The golden light of the Clock Tower Stronghold gradually dimmed, replaced by an oppressive silence. Although Aaryan had rebuilt the stronghold using the power of the royal mark, repelling the first wave of bombardment, the taste of victory was as bitter as the tar in the ruins.
'Ugh!' A suppressed scream tore through the air.
Balthazar's burly body convulsed violently. His broken greatsword lay askew in the rubble; the magical runes on the hilt had corroded to black. Most horrifying of all was his skin: the dark purple 'bone scabs' left from breaking through the Inquisition were writhing and boiling wildly as if alive — the lingering poison of the 'Crimson Pact', no longer suppressed by the Holy Blood Warship, was devouring its host.
Large patches of purple spots spread from his wounds. At the centre of each spot, tiny mechanical gears could be seen rotating in reverse beneath the flesh, emitting a teeth-grinding 'click-clack' sound. This was the Holy Blood Council's most severe taboo agreement: if the mission failed, the contractor's etheric circuits would transform into a miniature shredder and devour their physical body.
'His etheric core is being reverse-melted by the contract...' Dalia staggered closer; her white, bloodshot eyes were now blind. She reached out a trembling hand to cast a healing spell, but the moment her fingertips touched Baltazar's skin, she was repelled by a violent burst of dark red lightning.
Cyrus's steam-powered prosthetic eye darted uneasily in its socket and spewed out a rapid stream of blue smoke. He stared intently at the energy reading device in his hand. His voice was shrill with fear. 'No! This isn't ordinary physical damage. It's "law-level" obliteration, unless...' He abruptly looked up at Aaryan, who stood in the shadows.
Aaryan stood with his back upright, but the royal insignia on the back of his work clothes emitted a deep, chilling purple. He slowly turned around; the miniature gears of the spacetime axis were still spinning rapidly at the centre of his pupils, reflecting an inhuman divinity and indifference.
"Aaryan, you are of royal blood!" Cyrus rushed forward, almost roaring: 'The documents say that the bloodline of a true king possesses the highest level of "energy control". Use your mark to suppress the contract within him! This is his only chance of survival!'
Aaryan looked at Balthazar, the war god who had once sacrificed his life to protect him from the golden halo, now curled up on the ground like a boiled shrimp. He slowly extended his right hand and the faint outline of the royal mark appeared in his palm.
The moment his fingers touched Balthazar's forehead, the world seemed to freeze.
Instead of the expected rejection, Aaryan felt an instinct called 'plunder' well up from the depths of his blood. He could sense every point of Balthazar's pain, even the fibres snapping beneath his skin. The extreme agony of another was being drawn into his body through his fingertips and transforming into a dark red stream.
It was a distorted, almost addictive experience — stripping away the pain of others and transforming it into his own power. Aaryan's breathing became heavy. For the first time, he realised that the existence of the 'King' was based on the domination and plundering of the suffering of all beings.
The tremors at the Clock Tower stronghold were not caused by an earthquake, but by some kind of high-frequency etheric pulse. 'They're here.' Cyrus jerked his head up, his steam-powered prosthetic eye spinning wildly as it detected an extremely high-energy reaction. The gears ground together with a piercing, acrid sound.
Before he could finish speaking, the heavy iron gate was crushed instantly by an invisible giant's hand. Accompanied by the groaning sound of twisted metal, dozens of 'Holy Light Shock Bombs' pierced the air, their blinding white light robbing everyone of their vision. Immediately afterwards, the 'White Tower Purifiers', clad in sleek silver armour, poured in like ghosts.
'By order of the Holy Blood Council, the contraband "1969 Zero Spacetime Core" is to be retrieved and all heretics and demons are to be executed as a blood sacrifice to the divine oracle.' The leading inquisitor's icy, inhumanly metallic voice boomed from his megaphone.
Balthazar roared and, despite the blood-soaked bandages still wrapped around his arm, swung his broken greatsword with one hand. He drew upon his crimson energy to create a dark red defensive circle in the centre of the stronghold. However, the Purifiers who arrived this time were no ordinary patrols; their ether rifles spewed pure, highly concentrated beams of holy blood energy. Each shot that struck Balthazar's shield triggered a violent explosion of crystals.
