The silence after battle was never silence.
Ethan heard it in the bones of the ruins—the crackle of fires feeding on broken timber, the groans of the wounded buried beneath rubble, the faint drip of blood where it seeped into crimson roots. The plaza stank of iron and smoke, and the System pulsed inside him like a second heartbeat.
Alive.
Hungry.
Waiting.
Selene stood ahead of him, blade still in hand, her coat stained dark with other people's lives. She didn't look tired. She didn't even look touched by what they had just survived. To her, killing seemed as natural as breathing.
To Ethan, it still burned in his throat like acid.
He wiped his trembling hands against his shirt, but the stains only smeared deeper, clinging to him. He remembered the faces—their twisted screams, the sudden silence when his Core erupted through their bodies. And worse, he remembered the part of him that had… liked it.
That thought nearly buckled his knees.
Selene's voice cut through his spiral.
"They'll come again."
Ethan blinked at her. "What?"
She nodded toward the far edge of the plaza, where shadows shifted among the fractured pillars. Survivors. Not many—half a dozen, maybe more—but enough. They weren't scavengers. They weren't the armored faction either. These were something else. Hardened. Watching.
Their leader stepped forward.
He was taller than the rest, draped in scavenged armor that gleamed with scavenger graffiti and crimson streaks. His face was carved by scars, his jaw set in the cruel line of a man who had lived too long on power. He carried a weapon strapped to his back—something like a cleaver welded from car parts, jagged and oversized.
Selene's grip on her blade tightened almost imperceptibly. "He's not scavenger trash. He's a claimant."
Ethan swallowed. "A what?"
"A leader who thinks blood makes him king."
The man's voice boomed across the ruins.
"You bled my men. You stepped into my territory. That means you're mine now." His eyes cut over Ethan, cold calculation flickering there. "The boy. Hand him over. He's Crimson-touched. I can smell it."
Ethan's stomach plummeted.
Selene's voice was ice. "Try."
The claimant laughed, low and guttural. "Pretty words from a pretty corpse. But I'm not asking. Either he kneels, or you both die where you stand."
The survivors behind him echoed with ugly laughter, banging their weapons against stone. The plaza filled with the sound of it, a chant, a threat, a promise.
Something inside Ethan broke loose.
He was tired of being hunted. Tired of being seen as prey. The Core stirred in agreement, veins burning faintly beneath his skin. It wanted blood. It wanted the throne offered to him by violence.
Selene stepped close, her shoulder brushing his. Her voice was low, meant only for him. "This is how the world works now. The one who kills the claimant… becomes the claimant."
Ethan stared at her, his pulse roaring in his ears. "You're saying I have to—"
"Yes." Her gaze locked onto his, unflinching. "Kill him. Or be taken."
The world tilted.
He remembered the first scavenger he killed. The second. The rush. The horror. He had told himself it was survival. That he didn't have a choice. But this? This was different. This was deliberate.
"Why me?" His voice cracked. "You could do it."
Selene didn't blink. "Because you're already marked. They'll never follow me. But if you take him…" She glanced at the claimant, who grinned back with predator's teeth. "…then they'll have no choice but to follow you."
The Core whispered, eager.
Do it. Take. Claim. More.
Ethan's breath shuddered. He looked at the claimant again—towering, confident, his laughter like broken glass—and felt a surge of heat coil in his blood. Not fear this time. Not dread. Something sharper.
Rage.
Before he realized he was moving, Ethan stepped forward.
The claimant's grin widened. He dragged the cleaver off his back, the blade shrieking against the concrete. "Good boy. Let's see what you're made of."
The fight was a blur of steel and blood.
The claimant struck first, the cleaver cleaving through the air with monstrous strength. Ethan ducked, the shockwave rattling his bones. Sparks flew as the blade carved into the stone behind him.
The Core roared inside him, veins igniting. His body moved faster than his thoughts, his hand slamming against the claimant's chest. A pulse of crimson light flared, but the man staggered back instead of crumpling, snarling through bloodied teeth.
"You've got bite, boy," he growled. "But you're not me."
The cleaver came again. Ethan blocked with both arms, pain ripping through his muscles as the metal bit into his skin. Blood spilled. The Core drank it eagerly, burning brighter, hungrier. His vision sharpened, the world glowing red at the edges.
Selene didn't interfere. She watched, a shadow at the plaza's edge, her eyes sharp and unreadable.
Ethan's rage swelled, and with it, the Core answered. He surged forward, ignoring the pain, ignoring the voice screaming inside him to stop. His hand found the claimant's throat, his veins glowing crimson like molten rivers.
The man's laughter broke into a strangled gasp. His body convulsed as the Core flared outward, ripping through flesh, bone, blood. Heat and red light burst between them, and when it faded, the claimant collapsed in Ethan's grasp—lifeless, ruined.
Silence fell.
