The fight against the Vornshade Clan had dragged on far longer than anyone expected.
Worse, something had shifted — something dark — turning the mission from dangerous to downright suicidal.
Thunder rolled through the sky, deep and angry. Lightning tore across the black clouds, flashing over the snow that still fell in slow, heavy flakes. A storm above, a war below.
Inside the mansion, Alex sprinted down the shattered hallway, breath sharp in his chest. He'd been given a task that could flip the entire mission — or get him killed trying. Either way, there was no backing out now.
He reached the ruined section of the upper floor. The ground had collapsed, leaving a gaping hole that dropped into darkness.
Without slowing, Alex leapt across it. His boots hit solid wood on the other side, right at the threshold of Varkov's office.
He didn't pause. He didn't breathe. He charged in.
There, Varkov stood in the middle of the room, cloaked in a dark robe that seemed to drink the light. Both hands gripped a staff buried into the floorboards, an orb of swirling black energy pulsing at its top. His grin was thin, cruel.
Their eyes met.
'There you are,' Alex thought, tightening his grip on the axe. 'One strike. That's all it'll take to end this.'
He was thinking fast, instincts firing on pure survival mode. His axe still hummed with his Bloodline power — faint, but deadly.
Seeing Varkov standing there, calm as a shadow, Alex didn't waste time. He dashed forward, boots slamming against the cracked floor, and leapt high, swinging his axe down in a clean, vicious arc.
But before the strike could land—something flickered in his vision.
A blur. Sharp. Fast.
A blade came slicing through the air straight for his stomach.
Alex's eyes widened. He yanked his arm back, dragging the axe close to his body, barely getting it in position.
Clang!
Steel met steel. Sparks burst.
The impact rattled through his bones, the force behind that hit way heavier than he expected. His stance broke, and the pressure shoved him backward like a sledgehammer to the chest.
He twisted midair, forcing a backflip to kill the momentum, landing hard but steady a few meters away.
His heart thudded. No cuts. No blood. But he'd been pushed clear back to the entrance — far from where he'd wanted to strike.
'What the hell was that just now?' he thought, tightening his grip.
Then he saw it.
Two skeletal figures had stepped out from behind Varkov, bones gleaming under the dim light. They moved with unnatural coordination, each holding a rusted sword that still looked sharp enough to carve through iron.
Alex's jaw tightened. "Of course," he muttered. "He brought backup."
The system notification blinked in Alex's view, cold and mechanical.
[Class E Undead detected]
He didn't know exactly what "Class E" meant in terms of power, but he wasn't about to underestimate them. His grip on the axe tightened, and his breathing slowed. Every muscle tensed.
Something else didn't sit right.
His eyes darted around the ruined room. The walls that were once lined with skeletons — the same ones he'd seen hanging lifeless earlier — were empty now. Not a single bone in sight.
A chill crept up his spine.
"Look at this," Varkov said suddenly, voice calm and sharp like a knife.
Alex's gaze snapped back to him. Varkov's grin stretched, almost gleeful.
"I knew one of you would come after me," he said, tapping his staff once on the ground. "So I kept a little surprise for the guest."
"It's over, Varkov," Alex replied, voice deep and distorted through the mask. The modulator in his suit made him sound more like a hunter than a man. "Your base has fallen. All your soldiers are dead — and your fellow leaders too."
For a second, silence.
"Ha… hahaha!"
Varkov broke into a full, unhinged laugh. His shoulders shook as the echo bounced around the room.
"You…" he said between gasps, "you really think I care about that?" His tone twisted into mockery. "You think their deaths make me weaker?"
The smile faded, replaced by a cold, dead look.
"If anything," he said, voice dropping low, "killing my soldiers only made me stronger."
The moment those words left his mouth, a dark aura exploded from his body.
It rolled through the air like a wave of smoke, thick and heavy. The floor cracked under his feet, and shadows bled from the corners of the room. Even the faint light filtering through the storm clouds above began to dim, swallowed whole.
Alex instinctively raised his guard. The axe in his hand pulsed with faint red energy — a warning.
'This is bad,' he thought, eyes narrowing. 'Really bad.'
The lights dimmed as the thick aura rolled through the room, swallowing brightness like a beast feeding on air.
Alex's hand, still clutching his axe, trembled. The vibration crawled up his arm, sharp and alive.
'What is this…?' he thought, eyes narrowing on the weapon as the metal pulsed faintly red. He could tell immediately — the bloodline power he'd fused into the axe was reacting to that dark aura.
'Has he really gotten stronger?' Alex wondered, his jaw tightening. 'But wasn't he supposed to be weaker now?'
A crushing pressure pressed down on him, heavy enough to make the floor creak beneath his boots. It felt like his bones might snap if he moved wrong. But then, as the axe's glow flared brighter, the weight eased. The weapon was resisting it — protecting him.
Across from him, Varkov hadn't moved an inch. His robe rippled gently in the current of dark energy. His eyes burned with eerie calm as he spoke.
"I know what you're thinking," Varkov said, voice cold and smooth. "You expected me to be drained. Weak. After creating that Class B undead knight."
He smirked. "Normally, you'd be right. My mana should've been spent long ago. I could barely summon a Class C undead before today."
Varkov took a step forward, his shadow stretching long and thin across the floor.
"But you see," he continued, raising one pale hand, "we who walk the path of Nochromancy… have our own way of growing stronger."
Alex gritted his teeth and tried to move. His instincts screamed to strike first — but his legs refused to obey. They felt locked, stiff as stone.
Varkov noticed. The grin that spread across his face was slow, deliberate.
"Oh… you've realized it," he said. "Good. Then you'll understand what happens next."
Alex's grip tightened on his axe, muscles straining against invisible force. The air itself seemed to vibrate — thick with death and tension.
And Varkov… just kept talking.
"We Necromancers feed on an energy that only appears when someone dies—death energy," Varkov continued, his tone calm but filled with pride.
"With this energy, we grow our magic, expand our mana pool, even use it to climb the stages of evolution," he said, arrogance dripping from every word.
"But you see, you people have caused so much death in my base. You've killed everyone who ever worked for me." His grin widened.
"This might have bothered most leaders, but not me. You've just created the perfect chance for me to harvest death energy—grow stronger, cast spells I couldn't dream of before. And right now, I'll use that same energy to kill you and your friends."
Varkov's voice turned colder. "After that, I'll build a new base... and pray another fool walks in to do exactly what you did."
Hearing this, Alex finally understood why Varkov hadn't cared about the chaos outside. The screams, the blood, the falling soldiers—it wasn't loss to him. It was food.
Varkov didn't care about anyone in his base. He never did.
'I have to stop him,' Alex thought, jaw tight as he gripped his axe.
Then, a system notification flashed before him.
[You have one minute to deactivate Bloodline from your Weapon]
'Shit... could this get any worse?' he thought.
But the message wasn't done. Another line appeared, glowing faintly in red.
[The Axe has sensed a similar but greater attribute it desires]
[Quest: Kill Death with Death]
[Reward: Unlock Special Ability]
'Now what the hell is this?' Alex wondered.