"Balthazar, retreat!" Aaryan's voice rang out amidst the chaos. Rather than using the power of his mark, he relied on the keen intuition honed over years in the machine factory to dodge a thrust and smash a Purifier's helmet with a heavy wrench.
But this was just a drop in the ocean. A high-ranking executive slowly stepped onto the battlefield. Instead of heavy armour, he wore a white robe embroidered with intricate gold patterns, and his feet were three inches off the ground, hovering above the filthy puddles. He looked at the wounded Dahlia, his eyes showing a cruel pity.
'What pathetic creatures.' The Executor's long, slender fingers flicked through the air and several golden, blade-like halos appeared instantly. 'You thought stealing the "key" would change your fate? You're merely adding a more ornate coffin to this grave.'
The golden halos roared out, heading straight for Dahlia. Balthazar shielded her, his broken sword colliding with the halos. The resulting shockwave shattered the stronghold's already crumbling support pillars. Debris rained down and dust billowed everywhere.
"Dahlia!" Cyrus screamed, trying to manipulate the spacetime stabiliser to create a small disruptive force field. But the machine had already completely shattered under the pressure of the Purifiers' firepower. Metal fragments pierced his shoulder.
The Executor let out a contemptuous snort. He stretched out his hand and a powerful gravitational pull instantly drew the spacetime core from the ground into his palm. "Put it... down." Aaryan's voice came from the shadows.
He was kneeling on the ground, shielding his fallen comrade. Blood streamed down his forehead, dripping onto the paint-splattered floor. His body trembled, not from fear, but from a long-suppressed power surging wildly within his mortal form.
'You lowly worker bee, were you talking to me?' The Executor stopped and looked at Aaryan as though he were trash. With a casual wave of his hand, a beam of holy light pinned Aaryan to the ground once more. The sound of bones cracking echoed clearly in the deathly silence of the stronghold. The Executor stepped on Aaryan's grease-stained back, grinding his spine with his toe.
'Look at you all,' said the Executor, leaning down. His voice was filled with mockery. 'For this piece of scrap metal, you broke your swords, went blind and crippled your hands. And what was the result? This city is still our pasture, and you aren't even worthy of being fertiliser."
He turned to the group of demonic labourers cowering in the shadows, bound together by ropes and trembling like livestock awaiting slaughter.
'To punish your overstepping, I will transform these bloodstained kin, one by one, into the lowest form of etheric batteries before your very eyes.' A blinding golden light coalesced once more in the Executor's palm.
Aaryan felt his soul being torn apart. He heard the cries of his kin, saw Balthazar's resentful tears, and sensed Dahlia's fading breath.
In this instant filled with rust and blood, all restraint, evasion and pretence crumbled before the instinct called 'King'.
The burning sensation rising from his spine was no longer pain, but judgement. 'I said it,' Aaryan said, slowly raising his head. The greyish-brown colour of ordinary demons was rapidly fading deep within his pupils, replaced by a profound purple-gold that made the void tremble. 'Put it... down.'
The executor wanted to mock him, but suddenly realised that the toes pressing on Aaryan's back seemed to have touched an abyss. An irresistible force was awakening within this 'worker bee'.
The retreat of the Holy Blood Purifiers brought no peace. Inside the Clock Tower stronghold, the air was thick with the nauseating odour of rust and burnt flesh. The brutal yet brief conflict they had just witnessed shattered their last illusions: the Maya District was no longer a safe haven and the Holy Blood Council's judgement was ever-present.
Aaryan knelt in the centre of the ruins, his hand still in the position he had used to subdue the executor. The fear of a higher life form lingered on his fingertips, stimulating the royal mark on his back like an electric current. This feeling was extremely dangerous, even more alluring than the poison of the 'Crimson Pact'.
'Aaryan… your hand…' Dahlia's weak voice pulled him back to reality.
He abruptly withdrew his hand and discovered that his fingertips were now stained a faint amethyst colour. This wasn't a wound, but a manifestation of materialised energy. He glanced at his companions: Balthazar was in a deep coma, and the sound of gears turning could still be faintly heard, even though the purple spots within him were temporarily suppressed by Aaryan's bloodline shock. Cyrus was using his remaining hand to disassemble the damaged parts and attempt to assemble a portable life monitor; his expression was almost frantic.
