He didn't know who had been first, himself or the other guy. All he knew was that he had grabbed his throat, crushing his trachea until the man's face turned blue.
Blood called for more blood. More victims fell, and the scene transformed into a festival of gore. Some began to kill anyone in their line of sight, or tried to, until they ran into him—and he would break their necks or drive a spoon through their corneas.
The scene became chaos. Blood began to flow like a river, while a thin film of the vital liquid flooded the floor. While those deepest in their own madness drank the blood and devoured their victims, others simply sodomized them or attempted to make paintings or sculptures with their bodies.
It was madness, true madness. But... he was here too, enjoying the frenzy. The battle called to him: blood to be spilled, flesh to be opened.
"They drugged me," he growled, spitting as a woman in front of him tried to drive a fork into his heart. She missed, plunging it into his lung instead.
"Damn bitch," he spat, attempting to slam her head against the floor and crush her skull.
But then he felt something hit his head, and it took a while for him to react. By the time he turned around, everything had become...
Red.
The Observers and the Black Flame
In a balcony above the blood orgy brewing on the floor, a group of figures watched the scene with varying emotions; some of curiosity, others of indifference, or even a sense of enjoyment and cruelty.
The person leading this entire scene was Intermezzo Omeya, though this time he was not disheveled; he wore a black wolf mask that covered the upper part of his face.
"The blood essence is having quite good effects on these specimens," he murmured with a smile to his peers. Most had appearances just as strange as his, but all wore different masks to cover their faces.
"Hahaha, but it seems the litter is still quite mediocre; so far none have awakened the blood mark despite having been at it for a while," said one of the masked men, wearing a blue-faced mask.
"Relax, it's like breeding insects; only when they have tasted blood will the victors manage to possess the most powerful venom. For now, they are simply larvae; now we must let them break their limits," murmured a neutral voice that did not denote a gender, wearing a mask of eyes with a red tear on the cheek.
But then, a black glow erupted from the stage they had created, causing the pupils behind their masks to dilate at the unexpected situation.
Suddenly, one of the figures was covered in black flames, instantly incinerating one of the survivors who had shown the most talent—a survivor whose appearance had deformed into a kind of demonic bear with a snout covered in pustules from which venom and black miasmas flowed.
Despite everything, that promising candidate died, turning to dust.
"Hellfire," commented one of the blood vassals in the meeting with an excited expression; he was the one wearing a mask with a purple flame in place of his eyes.
"Yes, it seems it is no ordinary hellfire; the body has not yet collapsed during the transformation. How talented will they be?" asked the vassal with the tear on the mask curiously.
The person emitting black flames was using a single-edged sword that seemed extremely large compared to their size. It appeared to be a woman hidden behind a hood, and the black flames covered her body as if she were immune to them while she stared threateningly at her opponents.
"It seems the party has become interesting," Intermezzo murmured, his eyes shining sinisterly as he saw the girl's face.
Unconsciously, he touched the side of his face where a scar was hidden behind his mask. The pain returned to him, as did the anger.
The Princeps and the Lictor
Above the city of Cnut, there was a small watchtower bordering the city river. Surrounded by water, the only land passage to it was a bridge built in the direction connecting it to the city. Inside this place, a meeting was taking place in the black stone corridors of the watchtower, where two existences faced each other, emitting endless killing intent.
There were three people in the hallway.
The first was a seductive-looking woman dressed in a one-piece suit that clung to her skin and a kind of fitted armor. She had a sword strapped to her back, and her hair, black as onyx, fell like a waterfall down her back.
Behind her stood a tall, intimidating man in heavy armor, with a black and white cape crossed over his chest and shoulder. But what stood out most about him was what he had resting on his shoulder. It was an axe, but not of an ordinary design; it consisted of two curved rods bound together with red and purple silk, with a golden axe-head blade embedded in the top corner.
It was a fasces.
The title of the one who possessed it was that of lictor. Lictores were the personal force of a higher authority of a magistrate. They held the power of life and death over the citizens of the Hegemony as long as the magistrate ordered it.
In the Hegemony, few magistrates had lictores at their service. A Hegemon had twenty-four lictores under their service, while a Princeps would have two. Now, with the situation in the eastern continent, the authority of the current rebel Hegemon was only able to deploy twelve lictores; consequently, the magistrates had half the normal number. She had only one, but it was enough to pressure an entire city under her authority.
"Blood Knight, I hope you understand that my presence here is not just a diplomatic visit," the woman growled.
In front of her stood a regal and imposing man. He had short scarlet-red hair and was dressed in black, but his face was covered with a white mask featuring a golden crown and a red throne painted on it.
"Do I seem like someone unreasonable, Miss Jagger?" the Blood Knight said with a smile.
"That's Princeps Jagger to you, David. Remember your place. You may think my mother fears you, but she simply doesn't have time to deal with trash like you. So control your kind, unless you want the full force of the Petrian Wing to drag your friends out of their bloody graves."
It couldn't be seen if David's expression had changed in any way at her words, but silence hung between them for an instant that seemed eternal.
"Do you really think I'm afraid of your mother, Alana?" David asked curiously.
"No," Alana responded, as killing intent spread from her toward David. Meanwhile, the lictor behind her tilted his fasces into a defensive pose. "You should be afraid of me."
Blood spurted, staining the floor of the room and causing the walls to tremble slightly from the intensity of the clash. But the one wounded was neither David nor Alana. It was the lictor.
"You damn traitor! How dare you?" Alana growled with fury, as her sword moved at great speed, completely destroying half of the lictor's face.
"Hahahaha..." but the lictor only laughed. His relatively attractive face was destroyed with a hole in the skull, while his shoulder was partially shattered from the attack.
Meanwhile, David seemed indifferent as he stepped back. "I told you I don't fear you, Alana, though your talent itself is quite terrifying." Bowing slightly toward her with a gesture of courtesy, he added: "If you join me, perhaps I will consider treating you gently."
But Alana ignored him, her gaze fixed on the lictor. He was laughing. Suddenly, his face transformed into a grotesque grimace, and to Alana's surprise, his face deformed into a mask; a mask that was broken, yet its smiling face still sent a shiver down her spine.
"Hajajajajaj, young mistress Alana, I am very sorry for killing your escort, but it truly is difficult to infiltrate the guard. I could only take possession of his body to ambush you," his words were spoken with a playful tone despite the miserable state of his body.
Suddenly, the flesh of the shattered shoulder, along with part of his face, exploded, revealing dozens of tentacles that violently attacked Alana, who instantly recoiled. She drew her sword.
"Demon-Executing Sword!" The sword whistled through the air and split into two, then four, cutting and shredding the tentacles and fleshy appendages of the possessed lictor, whose only goal now was to attack and tear Alana apart.
But at the moment she thought her opponent had finally been defeated, the fasces resting on the ground in the lictor's only arm trembled. And then, a limitless pressure locked Alana's body, stripping her of the ability to move. Regardless of her skill or power, for the next five minutes, her body would be unable to move unless she were a spiritual lord. She could only wait for death.
And then the perverse laughter of the possessed lictor filled the hallway, as Alana saw him approaching her. "I'm sorry, child. It seems you lost the bet," she heard David's voice behind her. And with it, the end of the battle.