By The Blood

"What—" he gasped, feeling a rare wave of weakness wash over him. A mangled torso, blackened and scarred, revealing blood-red flesh beneath, lay in a pool of its own blood. The fog swirled faintly around it. Beside the torso lay a severed hand, fingers still twitching slightly.

Karl's eyes drifted to the sickle in his right hand. It was drenched in blood, still hot, as though it had just been ignited by flames.

He dropped the sickle, his heart pounding like a drum. What just happened? I blacked out. Did I do this? Was it me? My body moved, but I wasn’t in control… He hesitated. Was I being controlled by something other than myself? His legs buckled beneath him, his knees collapsing into the pool of blood. His hands trembled, feeling foreign as if they didn’t belong to him. Maybe they never did.

Suddenly, the mangled chest before him began to quiver. Startled, Karl instinctively grabbed the still-hot sickle, gripping it tightly as he struggled to steady himself. His mind was in chaos, thoughts scattered. Are these even my thoughts? Am I still myself, or has something already replaced me?

His strange, spiraling thoughts were interrupted as a hand burst from the chest. Drenched in blood, it stretched outward, pressing against the ground. What is that? Before Karl could fully process it, another hand emerged, also covered in blood. Karl stood there, watching apprehensively, though something within him shifted. He wasn’t as terrified as before—his emotions were numbing, his fear and disgust slowly dissipating.

No!

His mind whirled, but his thoughts grew clearer, sharper. Focus on the hand. Yes… His gaze turned cold, solemn. Whatever this is, whatever happened here, it must be tied to the memories. And though I’d rather not chase them, they seem to be my only source of power. He briefly wondered why he had been so terrified earlier. His eyes drifted from the hands to the faint sulfuric fog lingering in the room. What an interesting power.

The hands pressed harder against the ground, struggling to pull the rest of the body free. Then, a head emerged from the bloody mass—a man’s head, his face drenched in blood, his black hair soaked and tangled. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself further out, revealing a greenish, bloodstained bead necklace around his neck. Karl felt a strange sense of familiarity.

The man continued to extract himself from the body, his black robe now soaked and darkened by the blood. His long, matted hair made him look barbaric. He glanced at Karl and said, "Do you still know what fair bitches are?"

Karl was startled but kept his composure. Him? The hornbreed from the market? Did he follow me? Why was he inside Anderson? Questions flooded Karl’s mind, but no answers surfaced. He remained silent, waiting for the man to continue.

There was a brief pause before the hornbreed pulled a black rock with a bluish sheen from his robes—a voicestone. Why is he using that? Is he contacting someone?

Suddenly, a voice emanated from the stone. It sounded like Karl’s, yet it wasn’t. The voice was deep, filled with fury and a maddening, layered intensity. "War! WAR! WAR!" it thundered, sending piercing vibrations through Karl’s mind.

The world around him shifted.

A wolf, the size of a mountain, stepped gracefully over rough rocky terrain. Darkness trailed behind it with each step. The wolf leaned down, exhaling a misty breath over a smaller figure—a man with a blood-red cape and flowing crimson hair. A cold metallic aura surrounded him.

The man’s face was blurred, but his voice was deep and commanding, filled with a conquering dominance. “Will you stand by me?” he asked. “You didn’t aid the eleven when they sealed and stole the branches from him.”

“But I gained from it,” the wolf replied in a voice that echoed eerily.

“I don’t care! Will you help me cut off their heads?” The wind swirled faster, heating and transforming into a sulfuric-scented mist. It coiled around the man as he pointed a black stone sword at the wolf. “Or must I slay you too?”

The vision shattered, and the present surroundings returned. Before Karl could gather his thoughts, the hornbreed spoke. “What a strange creature you are,” he muttered, tucking the voicestone back into his robes. “Even I’m unsure of what I just saw. Naturally, I’m curious. But,” he glanced at Anderson’s remains, “I’m afraid of what I might find.”

Karl pushed the disturbing memory aside, focusing on the hornbreed—or whatever he truly was. Though he had spoken in horn tongue before, he now spoke Canenese, and his features had grown more baneful. Can he shapeshift?

“Since Anderson sacrificed his life to uncover the strangeness in you, I may as well see this through,” the hornbreed continued, stepping closer to Karl. “Someone like you will surely be hunted by the Ministry.”

Karl froze. Was that a threat? And what does he mean by Anderson sacrificing himself? Did they work together?

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“It means that despite the Ministry’s claim that knowledge of the branches is public and sanguines are common, the truth is far darker.” He glanced at Anderson’s corpse. “No world chest? I thought he’d form one, considering someone like you killed him.”

World chest? Karl had never heard of that term. Why hadn’t Frederick mentioned this? Is it something only desolation-class warriors or higher know?

The man continued, “Call me Tyro.” He smiled, but his eyes gleamed with the same malice that Anderson’s once held. “The Ministry covertly eliminates sanguines who surpass desolation class or those with dangerous special abilities. They either recruit them into their organizations, place bounties on their heads or accuse them of crimes to have them executed. That’s why festivals like the Strongman exist.”

Karl remained silent, taking it all in.

“Good. You understand your place. But don’t mistake this for blackmail. Consider it an offer. I want you to kill Galf for me.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Karl asked, probing for more information.

“I would, but I divined that I couldn’t or at least would be too hard.”

