I Was Born With A Bloodline That Ended The World-Chapter 124: The Black Seed

The old man held the apple in his hand, turning it slowly under the dim light.

Alistair, still on the floor and barely able to move, watched as the golden sheen of the apple began to shift.

The glow dimmed.

The smooth gold skin grew darker, patches of black veins spreading across its surface like rot.

Within seconds, the entire fruit had changed, what once looked divine now resembled something corrupted, wrong.

It no longer radiated purity. It pulsed with something heavier.

The old man knelt beside him again, his glowing eye fixed on Alistair’s face.

"Now, while you are not like my dear Thor," he said, voice calm, "I believe you have something we can use."

Alistair didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His body was still recovering, barely holding together after what the apple had done to him the first time.

The man smiled faintly. "Your intelligence. Your position. Your reach. That matters more than brute strength. You don’t need to swing a hammer to move nations."

Without warning, he brought the apple to Alistair’s mouth.

Alistair turned his head weakly, but the man grabbed his jaw and forced it open.

"With this," the man said, pressing the corrupted apple against his lips, "you’ll be able to make the world a better place."

Then he shoved it into Alistair’s mouth.

Alistair tried to turn away, but the man gripped his jaw hard and forced it open.

"You don’t get to choose," the man whispered. "This is your future now."

He shoved the corrupted apple into Alistair’s mouth.

The skin split instantly against his teeth, dark juice pouring down his throat before he could resist.

It burned the moment it touched his tongue hot, sour, and thick like oil.

Alistair gagged, but the man covered his mouth with a firm hand.

"Swallow it."

His body obeyed.

Then it began.

The burning spread down his throat, through his chest, and into his core. He tried to scream, but his jaw locked up.

His muscles clenched violently as the energy inside the fruit ignited. He fell onto his side, twitching, his limbs spasming uncontrollably.

His skin stretched.

Black lines began crawling under it, first at the neck, then spreading to his face, arms, and chest. They pulsed like worms, shifting beneath the surface.

His fingers bent backward. Bones cracked. Skin blistered.

Alistair gasped as a thick, black fluid began pouring from his mouth and eyes.

It didn’t drip, it pushed its way out, slithering across his face and crawling over his body like it had a mind of its own.

He scratched at it instinctively, but it latched on, merging with his skin.

Veins bulged. His spine arched violently. Flesh rippled across his body as the black mass hardened in places, then broke apart again.

His hands elongated, the nails growing sharper before retracting, then growing again.

It didn’t stop.

His ribs pushed out for a moment, then folded inward. His muscles swelled and then thinned.

His scream finally broke loose, raw and distorted as if something else was trying to speak through him.

When it was over, Alistair collapsed on his hands and knees.

The black substance remained, like a second skin thin, slick, and pulsing faintly.

His face was still his, but darker, heavier. His eyes looked sunken, shadowed by the thing now bonded to him.

His breathing slowed. His hands trembled, but not from fear, something else had taken root.

The old man stepped closer.

Alistair didn’t resist.

He knelt.

The black mass on his back pulsed once more as he bowed his head.

The man looked down, satisfied.

"There," he said. "Now you understand."

Alistair opened his eyes slowly.

The air felt different, colder, and more alive. He breathed in deeply, and his chest rose with strength he hadn’t felt in years.

The aches were gone. His limbs no longer shook. His skin was tight, reinforced by the dark, living material clinging to him like a second layer.

He chuckled once. The sound came out distorted, echoed by a deeper tone behind his own. It wasn’t loud, but it was noticeable.

His voice had doubled.

The old man stood up calmly, watching him with mild amusement. He made no comment on the transformation, no praise or warning.

Alistair looked up at him, unsure of what to call him. "Who are you?"

The man answered without hesitation. "You can call me All-Father."

Alistair smiled. The black around his jaw curled slightly with the motion.

"Thank you, All-Father... for this gift."

The All-Father nodded. "Now, it is time to do your part."

He stepped forward and placed a hand against Alistair’s temple.

