Bloody Odyssey

Chapter 90 90: Blue Death III

Ever Sword watched Dax's departing figure, his teeth grinding together so hard his jaw ached.

Bloodthirsty bastards.

Old images of the clan flooded his mind—men drenched in blood, fields painted red, the stench of death lingering for weeks after Godfall passed through. He had been young then. He had not forgotten the dread.

He retreated with his team, motioning for his men to carry the unconscious guards.

"For the fact that this clan is stepping out of isolation… it definitely means a lot."

He clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white.

First that ominous blood rain. Now this.

He looked back at the inn one last time—at the rubble and the strange weapon that had left wounds that refused to heal.

"I must inform the city lord."

Inside the inn, Dax patted Alfonzo's shoulder.

"You did well."

The guards who had remained behind stared at their young lord with new eyes. They had seen him command. Seen him heal. Now they had seen him unleash something they didn't understand.

Alfonzo's voice was low, almost reverent.

"Young lord… what is that weapon?"

Dax removed the gun from his sleeve and turned it over in his palm. The metal was warm—warmer than it should have been. Like it was alive.

He swiped his hand around the caliber of the gun. The metal seemed to respond.

The gun expanded.

Its barrel stretched, pointing straight like a needle. Its handle elongated. Parts shifted and segments slid like living worms building extra limbs. In a matter of seconds, it had transformed into something sleeker. Deadlier.

Blue Death.

"Do you like him?" Dax spoke to the hot weapon.

But Alfonzo thought Dax was speaking to him. He bowed quickly, almost stumbling over his own feet.

"I—I can never accept such a gift, young lord. I lack the talent to use such a thing."

In his heart, he truly wanted it. The weight of it in his hand, the hum, the way it had pierced through a rank seven's regeneration like paper—yes, he wanted it. But he knew his limits.

How can I handle such a weapon when I'm not even able to cross my current thresholds?

He doubted himself.

In this world, everyone had cores. But not everyone's cores were ranked high.

The majority of the average population had cores ranging from grade F to C. Occasionally, children born with A-grade or S-grade cores were taken in by academies, churches, and great clans. Their futures were written in gold.

Others were simply born to have their talents stolen.

I'm not a genius, Alfonzo thought. I lack the talent to get stronger. My only purpose was to survive.

"Young lord, I…" He swallowed. "It's best given to another."

Dax's tone grew dangerously cold.

"Are you saying I am blind?"

Alfonzo's hand flew to his neck. But there was nothing there. No blade, no grip—just a phantom memory.

What was that?

He looked at Dax.

Red eyes looked down at him.

Danger.

His mind screamed. He remembered this look—the same eyes the elders and powerhouses used when deciding who lived and who died.

Dax stepped closer.

"This weapon has nothing to do with mana or your talent." His tone was measured. "From your stance, I saw years of refined training. The steadiness in your eyes—like that of an eagle. You are built for this weapon."

He paused.

"A suitable partner that will help you grow beyond your body's mana."

Dax turned to face every Godfall member present in the inn. The guards straightened.

"Our enemies will not discriminate by rank. This is a war that we are winning." His voice rose slightly. "A god blessed its people in their time of want. Then us—the godless—shall be blessed by who?"

Silence.

"Us, the godless, shall be protected by the one who creates." Dax's eyes swept across them. "I can give you the power to protect your own head—and that of those you cherish."

He turned back to Alfonzo.

"Take this weapon. Acknowledge it as your equal. With your blood."

Dax smiled inwardly.

The living weapon series. How will it react with a living being? I never imagined releasing this… but this guy.

His smile widened.

Should I accept it as my equal?

"There is a sixty percent chance of death." He said it casually, as if discussing the weather. "But if you survive, you will become something inhuman."

Alfonzo's blood ran cold.

Sixty percent.

"With me here, you have better possibilities."

The older guard—the one with silver at his temples—watched from across the room. His hand rested on his blade, but he made no move to intervene.

What he's saying sounds like sorcery to them. To those who don't know the true anomaly of our young master… they will deem him crazy.

He snapped his teeth together.

That Alfonzo brat.

He looked at the young guard's back.

"The Godfall will become the strongest clan in existence."

Dax forced the weapon into Alfonzo's hand.

Without hesitation, Alfonzo pointed the tip at his own heart and stabbed it straight in, like he was possessed. The blade bit deep. Blood welled.

Dax threw an orb into the air. It burst silently, and instantly, all sound in the vicinity was cancelled. The inn became a tomb. Alfonzo grunted, but no noise came out.

Alfonzo's eyes turned royal blue.

Then they began to crack—like porcelain falling, like ice breaking, like bricks crumbling from within. Black liquid leaked from the corners, trailing down his cheeks like tears made of oil.

What is going on?

The young man was disoriented. He touched his face, then looked at his palm. Black. Thick. Wrong.

He dropped to his knees.

"Alfonzo!"

The other guards tried to move toward him—but were halted in place, frozen by Dax's perfect control of telekinesis. Their mouths opened. Their bodies strained.

Why are you doing this?

The words died on their lips. Thanks to the orb hanging in the air, no sound escaped.

Dax continued to watch everything play out.

They have to get used to this. Many will die. But their lives will bring about the existence of a true immortal clan.

He removed a series of bottles from his robe—each one filled with the same crimson liquid he had given to Thilda's child. He placed them on the table. Waiting.

Alfonzo held his head like he was about to die.

His pupils continued to degrade—breaking apart, reforming, breaking again. His body convulsed. His veins lit up beneath his skin, glowing faintly blue.

In utter darkness and emptiness, a child sat curled up at the center of the void.

She raised her head.

Her eyes—all six of them—stared deep into the darkness. At where a shadowy figure stood. He was meant to be invisible to her—a shadow in the dark, unseen, unfelt. But it was as if her eyes were locked onto his.

This can't be real.

Alfonzo hit his head, trying to wake up. Trying to escape.

She appeared before him like a ghost.

She didn't look anything human.

Six eyes, a mouth, and no nose. Her head carried three thick antennae hanging over her face. In human terms, her beauty was a horror—something that should not exist, nor be looked upon.

Her body was slender, serpentine, moving with a grace that made his skin crawl. Behind her, a tail swayed—similar to that of a lizard, scaled and segmented.

He reached for the bow on his back, but he couldn't move.

Like he had no physical form.

The alien child reached out. Her fingers—too long, too delicate—touched the crown of his head.

Memories surfaced.

Not his own.

The memory of a weapon being forged in blood and shadow. The memory of a voice—Dax's voice—speaking to the metal as if it could understand. The memory of the first time the weapon had woken.

And beneath it all, a question.

Do you accept?

Alfonzo's lips moved.

In the darkness, no sound came out.

But the child heard him.

Back in the inn, Alfonzo's body went still.

His eyes—cracked, still leaking—curved into a smile. It was not his.

By the corner, Dax watched, observing every change.