Waking up beneath the shelter of my ice tree, I blinked against the soft morning light filtering through its translucent branches. The air smelled faintly of frost and earth, clean and sharp. My body still carried the residual hum of power from last night, but my mind—my mind was a restless storm.
I thought back to the executions.
The memory came to me too easily, raw and vivid. The thrill I'd felt still clung to my skin, and that unsettled me. Excitement. Anticipation. And then… disappointment. Because it hadn't been fun—not in the way I'd imagined. I had been forced to restrain myself. I couldn't just tear them apart, not completely. They needed to talk, needed to scream intelligibly. That made it clinical, a job. My favorite things to break, the little pieces I always went for first, I had to leave untouched.
It made me restless. Dissatisfied.
I rolled onto my side, staring up through the crystalline branches. My voice broke the silence, half-whisper, half-growl. "Have you ever heard a man whose vocal cords are shredded trying to beg for help?"
The sound haunted me and even amused me. It was pathetic, grotesque—like a dying infant gasping through broken lungs. Horrifying and hilarious. And I knew how that sounded. Please, don't ask me how I know that. Some things are better left in the dark.
The only one I truly enjoyed was the commander. He was all bluster, all noise—like so many men I'd seen before. He reminded me of that bodybuilder I'd put down in my past life, the one who thought forcing himself on a girl was a show of power. I'd broken him muscle by muscle, acupuncture needles sliding in until his body became a map of agony. His screams then had been music. The commanders were nearly the same. A grotesque echo across two lives.
But then my stomach dropped.
"Wait." I sat up beneath the tree, tail flicking with irritation. "I didn't heal him after."
My claws flexed against my palm. That meant his muscles were still destroyed—completely useless for puppeteering. That was stupid of me. Wasting potential like that. I'd been too caught up in the moment.
I huffed and shook myself off in my fox form, small and sleek, fur glittering faintly like frost under the morning light. My instincts made me shake whenever I stood, like a wild animal shaking off dew. My gaze slid toward the mansion. That was home. At least, for now.
I padded forward, paws light against the ground. My mind wouldn't be still.
"I need to get back at Stacy," I muttered aloud, tail lashing. "For letting him stab me."
Yes, I'd healed. Yes, it didn't matter in the long run. But it was the principle of the thing. She'd let her emotions run wild yesterday, too wrapped up in her fun with Dean to care. Those two rabbits had been waiting three years already—what was another week? What was my suffering compared to their appetites? I had endured eight years, yet they still believed I should wait quietly.
My lip curled, but I forced myself to breathe.
Focus. Think. What did I actually gain last night?
Three subordinates. One was an ex-federation soldier, bound to me by the system's chains of slavery. The other two were sister-obsessed fools—amusing, really. They reminded me of Rachel's brother and that ridiculous devotion.
Rachel.
I smirked. I thought I'd figured something out about her, about half-breeds.
The difference in blood had become clear as I worked. Demi-human blood and human blood—they looked the same to most eyes. But not to mine. Not to someone who had dissected and spilled more blood than most surgeons ever would. There was a subtle difference, a shimmer, a viscosity. Half-breed blood didn't blend. It was oil and water—two halves forever refusing to mix.
And then the thought had hit me like a blade: what if I removed one? What if I purified it, made it whole? Would Rachel become a complete angel?
The thought curled around my mind like smoke. Dangerous, intoxicating.
I sounded like my father.
The thought lingered, ugly and sharp, but I didn't shake it away. Not entirely.
War. That was another thing I had learned. It was coming in two years. It takes two years to grow, harden, and climb. Two years to become untouchable—or to die, immortal or not.
If I wanted to survive, I needed to reach level two hundred. No—three hundred. But not yet. I couldn't take my class now. Not while my base stats still had room to climb. I'd learned enough from games to know: base stats were a foundation. Max them, and you become unstoppable. Neglect them, and you build on sand.
I licked my lips, mind racing. Tactics. Traps. That was where my instincts led me. My fox nature, maybe, whispering of cunning and snares. Combined with mastery of weapons, it would make me a monster on the battlefield.
I knew who to ask for tactics. But traps… traps were rare. No one in Black Ops specialized in that. Too uncommon, too undervalued. Which meant I'd have to learn myself. Wires, chains, snares. I'd need a teacher.
Trinity. Yes, she could help. Apricot too, though she'd whine. Wires first, then chains. From there? Long-range. The twins could make me something.
By the time I reached the stairs, my form shimmered back to human. Pale skin, sharp eyes, hair spilling over my shoulders. I called up my analysis.