'We can't stay here,' Cyrus said without looking up, his voice hoarse. 'This location has been exposed. The Holy Blood Council's second wave of attacks usually involves 'dimensional collapse' devices. If the next wave brings monsters of 'Kaso' level, we won't even stand a chance."
Aaryan stood up and looked around. The demonic workers, bound in chains, now looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and deep fear — the look commoners give to a 'ruler' or 'outsider'.
'Royal blood is not a gift of mercy.' Aaryan muttered to himself, looking at his palm. In his extreme rage, he had clearly felt a resonance between his 'spiritual root' and the scrap metal of this dilapidated city. He even felt that he could drain the life force of everyone present to heal his own wounds if he so desired.
The instinct to 'plunder' the pain and lives of others had been the foundation of the rule of the previous kings of the Maya District.
'Go to the sewers,' Aaryan said in a deep voice, his tone carrying an undeniable authority.
'The sewers? That's the territory of the deformed bee tribe — stinking and sour.' Cyrus stopped working and looked at him in surprise.
'That's the only place in the entire Maya District not covered by the Ethernet surveillance network.' Aaryan turned his head, a flash of purple light passing through his pupils. 'Besides, there are things I need to confirm there. If we're going to fight back, we can't rely on just these few remnants.'
He bent down and lifted the unconscious Balthazar onto his back, his movements swift and ruthless. In that moment, he was no longer the repairman who spent his days hiding in the back alleys of the factory and smoking cheap cigarettes; he was an ancient, blood-stained blade that had already been unsheathed.
Just as Aaryan was about to guide everyone through the underground passage, the dome of the clock tower stronghold suddenly exploded.
This wasn't a gunpowder explosion, but rather a high-frequency 'etheric collapse' that shattered matter molecules directly. Rubble and steel bars turned to dust in mid-air, and a massive shadow appeared in the dust. It was a heavy combat mech called the 'Holy Blood Arbiter', with pale golden energy fluid flowing through every joint, and a massive crystal lens on its chest pointing directly at everyone below.
'Forbidden life wavelength detected. Execute... physical erasure.'
The cold, synthesised electronic voice made everyone's eardrums ache. The mech raised its arms and several etheric rapid-fire cannons unleashed a violent rain of light.
'Defend!' Cyrus roared desperately, frantically pounding on the damaged jamming device. Apart from a few faint sparks, however, nothing happened.
Balthazar, who was unconscious, was thrown back and crashed heavily into the broken gear assembly. His damaged lungs coughed up a mouthful of dark purple blood. Dahlia tried to raise her final psionic barrier, but she had not recovered from her earlier exertions. The barrier was as fragile as paper against the barrage of light.
'Stop!' Aaryan stepped in front of everyone, the royal mark on his back flashing wildly.
He activated his 'Plunder' ability again, attempting to absorb the torrent of attack energy and convert it into nourishment for his mark. However, this time he was not facing flesh and blood, but the violent machine — the pinnacle of the Holy Blood Council's industrial prowess.
'Pfft—!'
The consequences of the forced overload backfired instantly; countless tiny gashes burst open on Aaryan's skin. The residual purple poison, originally extracted from Balthazar's body, began rampaging through his meridians due to the energy imbalance.
'Ugh!' Aaryan knelt on the ground, the pain of being 'plundered' exploding within him twice over. Not only had he endured the bombardment of the mechs, but also Balthazar's old wounds, Dahlia's weakness and the despair of his fallen comrades.
These negative emotions and energies intertwined to form a heavy chain that bound his spiritual root tightly. Despite his immense power, he was like a child drowning in a quagmire while clutching a gold mine.
Just then, the second and third mechs emerged from the mist.
The skies above the Maya District were completely illuminated, and thousands of autonomous reconnaissance drones swarmed around the stronghold like locusts. At the end of the street, the regular army of the Holy Blood Council advanced in a tight, seamless formation. Captured demonic workers were impaled on electrifying etheric conduits and forcibly dragged into the 'energy extraction vehicles' at the rear of the army.
"Save me… Aaryan… save us…" A young worker clung desperately to the edge of the rubble as he was dragged away, his nails splitting open and bleeding dark red blood.
Aaryan watched, her eyes bulging with tears, but she couldn't move.
