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I was also increasingly aware of just how valuable these soul crystals were, especially now that I had found one I wanted to absorb. Though a minor mistake or jostle probably wouldn’t damage the soul, I handled both of them with extreme care.

I decided to start with the mana skill. Slotting the crystal into the back of the chair, I made my selection on the screen that popped up. Was I just imagining the screens? Maybe the station was somehow beaming the data directly into my head, but I couldn’t say for certain.

Skill belongs to a basic rank soul. Required payment: ten souls of the basic rank.

I grimaced, but I still fed the payment souls into an opening that appeared right under the soul slot.

As I laid back on the surgical chair, I somehow managed to convince myself things wouldn’t be so bad. After all, the surface was nicely padded and unusually comfortable. Even the armrests conformed around my limbs like cushion clouds.

Then those clouds surged up and swallowed my arms, while bands of soft material rose up and encased my legs as well. That was a bad sign.

The damn thing purred under me as the sinew tentacles multiplied to overwhelming numbers, and I knew my next few minutes would be nothing but pain.

I was wrong.

The torment was far beyond pain.

Weird tentacles came down by the dozens and stabbed right into my chest, phasing through without resistance. That wasn’t so bad. Then the tendrils started to pull, and I screamed at the very top of my lungs as a white substance was dragged out of my body.

I knew immediately what it was: my soul.

It silhouetted the form of my new body almost perfectly, but there were glaring incongruities, as if my soul had been shredded and put back together with pieces that didn’t fit. Half my right leg was shorter and far less muscular than it should have been. The right side of my chest just didn’t fit the proportions on the left. My fingers didn’t match each other in length, and there was a very odd thing going on with my spine.

But the worst offender was my soul’s face. It looked melted and fractured, but underneath all that mess, I could recognize features that used to belong to me. Features I wasn’t forced to share with Hayden.

Tears sprang to my eyes as some of my memories cleared. I immediately reached for them, eager to regain even a fraction more of the person I used to be.

Then the rest of the station’s tools came into play, cutting off my attempts.

Surrounding my soul’s illusory body, they stabbed, slashed, pried open and generally wrecked havoc. And the sensations… those went far beyond anything that could be described as agony, or even described with words at all.

I had never realized before that the experience of physical pain is inherently limited by the body’s abilities. You can’t feel pain beyond what your body is capable of transmitting to you.

The soul is a different story. The pain of someone treating my soul like a pincushion was fundamental. It was completely unfettered by any protective limits of my physical life form. Though different than having my essence slurped on by some imaginary being, this was just as bad.

A demon probably would have described it as ’sublime.’

I described it as ’oh fuck please let it stop.’

Really, past the first few moments, I couldn’t even perceive the world around me. My existence was unholy torment and despair. I was barely conscious of the gibberish I was spouting, begging for it all to end.

When the tools of the station backed off and my soul was released to collapse back into my body, all I could do for a long time was twitch around in the chair. Still, when I finally managed to scrape together enough consciousness to know what was happening, it was almost worth it.

Almost.

Mana Manipulation: Body Strengthening (Basic) came with a flood of memories. Months, then years of knowledge unfolded in my mind like a tapestry, or one of those sped up training montages.

Thanks to the station, I absorbed every last memory with perfect clarity.

It was like they were seared into my very being, locked in so I could never forget them. After all that torment required to steal a skill from an absorbed soul, at least I had the comfort of knowing I wouldd never be able to forget a single detail.

More interestingly, I now knew more about mana in general, even more than I had gotten from my Hayden-memories. The station clearly didn’t skimped, granting me everything within the absorbed soul that was even tangentially related to the skill, along with the instincts required to properly use it.

And it wasn’t just mental knowledge. I could feel my body squirming as it caught up to my new abilities, synapses and muscles all changing to account for over a decade of training I just yoinked out of someone else’s soul.

"Incredible." My voice sounded breathy and full of wonder.

Seconds before, I had been determined never to sit down in this chair again. Now, I almost couldn’t wait for the next time.

It also helped that the remnant twinges of pain were quickly fading. The memory of those sensations was so far beyond what I should have experienced that my mind was destroying them. Already, I couldn’t put my finger on why exactly the chair hurt so much.

Of course, the theory behind it all didn’t matter to me much. Results did. So, with some lingering reluctance, I clambered up, slotted in the next soul crystal, and paid another ten souls.

Interestingly, while the process was still pure agony, it didn’t hurt quite as badly this time. Something in my soul was already starting to shift and adapt to my circumstances. I wasn’t sure, but when I looked within myself after the surgery, I thought I saw the red ball inside my chest extending tiny wisps of itself into the surrounding soul-flesh.

Maybe the seed of the Abyss was taking root.

I had no way to confirm this theory, especially since the counter for my ’ascension’ still sat stubbornly at one percent. But that didn’t matter as much to me at the moment. Far more intriguing were the knowledge and instincts I now possessed. My hand was practically itching to grasp a sword.

