Annalena glanced ahead, seeing that most of the beggars were now awake. Their eyes were locked on the coins that lay before her. “Just take it,” she said, turning to leave. Though she was mistreated as a Newman, she did not bear the same animosity towards normal humans. The people weren’t the corrupt ones, but their leaders.

Suddenly, she noticed a figure standing at the entrance of the alleyway. It was a boy, barely fourteen if she had to guess. He had black hair and black eyes—a common look in the city. But who was he? A beggar? she wondered. But she dismissed the thought. The boy was dressed in a white side-buttoned coat with golden buttons—clothes of a nobleman.

She was about to speak to the boy when he interrupted her instead. “I apologize,” the boy said. He apologizes? Did he do something? Annalena was confused, but it didn’t matter. She needed to return, rest, heal up with a potion from her master, and evolve into the creature she had just fought. If possible, she would fuse some components to become a fusion of a Mist-faced man and a Green-faced squid. Although she wasn't sure if her master would be around. He had called her since the day before yesterday.

With a smile, Annalena strolled ahead when suddenly a silver glint flashed towards her. Reflexively, she dodged to the side, the attack missing her but striking a beggar who was approaching to pick up a coin.

Wide-eyed, she turned to the beggar. The man stood confused, a sickle embedded tip-first into his chest. Blood seeped from the injury, and with a look of horror, the man fell backward to the ground. The other beggars stared, frozen in place. A pain-filled groan soon followed.

Annalena turned to the boy. “Why?” she began to ask, but before she could finish, he dashed towards her. His speed was too fast—she couldn’t dodge. Damn it! How is he so fast? What branch does he follow? What faction does he belong to?

Instinctively, she raised her rifle, aiming at the boy. But then, she hesitated. Am I really going to kill a child? A kid she didn’t even know—where he came from, how he got his power, or what faction he worked for?

In that moment of doubt, the boy closed the distance between them.

Startled, Annalena felt a jolt of hot pain in her stomach. She looked down, seeing a finger-sized black object, the shape of an animal’s claw, embedded in her abdomen.

She looked back at the boy’s cold face. “Why?”

The boy didn’t respond at first, but after a few seconds, he said, “For survival.”

Annalena felt the hot pain spreading through her stomach. It moved slithering fast, curling within her, burning through her blood, veins, and bones.

She couldn’t move—she was paralyzed by confusion and pain. She wanted to scream. No, I must scream! But she had lost control of her body. The pain was like lava being poured into her mouth, burning her from the inside out.

Tears streamed down her face. Am I really dying? Why didn’t I just shoot him? If she had, she wouldn’t have to die.

Why didn’t I? Why did I want to understand? She knew he was a threat when he attacked, so why did she hesitate? Because I wanted to know more? But why does a kid even want to kill me? Why does he want to take my life from me?

Did I really suffer through the discrimination as a Newman, endure the pain of evolution and training, and fight through the agony of battling this monster, only to die? Why should I die? Why does he have to kill me? Why?

Even in death… I’m so curious.

Karl stared at the pale-faced, shriveled-up woman. Her arms swayed back and forth like dead branches in the wind.

Lifeless and drained of energy, her facial bones were now visible, as if the flesh had been sucked dry of blood.Bleacbed. Her hair and skin had turned a grayish white, like that of an ancient corpse.

Dead just like that, he thought, holding back a sigh.

He looked at the black bone claw embedded deep within the woman’s stomach. There was no blood, and around the bone and stomach, bulging veins throbbed in a certain rhythm.

The claw of a vampire, he stared. He reached out and pulled the claw out with force. The woman’s body quivered, then collapsed to the ground like morning dust. He stared at her for a moment longer.

The beggars, obscured in faint mist watched in stunned silence. Their wide eyes tracked his every movement, but none dared to speak, let alone move.

They were just bones wrapped in skin, with the closest thing to life flickering in their hollow gazes. Do they know it’s useless to shout? Karl thought.

This was the edge of the slums, the forgotten part of the city where no garrison would come. So naturally even if they shouted, no one would come to their aid.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

He glanced down at the scattered coins on the ground, the dull glint of metal catching in the faint light. I don’t need money, he decided, looking away as he crouched beside the woman's corpse.

He rummaged through her clothes, pulling out a few items: a small pouch of coins, which he tossed to the beggars, a strange liquid syringe he tucked into his pocket, and a few white papers he quickly skimmed before pocketing them as well. It was a letter from her master congratulating her.

His eyes fell on the rifle clutched in her hands.

A gun? he thought, perplexed. Ever since he had arrived in this strange world, he had never seen a firearm.

He’d believed that cannons were the height of technology here, but now he wasn’t so sure. A gun in a world of sanguines? Wouldn't that be dangerous? he thought as he carefully pried the weapon from her stiffening fingers.

He tore a piece of fabric from her dress, wrapping the gun before tucking it inside his coat.

