The Knife Market had always been a place of whispers—where death was sold like spice, where shadows bartered in coin and blood. But tonight, it screamed.
It started with Ethan's dagger at the Syndicate broker's throat. It ended with the Shadow's words echoing like a curse:
"The next strike won't be for gold. It will be for silence."
And then the blades came down.
The Market Erupts
Steel clashed against steel, shrieks tearing through the underground amphitheater as assassins surged from every stall. Hundreds of killers—mercenaries, rogues, bounty-hunters—lunged for Ethan and his allies.
"Marcus, shield! Aria, backline!" Ethan barked, already in motion. His dagger flashed, catching the first assassin's thrust and twisting it aside. He slammed his blade upward, splitting throat from jaw. Blood sprayed, slicking the cobblestones.
Marcus roared, battered shield braced as a wall of knives hammered against him. Sparks exploded with every strike.
Aria's arrows flew like lightning, each one embedding in eyes, throats, hands. She moved with desperate precision, even as her fingers bled raw from the bowstring.
But for every one that fell, three more pressed in.
The Knife Market had become a carnival of murder.
System Awakens
Ethan's heart thundered. The system blazed.
[Mass Hostile Encounter Detected]
[Kill Count Threshold Initiated]
[Survival Protocol Engaged]
Text flooded his vision:
[Carnival of Blood Event Triggered]
Objective: Survive the market purge. Kill or be killed.
Time Limit: Until no hostile remains.
Ethan bared his teeth. "So be it."
He fought like fire. His dagger became an extension of will, stabbing, slashing, tearing. He ducked beneath one assassin's blade, carving open his gut, then spun to bury steel in another's skull.
Marcus smashed two killers into the wall with his shield, bones crunching. Aria's arrows pinned another trio to the wooden stalls like broken dolls.
Still they came.
Still the knives whispered through the air.
Chaos Unleashed
The market itself turned against them.
Rogue alchemists hurled vials, explosions ripping through stalls. Poison gas clouded the air, turning screams into choking gurgles. The glow of burning oil painted the market in hellish light.
Assassins laughed like madmen as they danced in the chaos. Some killed Ethan's allies. Some killed each other. The promise of gold had turned the underworld into a frenzy where life was nothing but currency.
Ethan's Shadow Sense pulsed wildly. Red outlines flared everywhere—too many, too fast. Pain drilled into his skull, his vision swimming.
[Cognitive Strain: 89% – Critical Overload Imminent]
He grunted, blood leaking from his nose. But he refused to release it. Not when Marcus staggered under a dozen knives, not when Aria's arrows were nearly gone.
He screamed, voice raw with rage and vow:
"I will not fall here!"
The system roared back:
[Oath Resonance Detected]
[Hidden Evolution Path Unlocked]
Skill Obtained: Blood Vow – Convert slain enemies' vitality into temporary strength.]
Heat surged through his veins, cold fire igniting his muscles. Every kill now fed him, every drop of blood stolen from his enemies fueled his survival.
The carnival turned crimson.
The Butcher Emerges
Ethan became a storm.
He cut through assassins like wheat, each fallen foe pouring strength into his limbs. His dagger pierced hearts, severed arteries, split skulls. His body moved faster than thought, each strike a blur of oath-fueled fury.
The killers began to falter. Whispers spread even amidst the slaughter.
"It's him…"
"The Oath-Killer…"
"No… he's the Butcher of Shadows…"
The name stuck, carried by terrified tongues.
For the first time, fear shimmered in the eyes of Syndicate blades.
The Shadow Returns
And then silence fell.
From the smoke and fire, crimson flowed like a living tide.
The Shadow stepped into the circle of corpses, mask gleaming, blade unsheathed. His presence froze even the most rabid killers.
"You adapt quickly," he said softly, the scar on his mask catching the firelight. "Too quickly."
Ethan, chest heaving, blood dripping from his dagger, met his gaze. "You'll need more than shadows to kill me."
The Shadow tilted his head. "Who said I came alone?"
The crowd parted.
Three figures emerged—masked, armored, each radiating the same lethal aura. The other Blades.
The Syndicate's deadliest hands.
The Shadow raised his weapon, voice calm as death itself.
"The carnival is over, Ethan Cross. Now begins the execution."
Clash of Legends
The Blades attacked as one.
Steel shrieked, arcs of silver carving through the chaos. Ethan blocked the first strike, the force rattling his bones. Marcus intercepted another, shield cracking under the blow. Aria loosed her last arrow, striking one Blade in the eye—but even blind, the killer pressed forward.
The amphitheater shook with the fury of gods and monsters. Blood drenched the ground, bodies piled high.
Ethan roared, surging with Blood Vow, dagger tearing through another foe. But for every strike he landed, the Blades answered with tenfold speed.
The Shadow's voice whispered through the clash:
"You can't fight the web, Ethan. You're already caught."
But Ethan's vow burned brighter than fear. His body screamed, but his will was iron.
He spat blood and snarled. "Then I'll tear the web apart strand by strand—starting with you."