1% Lifesteal

Chapter 101 - Liberation

Rahal walked into the patriarch's office—no, his office. While it was a pale shadow of the throne he had dreamt of his whole life, marred by the clan's recent setbacks as it was, he still felt a simmering glee that it now… finally… belonged to him. Not his bullheaded brother or naive nephew; no; it was his and his alone.

He sat down on the cold stone chair and leaned back. It was ridiculously uncomfortable. He cackled to himself. His brother had been quite the hardcore type, and he always wanted the world to know it.

But Rahal was different.

While the patriarch's image was crucial, he did not want their clan to continue existing in this cold, depressing state. It was too unwelcoming to new recruits, and he knew damn well he'd need to get to recruiting as soon as possible.

What the people wanted was luxury and comfort, not blood-slathered stone walls and disgusting decor.

The days of stubborn pride were over. It was time to rebuild the clan by the foundation and reshape it stone by stone.

He broke himself out of his thoughts and rolled his shoulder. There was no time for daydreaming—a massive pile of unfinished work waited on his desk, and it was time to start chipping away at it. Just as he was about to reach for a paper, a red light ignited above his head, and an alarm started screeching.

He rushed to his feet. That was the intruder alarm. A cold chill ran down Rahal's spine at the thought. Did some faction decide to take a risk and take them out while they were weak? That would be ridiculous! They still had the empress's protection!

What kind of suicidal—

"No," he spat as a scowl set across his brow.

It had to be Nahar.

"That stupid mutt!" Rahal spat as he rushed out of the room.

He retrieved a staff from his storage ring. The gray, ghoulish wood was polished smooth across its length of slightly over a meter, and a large red gem rested atop the staff. While Kraven was temporarily weakened, they had been a powerful faction for a long time. The treasures and weapons they had acquired throughout the years put them a solid step above the average three-star faction.

The staff in his hand increased the potency of his abilities by a startling 16%—making it almost too powerful for his soul to handle.

As he rushed down the halls, he shouted commands at anyone who passed by.

Nahar would die that day—but even though his attack was suicidal, he was still an incredibly powerful archhuman. In fact, purely based on his power, he was far more capable than Rahal. By the time he was taken down, he could cause more damage than the clan could afford to take in these transient times. "That piece of—"

"Patriarch!" A younger clansman with a broken arm came running from the other direction.

"Where is Nahar!?" Rahal spat, glaring death at the poor boy's eyes.

"It's not him!"

"What!?" Rahal's steps slowed as a pang of terror shot down his spine. "Who is attacking us!?"

"It's that man who used to work for Nahar!" the boy shouted. "He is slaughtering our clansmen!"

Rahal stared at the boy for a long moment, consternation crossing his eyes. "Shit…" he muttered.

There was only one way that man could have enough power to do this much damage—he had used a spirit ability to exchange his life for temporary power. If that was the case, their situation was dire. Depending on how much damage that young man did before he was taken out, Nahar would have the opportunity to practically cripple them if he joined the attack.

Rahal could not let that happen. "Where is he?"

The boy quickly answered, and Rahal bolted down the hallway, shouting commands at passersby and gathering a small army of followers behind him.

Within less than a minute, he reached the place the young man had described and saw a scene of carnage.

The bodies of numerous clansmen had been cleaved through, chopped into pieces. The heavily reinforced walls were severely damaged in a few spots, the hallway floor was drenched in blood up to the ankle, and among the dead, he even spotted a three-star elder.

This made no sense.

A spirit ability couldn't explain this.

Something else was happening here. Something sinister.

He marched with his men, following the trail of blood until they reached an elevator door. The doors leading into the elevator had been pried open, with clear handprints still visible on the disfigured metal.

Rahal looked down the shaft and spotted a small bloody footprint landing where the elevator shaft turned to the side. "No…"

Why was that man heading towards their prisoners? Could he possibly…?

