Chapter 7: A Debt of Blood
The word hung in the air, a stark contrast to their panicked shriek. "Listen."
It wasn't a plea. It wasn't a threat. It was an instruction, delivered with a flat, unnerving calm that cut through their hysteria more effectively than a shout. The three figures—a man with the fire poker, a woman with the knife, and a younger man cowering behind them—stared, their eyes wide and white in the gloom.
Kael didn't move. He was a statue in the ruined street, his stillness more intimidating than any advance. He let them look. Let them see he wasn't a feral Corrupted. Let them see the calculating coldness in his eyes, which was perhaps just as frightening.
"I'm moving south," he said, his voice low but carrying. "To the Central Plaza. I need to know what's between here and there."
The man with the fire poker, who seemed to be the de facto leader, swallowed hard. "The Plaza? You're insane! It's a death sentence! The big ones... they're there. The ones that... that look like they're made of rock."
New data. *Large humanoids. Durable. Possibly high armor.* Kael filed it away. "How many? What streets are they on?"
"Why should we tell you?" the woman with the knife spat, her voice trembling with a bravado she didn't feel. "You'll just lead them back here!"
Kael's gaze shifted to her. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Your barricade is kindling. Your weapons are toys." He stated it as a simple, irrefutable fact. "The information is your currency. You give it to me, and I leave. You don't, and I still leave. But one path gives you a chance I never saw you."
The brutal logic was inescapable. They were not allies. They were a resource node. The man with the poker sagged, the fight draining out of him. "The main thoroughfares are all... occupied. They don't move much, just... stand there. Like guards. There are packs of the smaller, faster ones that run between them. The big ones are on Fifth and Grand, and another at the entrance to the Plaza itself."
It was exactly what he needed. The big ones were stationary sentinels. The smaller packs were mobile patrols. He could work with that. He could avoid the sentinels and ambush the patrols for XP on the way. The path was becoming clearer.
"Thank you," Kael said, and began to turn away. The transaction was complete.
"Wait!" the younger man in the back cried out, his voice cracking. "Please... do you have any food? Any water?"
Kael paused, his back to them. The request was expected. The answer was still no. His own supplies were meticulously calculated. Sharing was a subtraction with no addition. He had given them the only thing he could afford: a clear boundary and their lives.
He didn't answer. He simply took a step, preparing to merge back into the ruins.
That's when he heard it. A sound that bypassed all his calculations and went straight to his hindbrain. A low, chittering growl, followed by the skittering of claws on concrete. It came from the alley to his right, the one he had been about to pass.
He spun, the rebar snapping up into a guard position.
Emerging from the shadows wasn't a Corrupted Hound or a Pigeon. It was something new. It was the size of a large dog, but built like a hairless, muscular ape, its skin a mottled grey. It moved on all fours, but its forelimbs ended in long, serrated bone-blades instead of paws. Its head was a nightmare of too many eyes and a vertical, lamprey-like maw.
**Corrupted Slasher. Level: 3. Health: 150/150.**
Level 3. His first.
It wasn't looking at him. Its cluster of eyes was fixed on the broken storefront. On the three easy, terrified morsels inside. It ignored the armed, dangerous-looking statue in its path and scuttled directly toward the building, its bone-blades scraping furrows in the asphalt.
A new equation presented itself.
*Option 1: Leave.* The Slasher would breach their flimsy barricade in seconds. It would be distracted, feeding. He could escape south effortlessly. It was the optimal survival choice. Clean. Efficient.
*Option 2: Engage.* A Level 3 enemy. High risk. Unknown abilities. The reward? The XP would be significant. But that wasn't the primary variable anymore.
He looked at the creature, then at the three survivors, now paralyzed with a fresh, primal terror. They had given him intel. Valuable intel. They had, in their own way, paid him.
And in the harsh, unwritten code of this new world, a debt, once incurred, had to be settled.
His body moved before the calculation was fully complete.
As the Slasher lunged at the storefront, Kael erupted into motion. He didn't charge. He flowed. He used the carcass of a car as a springboard, launching himself in a silent, high arc, his Agility making him a blur.
He landed between the Slasher and its prey, his rebar held in a reverse grip.
The creature skidded to a halt, its multitude of eyes refocusing on this new, immediate threat. A guttural hiss escaped its circular maw.
The survivors stared, their cries stuck in their throats.
Kael stood his ground, his mind clear, the world shrinking to the monster before him. The calculus was simple again.
The debt would be paid in blood.