Images surged into Alistair’s mind. He saw a boy, young, maybe fifteen or sixteen. His hair was dark but streaked with green. His face was calm, unaware. Innocent.

"This boy," the All-Father said. "I want him dead."

The image shifted. Fire. Smoke. Stone walls crumbling.

"I would be happy if you destroyed the entire school," the All-Father added. "But hitting him will be enough. Though... there is someone else."

The next image was sharper. A man, older than the boy but not by much. He had the same streak of green in his black hair, but his features were more defined. Taller. Stronger. Sharper eyes.

Alistair felt the weight behind that second image, whoever he was, he mattered.

"kill the boy. Bring me the man."

The All-Father lowered his hand.

"As for how," he said plainly, "or what you do with your new body... I don’t care."

Alistair stood tall.

He knew what needed to be done.

He suddenly felt something, faint but steady, calling to him.

It wasn’t a voice. It wasn’t even a thought. Just a pull, quiet and constant, guiding his steps without words.

Alistair turned away from the All-Father and walked toward the elevator. The dark material across his body rippled slightly, as if aware of the direction he was taking.

He entered the lift, the doors sliding shut behind him.

When he stepped out onto the upper floor, the air was colder. Still. He followed the familiar path down the hallway, past shattered glass and blood-smeared tile.

Eventually, he stopped.

She was still there, his guard. The woman who had tried to protect him. Her body lay motionless on the floor, eyes wide open, the wound from the raven clean but fatal. Her weapon was still gripped in her hand.

Alistair walked toward her and stood over the corpse in silence.

He didn’t think.

He kneeled slowly, his knees pressing into the polished floor. The black substance on his arm shifted on its own, curling slightly as he extended his hand toward her.

He placed his palm on her chest.

The moment he made contact, he felt it, something leave her and enter him.

It wasn’t warmth or pain. It was colder than death, a spark pulled from what remained of her life. His fingers twitched, and a pulse ran up his arm, feeding something inside him.

Her body twitched once under his hand, then went still again.

Alistair stared, breathing steady.

He didn’t know what he’d just taken.

But he knew it belonged to him now.

He stood up.

Whatever he had drawn from her, whatever fragment had passed into him had strengthened him. Not by much, but enough to notice. His muscles felt tighter. His senses clearer.

But then, something else happened.

A jolt ran through his body all of a sudden. He gasped and looked down.

Her body was changing.

The woman’s skin, once pale and bloodied, turned a deep charcoal black.

Thin grey lines began to snake across her arms and neck like veins made of ash. Her eyes rolled back, then lit up white and empty, glowing faintly in the dim room. Her hair shifted from dull brown to bone-white.

She rose slowly. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

There was no sound.

She moved with stiff control, kneeling in front of him.

Her face showed nothing.

She wasn’t human anymore.

Alistair stared, unsure of what he was seeing.

She looked like a vessel. Hollow, but not lifeless. Her body was alive or reanimated, but something else was driving it now. And somehow, he knew that he was the one controlling it.

The connection between them was clear. Subtle, but undeniable.

He didn’t need to speak.

He could feel that if he wanted her to move, she would. If he wanted her to fight, she would.

She was his now.

And he didn’t even know how.

But as the realization sank in, a manic laughter burst from his throat.

It started low, broken, then rose violently. He held his head as he laughed harder, almost as if trying to contain the sound tearing its way out of him. His shoulders shook with it, the sound echoing off the cold walls.

His body began to shift, twitching in place. The bulging sinew beneath his skin settled, the strange black growths retracting slightly.

He returned to a more human form or at least, something closer to it.

But his eyes still shimmered unnaturally. His skin still bore faint lines of the corruption that had seeped into him. He would never be the same.

When the laughter faded, he stood tall, chest heaving. He turned to the framed photo resting on the desk.

A woman, smiling. A child in her arms.

His gaze lingered, cold and unreadable. Then he smiled.

"The Thorne family will rise," he said quietly, a hint of madness still in his voice.

He stepped closer to the photo, brushing his hand across the glass.

"Everyone will know Alistair Thorne."