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Chapter 80
The Bound
My vision snaps into focus—a whirlwind of green,
motion, and chaos. Sprocket’s glowing paws press against my ribs, warmth
spreading through my battered chest like a slow-burning ember. My breath
shudders. What the hell...? I try to sit up—pain knifes through my side, sharp
and unrelenting.
"Stay still!" Sprocket’s voice cuts
through the noise, sharper than I’ve ever heard it. The air hums with residual
magic, thick with the acrid stench of scorched flesh. I force my gaze to
steady. The clearing’s a graveyard—charred bodies, craters gouged into the
earth, the crumpled forms of Blood Raiders strewn like discarded puppets.
<i>This ain''t good.</i>
"What happened?" My voice scrapes out,
raw.
"He laid ya out, Boss'', one and done," Rocky blurts, his
fur bristling, loading another round into his crossbow. He vibrates with
nervous energy, barely containing himself.
"Yeah, but our boys? They sing a different tune" Luna says,
flicking blood off her blade.
"And faster, too, slick," Quill adds, flexing her
fingers around a kunai.
Like a goddamn wreckin'' ball, baby." Velvet
murmurs, eyes flicking across the battlefield.
The rest of the Nutcrackers—Pounce and
Chatter—work alongside Chonk and Twitch, picking off stragglers left behind
from Nike''Deimus’s rampage.
A guttural roar tears through the battlefield.
Nike''Deimus, fur slick with blood, hurls a Raider into a tree. Bone snaps with
a sickening crunch. On his back, Nibbler and Scraps fire from their crossbows,
each bolt landing with ruthless precision. The ground trembles beneath the
force of impact.
My fingers twitch toward my spear, but my grip
falters. Weak.
"Where’s Ember?" The words rip from me,
ice sinking into my gut.
"She''s... still kickin'' boss." Rocky-B
says, his voice uncharacteristically tight.
Heat surges—fury, primal and searing. My muscles
coil, pain screaming in protest as I push to my feet. "They touch her,
they pay."
A tiny squirrel whistles, shaking his head.
"They already whacked ''er, boss."
I blink. Stare. My brain lags, like a machine
grinding gears without oil.
“…Who the fuck are you?”
Steel clashes—a relentless, ringing cadence that
slices through the chaos. I blink hard, shaking off the haze clouding my
vision. Sprocket’s green glow fades, leaving behind only a lingering
warmth—useless against the cold knot of dread twisting in my gut.
"You know what…" I mutter to the shifty
little squirrel watching me. "Never mind. It doesn’t matter."
I turn—and there she is. Ember.
She moves like a storm given form, weaving
through the battlefield in a blur of controlled fury. Her blade flickers
against the monstrous figure before her—a towering brute of muscle and menace.
The Man-Thing. Its lean, sinewy frame shifts unnaturally, massive bladed
fingers carving through the air in deadly arcs. Ember meets each strike,
counters with impossible speed.
How?
"What is that thing?" I demand, my
voice rough.
"That''s the freakin'' Broker, right there," Rocky-B
corrects, his voice tight. "He''s the one who gave ya the dirt nap, boss."
"Actually," a familiar, annoyingly smug
voice chimes in, "I blew him up. Kingdom come, and then some."
"Reggie!" Rocky snaps, exasperated.
The squirrel just shrugs. "What? It’s
true."
A flash of silver—Luna lunges, her dagger
gleaming, aimed straight for Reggie''s throat. My hand shoots out, catching her
wrist just in time.
"Hold it, killer."
"Why?" she snarls, muscles coiled, eyes
burning with barely restrained fury.
"Because he''s still alive." I meet her
gaze, unyielding. "We don''t kill him out right... At least, not yet."
She exhales sharply, then smirks. "As you
wish, mi’lord." With a mocking bow, she retracts her blade.
"Wow!" Reggie claps his tiny hands.
"Oh boss, thanks so much for that, I—"
Luna roundhouses him straight in the gut.
Rocky sighs.
But my focus snaps back to Ember and the Broker.
He’s fast—too fast for something that size. But she’s keeping up, every strike
met, every blow countered. Moving with an almost unnatural grace.
It shouldn’t be possible. He’s a walking fortress
of flesh and steel.
And yet she’s dancing around him.
I don’t know whether to be confused, furious, or
impressed.
Probably all three.
A piercing screech rips through the air, slicing
through my thoughts like a blade.
From the shadows, a goblin lunges—wiry, vicious,
its crude blade catching the dim light as it hurtles straight for my throat.
[Blood Raider: Goblin Scout: LVL 3]
I tense, instincts kicking in, muscles coiling to
dodge—
Thwack.
The goblin crumples mid-leap, a crossbow bolt
buried dead center between its beady little eyes.
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I blink.
Rocky-B stands frozen, his crossbow still
trembling in his grip.
Rocky? He actually killed something?
"You… you alright, kiddo?" I ask, still
processing.