He leaped down the shaft, bouncing off the walls skillfully as he reached the turn. As soon as he landed, he saw the distant figure of Mark Afronte as he tore another entrance open with his bare hands and entered the prisoner block.

Rahal was stunned for a long moment. Not because of the impressive feat of strength the boy showed—but because he felt the boy's power. He wasn't a two-star. No, the boy was a three-star—nearly at the peak, at that.

The boy was at the same level of power as himself.

The crowd of people following him stopped as he raised a hand. "Elders, follow after me. You and you," he said, pointing at a pair of two-star supports with the holy affinity. "You come with us. Everyone else, stay behind and guard the exit."

They quickly headed into the prisoner block. As he passed through, walking over the corpses of slaughtered guards, his fears were confirmed—the entrance to the hidden compartment was compromised.

They slowed as they heard the sounds of slashing coupled with deep, resonating buzzing sounds. As they walked into the room, they spotted the young man trying to cleave through the protective glass with his sword.

Behind the large glass panel was the chamber where their special prisoners were kept secure. The mysterious man and woman were still restrained and hanging from the ceiling.

With pulsing flickers that flitted through the defensive barrier, Mark's attacks were repelled, but not entirely; small cuts were accumulating over the glass, and given enough time, he would make it to the other side.

Rahal knew for a fact that the young man could sense their arrival. Yet, he kept slashing away, pretending that they weren't even there.

"Mr. Afronte," Rahal greeted him, stepping forward and keeping his voice level. "If you tell me what you're doing here, I might consider not torturing your family for years before I take their lives."

The man's sword stopped; its tip lowered to the ground as Mark slowly turned around. As soon as he was facing their direction, the two supports inhaled sharply through their teeth when they spotted his eerie, square pupils.

Rahal's eyes widened briefly, and despite his efforts to remain calm, a thin sheet of perspiration covered his back.

Mark's mouth morphed into a wicked smile. "Fancy seeing you here." He turned around with his whole body and swung the sword over his shoulder. "I take it you won't let me release these guys before I kill you?"

Rahal's eyes narrowed into slits. "And why are you—" Before he could finish his sentence, Mark threw his sword at impossible speed. It flew in a straight line.

The tip of the blade pierced through Rahal's stomach, embedding itself all the way to the guard and just barely avoiding severing his spine.

Before anyone could muster a counterattack, Mark dashed forward at a bizarre speed, pulling his sword out and kicking Rahal in the chin, sending him flying up to the ceiling.

The supports didn't have time to cast their buffs before their bodies were diced into chunks. The elders rushed to attack the man, but any projectiles they sent his way appeared to swerve around him, almost like magnets being repelled by the same pole. In the next moment, the elders were dead, too.

Rahal got a hold of himself mid-air and used a Blood Burst to send himself flying towards the other end of the room. The massive gash in his stomach hurt like hell, but he ignored it as he raised his staff and fired Blood Bolts at the enemy.

Mark didn't move to dodge. The projectiles just swerved around his body, being pushed aside like snowflakes. "What!?" Rahal shouted as he panicked and activated all three stars, increasing his output fourfold and launching a massive, high-speed projectile at the young man.

This time, Mark dodged by bending backward. His knees were bent at a 90-degree angle, but he remained standing despite being way off balance.

Rahal's projectile struck the wall on the other side of the room, melting the metal into a sizzling goop.

Before Rahal could process what he was seeing, something even more bizarre happened. Mark started floating. His whole body lifted into the air, and his figure slowly levitated towards Rahal.

The young man kept an easy smile on his face as he extracted a cloth from his ring to wipe the blood off his blade. "This stuff is pretty corrosive," he said. "I'm gonna have to charge you for the damage to my sword."

