By The Blood

Karl was still processing the situation when a massive shockwave erupted, sending everything around him flying. The ground shook, trees were uprooted, and the sky filled with swirling clouds of red dust.

He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, but when he finally opened his eyes, he found himself partially buried beneath a pile of tree branches and debris. His body was tightly wedged between chunks of wood, and only his head protruded, giving him a clear view of the devastation.

The clearing that had once held the village was now much larger, with most of the buildings reduced to rubble. The surrounding trees had been toppled, many lying atop one another, while others were tossed into craters. Even the thick mist that had blanketed the area was blown away by the force of the blast, only now beginning to seep back into the clearing.

In the center of the village were chunks of white feathers, scattered about. But strangely, the cathedral stood untouched amidst the destruction, as though it were immune to the chaos that had happened around it.

Karl’s gaze shifted to a figure. There, the Arch-bishop stood, his body slumped and bleeding from several wounds. In front of him lay the charred bodies of four robed figures, their corpses sizzling with faint black smoke. Karl stared, trying to make sense of what had happened.

His eyes moved past the Arch-bishop to the pawn, whose body was splattered across the ground. His arms and legs were charred black, sizzling like the rest of the corpses. Did the Arch-bishop blow himself up? Karl wondered. It seemed like the only explanation for the devastation around him. Did the attack also kill the feathered angel?

The pieces clicked into place in Karl’s mind: Was this the true power of a special class Sanguine? He recalled the class system Fredrick had mentioned. Special class beings could destroy entire villages, their power a measure of the destructiveness they could bring. Was this it? Karl thought. Was this the destructive capability of the Arch-bishop—a human bomb?

Karl attempted to pull himself free, using all of his enhanced strength to move the debris that pinned him down. The trunks of the fallen trees were heavy, too heavy for him to shift easily. He strained against the weight, his muscles tensing as he pushed, but to no avail. Where is Fredrick? He thought, his eyes scanning the area. There was no sign of the man.

The mist continued to roll back into the clearing, thick and suffocating. Karl gritted his teeth and strained once more. The sound of wood creaking echoed through the air as he finally managed to lift the trunks enough to free his body. With a sharp gasp, he staggered out from under the debris, pushing the branches aside. The trunks fell back to the ground with a loud thud, kicking up clouds of red dust.

Then he felt it—a sharp, instinctual warning. Danger.

Karl spun around and spotted the Arch-bishop, his body trembling, his teeth clenched in agony. Strange, blackened cracks had begun to spread across his skin, leaking thick black liquid.

Breaking down! Karl recalled Fredrick’s explanation. When a Sanguine overused their mana or pushed their body beyond its limits, they began to break down. Mana was tied directly to the soul, and when the body could no longer endure the strain, it began to leak this thick, black pus. The pus was the manifestation of their pain, and it was said that anyone of the same class or lower would also break down if exposed to it.

Karl’s eyes widened. If this Archbishop’s breakdown could spread through the entire forest, I need to get out of here fast!

As he looked around in desperation, something caught his attention. A white, glass-like shard fell from the sky, landing with a soft thud beside him. Confused, Karl looked up.

Above him, a white, crystalline crack had formed in the sky, fragments of it falling like pieces of shattered glass. Karl frowned, recalling something he had read in Fredrick’s notes. The words were canen. Cracks in the world’s surface were believed to be connected to the Astra, a strange realm. The appearance of such a crack was said to never be good news.

Before he could react, a loud ringing sound filled his mind. "Help me! Help me!"

Karl turned toward the Arch-bishop, whose outstretched hands were covered in cracks, leaking black pus. The breakdown was happening too fast.

Without thinking, Karl leaped onto a nearby tree branch, his enhanced agility carrying him higher than before. He looked up at the crack in the sky, which had widened, stretching across the heavens like a tear in reality itself. No way he was going to stop to help the Archbishop. Him first and everything else second.

Below him, the Arch-bishop knelt, his body succumbing to the breakdown. A tide of black goo surged from his corpse, flowing across the ground like a wave. The trees it touched began to break down as well, their trunks cracking and leaking black smoke.

Even the trees can break down? Karl’s thoughts raced. There was no time to think. He hadn’t seen Fredrick since the explosion, and he wasn’t sure if the man had survived. Despite Fredrick’s questionable methods, Karl couldn’t deny that he had learned a lot from him. The thought of losing him now gnawed at him, but survival was all that mattered.

Then, the ringing in his mind intensified. The plea for help echoed louder. Karl glanced at the Arch-bishop one last time, his body barely holding together, black liquid pouring from his wounds.

This can’t be a coincidence. The Astra, the breakdown—it’s all happening at the same time.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

Karl pushed off the branch, leaping from tree to tree, the mist thickening around him. He felt a pull like invisible hands from the crack above were trying to drag him into the void. But there was no time to think, no time to stop. He had to keep running. Behind him, the sound of bubbling corruption was closing in, the pressure of it nearly palpable in the air. He didn’t dare look back, fearing that a single glance could spell his end.

The trees thinned, and the distant walls of Canen came into view, towering like a fortress against the swirling fog. A flicker of hope stirred within him. Just a little further, he thought. I’ll be safe behind those walls.