After that, he walked past her corpse to where the impaled beggar lay. The man was sprawled on the ground, blood bubbling from his mouth, his face contorted in pain and fear.

Karl knelt beside him, gripping the handle of the sickle embedded in the man’s chest. With a cold gaze, he yanked the weapon free. Blood dripped from the blade, in silent drops.

Karl frowned, wiping the sickle clean on the beggar’s tattered rags. The weapon gleamed dully in the dim light, now clean of blood.

He stood and heaved a breath, his gaze drifting to the shadowy creature lying lifeless on the ground. He had watched the entire battle, and he knew that the syringe in his pocket now held the blood of that creature. What will I do with it? he wondered.

He wasn’t sure yet, but the question nagged at the back of his mind as he turned and walked out of the alleyway.

He could sell it though that would require him to find some kind of gathering of sanguines. With a powerful leap, he cut through the mist, bounding across the rooftops with practiced ease.

________

Karl landed lightly on the edge of the roof, his boots making barely a sound.

The mist curled around him like a living thing, shrouding the world in a thick, white blanket. Ahead, Fredrick stood waiting, his black cloak billowing in the wind. He had a satisfied gaze.

“Is there still any value in this?” Karl asked, holding up the bone claw he had retrieved from the woman's corpse. He decided not to show the blood or any of the other items. And although there was no point to it, he saw it as his own act of defiance. His own decision.

Fredrick smiled. “No. The poison’s already drained. It burned through her blood and organs, leaving nothing but dried insides.” He laughed softly, the sound carrying on the wind and pushing back some mist around his mouth.

Then, he reached into his pockets and pulled out a handful of similar black claws. “These should do for the rest of the night...If you need them?”

Karl stared at the bone claws, his mind wandering back to the encounter before the attack.

---

Before his attack.

They stood on the rooftop, the city stretching far and wide. The moon shone silent in the mist-covered sky. The mist clung to everything, swirling in tendrils that made the world below seem distant and dreamlike.

“How can I fight her?” Karl asked, his enhanced vision locked on the girl hiding behind a square trash container in the alley below. She was young, likely not much older than him, and she seemed to be waiting for something, her eyes darting nervously around the narrow space.

“Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?” Fredrick replied, his tone light, almost amused.

Karl glanced at him—or was it her? He still wasn’t sure. Fredrick’s gender remained an unknown, although it was one he didn't care much to learn.

Karl held back a sigh, his mind racing as he considered his options. His question hadn’t just been about tactics; it was also a probe, a way to gauge Fredrick’s true intentions. After all, anyone who could easily control his mind without concern for the mental strain they might cause was someone to be wary of.

“Who is she?” Karl asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“I remember Annette mentioning something about a man with horns growing out of his body,” Fredrick began. “You can say that the girl down there is his student. The Order of Newmans operates on a master-disciple system. There are many masters, each taking on disciples, and once a disciple evolves twice or achieves significant worth, they’re granted the title of master and can take on disciples of their own. But it doesn’t end there. There are different ranks for masters, based on how many of their disciples have become masters and what class they currently hold. Normal masters, Senior masters, High masters, Superior masters, and then the leader of the faction…”

Fredrick paused, the silence stretching between them as the mist swirled.

Hmm? Karl noticed the hesitation. Does he not know? Or is there something more to it? He wondered.

But soon, Fredrick smiled again, a knowing glint in his eyes. “The leader of the faction is called a True Master. Although…” He chuckled. “He's a bit…disposed.”

Did he kill the True Master of the Order of Newmans? Karl wondered.

If the ranking system represented strength and class, wouldn’t a True Master be stronger than a Special Class? Perhaps even a real Desolation?

Until Fredrick, Karl had only ever heard the word Desolation in reference to swordsmen—the strongest among them, known as Swordsmen of Desolation.

“Can she have any other powers?” Karl asked. He already knew about the likely starter evolution of the Order of Newmans.

He also knew that evolving was a shuffle of possibilities where one could choose any creature to evolve into, as long as they could endure the pain and not succumb to weakness—or sacrifice numerous components to reduce the strain; effectively reducing their total powers.

“No,” Fredrick said with an assured tone. “But I think she’s trying to lure in a Mist-faced man.”

“A sanguine creature?” Karl asked. He had decided to use the term ‘sanguine creature’ for any being a sanguine could evolve into. It was better than just calling them creatures, even though, in reality, a sanguine could evolve into almost anything that existed. Creatures with blood were just the norm.

“Yes. It has suppression powers over a certain distance of 4 meters, can dissolve into mist, and create illusions,” Fredrick briefly explained.

Powerful, Karl thought. I wonder what she plans to do against it. What are her thoughts?

As he pondered this, a realization struck him—two, in fact. The girl would fight a sanguine creature, which meant she would have to use her powers, putting them into cooldown after usage, effectively making her powerless.

Of course, she might have a weapon, but without her power, a sanguine is as useless as a pig.