As I slipped out of the station’s chair for the second time, I gave into the urge.

I pulled out my sword in one smooth motion, took a stance I hadn’t practiced countless times before, and then launched into a sword dance. Every time I sliced, my sword made a whistling sound as it cut through air. I frowned. The imperfections in the blade were throwing me off, causing the normally soundless motions to announce my presence to the world.

Moving with a will of its own, my other hand snatched my dagger from my belt, seamlessly weaving it into the strikes I was practicing.

That’s more like it.

My limbs surged with power, exulting with the thrill of swordplay. A solid hour later, I finally brought the practice session to a stop.

Good thing I managed to get in some practice. It would have annoyed me terribly to miss my daily session. After all, the only way to improve was to…

My thoughts cut off abruptly, and I froze mid-motion. After finishing the dance, I instinctively reached for my pack to withdraw an oiled cloth and do some maintenance. But I didn’t have one — I never had one.

I was also definitely not obsessed with sword training.

"What’s happening to me?"

Suddenly sick, I went to slam my sword back into its sheath, then froze yet again. I was holding the sword firmly in my left hand, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. More natural than holding it in my right.

I knew the Dual Style (Greater) skill would grant me the ability to have both hands equally adept at wielding a sword. But at some point during the surgery, my dominant hand had switched from right to left, despite the fact that both Hayden and I were right-handed.

The surgery is affecting me more than I thought.

The realization was sobering.

How deep did the changes go? Would I have a niggling feeling in the back of my mind every day if I refused to do sword practice? Had my other likes and dislikes shifted? How would I know unless I overanalyzed everything I did, every second of the day?

More importantly, if that was the result of one controlled surgery meant to transfer a single skill, how much had I changed already through my possession of Hayden? Was I even remotely the same person I used to be before my apparent death?

The questions were overwhelming. I could feel my composure cracking right then and there. I tried to set all thought aside, to just focus on the present. My eyes fell on the sword I still held in front of my face. I examined it thoroughly, as if it held the secrets to all my woes.

Surprisingly, something did happen.

Legacy of Lethaniel: Demonic Soul Blade

Tier: Demonic Trash (A mortal’s treasure)

That name, Lethaniel, sent a surge of anguish rocking through my being. Hayden didn’t exactly have a lot of memories of his family. He had none, in fact. What he did have was access to his records, and the names of his parents.

Lethaniel Hall was the mother he never got to meet, and now I was holding the sword she passed down to him.

I didn’t really give the sword much thought when I ’inherited’ it. If anything, it was a bit of a disappointment until I realized that it could actually pass for a decent weapon. Now, though? Now, the importance of the blade skyrocketed by several degrees, and I had an answer to at least one of my question.

I had more of Hayden inside of me than I cared to admit.

Thankfully, the station wasn’t done with its revelations.

Would you like to nurture the blade through sacrifice?

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what ’sacrifice’ meant. Everything in the station cost souls, from strengthening myself to learning new skills. The only question was how expensive the process would be.

"Yes." I voiced the answer aloud.

I watched as an odd pedestal emerged from the ground. It contained a groove perfect for the size and shape of my sword. Glowing lines stretched from the groove to a slot clearly meant for a soul crystal.

Reverently, and with more than a little hesitation, I laid the sword in its intended place, then removed my bag from my waist.

I had a grand total of 126 souls left. I could use those souls to further my ascension, as currency to purchase equipment, or as a rainy day fund. In spite of these many other possible uses, both parts of what now made up myself wanted to see the sword improved.

After all, if it was so useful already, what might it grow into?

One by one, I slotted souls into the receptacle. One by one, they dissolved into the glowing lines and then were absorbed into the blade. Slowly, the blade showed signs of repair. Some of its most obvious cracks grew a little smaller. Its edges grew a little less chipped.

Each soul I submitted had an effect on the sword. The problem was, all the effects were miniscule. I’d have to commit most if not all my remaining souls just to make a real difference.

I kept going.

Part of my reasoning was greed. Part of it was purely sentimental. And as the process went on, the good old sunk-cost fallacy reared its ugly head as well.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to walk away disappointed. When the hundredth basic soul was inserted into the slot and consumed, a crimson glow erupted from the blade. The worst of the cracks sealed over, and the edges of the blade were soon chip-free, even if they still looked a little dull.

The station, too, confirmed the change.

Legacy of Lethaniel: Demonic Soul Blade

Tier: Damaged Demonic Weapon

True, the ’damaged’ part was still obvious. The sword still had some cracks sweeping from the base of the blade to its tip. But the weapon’s shape and decorations were now more visible. For the first time, I realized there was a gem embedded in the handle. It was dull and cracked, but perfectly encased in the metal, and large enough to show from both sides of the hilt.

Beyond appearance, the sword was definitely more useful. This time, when I fell into my new sword stance and swung, the blade cut silently through the air.

A satisfied smile spread across my face.

I had walked into the station with a subpar weapon and practically no notable skills.

I now walked away much, much deadlier.