The Executor, who had retreated earlier, reappeared perched on the shoulder of the Arbiter mech. He looked down at the battered Aaryan.
'Look, this is your king.' The Executor's voice echoed throughout the block. 'He absorbed your pain, yet could not bring you relief. He hides behind the shelters you built with your blood, panting like a dog."
"No… it's not like that…" Dahlia tried to stand up and protest, but a Purifier hit her with the butt of his rifle and sent her flying into the mud.
The situation had reached breaking point: Balthazar's fate was unknown, Cyrus's prosthetic eye had been shattered by a stray bullet, and Dahlia had been captured. All escape routes were blocked by those massive war machines.
Even more terrifyingly, Aaryan sensed the royal mark within him distorting. The taste of 'plunder' was changing; he was no longer content with absorbing pain, but was craving more 'sacrifice'.
'Kill the weak around you, drain their blood, and you'll gain the power to shatter these iron cans...'
A tempting voice echoed deep within his mind — the lingering echo of past Maya District tyrants; a curse inherent in his bloodline.
Gripping the bricks of the ground tightly, his fingers filled with rust and blood, Aaryan felt utterly helpless. If he didn't resist, everyone would die. But if he did, he would become the very demon who plundered his people.
'Holy Light Guide, Focus.'
The Executor issued the final command and the chest lenses of the three 'Arbitrator' mechs lit up simultaneously. Golden light converged in the air to form a high-temperature ray powerful enough to obliterate the entire clock tower stronghold.
Aaryan looked up, his vision blurred by excruciating pain. He saw the contemptuous smile on the Executor's face, the despair in his companions' eyes and the destructive holy light looming over them.
This was true oppression. Caught between absolute power and ethics, he could hear the sound of his teeth grinding.
In this instant, filled with rust and blood, all restraint, evasion and pretence crumbled before the instinct called 'King'. Rising from his spine was no longer pain, but the burning sensation of judgement.
Yet he still resisted the plundering of 'evil'. He awaited an opportunity to protect others without becoming a monster himself. But reality delivered a heavy slap in the form of a golden energy ray.
Just as the destructive holy beam was about to touch Aaryan's nose, time seemed to stand still.
This was no illusion. The air, the flying debris and the torrent of golden, high-energy particles expelled by the Arbiter mech all solidified in mid-air into a strange, translucent crystal.
'Is that... time stopping?' Cyrus stared intently ahead with his broken prosthetic eye. 'No, that's not stoppage, but rather an unprecedented resonance between the spacetime axis and Aaryan's royal mark under extreme pressure.'
'What you call contraband is nothing more than the echo of my ancestors in my eyes.'
Aaryan's voice was no longer hoarse, but resonated powerfully. He slowly stood up. The lingering poison of the 'Crimson Pact' that had been rampaging through his body was now being 'tamed' by the mark on his back. The purple patches were no longer signs of festering; instead, they travelled down his arms and eventually converged into deep, dark golden spirals at each knuckle. "Plunder?" Aaryan looked down at his hands, a cold smile playing on his lips. 'Since you think this bloodline is a curse, I'll show you what true "devouring" really is.'
He abruptly spread his fingers, pointing them at the Arbiter mechs directly in front of him.
"Reverse Extraction, Full Authority!"
Boom!
A visible vortex of void formed in his palm and the high-energy golden beams — enough to destroy any stronghold — were drawn into it like streams, pouring back into his body at a distorted angle.
Not only energy, but the three Arbiter mechs also emitted a sickening metallic scraping sound. Their prized ethereal armour began to crumble inch by inch — not because it was shattered, but because their 'ethereal cores' were being forcibly extracted by Aaryan from a distance.
"This is impossible!" The Executor, who was standing on the mech's shoulder, lost his composure. He waved his scepter frantically, attempting to stabilise the mech's energy field. "He's made of flesh and blood; how can he withstand this level of etheric load? His body will explode into ashes!"
However, what happened next completely overturned the Executor's understanding.
Behind Aaryan, the previously weak spines of the worker bees burst forth with a dazzling purple light. Within that light, the phantom of the founding king of the Maya District vaguely emerged — its gaping maw greedily devouring the killing intent and pain of the entire battlefield.
