By The Blood

"I would never condemn someone for seeking fun," Klaus said with a smile. The music was slowing down, signaling that the ball was likely nearing its end.

For the first time since they had started dancing, Jean looked directly into his eyes. They seemed... oddly sincere. Not pure, but honest in a way that threw her off. She shook her head, forcing down such thoughts. "Do you know what you’re inviting by dancing with me?"

Klaus raised an eyebrow. "Apart from the neck-slitting jealousy of every man in here? What else is there?"

"Dancing with a vixen isn’t something many would want to be seen doing openly, especially not in places like this," Jean replied. Even as she said it, she felt confused. Why did she feel the need to say that? She had never been shy about her identity before. So why now? What had changed?

As if in response to her thoughts, a sharp, splitting pain surged through her head. She let out an involuntary yelp and collapsed to her knees. The music stopped, and suddenly, every eye in the room was on her. Those who hadn’t noticed her before certainly did now. Jean groaned, the Mother’s voice piercing through her skull with an intensity far greater than ever before. What is she saying to me?

The pain worsened, but just as she felt she might lose control, it disappeared. As if it had never been there to begin with. The abruptness of it left her dizzy, and her vision blurred with the panicked faces of the crowd—Klaus’s expression among them—before she slipped into darkness.

The last thing she saw was something golden... beautiful.

It didn’t take long for him to spot the dirt-stained white hotel, with patches of grass sprouting in various corners. He had refrained from using the rooftops for travel this time, opting instead for the traditional route. When the carriage came to a stop, he paid the coachman, but then suddenly frowned.

He smelled fire and blood.

What happened?

Despite a sense of apprehension about what he might find in the hotel, he walked forward at a steady pace. No matter what awaited him, he needed to keep his composure.

Karl stepped into the parlor, his frown deepening at the sight before him.

Broken desks and chairs littered the space—some still smoldering, others reduced to ashes. He walked forward with cold, steady steps, occasionally glancing at the injured men sprawled across the floor. Some had lost limbs, others bled profusely, and a few showed no signs of life at all. Dead.

These are mine, Karl thought as the thugs slowly became aware of his presence. Some turned to him with apprehension, others were too wounded to react. Perhaps because of the devastation around them, they all seemed to look up at him with a mixture of fear and hope.

They are mine.

Karl made his way to the counter, which, oddly enough, remained mostly intact despite the destruction. Perhaps that bloated lady behind it was a Sanguine.

She was still there.

Sweat poured down her face, far more than normal. Did she fight? Karl wondered.

He sat down on a chair, glanced at her, and pointed to a drink on the shelf. He didn’t care what the drink was. He just wanted to make a point. A point that this didn’t get to him—though, in truth, it did.

They were mine.

He exhaled and took the drink from her. It was warm, like everything else in the room, no doubt from the intensity of the recent battle.

He uncorked the bottle and brought the liquid to his lips, downing it. It was bitter, but he didn’t let it show. It’s getting easier... not showing anything. Perhaps it was thanks to cognition.

He turned his attention to the rest of the room. Silence reigned. Even the dying made no sound.

They were mine... and someone attacked them. When I wasn’t here... what was I doing?

The one time I gain something, someone decides to splinter it. His thoughts raced. Who did this? Galf? Heinrich? Not Tyro right?

Karl lowered his gaze, then looked up at the expectant eyes of the thugs—filth, the true bottom feeders of society. Yet despite that, they were his. And whatever was his was not for anyone else to take.

"Who did this?" he asked.

A thug with an injured hand staggered forward, wincing in pain as he spoke. "It was the Dead Flame gang."

Dead Flame? Karl glanced around at the charred spots scattered across the room. It seemed their name was tied to their evolution.

"They’ve been trying to take control of the Thales market from us, but they couldn’t because of the lea—former leader, Harrison. But now that he’s dead..." The thug trailed off, eyeing Karl cautiously.

I see… So they think I’m weak, and that gives them the boldness to do this. Karl thought. I look like a child, and many will see that as an opportunity to trample over me. His gaze shifted to the counter, and Anderson’s decapitated head flashed in his memory.

They must experience the same.

Clenching his fists, Karl slowly relaxed them. I’m calmer than before... Good.

He looked at the men gathered before him and said, "I suppose looking like a child invites trouble, to the point where the Dead Flame gang dares to attack what’s mine. In that case, don’t you think it’s fitting if they were to die by fire?"

The men were stunned into silence. Karl said nothing more. His eyes shifted to the bloated woman, and he gave his next command. "Bring the strongest and most important of them to my room."

With that, he ascended the stairwell but paused briefly to glance at the statues. Oddly enough, none had been damaged in the violence.

I should find an opportunity to ask about their importance.