Ethan stood there, chest heaving, blood running down his arms, his veins glowing like fire beneath his skin. The System chimed in his mind, a cold, mechanical voice:
[System Notice: Crimson Core has absorbed Dominant Lifeform.]
[Bloodline Strength: Elevated.]
[New Trait Unlocked: Predator's Claim.]
The survivors who had laughed before were now silent, staring at him with wide, hollow eyes. Then one by one, they lowered their heads. Not to Selene. Not to the dead man. To Ethan.
Kneeling.
Ethan staggered, horror flooding back into him. His hands shook violently, dripping red. "No. No, I didn't—"
Selene's voice cut like steel. "You did."
He turned to her, desperate. "I'm not… I'm not like him!"
Her gaze softened, just for an instant. "Then don't be. Lead differently. But lead."
Ethan's breath came ragged, his chest tight as the survivors' chant began again—not laughter this time, but a single word repeated, hollow and haunting.
"Alpha. Alpha. Alpha."
The Core purred in his blood, satisfied.
Yes. Ours now.
Ethan wanted to scream.
Instead, he whispered to himself, almost a prayer, almost a curse:
"What the hell am I becoming?"
Perfect, Faith 🌙 — let's expand the continuation of Chapter 6 (Blood Pact). Right now, Ethan has killed the claimant, absorbed his strength, and unwillingly inherited the mantle of Alpha. This next continuation should dig deeper into:
The aftermath of the fight (Ethan's mental collapse, Selene's pragmatic coldness).
The System's influence, tempting him with power.
The reaction of the kneeling survivors—fear, reverence, and a twisted kind of loyalty.
Selene pressing him toward acceptance of leadership, while Ethan wrestles with guilt.
The Core whispering in his thoughts, making him question if he's still himself.
The chant reverberated against the ruins, guttural and rhythmic.
"Alpha. Alpha. Alpha."
Ethan staggered back from the corpse, bile surging in his throat. He wanted to deny it, to shout that he wasn't their leader, that this was madness. But their eyes fixed on him—not with admiration, not even with respect, but with something colder. Fear.
Selene sheathed her blade slowly, her gray eyes never leaving his face. "They've chosen. Or rather…" Her lips curved into something like a smirk. "…the Core has chosen for them."
Ethan shook his head violently, gripping his skull as if he could claw the whispering voice out of it. "I didn't want this. I didn't—"
[System Notice: Predator's Claim recognized.]
[Faction Loyalty: Initiated.]
[Authority Level: Alpha — 43% Compliance.]
The words slammed into his skull, sterile and absolute. But what gutted him wasn't the System itself—it was the sudden pull he felt toward the kneeling survivors. Like threads of crimson tethering them to him, binding them in ways he couldn't name. He could feel their fear. Their desperation. Their hunger for direction.
He almost choked on it.
"No," he whispered, backing away. "Get up. Don't kneel to me."
No one moved. Their heads remained bowed, trembling, waiting. One of them—a girl, barely older than Ethan himself, her cheek caked in soot—lifted her gaze with shaking lips.
"You killed him," she said. Her voice was raw, reverent. "You own us now."
The words gutted him worse than the claimant's blade had.
Selene stepped closer, her boots crunching against the broken glass underfoot. "This is survival, Ethan. You want to live? Then take it. Power doesn't wait for permission."
He turned on her, fury flashing through the tears in his eyes. "You think this is survival? This is slavery!"
Her expression didn't waver. "Then free them with your choices. But lead them first. Or they'll be consumed by someone else who won't hesitate."
The Core stirred, purring inside his veins.
They are yours. Take them. Shape them. Bleed them. Feed us.
Ethan clutched his chest, heart racing, trying to shut it out. But the tether to the survivors only grew stronger, their submission seeping into him like poison and fire all at once.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. But the System's cold voice snapped the trap shut:
[New Directive: Maintain Dominance or lose Predator's Claim.]
[Failure Condition: Assimilation by Crimson Core.]
Ethan's blood froze. Assimilation. The word echoed like a noose tightening around his throat.
Selene must have seen the horror flicker across his face, because for the first time that night, her voice softened. "This is the price of survival, Ethan. You can't run from it. Not anymore."
Her words anchored him, though not in comfort. They pinned him to the reality he hated.
Slowly, his gaze swept the survivors. Their hollow faces. Their shaking hands. Their bruises and scars. They weren't followers by choice. They were survivors, just like him—trapped in a world where strength was the only law left.
His stomach twisted, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them.
"…Stand up."
The kneeling figures obeyed instantly, snapping upright with mechanical precision. The tether inside him thrummed with satisfaction, the Core purring.
Selene watched silently, her expression unreadable.
Ethan dragged a hand down his blood-smeared face. He felt hollow, fractured, drowning in something that wasn't entirely his own.
What am I becoming?
The Core answered, sultry and sharp.
Not prey. Never again.