1% Lifesteal

They said that Janhalar, the reigning patriarch of the Kraven Clan, smiled only once in his life. It wasn't when his child was born, nor was it when he underwent his marriage ceremony.

The only time he had ever truly smiled was when he reached the third star and evolved his talent.

To the Kraven, blood was all, and his was particularly special. Aptly named Blood of the Patriarch, his talent made his blood incredibly potent. Whether in creating blood-attuned equipment or for alchemical purposes, the liquid running through his veins was like pure gold to any blood-affinity archhuman. Even drinking it raw was said to increase the richness and quality of one's own blood, purifying their bone marrow and cleansing their veins.

In its crimson greatness, his blood was like a key that could unlock the potential of any other blood it was mixed into, while itself having superb quality and combat application.

So that was why, at that moment, for the second time ever, while digging through trash in a dump yard like the lowest of subhuman scum, he was grinning from ear to ear.

With the acquisition of a unique blood remnant, not only could he create an incredibly potent new ability, but he could also acquire a unique affinity. Perhaps that could push him enough to earn himself a fifth star, a step that he hadn't been able to make much progress toward for over thirty years, finding himself stuck at 90% completion of his fourth star.

He picked up a broken dishwasher as if it weighed less than a feather and flung it behind his back, then he morphed his blood to shovel further underneath it. No response from his ring. But he knew that it was close.

Anywhere between a few hours from that point to a few days at the latest, it would be in his grasp. Finally. After so long. After losing all hope, reality finally saw reason and corrected its error.

Finally.

He would be victorious. As he had always been fated to.

***

Camp Violet, as dangerous, filthy, and exhausting as it might have been, was the hope of many archhumans—a light shining at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

For many, the damp environment of the caves was an upgrade to the subhuman imprisonment standards of the Kraven facilities. Here, there was warmth sometimes; there was a goal to strive for, a way out. There was hope.

But some, try as they may, couldn't outpace the inflation of their debt. Breaking or losing equipment was punished severely. Breaking or losing a limb was punished even worse.

Through the maze of tents, a disgruntled giant pushed his way forward. It was true; he was no hero. He was no great warrior, despite his physique leading many to believe otherwise.

Cupping the still-tender wound on his chest, he, who was nicknamed Skull Crusher, prayed for a quick return to the Wastes. It wasn't just a place to settle grievances and have fun. Many placed bets and forged contracts, which the camp staff happily enforced in a way that benefitted them the most—by cutting credit or enforcing stricter daily quotas to force one worker to repay the debt of another.

For him, who had had a five-million-dollar debt, which had shrunk to just under four million recently, a successful career as a ring-fighter was his only way of even dreaming of repaying it.

With his affinity for earth and impressive body, he had a place there. With his talent, Enhanced Sense of Smell, he was fated to never be able to reach the top.

Several lesser men got out of his way as he angrily brushed past them. The thick forest of tents was a pain to navigate, and the poor lighting wasn't much help.

What the hell kind of crazy talent did that snitch bastard have? Weren't the ones with powerful combat talents supposed to be barred from even joining this expedition? And if they were, meaning if that bastard indeed didn't have anything special…

He sighed. If that man didn't have an impressive talent, he certainly had remarkable potential. But it was fine, he admitted begrudgingly. He never wanted to be a warrior anyway. He wanted to be a master chef.

If only he hadn't given in to his greed and poisoned—

The sudden, unexpected shattering of a nearby lantern made him jump in a way that made both his existing wound ache and added another to his pride.

"What the—" he asked in his deep voice.

The lamp was shattered, and the small fire crystal was exposed to the open air. Back in his days in the kitchen, he had worked with many of those, so he knew how strictly they were designed with utmost safety in mind. Once broken, the fire crystal would—

It was supposed to cool rapidly and deactivate… but it didn't. At all. The small shard started glowing brighter before his eyes, and then it set aflame.

"You gotta be joking!"

Thankfully, if he recalled correctly, the tents were made of fire-proof material. But as the crystal finally got hot enough to burn through the metallic shell it was trapped within, it dropped onto the tent cloth—which started burning.

