The assassin didn't laugh. He didn't mock. He was a professional, and professionals didn't waste time conversing with their targets.
He blurred forward.
The muddy alleyway splashed beneath his leather boots as he crossed the three yards separating them in a fraction of a second. To a normal mortal, the Iron-Rank speed would have been a death sentence. A flicker of motion, a flash of black steel, and then the grave.
But Silas was no longer a normal mortal.
The fifty units of chaotic mana he had just liquidated from his own bloodstream had forcefully upgraded his base stats. His vision, sharpened by the sudden influx of Agility and Perception, tracked the downward arc of the blackened dagger.
Silas threw his weight to the right, his boots slipping slightly on the rain-slicked cobblestones.
The blade cut through the empty air where his neck had been a millisecond before.
[Host evaded hostile transaction. Applying 15% Combat Interest.]
[Target's Active Combat Debt: 15 Karma Points.]
Silas stumbled but caught himself against the brick wall of the alley. His chest heaved. Even with his boosted stats, the sheer physical exertion of dodging an Iron-Rank killer was immense. The disparity in their Net Worth—15 Stat Points against 45—was a structural disadvantage.
But Silas Vance had made a career on Earth out of exploiting structural disadvantages.
"You're fast for a piece of trash," the assassin rasped, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together.
The killer didn't pause. He pivoted fluidly, using his momentum to launch a brutal horizontal slash aimed at Silas's midsection.
Silas didn't try to block. He didn't have a weapon, and parrying Iron-Rank physical strength with bare arms was financial suicide. Instead, he dropped into a harsh crouch, letting the rusted fire escape behind him take the hit.
Clang!
Sparks showered over Silas as the dagger bit deeply into the iron railing.
[Host evaded lethal transaction. Applying 25% Combat Interest.]
[Target's Active Combat Debt: 40 Karma Points.]
[System Note: Target's Lifetime Cosmic Debt (8,500) is locked. Active Combat Debt must surpass Target's Net Worth (45) to initiate legal Foreclosure.]
Silas's eyes darted to the glowing blue text hovering at the edge of his vision.
So that's the loophole, he thought, his analytical mind operating at lightspeed despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins. I can't just execute him for his lifetime sins. I have to build up his immediate debt in this specific encounter until it bankrupts him.
The assassin yanked his blade free from the iron railing, his eyes narrowing beneath his dark cowl. He was clearly realizing that this wasn't the crippled, poisoned noble he had been contracted to kill.
"Stop dodging like a rat!" the assassin snarled.
"Stop spending energy you can't afford," Silas replied coldly.
The taunt worked.
The assassin's aura flared. A faint, sickening green light coated the edge of his dagger. Mana. He was activating a skill.
"Die!"
The assassin lunged, his body becoming a streak of green and black in the rain. This wasn't a standard strike. It was a locked-on, mana-fueled thrust aimed squarely at Silas's heart.
Silas pushed off the brick wall, throwing himself into a desperate backward roll.
He wasn't fast enough.
The glowing dagger clipped his left shoulder.
Pain, sharp and blinding, exploded down his arm. Blood sprayed across the muddy ground, mixing with the neon-tinted puddles. Silas grunted, hitting the cobblestones hard and skidding backward.
He clutched his bleeding shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The wound was deep, burning with a residual venom that tried to invade his veins.
The assassin stood over him, the green glow of his dagger illuminating his cruel, triumphant smile.
"Got you," the killer whispered, raising the blade for the executioner's strike. "End of the line, Vance."
Silas didn't look at the blade. He looked at the translucent blue screen hovering between them.
[Host Damaged. Severe Asset Violation detected.]
[Penalty Interest applied. 500% Multiplier activated for direct assault on Creditor's life.]
[Target's Active Combat Debt: 240 Karma Points.]
Silas lowered his bloodied hand from his shoulder. The pain was excruciating, but the smile that spread across his face was terrifyingly calm. It was the smile of a loan shark who had just successfully locked a desperate man into a predatory contract.
"You should have read the terms and conditions," Silas whispered, his voice steady despite the rain and the blood.
The assassin frowned, his dagger pausing for a fraction of a second. "What?"
"Your net worth is forty-five points," Silas stated, his eyes glowing with an intense, neon-blue light. "Your active debt is two hundred and forty."
The assassin didn't understand the words, but his instincts screamed at him. The atmosphere in the alleyway suddenly shifted. The rain seemed to freeze in mid-air. The ambient mana in the environment grew suffocatingly dense.
"I don't know what trick you're playing," the killer roared, driving the dagger down toward Silas's skull. "But it ends now!"
Silas didn't dodge. He didn't even flinch.
He simply raised his right hand, snapping his bloodstained fingers with a sharp, resonant crack.
"Your account is in default," Silas commanded, his voice echoing with an unnatural, cosmic authority that shook the very foundations of the alley. "[Foreclose]."