, her posture calm, unmoving. In her palm rested a small golden chest, its surface etched with symbols that pulsed faintly.

Lying on the altar was a baby. No more than a few months old.

Yet the sight was wrong.

The child’s body was an unnatural icy blue, as though his insides were completely frozen. He looked like something pulled straight from a block of ice, fragile and lifeless.

And yet he lived.

Every once in a while, a weak thump echoed from his chest. A heartbeat. Slow. Struggling. Proof that life still clung to him, though for how long, no one could say.

The woman turned to face the parents.

Her voice was even. Empty.

"Are you certain of your decision?"

She glanced back at the child.

"He may die instead of being saved. And even if he survives, he may be forced to endure agonizing torment for the rest of his life. Are you prepared to bear that?"

In her mind, it seemed almost kinder to let the child die now. To spare him future suffering. To spare him from burning alive the moment the procedure began.

The parents hesitated.

Just hearing her words sent phantom pain through their bodies. They did not want their child to suffer. Not even for a second.

But they did not want him to die either.

They had tried for so long to have a child. Years of hope. Years of waiting. And now that he was finally here, they could not let him go. They would not.

Whatever came after, they would endure it together.

They nodded.

The woman turned back to the altar without another word.

She opened the golden chest.

From within, a red egg slowly rose into the air. It pulsed violently, overflowing with raw fire energy. The moment it was revealed, the temperature in the cave surged upward, the air growing thick and suffocating.

The woman raised one hand and manipulated her essence. The fire egg responded, releasing a controlled stream of heat toward the baby.

The fire energy flowed into the child’s body.

Immediately, changes began.

The icy blue skin started to fade, slowly shifting toward a more human tone. Frost retreated from the surface, melting away as warmth spread across his body.

But the baby did not move.

The external frost was being cleared, but the internal cold remained. The core of the Cryosis still clung to his organs.

The woman frowned slightly.

"This will not be enough."

She increased the output.

The fire energy intensified. The flow became faster. Stronger.

Finally, the baby stirred.

A faint movement. A twitch.

Hope surged through the parents’ chests.

Then they saw it.

The child was in pain.

His tiny body writhed weakly, skin flushing red as if burning from the inside out. His distress was unmistakable. Even without sound, his suffering screamed.

The mother broke.

"Stop. Stop, please. Stop."

Her voice cracked as she screamed, stepping forward, tears pouring freely.

The woman in black did not respond.

"Stop. Stop. Stop."

She screamed until her throat burned, but the woman did not answer.

Instead, the fire energy was pushed even deeper into the baby’s body.

Panic consumed the mother. She charged forward, abandoning all reason, trying to reach her child. Before she could get close, a violent wave of energy slammed into her, hurling her backward.

She crashed hard against the stone.

The woman in black finally spoke, her voice calm, neutral, terrifying.

"If I stop now, the child will die. The fire energy inside his body has not stabilized yet. I warned you of the risks. You agreed."

She did not turn around.

"So be patient. And pray he survives."

The fire continued.

At first, the woman found the process manageable. But as time passed, her control began to slip. The way the child’s body absorbed the fire was wrong. No resistance. No rejection.

Unnatural.

Her breath caught.

Behind the veil covering her face, her expression shifted. Her mouth parted slightly in disbelief. She had lost control of the fire orb. Completely.

All of its energy was pouring into the baby at an overwhelming speed.

Even she could not absorb forty percent of the fire contained in that orb.

Yet the child absorbed all of it.

Every last trace.

When the absorption ended, the heat around the baby vanished. His body stabilized instantly. His breathing evened out. He fell asleep as if nothing had happened. As if reality itself had not just been violated.

The woman’s eyes narrowed.

She noticed it then.

Molten lines forming beneath the skin.

A tattoo burning itself into existence.

At the back of the child’s body, two crossed daggers took shape, forming a red axe.

"It is done," she said quietly.

The parents collapsed to their knees, waves of relief and happiness crashing over them until they could barely breathe.

Back in the present.....

Those same parents stood frozen as they watched their son across the room.

Roy’s body convulsed violently. His skin tightened, then relaxed, releasing waves of heat into the air. His chest rose and fell erratically, like he might give up and die at any moment.

"We are sorry," they whispered together.

"So sorry."

They could only watch as Roy endured the flames once more.

But Roy was not the only one suffering.

Far away, in another city close to Rasna, a boy lay atop a massive tree branch. His face was twisted in pain and frustration as he stared at a single silver coin clenched tightly in his hand.

Gazel.

He had thought all night. Over and over. How to earn money. How to survive.

Nothing.

No one would hire him. He was underage. The few jobs he could find were either disgusting or paid almost nothing. By morning, he was back where he started.

One silver coin.

Hundreds of kilometers away from the Bulwark the white freak had mentioned.

He exhaled sharply and forced a grin onto his face.

"Few days. Maybe a week," he muttered. "I can survive that. I will survive. You will see."

Tomorrow would be better.

What was the worst that could happen anyway.

--------

Days later.

A figure sprinted through the busy streets of a massive city. Armed soldiers chased him relentlessly, shouting commands as they closed in.

The one they were hunting was small, fast, dressed in nearly tattered clothes.

His black and white hair gave him away instantly.

Gazel.

The White Thief.

The worst had already happened.

No work.

No money.

No food.

Equals to no surviving.

So Gazel stole.

Maybe it was not a good thing. Maybe it was not a clean thing. But tell that to a fool who dies trying to stay good. Gazel was not that kind of fool.

He wanted to live.

He survived by taking luxury items, slipping through shadows, moving fast, thinking faster. Before long, his name spread.

The White Thief.

Fame came with danger.

When his hideout was discovered, he had no choice. He left the city. Soldiers were human, slow, predictable. He outran them like always.

But going back was no longer an option.

With only a few belongings on him, especially the ones he valued most, Gazel continued his journey toward the Bulwark.

Hours later, he walked through a deep alley, bushes thick on both sides, shadows clinging to the walls.

"Why am I always this unlucky," he muttered.

Everything he had stolen was gone. Seized by soldiers. Gone.

Even if they were just doing their job, it did not change anything.

He was broke again.

Hungry again.

Back at nothing again.

Just as the thought crossed his mind that maybe he was cursed, five men burst out of the bushes, surrounding him from every side.

Their faces were rough. Their eyes were wrong. Predatory.

One glance was enough.

Bandits.

One of them stepped forward, a cruel grin on his face.

"Drop everything you have," he said, voice thick with confidence, "and we might consider letting you leave this place alive."

Silence.

Then Gazel smiled.

A slow, calm grin.

The bandits hesitated.

Confusion flickered across their faces.

Why was he smiling.

"Why are you smiling," one of them asked, his voice sharp.

Gazel whistled lightly, hands in his pockets, relaxed.

"Simple," he said.

"Because I think today is finally my lucky day."

TO BE CONTINUED