With an ability, he pulled a large block of earth up and kicked it onto the tent, but it was useless; the blaze was spreading fast, unnaturally so.

The faintest of sparks merely touched the edge of his uniform, landing on the sleeve of his leg. Then, it burned, igniting a yellow inferno that scorched red, violet, and finally pure white as it spread to his entire body.

With the hot air turning his lungs into pure ash, he couldn't even muster a scream, merely falling soundlessly on the soil as the hellish flames spread to another tent.

And from far away, from the distant entrance to the open caverns, a pair of square-pupiled eyes blazed with the bloody orange light of a devil.

***

He observed the screams of the filthy skin monkeys as they scattered away from his unholy flames. Their primitive huts burned violently, and just over two-thirds were already ash.

But his eyes already bled.

Grabbing his head to push away the headache, he laughed somberly. "I could once turn cities to ash with a glance… and now look at me. Look what I have been reduced to."

His companion, the swordmaster who had taken the body of a tall female of the ape race, glared at him with her unnerving eyes.

She cocked her head and mused, "What were you?"

"A lord among the proud kalishitt race," he declared. "A demon of six stars. What about you?" he asked in turn.

"A champion," she said, "of the beautiful poppolone beastkin. Also of six stars."

"I see," he said with a nod. "And what power is it that made you a champion?"

Rather than say anything, she raised the admittedly high-quality crystal saber in her right hand. With a minor flick of her other wrist, a near-identical copy of the weapon appeared, one with a phantasmal shine.

Watching the burning, screaming creatures rushing toward them, she swung her arm and threw the copy of the weapon. As it took flight, it did not spin, but it flew with the delicate grace of a mighty arrow, straight and true, right through the forehead of a hairless male.

With his death, another copy appeared, one that she threw straight through the body of another victim and into the stomach of a second. With that, two copies appeared, and with the use of an ability, she kept both crystal weapons afloat.

His eyes widened slightly at seeing that. So she also had an advanced affinity, then? Crystal, and maybe even metal. Impressive.

Then she launched them, killing three. Three weapons appeared. Then she killed five, and yet again, the same number of weapons appeared floating around her.

"I see," he said. "A talent worthy of a champion."

***

Stephen's phone was a cacophony of ringing and overlapping voices. With a press of both thumbs, he silenced everyone except the surveillance officer.

"Tell me immediately!" he demanded. "What the hell is happening!?"

"Less than a minute ago, a large fire enveloped the camp!" the voice came, oozing with panic and confusion. "There is… I…"

"Request the mercenaries!"

"They're there, sir," the surveillance officer responded strickenly. "Th-They were there."

***

"J-Josh… Hellen…" A kneeling, armless, burned skin ape, who had moments ago stood with the pride of a life and water affinity warrior of three stars, now begged like a miserable worm. "What… What ha-happened to you guys!?" he cried. "Where is this power coming—"

Thankfully, the saber woman cut his words—and head—off, ending the pathetic whining.

"My name is Firrita," she finally introduced herself. "Or it had been. I do not know who or what I am anymore," she echoed his very thoughts. "I vaguely remember who I was and what I stood for… but the details are vague. And most of the power I once held seems to have been lost."

Whatever had happened to them, they were both in the same situation.

"I would never betray my kin," she said, "was what I truly believed when I was myself. Now, while I embody one of these soft, fleshy underground dwellers, I do not accept them as my own." Then, she turned to him. "You are the closest I have to a kindred."

He smiled at her. If it had any use to him, he'd stab her in the back in the blink of an eye, having no such pathetic weaknesses himself. But having a temporary servant was just what he needed.

"My name is Kaefalge," he introduced himself as well. "I used to be Sanae Illitit Kaefalge, but that title holds no more weight. We could be anywhere in the Great Labyrinthe, meaning we will likely never find our old homes." He raised his hand, offering her an arm-lock. "An alliance is the best choice for both of us."

She reflexively presented her arm with an open palm before pulling it back.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Is that the greeting of your people?"