Karl frowned. Divined? Was that some ability granted by his evolutions?

Sensing Karl’s confusion, Tyro grinned. “You don’t know what divination is, do you?” he chuckled softly. “Well, this just got even stranger. You’re such a mystery, and yet you’re unaware of the mysticism arts?”

Mysticism arts? Karl had never heard of that either. He figured it must be knowledge reserved for those in desolation class and above. But did that mean Tyro was a desolation-class warrior?

Tyro eyed him curiously. "Well, I won’t be the one to tell you what that is," he said.

Karl remained silent for a few moments before finally asking, "Why do you want Galf dead?" He was starting to feel like some kind of assassin for hire.

Tyro smiled. "My group—"

"Faction," Karl interjected—or more like blurted out.

Tyro’s smile didn’t falter at the interruption. How much would he offer for this mission? Karl needed to probe, searching for some sign of Tyro’s strength or weakness.

"Yes, faction," Tyro said, his tone casual. "But the name is irrelevant to you. Just know that Galf plans to use something of ours for his own goals."

Stealing from the Pure White Ministry? Is that why they’re so confident? Karl speculated. What is this “something” he wants? A shard-armor? An evolution? Something powerful enough to fight the Ministry... If it was valuable enough, Karl considered taking it for himself. After all, if it could keep the Ministry at bay, what chance would a lowly faction have against it?

Karl said nothing, maintaining his silence.

Tyro remained quiet for a while as well, before finally sighing. "By knowledge, can’t you be more cooperative?"

By knowledge? Isn’t that a term used for one of the orthodox gods? Is he part of a Ministry? No... That wouldn’t make sense. It must be a faction. Maybe one like the Mysteries school, focused solely on the pursuit of knowledge? Karl pondered.

"Who stays the same in the middle of chaos?" Karl replied evenly.

"I suppose," Tyro acknowledged. "But, fortunately, I’m not here to exploit you. Think of this as a deal: you kill Galf, and you get to join my sanguine gathering."

Before Karl could respond, Tyro pulled out a small piece of paper and a feather. He crouched, dipped the feather’s tip in blood, and scribbled something onto the paper. When he was done, he handed it to Karl, as if it were a completely normal exchange.

Karl took the bloodstained paper without hesitation. He had been covered in worse. On the roughly cut page were letters—luckily in Canenese. It was an address, a location. Karl studied it for a moment before glancing at Tyro. "What is this?"

"My sanguine gathering," Tyro said flatly. "Unaffiliated sanguines rarely get the luck or chance to evolve on their own, so my faction created this. It’s a gathering for sanguines to come together, buy, and sell mystical information—like Serums, branch knowledge, details about certain creatures, and even commissions. We oversee everything, and our notary guarantees the authenticity of all transactions."

A notary? Aren’t those exclusive to the Ministries? Or do they have their own, someone who evolved in that direction? Karl reined in his thoughts.

"So which will it be?" Tyro asked, raising the voicestone in one hand. "This?" He pulled a small dagger from his robes with his other hand. "Or this?"

Karl understood what Tyro was implying. He felt like sighing but held it in. "When?"

"No strict deadline," Tyro said, almost enthusiastically. "Just make sure it’s before he launches his plan to attack the Pure White Ministry."

Karl didn’t respond, simply giving a nod.

Tyro’s smile widened. "Very well." He glanced at the corpse lying nearby. "You should take that head down with you. You know, to reinforce your standing."

"When can I come to this gathering?" Karl asked.

"Tomorrow morning. What a coincidence!"

Yes... A coincidence, Karl thought, suppressing a sigh.

"Alright then," Tyro said, stepping to the side of the wall. He climbed onto the stone window ledge and glanced back at Karl with a grin before leaping off the edge.

Karl stood there for a while, watching the red sky swirl with dark clouds as they drifted together. In his mind, a dying, pained voice echoed: "Child Killer!"

He turned away, crouching down to pick up the still-warm head of Anderson. He lifted it to eye level, staring into its hollow, pale face, still dripping blood. A faint voice echoed in his thoughts: "New boss huh?"

Holding the severed head, Karl walked out of the room and down the steps, leaving a trail of dripping blood behind him.

As he descended, he noticed the mix of terror, fear, and confusion on the faces of those around him. Their startled expressions quickly shifted to understanding and recognition. None of them would doubt him anymore. This was good.

Reaching the ground floor, Karl walked to the counter and placed Anderson’s head on it. The bloated woman behind the counter froze in fear, her eyes locked onto Anderson’s pained expression. Karl regarded her for a moment before sighing and saying calmly, "Can I get a drink now?"

Though he didn’t actually want one, appearances had to be maintained.

The lady froze, but he would not say it again. After a while, she bowed, or at least tried to. Her fatted neck would not allow for it. How does she even deal with the stigmata brought by her size? The people of canen did not have a fondness for the overweighed.

Perhaps a perk of being in the slums: No one has to judge you He thought.

The pile of sweating flesh forcefully turned, and went to the shelf, searching frantically for a drink-one now suitable for Karl's status.

Karl watched her when something appeared before his eyes: A nexus of gleaming starlight—blinking on and off. They bore numerous colors—some red, some white, blue, yellow, and even black; so much so that it seemed like a void among the colorful stars.

It was vast.