By The Blood

"Drink," Karl repeated forcefully, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. The bloated woman, trembling slightly, turned to the shelves with great effort. She pulled down a bottle labeled Kid Juice and set it on the counter before him. The liquid inside was clear, housed in a white bottle—different from the black ones Karl had seen at the meeting.

Mocking me, Karl thought, feeling the silence grow even more oppressive. He half-turned, casting a sidelong glance around the room with his left eye. No one seemed particularly suspicious, but suddenly, he felt a gaze locked onto him.

He turned fully to the left and spotted a figure at the far end of the room—a man who appeared to want to be noticed. His dark red hair was striking, and his sharp black eyes held a menacing, intense expression. Those eyes projected fear, and while Karl wasn’t affected by it, he recognized the impact it might have on others.

This man... Karl thought, observing him carefully. He must hold some significant standing in the hotel, or at least within the thug circle. A Sanguine, Karl noted, recognizing the red hair. Frederick had explained that sometimes physical traits from creatures or entities could merge with a Sanguine’s body. While it didn’t always grant additional powers, it often identified Sanguines from a specific branch. Is the red hair a trait from Galf, or this man’s branch?

The man stepped forward, his red-stained kefna brushing the floor as he approached Karl. He took a seat beside him, flashing a grin.

"The new boss, huh?"

Karl remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm Anderson. Some call me the Reaper," Anderson said, leaning left with a spiteful smile.

Reaper? Is that supposed to scare me? Karl thought, keeping quiet.

"You see, kid, I don't know how you managed to kill Harrison, but I can think of a few reasons." Anderson grinned, his tone mocking. "My voicestone tells me you had some help in the fight. A tall, slender, red-haired vixen, eh?" He waved at the bloated woman, pointing to a bottle on the shelf. Without hesitation, she brought it over and even uncorked it for him.

Anderson downed the liquid from the black bottle, then exclaimed, "But I don’t see this friend of yours around, and it’s pretty clear that Harrison held back. Maybe he didn’t want to kill a kid, after all." He turned to face Karl directly. "But I don’t have such a white heart."

If I allow this to continue, I’ll seem weak in the eyes of these thugs!

Without hesitation, Karl grabbed the white bottle labeled Kid Juice and smashed it across Anderson’s face. The liquid splashed everywhere, and in the ensuing chaos, Karl grabbed several shards of the broken bottle, driving them deep into Anderson’s eyes. If this man was like Galf, Karl couldn’t risk him using laser-like abilities.

Quickly, Karl drew his sickle and brought it down toward Anderson’s neck.

Clang!

The sound of iron striking iron echoed through the room. Anderson had turned just in time, using his hand to block the sickle. His skin had turned a charred, darkish color. Not even a dent? Karl leaped into the air, twisting his small body into an arc, landing behind Anderson with surprising agility. Strange how I can move like this... Nevertheless, Karl clenched his left fist and threw a punch, the force of the blow whistling through the air.

At that moment, Anderson’s charred skin began to secrete a blood-red liquid. It seeped through his clothes, emitting a sizzling sound as his kefna began to scorch and blacken like paper set aflame.

Corrosive! Karl realized, leaping backward nimbly as if his legs were spring-loaded. He grabbed a startled thug, and using his enhanced strength, tossed the man like a ragdoll toward Anderson.

It was a strange sight—seeing a young boy, barely 16, toss a man twice his height and size as if he were a piece of cloth. The man screamed as he hurtled toward Anderson, but all Anderson did was open his mouth, spewing a splurt of red liquid. The corrosive substance hit the flying man like wax melting under heat. He wailed as his skin peeled away, revealing bone and clothing that dissolved until nothing remained but a bubbling red pool.

Karl felt no sympathy for the man. Instead, he moved quickly, understanding that staying in one place would play into Anderson’s strengths. The man, now naked, his charred skin leaking dark red corrosive liquid, was a dangerous opponent.

Should I summon Frederick? The thought crossed Karl’s mind, but he held it back. It wasn’t that summoning Frederick was the wrong choice—Karl simply didn’t want to reveal his competence so early. He preferred to keep some cards hidden.

Instead, he focused on finding a weakness in Anderson’s defenses. According to Frederick, no matter how omnipotent a Sanguine’s power seemed, it always had a limit—at least for those below the Hazard class. And Anderson was certainly not above Hazard.

Anderson smirked. "You can move, I’ll give you that. What, did you evolve into a cricket?" Suddenly, he dashed forward, closing the distance between them. His blood-red eyes were leaking streams of fluid—corrosive or not, Karl couldn’t be sure.

Anderson’s speed matched Karl’s, and in an instant, he was only a few steps away. This was dangerous! Instinctively, Karl grabbed a few nearby thugs, hurling them at Anderson like projectiles. But Anderson merely swiped them away or dodged, spewing his corrosive red liquid at those unfortunate enough to be caught in his path. He was steadily closing in. Any closer and that liquid will touch me!

With no other choice, Karl turned and dashed toward the curved staircase leading to the second story. He needed to put distance between himself and Anderson—at least until he could come up with a better plan.