Rahal was no fool. He could tell what was happening here. Whatever this young man had done, it had put him at a level of power that he wasn't qualified to face. With grim determination, he activated his spirit ability. It would cost him a whole star, but in return, it would—

Before he could blink, Mark was standing right in front of him, and for some reason, Rahal's body was falling to the ground. Once the pain finally reached his mind, he reeled at the sensation of all four of his limbs being severed at once. "Gaargh!" he shouted as his back impacted the ground. "Aaaaah—gggrrraaaah…!" he groaned in pain as he clenched his jaw.

He felt a whole star evaporate from his soul, and power filled his body—but to what end?

Mark grabbed him by the neck and lifted his body, bringing their faces close enough to kiss.

Rahal wanted to fight back. His pride sought any way to rebel—any method he could find that would at least let him survive. But that gaze…

In the square pupils of his killer's face, he saw an abyss deeper than hell, darker than the void, and more sinister than the very concept of evil.

Within Mark's eyes…

He saw death itself.

***

Mark stared at the pathetic, groveling form of his greatest enemy. Somewhere far in the back of his mind, he knew there would be consequences for his actions. He was aware of the danger and the risks; he knew that the power he wielded wasn't free, but he smiled anyway.

There was so much he wanted to say to the man. The amount of anger he wanted to spill out was overflowing. Yet, rather than say anything, he simply pried the patriarch's jaw open and started pulling his teeth out.

One by one.

He enjoyed watching the man's willpower flicker like a candle in the wind. Every time those eyes showed defiance, he inflicted punishment. Before long, the man was crying like a pathetic worm, and Mark knew if he removed his hand from the man's neck, he would hear him plead for his life.

He tightened his grip instead, crushing the man's windpipe.

"Oops," he muttered. With that, the patriarch's eyes were already starting to dim. The fun was coming to an end. "Oh well," he said as he dropped the man to the ground and crushed his head underfoot.

There was no time to play around. He had to hurry.

He quickly dug through the patriarch's storage ring and found the key he remembered Nahar using to access restricted areas. Before long, he also found the keyhole, and a moment later, he entered the chamber.

There was a disgusting smell in the air.

With a few swift slashes, he freed his targets from their restraints and released them. The two were incredibly thin—most of their muscle tissue had atrophied due to the way they were imprisoned. They were covered in numerous wounds, but it was nothing debilitating. The Kraven had clearly tortured them, but they were spared any heavy injuries, likely as the clan was hoping to make use of them at some point in the future.

Naive bastards.

The man was the first to get up to his feet. "I thank you, young one, for your assistance. We were told you'd come here." He rolled his shoulders and stretched a bit. "I haven't moved in quite some time, so you'll have to give me a few moments to regain my mobility."

"No problem," Mark said with a chuckle. "But do hurry if you can."

The man nodded. "My name is Kaefalge, by the way," he said. "I apologize for the late introduction."

"Firrita," the woman on the floor added. "And… I'd appreciate some help…"

"Sure thing," Mark said as he helped the woman off the ground. "Oh, and I'm Mark Afronte. Nice to meet you two."

He helped the two with removing all the smaller restraints, and once done, they plundered the bodies of the people Mark killed. There were some healing salves that helped the two prisoners recover slightly.

They slaughtered every member of the Kraven Clan that stood in their way, but they didn't have the time to purge everyone.

On their way out, they visited the changing area for the Kraven militia. It was entirely empty, as most of the militia had already been disbanded. They all donned Kraven militia uniforms to avoid suspicion as much as possible.

Mark's plans were… open-ended. Frankly, he had no idea what to do next. He had simultaneously committed a major war crime and violated the protection the empress extended over the Kraven Clan due to their demotion.

His… "patron" had told him the two he had liberated would know what to do.

So he asked them.

"We must leave this city," Kaefalge said.

"Sorry for my language, but… no shit?" Mark spat. "Of course we do. But where do we go from there?"

"We will navigate through the Great Labyrinthe until we reach a safe harbor."

Mark's steps faltered. "Huh?"

"The interspace," Firrita said. "That's how they call it here, remember?"