"No…" she denied. "That seems to be the way these dwellers greet one another. This body still holds some habits from its previous owner."

He squinted at her. "Ah… I see… I believe I feel the same pull myself. Very well. That is how we shall greet each other then." He offered her the same gesture. "A grasp of the hands. An elegant greeting, indeed."

"What the fuck!?" something screamed from their side, and they both turned to face one of the apes who seemingly just returned to its settlement.

It was a man with silver hair and striking blue eyes. It didn't take long for him to register their presence. As soon as he did, he turned around, running back into the caves as fast as he could.

Kaefalge raised his hand, preparing to throw a flame lance at the fleeing target, but Firrita grabbed him by the wrist, stopping his attack.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked. "Don't tell me you intend to spare that creature?"

"Not at all," she declared. "I merely wish to give you a suggestion."

He raised an eyebrow.

"My people," she said, "we have a tradition."

"Oh?" he mused. "And what is this tradition you speak of?"

She smiled at him. "New friends bond through a hunt."

He smiled back at her. "Very well."

***

The nine head administrators of Camp Violet appeared on the surface, leaving through a hidden elevator with only them in tow. It was an emergency evacuation, so they had to go at once.

They all looked ill for one reason or another. Some out of fear, some out of worry or guilt. But Stephen felt sick knowing he had just lost so… so much money.

Up on the surface, in a concealed hangar, was a ship. It was an elegant shape of steel construction, resembling a giant pill with windows. They boarded it, and Stephen prepared to push a button. But before he could, Liam rushed over, gripped his arm, and pulled it back.

"Liam," Stephen said, frustration boiling over. "What on New Earth are you doing!?"

"I-I…" the man tried. "We… There is… The sh-ship is… It's big. Th-there is sp-space for a-at least t-twenty more people," he said, sweating profusely.

Stephen gritted his teeth. "All right, then, anyone in favor of putting this stupid idea to the vote, raise your hands."

Nobody did. So Stephen pushed the—

"Wait!" Liam yelled, holding his arm tighter.

"Marcus!" Stephen barked, and the burly man got up and smacked Liam on the back of his head, knocking him out instantly… Then, without any further protest, Stephen finally pressed the button.

The ship started, lifted off the ground, and flew off into the distance—

Abandoning the camp to its fate.

***

Peter ran for his life. "Fuck!" he screamed as he dodged out of the way of a phantasmal saber, nearly slipping on the wet rock.

He needed help. And he needed it soon. So he ran as fast as he could toward—

Suddenly, a fireball exploded to his left, burning half of his body and sending him tumbling to the ground.

The vision in his left eye went blank. The feeling in most of his body disappeared. With the looming threat of death hanging above him, he did the only thing he could do.

He screamed for help.

***

Freddy sat leaning against a wall in his secret hideout, banging his head repeatedly against the stony cavern wall.

He couldn't help but sigh. He was so tired. Tired of hoping, tired of working. Tired of always having to escape one problem or another.

There wasn't much risk of him getting captured. It wasn't like he was easy to identify—muscular, average-height men with black hair weren't all that hard to find, and it was likely that he would be deemed dead before long.

The man helping him, Peter, was just another desperate, selfish prick trying to claw his way up in the world. So it was again that he found himself alone, part of him waiting to see what that man cooked up and another part trying to think of his own plan.

For now, training was his best option. There was no harm in gathering more power. His star was at around 71% of its capacity, and as long as he fought some monsters in the caves, he should have no problem reaching the second star.

What he would do after that was for later. Perhaps with enough searching, he would find the right opportunity, but… it was getting depressing. The caves were a lonely place—at the best of times. And he was tired of being alone.

He missed Mark. Honestly, he'd kiss the man on his forehead if he saw him. There was also Steve, the gym trainer, even though he was a bit of a prick. And James, Sharon… All of those people he had taken for granted. He had taken people for granted in general.

At that moment, he did not want anything more than peace and good friends.

Suddenly, the faint sound of screaming reached his ears. It was barely audible, and he was surprised to have noticed it.

