Absolute Cheater

Valeris stepped forward, her boots silent against the blood-soaked stone path. The air felt thick, heavy, and hard to breathe, carrying the strong stench of fear and death. All the enemies were either dead or had run away—except for Sorlak. The once-feared captain was now just a shattered man, trembling and lost in a nightmare he couldn't escape.

The Dread Dragon King loomed above him—massive, terrifying, blood dripping from its jaws, its entire body wrapped in swirling shadows. But it didn't move. It was waiting for Asher.

Asher walked calmly toward Sorlak. His steps were the only sound in the ruined park.

"You picked the wrong night," he said, voice calm. "And the wrong people to attack."

Sorlak looked up with wide, empty eyes. His lips moved as if to speak, but only a faint noise came out.

"You thought we were weak," Asher continued. "You thought we wouldn't fight back. That's where you were wrong."

Sorlak whimpered.

"Look around," Asher said. "This was supposed to be your warning to the world? Now it's mine. Let it stay in your head until it breaks you."

He stood tall and gave a small nod.

The Dread Dragon King opened its jaws—not to breathe fire, but to unleash a wave of raw terror and despair.

Sorlak didn't scream.

He just collapsed, his mind shattered, his soul crushed. What remained of him was barely alive—a shell of a man.

"Let him live," Asher said, turning away. "Let the others find him like this. Let them see what happens when they cross us."

The dragon turned into mist and sank into Asher's shadow. The air lightened slightly. In the distance, guards and medics began running toward the chaos.

Catherine finally exhaled. "That was… kind of extreme."

"No," Valeris replied. "That was a message."

Freya leaned against the boat railing, trying to calm herself. "Note to self: don't interrupt Asher during dessert."

Veyra stepped out, still visibly rattled. "Should we say something to the city guards?"

"They'll figure it out," Asher answered. "The attackers wore syndicate gear. All we did was finish what they started."

The park had gone quiet. Blood was everywhere, but the place still stood.

Some lanterns floated in the canal, their light reflecting red in the water. The moon finally broke through the clouds.

Asher glanced up at it.

Then turned to the group. "Let's go. Dessert's still waiting up at the pavilion."

Valeris raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's your takeaway from all this?"

"I'm not letting them ruin the whole night," Asher said as he walked ahead.

Behind them, Sorlak remained where he fell.

No longer a man.

Now just a warning.

A nightmare made real.

And from this night forward, the Dreadfin Syndicate would never forget the mistake they made.

Asher paused halfway across the bridge, the red moon casting a long shadow behind him. His eyes narrowed.

"No," he muttered. "I've changed my mind."

He turned back, walking slowly to where Sorlak still lay.

Freya blinked. "Asher?"

Valeris didn't stop him—she just watched.

Asher stood over Sorlak's barely-breathing body. The sharkman was shaking.

"You don't deserve to live."

Asher's voice was cold. Final.

He raised one hand. Sorlak's body jerked as a dark red glow flared across his chest. Asher began to chant in an old tongue, and the air warped with pressure.

Three glowing orbs rose from Sorlak—one red, one gray, one black.

"Body. Blood. Soul."

Each orb circled Asher's hand, pulsing with dark energy. These were Reapers—beings formed from the essence of a kill. One from Sorlak's broken body. One from his blood. One from his ruined soul.

Asher's eyes glowed deep red. "Reap."

He activated Infinite Fusion—his cheat ability. The three orbs screamed as they merged into one terrifying form behind him.

A new Reaper appeared—cloaked in red and black, with a crown of blood and bone. Its blade was made of soulsteel and burned with crimson fire. It knelt before Asher, silent.

"Good," Asher said. "Now… we're not done."

He looked at the Reaper, voice sharp.

"Find every Dreadfin Syndicate base. Every captain. Every smuggler port. All of them."

Valeris walked up beside him. "You're planning to kill them all?"

"No," Asher replied. "I'm going to wipe them out completely."

His gaze was cold and emotionless.

"They tried to take away my peace. So I'll destroy everything they have."

He turned away, his cloak trailing behind him in the moonlight. The Reaper faded into shadow, racing ahead to start the hunt.

"If they took my peace," Asher said coldly, "then I'll return the favor—one piece at a time."