But as he leaped for the final branch, ready to escape the forest, a massive white crack split open in the air before him. His heart dropped, and his breath caught in his throat as countless illusory faces emerged from the rift—twisted, laughing faces with wide, deranged eyes and white, unsettling smiles. They gazed at him, their madness piercing through his core.

"No!" he shouted, but the momentum of his leap carried him straight into the rift. The world around him dissolved into chaos as he plunged into the crack, spiraling into the dark unknown beyond.

Inside the rift, madness ruled. Lightning slashed across a dark sky, and the winds howled like the tortured cries of many. Below him, a vast white ocean churned, its surface swirling into dark, bottomless whirlpools. At the center of it all, a figure cloaked in tattered black robes stirred a small boat through the treacherous waters with slow, deliberate movements.

Karl felt like he was drowning, though no water touched him. The world spun as he tumbled through the chaotic space, tossed like a ragdoll by unseen forces. Desperately, he tried to regain his balance, but the swirling madness refused to let him steady himself. Suddenly, the ground materialized beneath him, hard and cold. He found himself kneeling on a stone floor, surrounded by small heaps of red dust scattered across the surface like the remnants of something ancient.

Sweat trickled down his face as he turned his head, and there stood Fredrick, a smile curling on his lips.

"What happened?" Karl’s voice trembled, his entire body still shaking from the ordeal.

Fredrick’s eyes gleamed with a faint reddish glow before flickering back to their familiar black. "You did well until the rift formed," he said calmly. "But without knowledge of the Astra, your reaction was predictable."

Karl forced himself to stand, though his legs wobbled beneath him. "What... what do you mean?" he asked, his voice shaky.

Fredrick tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I placed you under hypnosis," he said casually. "You didn’t really think I’d put you in actual danger, did you?"

Karl blinked in confusion, his mind struggling to reconcile what Fredrick had just said. "It wasn’t real?" He glanced around, still half-expecting the crack above to widen further, for the corruption to surge back. The lines between reality and illusion blurred in his mind, and for a brief moment, everything felt off-balance. How could something so vivid, so terrifying, have been fake?

"Why?" Karl asked, his voice tinged with both frustration as he turned to Fredrick.

Fredrick’s smile remained, but his tone softened. "You need to grow stronger, but not recklessly. If you are to take down the empire and face the enemies we know will come, you must be prepared both physically and mentally. As your mentor, it is my duty to ensure both. If I had taken you to such a place for real, your body might have survived, but your mind would have shattered."

Karl’s heart pounded, still processing the ordeal. It was all in my head? He glanced down at his trembling hands, still feeling the lingering memories from what he had just experienced.

"Now we focus on your physical training," Fredrick continued, his smile never faltering. "This time, there are no illusions. You will kill a member of the Order of Newmans. And you will do it by yourself."

"Why the Newmans?" Karl asked, still dazed by what had just happened. He knew that Anette had fought the Newmans during training, but this seemed like more than just a coincidence. Why target them?

Fredrick’s smile turned cold. "Because they are an obstacle. We have no use for obstacles."

Karl sighed inwardly. Another path I didn’t choose. The weight of Fredrick’s words hung heavy over him. This was no longer about survival in the flesh farms or learning the ropes in a strange new world. Now, he was being shaped, molded for something bigger—something he wasn’t sure he wanted to be part of.

Still, his emotions dulled as they always did, slipping into a numb acceptance. "Let’s go," he muttered, his gaze locked on Fredrick. So all of that… it was just a test. Nothing real.

With a nod, Fredrick led him over the wall, and the two dropped down silently into Canen City.

Annalena shivered as she sat curled up in a filthy alleyway, her knees drawn to her chest. The cold air bit at her skin through the thin, tattered robes she wore, and she puffed warm air into her hands in a futile attempt to ward off the chill.

The mist clung to her, thick and heavy, swirling like it had a life of its own. She dared not make a sound. In this dense fog, anything could happen. The thought of it made her tremble—of some dark, twisted version of herself rising from the mist to replace her, something wicked and cruel wearing her face.

She pressed her back firmly against the iron trash container beside her. The alley was a mess of filth and decay, but she wasn’t alone. Other beggars huddled in their corners, their ragged forms barely visible in the mist. Silent shadows, as desperate for warmth as she was. But she wasn’t like them.

She was no beggar.

When will that creature get here? Annalena clenched her teeth, trying to suppress the bubbling frustration within. After years of hard work within the Order of Newmans, this was her moment—a chance to obtain the blood of the bizarre Mist-Faced Man. This creature was one of the more mysterious and dangerous evolutions within her faction's branch. She couldn’t fathom why such a creature had been allowed to roam the city unchecked by the legionnaires. Surely they could’ve put an end to it long ago. But that, she knew, was a problem for another time.

Her nerves frayed, Annalena rubbed her fingers together, the rhythmic motion barely soothing her racing thoughts. Why me? she wondered. Why am I the one who has to kill it? The Order had plenty of live creatures within their control, any of which she could have harvested for blood. There was no need for this wild hunt, this mission in the filthy alleyways of Canen. It felt like an unnecessary gamble, one she was being forced to take.

But then again, nothing about her life had ever been simple.