He stares at the corpse, eyes wide, mouth
slightly open. "I… I don’t know."
"Perhaps," Sprocket muses, maddeningly
calm, "your talents lie more in healing than in the taking of life."
Rocky swallows, nodding slowly. "Yeah.
Maybe." Relief flickers across his face, uncertain but there.
"Good," Sprocket gestures toward a
nearby squirrel—Reggie, who’s currently inspecting his claws like he’s got
nowhere better to be. "Then come heal… Reggie, was it?"
Rocky frowns. "He''s not even hurt."
"Velvet," Sprocket says.
A sickening crack splits the air, sharp as a
whip.
Velvet, who I hadn’t even noticed moving, stands
behind Reggie, her expression cold as stone. Reggie''s arm now hangs limp,
twisted at a grotesque angle.
The squirrel howls. "WHY—?!"
"He is now," Sprocket remarks, utterly
neutral.
Rocky stares, then lets out a short, incredulous
laugh. "Alright, alright. Point taken."
I shake my head and refocus.
Ember is still in motion—moving like a storm
given form, a whirlwind of steel and shadow. The Broker, despite his clearly
broken arm, fights with brutal efficiency, every strike calculated, lethal.
But something’s off.
Wait…
Is he getting slower?
I narrow my focus. The slight hesitation in his
swings. The extra beat before he recovers.
Damn.
He is slower.
Luna’s eyes, sharp and predatory, lock onto the
fallen goblin. She prods the corpse with her blade, a low growl curling from
her throat.
"Boss!"
My attention snaps to her. She points at the
goblin’s skin, and that’s when I see it—twisting, swirling markings, like black
ink carved deep into its flesh. My system pings, the tone cold and clinical:
[Black Magic: Soul Curse Binding]
Soul Curse? Binding? A knot of unease coils tight in my
gut. "Luna, Velvet, come here."
They kneel without hesitation, their movements
fluid, silent. I reach out, gripping their arms—and there it is again. That
same dark, intricate pattern, pulsing faintly beneath their fur.
[Soul Magic: Soul-Tether Bonding]
The realization slams into me like a hammer. The
Blood Raiders—these creatures—aren’t just raiders. They’re slaves.
Bound. Controlled. The weight of it settles in my chest like a lead weight.
They weren’t fighting for themselves. They were forced to attack. Forced to
die.
My anger ignites, burning hot and raw. Who did
this? Who wields magic strong enough to shackle so many? My fists clench,
the metal of my vambrace biting into my skin.
Wait… the vambrace.
I shift my focus back to the fight. Ember and the
Broker move in a deadly dance, their strikes a blur of steel and shadow. But
then—I notice something.
He’s not wearing a vambrace.
Not exactly. But on his left arm, a thick, heavy shackle
gleams in the firelight. A shackle, not unlike my own.
I narrow my eyes, honing in on it.
Ping!
[Codex of Nyx’Aria]
The Broker stiffens. His head snaps toward me,
his eyes narrowing. He felt that.
His free hand jerks up—greenish-purple fire
swirling at his fingertips before he hurls a fireball straight at me.
It’s reckless. Desperate.
Wide open.
Ember seizes the moment. Her blade flashes as she
drives a brutal three-hit combo deep into his vitals.
A streak of silver cuts in—Twitch. He intercepts
the fireball mid-flight, his katana slicing through the inferno in a flawless
arc. The dark flame splits, dissipating in an instant.
Rocky reacts without hesitation. Instant Heal.
A soft glow envelops Twitch, sealing the damage before it can take root.
Ping!
[Rocky and Sprocket have earned 10 XP.]
[Congratulations! Both Sprocket and Rocky have
earned the titles: Master and Apprentice.]
I barely register the notification. My gaze stays
locked on the Broker, on that shackle.
What exactly are you, and who the hell is
pulling your strings?
I try to stand—but the moment I move, a sharp
tug yanks at something deep inside me.
Ping!
[Notice:]
You are currently under a status affect
[Warning:]
Blood Magic: Blood Siphon: DOT: Active: 3 min
A pulse of red flares in my vision as my health,
mana, and stamina tick down, each point drained like water slipping through my
fingers.
Damn it.
Every movement costs me. Every breath feels
like it''s feeding whatever curse the Broker left behind.
Three minutes.
That’s how long I have to sit here—bleeding,
waiting, helpless—while the Broker’s little parting gift gnaws at me like a
parasite.
A red, ominous glow flickers at the edges of my
vision, pulsing in sync with my heartbeat. Fantastic.
Might as well use the forced downtime wisely. I
summon my character screen. The translucent display flickers to life, crisp
against the swirling chaos around me. A reminder of who I am—or at least, who
the system says I am.
<hr>
Character Stat Screen: Flagged for PVP
Name: Grant Grayson of Calloway
Level: 20 Adventurer
Class: Beast Master / