As soon as the pact stabilised.
The System's usual sterile glow dissolved into a flood of crimson threads, weaving themselves into a tall silhouette. A figure emerged, clothed not in armour or flesh, but in pure, flowing essence. Its presence bled into the chamber, chilling and intoxicating. A voice spoke—rich, layered, vibrating directly in his bones.
The figure bowed slightly, a gentlemanly gesture of pure condescension. "Allow me to introduce myself once again. I am Sanguin. The First Blood. The being who rules the Bloods, the King of the True Bloods. The progenitor your kind once whispered of in myths as the Vampire Lord."
Ajay's throat tightened. His instinct screamed to kneel, to avert his eyes, but his will refused. He stood, battered but defiant, forcing himself to meet the blood-fire gaze staring back at him.
The figure tilted its head, faint amusement curling at its lips. "You are bold for a mortal who only scraped his tenth level. Good. I would have been disappointed if you had cowered."
Ajay's heart hammered. His Shadow Affinity tried to recoil, but his Blood Affinity responded differently—it pulsed with recognition, as if a part of him already belonged to this entity. He tried to move his mana with his Shadow Affinity, knowing that his blood was no longer under his control. He could only use the shadow to remain stable.
Sanguin's form solidified further, every detail sharp as a carved statue of bloodstone. "Do you know why you survived this long, Ajay?"
He shook his head slowly.
"Because you carry what I seek—the rare convergence of shadow and blood. Both are hungers. Shadow devours light. Blood devours life. Few humans are born with one affinity; no one is born with both. But you are different. You are… potential."
Ajay swallowed. Potential… or prey?
The figure's eyes gleamed brighter. "The System you trust—it was not made for you. It was made to preserve the balance of this world as old races fought, died, and rose again. Monsters evolve not by chance but by design. Their cores are vessels of will, shaped by bloodlines, environment, and intent. Humans call it a mutation. I call it selection."
Ajay stiffened. The words rang with too much truth to be lies.
"You saw the brute with the hammer," Sanguin continued. "That was not a mutation. That was evolution through core resonance. It touched upon the fundamental principle of evolution—cores absorbing not just essence, but concept. That is why beasts evolve differently, why some rise as lords while others remain fodder."
Ajay's eyes narrowed. "Then humans…?"
Humans are the same. Your levelling is your core's crude mimicry of true evolution. The System gives you numbers. But essence… essence gives you destiny. The System your Vajra introduced is not new. Many races use that concept to evolve. But this is not information humans should have at this stage. This info must have been given by someone else."
The crimson figure stepped closer, shadows bending around it. "Do not absorb any core for mutation. It will not help you. It can only reduce your potential. If you would rise beyond being another numbered corpse, you must embrace transformation. To become a Progenitor—a true Blood."
Ajay's knuckles tightened around his blade. "And what would that cost me?"
The air chilled as Sanguin's smile widened. "A ritual. Simple ingredients: the core of a monster bat, level one or higher. Certain herbs steeped in dusk-water. And… a human sacrifice."
Ajay's stomach lurched. "A human…?"
"Blood calls to blood. Power demands a price. Without sacrifice, there is no rebirth. You must choose: cling to your fragile humanity, or shed it and walk the path of Blood."
The silence was suffocating. Ajay thought of Gyur, of the Red Fang's cruelty, of the zombies that spoke and strategised. His mind warred between disgust and temptation.
Sanguin's tone shifted, deeper, more commanding. "But know this—you do not fight zombies alone. Their rise is a symptom, not the cause. Zombies are here to fight to control your world. And now… the veil between worlds thins. Different races are going to invade your world. I feel the stink of demons pressing into your plane already."
Ajay blinked. "Demons?"
The figure's eyes burned like coals. "Ancient enemies. Where Bloods fed on life, Demons fed on despair. We once fought the same enemies, but we were betrayed, killed, and enslaved. They come not as mindless hordes, but as conquerors with pacts, hierarchies, and kings. Compared to them, your gangs are carrion dogs. Compared to them, your humans are lambs awaiting slaughter."
Ajay clenched his jaw. "And you expect me to stand against that?"
"Not yet. But eventually, you will have to, to protect your world, your people. If you lose, not only demons but other races are invading. You have to protect your sacred ground. If you lose, you will become a slave to these races, and they will conquer. The System acknowledges their claim, and you cannot hide or run from this destiny. So I suggest you build your forces. Gather trusted ones. Form a circle that will not break under blood or shadow. If you can't trust anyone, you have a skill: Oathkeeper. Forge a blood contract with it, and you can create your ideal team. Listen—alone, you will fall. But with a faction… You may yet write history."
With that last message, the figure began to fade, blood-threads unravelling back into mist. "I will not guide you again until your next evolution. My essence cannot be wasted on idle chatter. You will have one chance—one—and you must not squander it."
Ajay stepped forward, urgency breaking through. "Wait—how will I know I'm ready?"
The figure's voice dropped to a whisper that shook the chamber. "When you gather the ingredients, recall me. The System will do the rest. Until then, remember this: you are not my slave. But you are my heir. Fail, and your world falls. Succeed… and you will wear my crown."
The crimson haze imploded into silence. The chamber was empty, the System's sterile blue light returning as though nothing had happened. Ajay exhaled shakily, wiping cold sweat from his brow. His hand trembled as he pulled open his Status Screen.
The numbers glowed, sharper than before. His affinity with both Blood and Shadow pulsed stronger, like twin heartbeats in his chest.
[Class: Crimson Shade][Innate Skill: Oathkeeper][Skills: Blood Silence | Shadow Reaper | Shadow Contract]
He traced the words Shadow Contract, recalling Sanguin's warning about fighting alone. An army of shadows… the memory of Sid's horde haunted him, but now, perhaps, he could match it with one of his own. With Shadow Contract, he could build an army, and with Oathkeeper, he could recruit commanders for his army.
His jaw tightened. Gyur, I'll build a circle worthy of your sacrifice.
But the cost—the thought of a human sacrifice for the Progenitor ritual gnawed at him. He shoved it aside for now. One step at a time. As Ajay was thinking about his next move, he was unaware of the Red Fang's new mechanics.
The Red Fang Faction
Far from Ajay's hideout, deep within the derelict factory the Red Fang called home, a different fire burned. A round table scarred with knives and cigarette burns sat beneath broken floodlights. Around it lounged killers, thieves, and mercenaries—the commanders of the Red Fang. At the head, Jeet slammed his fist on the wood. "He's alive. Ajay's alive, and he's mocking us by breathing. I want him found. I want him gutted."
Murmurs rippled. Some commanders smirked, others scowled.
Then a calm voice cut through the noise. Varja. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes sharp, calculating, unlike Jeet's hot rage. A scar split his cheek, but his posture radiated control.
"Rage makes you blind, Jeet," he said softly. "Ajay is not prey anymore. He's evolving. If we chase like dogs, we'll walk into his teeth."
Jeet snarled. "You saying we should sit back and do nothing?"
Varja's lips curled in a thin smile. "I'm saying we tighten our grip on the city. Secure resources. Expand the gang wars. By the time Ajay shows his face, he'll find the Red Fang has roots everywhere. No alley to hide in, no hand to feed him." A murmur of approval spread.
Varja's eyes darkened, his gaze distant. "Besides… there's something else. I felt it during the last hunt. I saw a predator and beast he can't hide. He is going for revenge, and when he comes for us, we'll be ready for him. I want no mistake this time. I want him alive. Capture him. You can break his limbs, you can torture him, but leave him alive. Understood?"
The table stilled. Varja leaned forward, his voice low. "Mark me, brothers. Ajay isn't just an enemy. He's becoming something worse. If we uncover his secret, we can not only dominate this city but create a new country for ourselves."
Varja's voice was silk over steel. "Ajmer is nothing. Just one city rotting at the edges. Beyond these walls, other forces rise. Do you fools even see it? The mana flood changed everything. People awaken classes the System once denied. Monsters evolve into horrors with strategy. Factions are forming—not gangs. Armies."
A thin, wiry man named Yadav, known for his information network, adjusted his spectacles and smirked.
"He's right. I've had reports." He spread yellowed papers across the table. "In Delhi, a faction called the Iron Clad Order has risen—military remnants who awakened heavy-armour classes. They say their commander, a man named Captain Ratan, already reached Tier-2 Class: Iron Juggernaut. He shrugs off fireballs like pebbles."
Someone snorted, but some commanders went pale.
"And that's not all," Yadav continued, tapping another note. "In Jaipur, a priestess awakened. Not one of your fake temple frauds—she manifested wings of flame. Calls herself Ashura's Hand. People are flocking to her, treating her as a saint. A zealot army in the making."
A tense silence followed.
Varja's lips curved into a predator's smile. "And you still want to waste time chasing Ajay like street thugs? While true powers carve kingdoms?"
"Have you heard of the Blackspire Syndicate in Jewel City? They burned down three cities last week. Their leader—goes by 'Archon'—has a class called Gambler. Rumours say he can make a contract with his followers and gamble with their stats. After winning a fight, he can get those stats. He does not follow conventional levels."
Gasps circled the table.
Another lieutenant spat. "Gambler? Bullshit."
Varja's eyes glittered. "Believe or don't. But he now commands five thousand under his banner, all growing twice as fast." He didn't stop. "In J City, the Iron Monastery rose. Old monks fused the System with their martial arts. Their leader, Master Kalek, is different from our gang; he's a martial artist."
Murmurs spread. The lieutenants exchanged glances.
"And beyond?" someone whispered.
Varja's gaze darkened. "Beyond India? More dangerous still. Reports of German powerhouses, Ice skills, American military warlords, and Chinese martial artists. The factory hall seemed to shrink with those words. The room bristled with violence. Hands slid toward blades. The tension was a coiled spring.
Then, a laugh cut through the air—low, wheezing. At the far end of the table sat an old man draped in tattered robes, his eyes milky but glowing faintly with mana. He was called Hakim the Seer, a relic Jeet had once spared for his prophetic whispers.
"You squabble like children over scraps," Hakim rasped. "Do you not feel it? The world is moving. The veil is thinning. Beasts grow cunning. And somewhere in the cracks… boys like Ajay crawl into men who can burn cities."
The commanders stilled, his words chilling the air.
Varja seized the silence. His voice was measured, each word heavy. "Listen well. We will not abandon Ajmer to anyone—neither Ajay nor these foreign factions. We will make Ajmer our fortress. Expand our grip on trade, markets, and black zones. Secure beast cores and control recruitment. Every soldier, every hybrid, every core must flow through Red Fang's hands."
He raised his gaze, eyes gleaming. "We will not be one gang among many. We will be a faction. A nation. Ajmer will be ours, and from here we will spread."
Some commanders roared approval, slamming fists on the table. The torches flared, smoke curling like serpents above their heads. Jeet's jaw clenched. Rage burned in his chest, but even he could not deny the momentum of Varja's words.
Still, he hissed, "And Ajay?"
Varja's smile was thin and cruel. "Let him grow. Let him taste power. The higher he climbs, the harder he falls. When the time is right, we will take everything from him. Slowly. Painfully."
The commanders laughed, cruel and sharp. The factory echoed with the sound of predators sharpening their fangs.
Outside, Ajmer trembled—caught between the hunger of gangs, the rise of awakened factions, and the unseen hand of foreign races pressing closer with every storm.