He got closer to the pile of rocks that blocked the entrance into his cave and shifted it aside, carefully listening, trying to puzzle out if it was anything he had to be concerned about—

And immediately realized that it very much was. Because whoever it was, they were screaming his name.

Carefully making his way out, he followed the faint echoes as they first got louder, then quieter.

***

Kaefalge basked in their prey's agony, feeling his heart bubbling in joy at the music of the pitiful creature's wails of suffering. "I missed this," he said. "It feels like I haven't properly enjoyed myself in a long, long time."

Firrita raised her hand. "Be quiet. Its calls might attract another of its species. My instincts tell me he hadn't been running in this direction for no reason."

Kaefalge would never tolerate being told to stay quiet. But he humored the woman. She could consider it a reward for not being as soft as he feared her to be.

Not too long after, just as their prey was reaching its wit's end… another of its species arrived at its call.

From where they were hiding, Firrita raised her saber to throw it at the man who arrived, but this time, Kaefalge was the one to stop her. "No…" he whispered, grinning wickedly. "Let us observe."

***

After a few minutes, Freddy reached the clearing where he had met with Peter, only to find the man in the same place again.

"Fre… Fre-ddy—" This time, however, he was lying on the floor, covered in ash and soot. Half his body had been severely burned, his silver hair was charred to a crisp, and a good chunk of his face was missing. His left eye hung outside its socket, flat, deflated, and barely holding on to its nerve. His uniform was singed, and the synthetic material had partly melted and fused with his skin.

"Fraeeh… Freeeddy… Hel-Help me. Help me," the man cried through his wounded throat, spitting blood as he forced his words out. "I'm dying," he said. "I-I'm going to die."

He took shaky steps back from the injured man.

"My eye," the man wheezed weakly. "My body… Help… I can't feel my—" Peter tried. "I can't…"

A strong urge to puke overwhelmed Freddy as he leaned to the side, ejecting the concoction of mushrooms he had consumed that day onto the slippery cavern floor. "What the fuck!?" he screamed, breathing heavily. "What the hell happened!?"

"The camp…" the man breathed out. "Fire…" he said, raising his one good eye as it widened. "They…" was the last he mustered as he lost consciousness.

After approaching him and placing a careful finger on the man's neck, on the unburned side, he confirmed it. His successive few heartbeats came, each slower than the previous one, and then they stopped altogether.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he tried to think.

"The camp… Fire? They?" he whispered in a panic, turning to face the path to the camp. He swore he could hear a faint, distant sound, but it might have been his imagination. The camp wasn't too far from his hiding place, but the maze of paths would certainly kill any noise before it could reach him.

He swallowed. What should he do? Had the camp been destroyed?

A lump appeared in his throat as he had a terrifying realization. Could… Could it be an eidolon? Or perhaps a monster of similar strength? If not, then… what?

They? Who was the man talking about?

Suddenly, the spacious cavern felt like it was closing in on him. The only reason he was even remotely safe standing there was because the surrounding area was regularly cleared of monsters. If… If the camp had suffered irreparable damage…

"Oh, shit!" he hissed. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…"

There was a reason why the camp didn't keep their prisoners leashed. If he was abandoned here, the chances of ever reaching civilization were… nonexistent.

"What the hell do I do then!?" he asked nobody in particular as he grabbed a handful of his hair with both hands.

It wasn't like he could go back and check! That was suicide! No… actually… wait…

He cupped his chin as his thoughts ran an anxious race. If the camp had really been destroyed, it was likely that somebody would be sent to investigate.

Could he use that to his advantage?

His eyes slowly traveled to the charred corpse beside his feet.

He swallowed.

Leaning down, he carefully checked the man's clothes, wincing whenever he touched anything gooey. To his dismay, the stench of charred flesh wasn't at all unpleasant, and the contrast between the smell of roasted meat and the sight before him made him feel sick to the stomach.

Eventually, he managed to find an ID. It was a pretty well-concealed piece of plastic that clearly identified the man as a staff member.