As he ascended, a red-orange beam shot past him, drilling a small charred hole in the side of the staircase. Karl glanced at the slightly smoking scar, imagining himself in the wall’s place. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

Speed, durability, and offensive power... Anderson seems to have the upper hand in all areas. And it looks like the glass shard did little damage, Karl thought as he raced up the stairs, Anderson hot on his heels. He reached a narrow corridor with rooms on both sides and a stone wall at the end. This hotel isn’t very big, Karl realized. But then, an idea sparked in his mind.

He sprinted toward one of the rooms, throwing open the door and rushing inside. Once there, he made his way to the stone-framed window, placing his feet on the edge as if preparing to jump. Anderson, who had followed him in, saw this and bellowed, "Somebody get outside and wall him off!"

This was exactly what Karl had been waiting for. In that moment of distraction, he clenched his fist, tightened his muscles, and hurled the sickle. The curved blade cut through the air, hurtling toward the slightly distracted Anderson, who was standing by the door, his attention on the hallway. He had turned away to make a call, which was precisely what Karl had been waiting for.

Startled by the incoming strike, Anderson tried to block the attack, using his arm to deflect the sickle. Clang! The sound of metal echoed, and Karl had his answer.

From their earlier encounter downstairs, Karl had briefly seen Anderson use his hands to deflect blows, despite his entire body having a charred, iron-like appearance. Why block with your arms if your body is that tough? The inconsistency had intrigued Karl, and now, after testing it, he had a theory: His chest area might be weaker than the rest of him.

Karl dashed forward, closing the distance between them. Anderson’s eyes brightened, releasing a beam of red light. The expanding light filled Karl’s vision. Three seconds. Two seconds. One second. At the last moment, Karl leaped to the side, rolled, and scooped up his sickle. With all his might, he swung upward, aiming for Anderson’s chest.

Sensing the attack, Anderson staggered backward, causing the sickle to miss his chest by mere inches. However, the blade slashed across his face, leaving a thin red line. His eyes widened, and beams of red light shot out.

Didn’t work! Karl braced to move back, but before he could react, Anderson opened his mouth. Blood-red liquid poured out like a tide, surging toward Karl. There was no way to avoid it all. Gritting his teeth, Karl leaped into the air, dodging the brunt of the attack, but not fast enough to evade the beam of light that struck his stomach.

The force sent him crashing into the stone wall behind him. His eyes widened, and sweat poured down his face as he panted, hot pain radiating from his abdomen. It felt as if something was burning and twisting inside him—gnawing at his flesh. Glancing down, he saw that his white coat had been burned away, leaving a dark, round hole in the fabric and exposing a patch of blood-red, pulsing skin.

He wanted to scream, cry out, or even beg for mercy. That would have been the logical choice in order to survive. But then Karl caught sight of Anderson’s cold, murderous eyes. Those weren’t the eyes of someone willing to accept surrender.

Wiping the lingering red stain from his lips, Anderson smiled, his eyes still glowing with a dangerous red light. His expression darkened as he casually stepped across the pools of corrosive liquid, his shoes—the last remaining shred of clothing—sizzling and burning upon contact.

"You black bastard!" Anderson snarled, leaning forward with his mouth wide open. More red liquid gathered behind his tongue, ready to spew forth.

Karl’s eyes widened in panic, his hands instinctively darting for his pouch. But before he could reach it, a beam of red light shot from Anderson’s eyes, striking Karl’s hands with a searing hiss. A deep, pained yelp escaped his throat as his hands throbbed, the red patches of scorched flesh trembling violently. No blood flowed from the wounds, the heat having cauterized them instantly.

This isn’t working! Karl’s heart raced, pounding in his chest.

He glanced up at Anderson, whose grin stretched even wider. Red liquid dribbled from his mouth, sizzling as it splattered onto the stone floor, releasing faint wisps of smoke.

I can’t die. I can’t lose—not now, not ever! A surge of burning rage ignited within him, like a dam breaking under immense pressure. But then he hesitated. No. I need to calm down. Karl remembered the overwhelming anger that had consumed him the night before. He didn’t trust these emotions—they might not even be his. He couldn’t take that risk.

He tried to take a steadying breath, but his gaze drifted back to Anderson’s smug, infuriating face.

His restraint crumbled. The alien emotions surged, flooding Karl’s mind with unrecognizable thoughts. His eyes locked onto Anderson, the intensity behind his gaze sharp as shards of glass. Anderson hesitated, clearly unsettled by the sudden shift in Karl’s demeanor.

Then, the world shifted.

A distant mountain loomed, casting its shadow over an approaching army. The scene was hazy, its edges blurred until a figure stepped onto the hilltop. His wild red hair whipped in the wind as he raised a severed head high, his voice booming like the roar of a thousand men. "The Flesh Ancestor has lost her head!"

The vision shattered, and reality slammed back into place.

Karl stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat. Blood. It was everywhere. The thick, metallic scent hung in the air, mingling with the lingering smell of gunpowder. The white walls, the floor, even the half-open door were smeared with crimson as if a wave of blood had washed through the room. Stumbling back, Karl’s foot crunched on something solid.

He looked down, his eyes widening in shock. A severed hand lay in a pool of blood, charred at the stump where it had been severed at the elbow. Anderson’s? Karl realized he was gripping something in his hand. Slowly, he raised his left hand and stared at the object he held—a head, its lifeless eyes staring back at him.

With a startled yelp, Karl flung the head away. It hit the wall with a dull thud before rolling across the blood-soaked floor, finally coming to rest beside a mangled, bloodied chest.