Aaryan did not collapse. The spiritual root within him, constructed from 'fantasy' logic, was frantically refining this complex mechanical energy. Meanwhile, the toxins of the Crimson Pact acted as the perfect catalyst, pushing the purity of his bloodline to a forbidden peak.
"Now, it's my turn."
Aaryan vanished from his spot in an instant, his speed exceeding the limits of the naked eye. Even radar could only detect a series of afterimages caused by the distortion of spacetime.
Bang!
The massive head of the first 'Arbiter' mech exploded without warning and Aaryan appeared on top of it. He didn't even use his sword. With a casual wave of his hand, a gigantic hand made purely of purple-gold energy hit the machine, which weighed tens of tons, and slammed it deep into the ruins.
"Flanking cover! All units, focus!' Before the Executor could finish his roar, Aaryan was already in front of him.
This was a teleportation of over a hundred metres. The Executor could clearly see Aaryan's eyes — they were no longer mortal pupils, but miniature galaxies where gears and clouds coexisted and divinity and bestiality intertwined.
"Your so-called judgement is too lenient."
Aaryan reached out and pressed his hand against the Executor's chest. In that instant, the Executor felt his etheric circuits and life force being frantically drained by that touch. His youthful face, maintained through long-term care, withered and collapsed within three seconds.
'No... don't take mine... it was a gift from God...'
Terrified, the Executor transformed into a withered ancient corpse and dissipated in the wind.
The remaining Purifier forces collapsed. They had never seen such a fighting style — no ornate magical chants or complex mechanical loading; only absolute bloodline dominion and the ruthless plundering of everything as nourishment.
With Aaryan's final step, a circular amethyst-gold halo suddenly expanded from him. Wherever it passed, reconnaissance bees spontaneously combusted and crashed, heavy mechs shut down and became paralysed, and the chains beneath the feet of captured workers shattered.
The battlefield fell into dead silence.
Aaryan stood atop the ruins, his right hand covered in a layer of purple armour as hard as crystal and radiating a chilling warmth. He turned his head and gazed in the direction of the floating tower.
'Malakor, can you hear that?' he murmured, his voice carrying throughout the entire block. 'There's a hint of blood in the smell of rust; it's your blood.'
The smoke of battle had not yet cleared when Aaryan staggered towards the centre of the ruins. His right hand was still covered by his purple-gold armour, but with each breath came a violent tearing sensation in his internal organs — the backlash from excessively 'plundering' the Holy Blood's energy.
He reached out and picked up the 'Time-Space Core' that had rolled away from the Executor's corpse. This prize, which had determined the fate of the Maya District, was now slightly warm, and the gears at its core had resumed their steady rotation.
'Got it...' Aaryan said hoarsely, turning back to look at Balthazar and Dahlia, who were supporting each other. 'Let's go to the sewers.'
However, as he turned, a slender, cold laser beam pierced his right shoulder without warning.
'Thud.'
The Time-Space Core slipped from Aaryan's numb hand and was caught steadily by a grimy, scarred hand before it hit the ground.
'I'm sorry, Aaryan.' The speaker was the old foreman of the Demon Clan, who had been hiding in the corner. His eyes, which had once been filled with gratitude, were now twisted with frenzied madness. Behind him stood dozens of equally cold-faced poor people. 'The Holy Blood Council offered "Pure Bloodline Conversion Cards" for three generations of our families. We've had enough of this rusty sewer; we want to be 'human'."
Before Aaryan could respond, the ground surrounding the stronghold suddenly erupted in a violent tremor. It wasn't the Arbiter mechs, but a primal, colossal creature awakening instead.
'Do you think you saved us?' The old foreman pointed at the cracking ground and let out a chilling laugh. 'Your awakened royal mark is the biological key to unlocking the "Lower Zone Purification Protocol". Malakor has been waiting for you to unleash your power from the very beginning.' The ground collapsed completely, spewing forth a thick, dark green, acidic mist. Deep within the smoke, countless pairs of crimson compound eyes slowly lit up — the forbidden 'Half-Bee Demon Seed' legion, secretly nurtured by the Council for a century.
The traitor's maniacal laughter mingled with the monsters' howls. Watching the core fall into enemy hands and the dense mass of red dots ahead, Aaryan realised that this 'great victory' was nothing more than a trap set by Malakor.
The darker, blood-soaked path had only just begun.