Catherine and Freya exchanged nervous glances. Something was different about him. Something was shifting.

"Is… is he always like this?" Freya whispered.

Valeris stepped beside them, arms folded, her face unreadable. "Don't worry," she said calmly. "It's the dragon blood in him. Dragons are top predators. When they're pushed, even a trace of their essence can trigger this kind of rage. And Asher's still holding back. If it were another dragon type… this would've been far worse."

Catherine nodded slowly. "So this… this wasn't a massacre?"

"No," Valeris said, her eyes shining. "Not yet."

The city had no idea what was coming.

By the time the guards took control of the park and medics tended to survivors, Asher was gone. No tracks. No aura. Nothing left behind but silence.

The fused Reaper had already found the first Dreadfin hideout—a secret dock under a ruined coral-stone tower near the Mirion coast. Inside, smugglers and guards laughed and drank, completely unaware of what was coming.

They never saw Asher arrive.

They didn't even hear him.

Only when the air turned freezing and the lights flickered did someone finally look up—and nearly choked in fear.

A man stepped into the archway, wrapped in fog, his eyes glowing red.

Asher.

And the Dread Dragon King exploded through the roof with a roar that shook the world.

Panic hit instantly.

A few tried to run.

None got far.

The Reaper, born from Sorlak's fused essence, moved like a living curse. One swing of its blade killed dozens. Those who didn't die were left broken, whispering in madness.

One pirate fired a soul-cannon straight at Asher.

He didn't even move.

The cannonball turned to ash before reaching him.

Asher didn't talk. Didn't warn them.

He just killed.

Each step left a trail of blood. His presence crushed weaker minds. Some pirates begged. Others took their own lives.

None escaped.

The Dread Dragon King weaved through the rafters, pulling enemies from the shadows with bone-chains and dread. It showed no mercy.

Then silence.

Bodies scattered. Blood covered the docks. Survivors mumbled nonsense, staring at nothing.

The few still alive couldn't speak of what happened. They just sat there, trembling, repeating one name over and over:

"Alaric…"

They didn't even realize that was just an alias Asher used in this world.

From one city to another, from coast to trench, Asher struck every Dreadfin base like a silent storm. Underwater bunkers, skyborne fleets, black markets hidden in fishing towns—none were safe.

He found them all.

And he wiped them out.

In just twenty-four hours, the Dreadfin Syndicate ceased to exist.

No one answered distress calls.

No one came to help.

Not one captain survived.

Their vaults were busted open—millions worth of loot, cursed weapons, soul cores, and artifacts at Asher's feet. Some he destroyed. Some he kept.

Their ships? Gone.

Torn apart, burned, or devoured by the dragon.

Wherever he went, there were no survivors. Only wreckage and silence.

Entire harbors were left as ghost towns. Corpses left where they fell. Buildings hollowed out from within. No signs of battle—just total destruction.

And in every ruined place, carved deep into stone with a soulsteel blade, was the same message:

"You came for peace. So I brought war."

The name "Alaric" spread like wildfire—spoken in fear in every bar, every underworld hall, every black-market den.

But no one knew who he really was.

No bounty could be placed.

No spy could track him.

But even as the Dreadfin Syndicate was wiped out, their death left a scar across the underworld.

Silence replaced their usual noise.

Syndicates, pirate crews, rogue mercenaries—everyone who'd once traded, negotiated, or warred with the Dreadfins—suddenly backed away from their posts. Some vanished overnight. Others burned their flags and swore neutrality. The smarter ones began changing their names.

But the most dangerous didn't retreat.

They watched.

And waited.

In the cold shadow of a half-sunken moon temple far beyond the Eastern Rift, cloaked figures met in silence. The air stank of old magic and salt, and the ocean below churned unnaturally. One by one, they approached a great throne of barnacles and bones. A robed figure waited there—faceless, motionless—listening to reports.

"The Dreadfins are gone," a voice said.

"Completely erased," said another. "Even their soul vaults were shattered."

There was no reply.

Not until the shadows behind the throne twisted into the shape of something alive.

"just who those bastards angered to get annihilated like that?' A figure appeared as she asked, her upper body was that of an feale but lower body of an long fix tail.

She swam gracefully as her voice like an deadly charm echoed in the room.