"Ah, yes," the man said.

Mark stopped. "That's suicide."

"Why would that be the case?" the man asked. "If you do not trust us, you can simply go your own way."

Mark gritted his teeth. He'd be fine if it was just him, but what about his family?

His heart sped up, and he started to regret his choice. "Let's leave this place first, then we'll talk further, okay?"

The man shrugged. "That suits me just fine."

They tried to look inconspicuous as they moved through the residential area. Their square eyes stood out quite a bit, but nobody had any reason to believe it was anything but a strange fashion statement.

The Kravens' intruder system was entirely internal. They wanted to keep it a secret from the outside world if something like this ever happened precisely so that nobody could capitalize on a moment of vulnerability.

Within a few minutes, they reached his family residence. As soon as he knocked on the door, his father tore it open and shouted, "Where were you—" His words trailed off as he spotted Mark and the two strangers behind him. "What's happening?"

"Call Mom and Sarah," Mark said. "And come with me."

"We're not going anywhere until you—"

"It's a matter of life and death. Call Mom and Sarah immediately."

His father swallowed and, with a stern glare, reluctantly listened to his son's request.

Soon enough, the three square-eyed archhumans were being followed by a perplexed trio of civilians, and before long, they made their way over to the exit from the residential area.

Just as they stepped into the lobby, a voice called from the side, "What do we have here?"

Mark's steps froze as he recognized the voice.

"He's powerful," Kaefalge whispered into Mark's ear.

"I'm well aware of that," Mark growled back as he turned around and smiled pleasantly at the man walking toward them. "Hello there, Mr. Maskaart! What can I do for you?"

What the hell is this bastard doing here…? Mark wondered.

He wore a colorful button-up shirt and gray shorts, with clapping sandals marking his every step. Basilisk's snake-like eyes narrowed into slits as he grinned at them. "Oh, you know, business as usual. I heard your old boss had lost his job, so I was trying to find him and see if we could hash out a deal regarding a certain… issue he may or may not have."

Mark gritted his teeth, failing to keep his frustration hidden.

Basilisk laughed. "What's with the hostility? I'm not here to ruin your family's… picnic." A sly grin spread across his face. "Say, your eyes look a little different than I remember. And your soul tickles me just a bit harder now. How strange."

"What do you want?" Mark spat, ready to pull his sword out if need be.

"Come on, you know I'm not that kind of guy!" he said as he stepped right before Mark. "I'm just curious about the situation you found yourself in. Just in case you did something like break into the Kraven compound and free the two mysterious prisoners that my informants told me the Kraven were hiding deep within their headquarters!" he blurted quickly. "Just an example."

"What do you want?"

Basilisk grinned even wider. "That's the wrong question to ask. I have a better one for you—what are you willing to give me? If you need my help getting away without finding yourself on the empire's chopping block, now would be the time to ask."

Mark froze at that. Rather than reject it outright, he prodded, "Depends on what you'll ask for in return."

"I think that's something we should discuss behind closed doors, my boy. Follow me." The man turned around and started walking away.

"Mark…" his mother whispered.

"Please," he said, forcing a tight smile on his face. "I'll tell you everything." He stepped forward and gave his mother a hug. Once he released her, she glanced at his face, and a clear expression of terror flickered through her eyes at the sight of his bizarre pupils.

"Don't worry," he said. Then he turned to his sister and father. "I know you guys don't see me the same way anymore. But I promise you, no matter what it takes, I'll do anything to keep you guys safe." His throat tightened.

"You coming?" Basilisk called from across the room.

"Yeah, wait a moment," he said. "I'm sorry," he told his family. He teared up slightly as his voice shivered. "Just don't hate me, okay?"

He looked between his mother, father, and sister. None of them could meet his eyes.

But that was all right.

It would all be okay.

Whether they liked him or not, he would always be there for them.

He would do whatever it takes.