Freddy bit his nails anxiously. It had a picture of Peter's face, but the heat had lightly melted it, bending the plastic ever-so-slightly and making it difficult to tell. Still, it was clearly a young man with silver hair.

He felt the short stubble of black hair on the top of his head. He had no idea how he'd disguise it, but if he could find something… A thought came to mind, and he swallowed as he looked at the corpse again. Indeed, while he didn't have silver hair, neither did the burn victim who lay lifeless beside him. All that was left on his head were nasty burns.

… What if he burned his own face and hair off? That would make him utterly unrecognizable. He was a bit bulkier than Peter, but that was nothing that a bit of starvation and intense cardio couldn't change. On top of that, they were of similar height, and if he burned his vocal cords, nobody could recognize him by his speech, either. But there was also Abyssal Depths. His body weight was clearly unnaturally high, so he had to devise a technique to undo the water density and return to a normal body weight.

Finally, something akin to an actual plan began forming in his mind.

It was likely that, if not soon, someone would eventually come along.

And he… no… Peter Vane would be found hiding in the caves, his face and body having suffered severe burns and his vocal cords having been damaged beyond repair.

For a moment, he felt like a stranger in his own body. He cackled mirthlessly and pushed those feelings down. When it came to survival, there was no place for questioning himself. No matter what he had to do.

With all the resolve he could muster, he grabbed the dead body by the unburnt arm and rushed to a pit several caverns away, where he promptly hid it and then threw several large stones to bury it. It would be eaten by bugs soon enough.

Returning back to his secret cave, he closed the entrance. The hand holding the ID card shook profusely, and he accidentally dropped it. Picking it back up, he decided to put this thing somewhere safe. He didn't trust himself to not lose it.

Eventually, he found an easily identifiable little nook, wrapped the ID into some cloth he severed from his own uniform, placed it inside, and then put a large, marked rock to cover it.

Then… it was time for the most challenging part. The burns will have to look convincing. They had to look as if he had gotten them around this time. It wouldn't be easy. Perhaps he could use a fire crystal from one of the lanterns, and with essence manipulation, he could make water evaporate, meaning he could dry some leaves or roots with relative ease and use them as kindling.

Taking a deep breath and swallowing the sick feeling swelling up in his throat, he shifted the rock to the entrance to leave and find a—

A sudden burst of fire pulverized the rock he was holding. He was sent flying back, tumbling over the short distance as he flopped into the underground lake.

A shard of stone had nicked him in the eye, and he had notable burns over his body, even though he hadn't broken anything.

Shit! he cursed internally. Had the thing that destroyed the camp been chasing after Peter!?

His mind whirled. There was only one entrance to the cavern above. Did whatever had attacked him know that he was in there? He had no clue, but he knew that swimming up to the surface would be a stupid idea.

Shifting the water around his body, he rapidly sank to the bottom of the lake. With his level of fitness, he could probably last a while. During that time, he simply had to stay still and not move.

Out of fear that simply remaining at the bottom of the lake left him exposed, he used water manipulation to push his body further. His left eye bled profusely; it was dark, and even with the water affinity, he hadn't worked on developing an underwater ocular ability.

He simply moved to wherever it was darkest to ensure he was as hidden as possible. As he sank deeper into the shadow, he felt algae tendrils tickling the surface of his skin, but he kept going deeper. Grasping a few pieces of algae, he pulled them apart, hoping to heal himself a bit. To his surprise, however, the stifling feeling in his lungs lessened. His one good eye shot open.

Could supreme-quality healing undo… asphyxiation? Another grab of some plants confirmed that theory. That calmed him down a bit. He had more time than he initially thought, then.

Grabbing one herb after another, he kept sinking deeper into the small hole to ensure that he was as hidden as he could be.

Just when he thought to stop, his hand touched something gooey. With a reflex of such speed that it was impossible to avoid, a tentacle wrapped around his shoulder, just under his armpit, and started pulling him in deeper.

What the fu— he yelped internally, caught off-guard by the sudden appearance of a monster.