Opening the door to the green-walled room, the faint scent of paint still lingered, though it wasn’t as overpowering as before. Karl walked to the bed, sat down, and heaved a sigh. He occasionally glanced out through the stone window, at the sprawling cityscape with its red rooftops, spires stretching into the crimson sky, smoke rising, and dust falling. How was he going to wipe the Dead Flame gang out of existence?

It wasn’t a question of controlling them or making use of them. No. They had harmed what was his, and now he was determined to make them incapable of ever doing it again. But how? He wasn’t as powerful as he wanted to be, and judging by the state of the parlor, his thugs weren’t particularly strong either—none of them seemed to be of the advanced class. So how could he use them to destroy the Dead Flame gang?

Karl's thoughts raced.

I don’t know much about the Dead Flame gang, except that they favor fire-based abilities, which means using the opposite could be the best way to deal with them, he thought. But I’ve already declared that I want them to die by fire, and that’s what I will do. The question is, how much firepower will I need to take out a gang with fire powers?

If I still had my white flames, I could have ended them before the mist arrives... but I don’t. Karl gazed out the stone window again, his eyes drifting to the distant silhouette of the gigantic statue of the Pure White God. But his focus didn’t stop there. With his enhanced vision, he peered farther, until he could make out the edges of the city wall. He recalled the cannons mounted on it.

They didn’t seem well-guarded when Fredrick and I crossed the wall. But that could’ve been specific to that day, so who knows what would happen if I tried to steal one. Still, it’s not impossible—quite the opposite. They can be taken. Karl paused, letting his mind settle before shifting to another thought.

Beyond just dealing with the gang, I need power of my own, which means I need to align with a noble house—at least for a while until my white flames return. So the best plan would be to regain the white flames, steal the cannons, and finally destroy the Dead Flame gang. But what’s stopping them from making a move against me before I can put all of this into motion?

What if one of their leaders were suddenly killed? By the nature of the Poison Fang gang, it was likely that the Dead Flame gang had a similar structure of power. Perhaps assassinating one of their leaders would be enough to keep them in check until I can fully destroy them. But I can’t be the one to do it—at least not in time.

Karl pondered for a few moments.

Fredrick would do it, but relying on him would make it seem like I can’t act without his help—that would show weakness. He shook his head. I need someone else to handle it. Someone I already have control over. He mentally sifted through his still-short list of options. Jean could do it, but Aurelian might be better. For one, he’s a believer in the empire and might resist following me fully at first. However, if I slowly had him carry out such tasks, over time, he would eventually become mine completely. And this mission aligns with his belief in the empire. To him, it wouldn’t just be an assassination—it would be purging the empire of the filth that corrupts it.

Karl smiled at the thought.

Slowly, he’d become capable of doing anything I wanted… How long that takes depends, he mused as he pulled out his voicestone.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Karl said simply.

Soon the door opened, and three figures, led by the bloated woman, walked in. The three men seemed rather unremarkable, with no notable physical traits, but Karl was sure they were all Canen-born.

He remained silent, offering no greeting. They had to stand while he sat. The bloated woman looked apprehensive, as though she wanted to introduce the men beside her but was unsure if she should speak. In the end, she said nothing.

The room grew quiet. Then, Karl broke the silence with a simple question, "What are your names?"

The three men glanced at each other, some of them bearing scars from the recent battle. After a moment, one of them finally spoke. "I'm Ken," he said.

As soon as he spoke, the others quickly followed.

"Louis."

"Maryk."

Karl didn’t bother to commit their names to memory—it was a formality, nothing more.

"We were attacked at our weakest," Karl said coldly. "That’s an insult. But we won’t retaliate for revenge... We’ll do it to erase them completely."

The thugs froze at his words, including the bloated woman, who struggled under the weight of her own body, trying hard not to collapse.

Silence filled the room again. Then, in an almost casual manner, Karl glanced at one of the men—was it Maryk? He asked, "What’s your evolution?"

Karl had grown used to asking such questions, even though he knew it was somewhat inappropriate. But why should he care? They were his, and they would answer him.

The three men hesitated, but under Karl’s piercing gaze, they had no choice but to speak.

"I'm from the Trojan Bug branch, but I've only evolved into a Shadow Wisp," one of the thugs said. Oddly, he didn’t have as many burn marks as the others.

Karl recognized the name. Shadow Wisps were those purple, glowing dots that floated around light sources, said to feed off them—or perhaps steal from them.

Karl gained some understanding of the Trojan Bug branch. It was clearly a standard evolution, or a low-level thug like this man wouldn’t have access to it. It also seemed to have powers pertaining to theft. Of course, theft could simply be but a small part of it, but given the nature of standard branches, and the fact that they were named from the inevitable outcome of following the branch, Karl found his theory likely correct.

Refocusing, Karl paid close attention to his words.

"There are three abilities in the evolution," Maryk explained. "Light theft, burn immunity, and shadow movement."