The docks still smelled of smoke and blood.
Ethan stood in the ruins of what had once been a bustling underground hub of trade. Now the wooden planks were charred, the market stalls reduced to ash, and bodies—too many bodies—floated in the black water or sprawled lifelessly on the pier. The flames had long since died, but the stench of burned flesh lingered like a curse.
He tightened his grip on the rusty dagger at his belt, the same weapon he had once looted from a corpse in the gutter. It felt heavier tonight, burdened with all the lives it had taken.
Aria sat nearby on a broken crate, her pale face damp with sweat. A makeshift bandage bound her side where the Syndicate's assassin's blade had torn through. Marcus knelt at her side, whispering words of comfort, though his own armor was dented and bloodstained.
The survivors—few as they were—huddled in the shadows, whispering, glancing over their shoulders as though the Syndicate might emerge again from the smoke. Paranoia was a poison in the air.
Ethan spoke at last. His voice was hoarse, low, but it cut through the silence.
"We were betrayed."
The survivors stiffened. Even Aria's eyes flicked toward him, wide with a mix of pain and fear.
Marcus grimaced. "You're certain?"
"I don't believe in coincidences," Ethan said, scanning the burned docks. "The Syndicate knew exactly where we would be, exactly how many we were. They set the trap perfectly. Someone fed them our movements."
The weight of his words sank into the group like a stone into deep water. No one dared to speak, but their eyes darted to one another, suspicion blooming like wildfire.
Aria broke the silence. "We can't start tearing each other apart now. That's what they want." She hissed in pain as she shifted. "But Ethan's right. Someone's hand guided them here."
Ethan knelt, his hand brushing the ashes at his feet. The black powder clung to his fingertips. He stared at it, and an oath formed in his chest—hot, burning, undeniable.
"They think this is victory," he said softly. "They think burning our people, killing in the dark, will break us." His eyes hardened, sharp as steel. "They're wrong."
He clenched the ashes in his fist, letting the soot stain his skin.
"I swear, by these ashes, I'll not stop until the Syndicate is nothing but dust. Not their leaders, not their blades, not their foundations. I'll tear them out by the roots."
The survivors straightened, some lowering their heads, others nodding grimly. Even in despair, his words lit a spark.
Marcus gave a short, sharp nod. "Then we rebuild. Smarter, stronger. And we find the traitor."
The Wound Behind the Words
Hours later, Ethan sat alone at the edge of the dock, staring at the dark water. His system window flickered faintly in the corner of his vision:
[Level: 19 → 21]
[EXP Gained: 12,540]
[Skill Unlocked: Oathbound Resolve – Temporary Boost to Strength and Willpower when fighting sworn enemies.]
The system had accepted his vow, weaving it into his very being. It was the first time Ethan realized that words—promises made with blood and conviction—could shape power just as much as killing monsters or looting treasures.
He tested the sensation, flexing his hand. Power hummed faintly in his veins, restrained but eager to be unleashed.
"Dangerous gift," he muttered to himself. "But mine to wield."
Behind him, footsteps crunched on broken planks. Aria limped into view, leaning on a broken spear as a crutch.
"You're brooding," she said softly.
Ethan allowed a humorless smile. "Brooding seems to be my new profession."
She sat beside him with difficulty, wincing. For a moment, they both stared at the water in silence. Finally, she whispered, "I thought I'd die tonight."
Ethan didn't answer.
"But you pulled me back," she added. "And I saw you fight Veylor. That man… he wasn't human."
"He was human once," Ethan said, remembering the commander's eyes—cold, pitiless, but haunted. "The Syndicate makes monsters out of men. They'll try to do the same to me, if I let them."
Aria turned her gaze to him. "You won't. Because you're different."
"Different doesn't mean invincible," Ethan said. "And next time, we may not walk away."
Aria's lips curved into a faint smile despite her pain. "Then we make sure next time, it's them who don't walk away."
Ethan almost chuckled. Almost.
In the Shadows: The Syndicate's Plans
Far across the city, in a hidden chamber deep beneath the Syndicate's fortress, the surviving Blades gathered around a bloodstained table. Commander Veylor stood at its head, his body scarred from the battle but unbowed.
He slammed a dagger into the table. "We underestimated him."
The Blades shifted uneasily.
"He should have broken. Instead, he rises stronger." Veylor's voice was low, dangerous. "That oath he made—yes, I felt it even from here. The system itself has bound him tighter."
A woman cloaked in crimson silk sneered. "Then let us cut his oath short. Give me three days and I'll deliver his head."
"No," Veylor snapped. "Reckless hunts have failed us already. This requires precision. He thinks he's the hunter now, but we'll remind him—" He leaned forward, his eyes glinting. "—that the Syndicate owns this city."
He raised his hand. A parchment map was unrolled across the table. Circles marked districts, docks, hidden routes.
"We strike his allies. His safehouses. His resources. We force him into the open. And when he comes, eager and enraged, the trap within the trap will close."
The Blades murmured in agreement. One by one, they pressed bloody fingerprints onto the map.
The Syndicate's war was far from over. It was only beginning.
Ashes and Oaths
Back at the ruins of the dock, Ethan stood with Marcus and Aria. The survivors gathered behind them, weary but resolute.
"This city thinks the Syndicate cannot be fought," Ethan said. "That they're too deep, too powerful, too untouchable. But tonight they bled. And tonight we swore they will bleed again."
The survivors raised their fists, a ragged chorus echoing in the ruins.
In the ashes of defeat, an army was being born.
And Ethan Cross, once a nobody, was now the fire that would ignite rebellion.