The rain hadn't stopped when dawn reached Eyris. It only changed color—from the black of night to a dim, rust-colored drizzle that bled across the skyline. The city looked like it was rusting from within.
Arin Vale woke to the sound of that rain drumming against the cracked window of his loft. Every muscle ached; his blood felt heavy, hot. He sat up slowly, shirt clinging to him with sweat. The red sigil of his pact glowed faintly through the bandages around his hand.
> "Vital signs stable. Corruption level—fifty-one percent."
He hated that voice.
It sounded too calm for something that could destroy him.
The mirror on the wall showed a stranger—sunken eyes, black veins crawling faintly up his neck. He'd fought the voices back, but the aftertaste of power still lingered. Every time he exhaled, he felt the ring pulse, whispering temptation through his veins.
He stumbled to the sink and turned on the tap. Brown water sputtered out. He cupped it anyway, splashed his face. The cold stung; good—it reminded him he was still human.
For now.
---
He pulled on his coat and stepped into the morning haze. The streets were quieter than usual; even the vendors kept their heads low. Somewhere beyond the smoke, the central spire of the Blood Council loomed—its black marble surface veined with living crimson light. It pulsed once every few seconds, like a heart.
Every pulse reminded the citizens who really ruled this city.
Arin kept his hood up and blended with the crowd. The system inside him flickered again.
> "Residual resonance detected. Tracing source… six hundred meters north."
He frowned. That direction led toward the outer wards—where the old war ruins met the industrial zone. The same area where he'd fought last night.
Someone—or something—was still bleeding.
---
Far above, unseen, the Blood Wardens moved through the city like shadows.
Captain Lya Serin walked along the spire's upper balcony, her coat whipping in the wind. Silver armor gleamed faintly under the clouds, engraved with the mark of the crescent fang. She held a crystalline device glowing faint blue—the tracker still locked on the corruption signature from the night before.
"Fifty-one percent and stable," her second-in-command murmured. "He resisted full berserk conversion."
"That shouldn't be possible," Lya said. Her voice carried no disbelief, only curiosity. "Unless the subject has already crossed the line and come back."
She turned her gaze toward the northern district, eyes narrowing.
"Prepare a containment team. I want him alive."
---
Arin followed the trail north.
The smell of rust and oil thickened as he crossed into the ruins of Sector Nine—once a district of artisans, now nothing but skeletons of factories and hollow homes. The trail led into an abandoned subway entrance, half-flooded and black as a grave.
The ring pulsed again.
> "Resonance increasing. Caution advised."
"Yeah, you said that last time," he muttered, descending the cracked steps. His voice echoed down the tunnel.
As he reached the bottom, a faint light flickered in the distance—a lantern, swaying. Beside it, a figure knelt over a body.
Arin's pulse quickened. He drew closer, silent as a shadow.
The figure turned.
Its eyes glowed red—not bright like his, but dim, unfocused. The thing's face was human, but the veins beneath the skin pulsed black. Its mouth twisted into a smile too wide to be sane.
> "Wildeborn detected. Classification: feral."
The creature shrieked and lunged. Arin barely had time to brace before it slammed into him, claws raking across his coat. Sparks flew as its talons met the Pact's faint barrier. He shoved it back, twisting, and drove a boot into its gut.
The Wildeborn staggered but didn't stop. It charged again.
Arin raised his hand, calling on the blood. The air trembled.
A crimson sigil flared beneath his feet, veins of light spreading across the wet concrete. Power surged through him; pain followed. His vision tinted scarlet.
> "Power draw: twenty-eight percent. Corruption rising."
He thrust his palm forward. "Hemovore Burst!"
A shockwave of condensed blood force erupted, hurling the Wildeborn across the tunnel. It hit the wall, howling, bones cracking like glass. Steam hissed from its skin where the attack had seared it.
Arin panted, the ring pulsing wildly. The whispers returned, seductive, eager.
> "Finish it. Feed."
"No," he hissed. He stepped closer anyway.
The Wildeborn twitched, one arm reaching toward him. Its voice was wet, broken.
"Help… me…"
For a heartbeat, he saw his brother's face instead—the night he'd lost him, eyes wide with the same terror.
He froze.
The creature lunged again.
Instinct took over. The ring flared, and he drove his fist through its chest. The world went silent as blood spattered across his face. The body went limp.
The system chimed softly.
> "Target neutralized. Energy absorbed. Corruption level—fifty-eight percent."
Arin fell to one knee, chest heaving. The tunnel spun around him. His hands shook violently as he looked at what he'd done. The Wildeborn's body was dissolving, turning into crimson mist that the ring greedily drank.
"Stop…" he gasped. "I said stop!"
The sigil dimmed reluctantly. The last of the mist vanished.
He stayed there for a long moment, listening to the faint echoes of dripping water.
Then a voice echoed from behind him.
"Impressive control," it said. "For someone already half gone."
Arin turned sharply. A woman stepped out of the shadows—tall, silver-eyed, her coat marked with the fang insignia. Lya Serin.
Her weapon—a double-edged halberd with a glowing crimson edge—rested easily in her hand. The air around her shimmered with restrained power.
"Who are you?" Arin demanded.
"Someone who's been hunting the monsters under our bed," Lya replied. "You just killed one. And from what I saw… you're not far from joining them."
He tightened his grip on his ring. "You don't know me."
"On the contrary." She raised the tracker; its light pulsed in sync with his ring. "I know exactly what you are, Arin Vale. The Council marked you for termination three years ago."
He froze. "The Council's dead."
"Maybe. But their mistakes still walk."
Lya stepped closer, halberd shifting slightly, not quite aimed at him but ready. "Tell me—how did you resist the break? No one survives a shattered pact."
Arin's voice was low. "Maybe I didn't."
Lightning cracked through the tunnels outside, briefly illuminating the space. For an instant, his eyes glowed brighter than the weapon in her hand.
Lya hesitated. There was something in that look—pain, restraint, defiance.
He wasn't lying.
"Then you're even more dangerous than I thought," she said.
Before either could move, the ground trembled. A guttural roar rolled through the tunnels. Both turned as the far wall split open, a torrent of black blood spilling through. From it crawled something massive—half flesh, half shadow, with dozens of eyes blinking in the dark.
A Blood Spawn.
Lya cursed, snapping her weapon into ready stance. "Containment breach—move!"
Arin's ring pulsed like wildfire. The voices screamed.
He could feel the monster's hunger; it was the same as his.
"Get back," Lya shouted. "You'll trigger the corruption!"
Arin looked at her once, then at the Spawn. He felt the choice tear through him like glass.
"I already have."
The ring ignited, flooding the tunnel with crimson light. Sigils crawled up his arm, his veins blazing. For a heartbeat, he looked almost divine—and then monstrous.
> "Corruption level: eighty-nine percent."
He roared and charged.
---
The explosion of blood-light shook the entire district.
From the surface, the Wardens saw the tunnel collapse in a wave of red energy. Static filled their comms, and for a moment, the city's heart—the great spire—missed a single pulse.
Down below, amid rubble and steam, two figures lay amid the wreckage—one breathing, one not.
Lya opened her eyes first. Her armor was cracked, her weapon shattered. Across from her, Arin knelt in the crimson glow, body steaming, eyes dull. The Spawn was gone—disintegrated—but so was a piece of him.
He looked at her, exhaustion and something close to fear in his gaze.
She raised a trembling hand, pointing the broken halberd his way. "What… are you becoming?"
Arin's answer came softly, barely audible through the echoing rain above.
> "The price of power," he whispered. "And the cost of control."
Then the ring dimmed to black, and the tunnel went silent.