But before he could do anything about it, the limb pulled harder, dragging him into a tight, jagged hole where the rough edges cut and bruised his skin, leaving large open gashes all over his body.

After a few turbulent seconds, he found himself being sucked into the maw of a giant octopus thrice the size of his body. Rushing to grab the dagger sheathed on his belt, he stabbed repeatedly while the horrid creature bit his leg with a beaked maw, tearing deep into his thigh. He screamed, losing all the air in his lungs as he pushed Flowing Strike into his swings.

The rush of lifesteal slightly alleviated the pain, and after another few good stabs, the creature stopped moving.

With the haze of blood surrounding him, he could barely see where he was, but one thing stood out—it was bright. Swimming up, it took him a mere few moments to find himself on the shore of a miniature lake in a tropical forest.

"What the…!?"

Had he just been dragged through a passage? While that had been a terrible experience that left him horribly injured, it might have also possibly saved his life, so he supposed that it kind of evened out.

The trees surrounding him were a violently saturated green in color, and what little growth there was around his feet was bushy and yellow. Up above, he spotted the sky, but it was unusual, shimmering with a strange, shifting light.

Making his way to a small clearing, holding his bleeding thigh, and occasionally stabbing a tree he passed to heal a bit, he finally saw it. "Wow," he couldn't stop himself from breathing out in awe.

The fake sky hiding behind giant floating rocks appeared like the surface of a liquid when viewed from below. It shimmered and shifted with the turbulent fluctuation of a large body of water, and every few seconds, a wave passed by, leaving a shimmering trail of glittery, scattered glow behind.

It was beautiful. He hoped there were no more monsters around.

A short while of stabbing short bushes and trees later, his leg was doing well enough for him to stand on, and it at least wasn't bleeding anymore.

A strange sight caught his eye through the thick, tropical growth, and he slowly approached it, cautiously observing his environment.

As he finally exited the bushy forest, he walked onto a beautiful, picturesque beach.

An ocean spread distantly in all directions, and every so often, a colorful shape jumped out of it in a short-lived leap, likely the activity of fish or whatever those things were; it was hard to see from afar.

Judging that there was no active threat, he pulled back, ensuring he didn't step too close to the water. He didn't want a repeat of what happened just a few minutes ago. As he pulled back, he took another swing at a tree. Frankly, these things held a lot more vitality than seemed obvious. He hadn't been at it for long, but his condition was already improving.

So he took another swing. As he stabbed it, something felt deeply wrong. It was as if the entire world had leaned at the slightest of angles, but enough for him to realize something wasn't right.

Then, the soil began vibrating. The sea started roiling. The entire island lifted, and he lost his footing.

As he fell to the ground, he saw the titanic shadow of a long, snaky head rising from beneath the ocean's surface as it turned to look at him. The dozens of pearly eyes adorning the head of something akin to a blend of a dragon and a turtle homed in on him.

The creature spread its jaw wide open, and its tongue split into hundreds of tentacles that rushed at him.

There wasn't an appropriate way to react. There was no chance of escape.

Not a single coherent thought went through his head as one of the tendrils grabbed him by the leg, pulled him high into the sky, and dragged him into the maw of the leviathan.

***

Bloodshed felt it. Master was in trouble. Deep trouble. More trouble than all the other trouble he had been in combined, and the path of blood was rapidly drying up.

It had to remain obedient. But… what was the point if there was nobody to obey?

In the underground beneath it, it felt the closest path to Master. Pulling itself down, it moved from one tight space to another, eventually dropping into what seemed to be a carriage buried beneath tons and tons of trash.

And in that carriage, right on what used to be its roof, there was a passage. It had to hurry. This was the first of many steps it would have to take. But it would do anything to get there in time.

***

Janhalar whistled cheerfully, and he scooped up another pile of garbage. At that moment, he felt like there wasn't a single thing that could ruin his mood—and it took but a moment for him to regret that thought.

The ring on his finger, the focus of the intense resonance, the feeling he had been basking in…

Suddenly went deathly quiet.