Name: Kitsuna Draig (Shiro Adachi)
Age: 13 (Immortal)
Race: Primordial 1-Tail Demon Fox
Bloodline: Primordial 9-Tail Fox
Gender: Female
Level: 30
Class: Unknown (Wrath)
HP: 1860/1860
MP: 3200/3200
Str: 795
Vit: 930
Def: 600
Int: 1600
End: 870
Agt: 1140
Skills: Dimension Storage, Demon Fire, Demon Lightning, Fox Ice, Analysis, Super Regen, Flash Step, Night Vision, Sword Domain
I whistled under my breath. "Three levels overnight. Not bad."
Probably after killing the commander. That reminded me.
I pulled his body from my storage, unceremoniously.
[Hallway]
The corpse slumped at my feet.
Male, Rare class. Level nine hundred eighty. Weak now—down to three-fifty after my work.
I crouched, studying it. "Well, shit. Apricot can still practice on it, I guess."
I shoved it back into storage and stood, only to realize half the hallway had stopped to stare. Guards, servants, wide-eyed and pale.
Heat flickered at my ears. Awkwardly, I laughed and rubbed the back of my neck. "Sorry! I got lost in thought."
A guard stepped forward, stern but not unkind. "It's fine, Young Miss. But please… don't do that again. Not everyone here is trained to handle such sights."
"Right, right. My bad." I waved him off. "Hey, is breakfast ready yet?"
"Yes, Miss. Your parents and sister are already waiting in the dining hall."
"Thanks."
I walked on, ignoring the whispers.
[Dining Hall]
The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the chamber. Sunlight spilled across the long table where Dean, Mom, Amari, and Rachel sat. Their laughter died as I entered.
"Good morning," I said, sliding into my seat. "Where's Granny?"
"She left for the academy," Mom replied, her eyes warm.
"Figures." I started piling food onto my plate.
Mom tilted her head, her gaze sharp. "Did you learn anything new after I left?"
"Actually, yeah." I bit into a roll. "Of the fourteen, only seven were Federation-born. The rest were kidnapped."
Dean's brow furrowed. "So… Seventh, we might sway to our side?"
I shook my head. "No. Only four, maybe. If the Federation's smart, they'll make the rest King's slaves. Untouchable."
Amari slammed her fork down. "I hate slavery."
I snorted. "Same."
Mom chuckled softly. "Says the girl who made one of them her slave last night."
The table froze. Amari's chair screeched back.
"You did what!?" She shrieked.
I raised my hands. "Wait—"
"Free her! Now!"
"Amari, listen! It's not like that!"
Her glare burned, but I pressed on. "She was a prisoner. I wanted her as a subordinate. But I can't trust her yet. The slave bond's just… insurance. That's all."
The silence that followed was thick. Heavy.
"I mean it," I said, softer. "She'll be part of my personal guard. I don't want a harem. I'm loyal—to one person. Always."
Dean leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Since when do you want a personal guard?"
"Since last night." I chewed another bite, casual. "Speaking of which, can I have Sirone and Brenda transferred under me? Sirone agreed already. I want her sister too."
Dean sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine."
"Thanks. Oh—and Rachel." I turned.
Her wide eyes blinked at me. "Yes?"
"Do you want to get rid of your half-breed tag?"
The table erupted. "What!?"
I clapped my hands over my ears. "Seriously? Sensitive fox hearing here."
Mom's gaze burned into me. "What do you mean?"
I smiled faintly. "Something I realized last night. I'll explain later. But Rachel—do you want to be a full angel? Or a full human?"
Her breath hitched. Her hands trembled. "Yes, please."
"Then we'll start this afternoon."
She burst from her chair, tackling me in a hug. Her warmth was desperate, clinging. I stroked her hair, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
And then—
A voice, sharp, feminine, dripping malice. "Huh. Someone's touchy this morning."
We all turned.
At the door stood Kayda.
No—this wasn't the same Kayda. My heart stuttered.
Her hair was the same crimson, glossy, and wild. Her eyes burned with the ruby fire of dragons. But she was taller now, her frame stretched, her presence heavier. Two enormous wings folded behind her, scales glinting like molten jewels. Scales dotted beneath her eyes, marking her as something more, something greater.
She was beautiful. Dangerous. Terrifying. And I couldn't stop staring.
Heat flickered in my chest. Attraction, sharp and unwelcome. My throat dried.
She was ten times hotter than yesterday. And my body knew it before my mind admitted it.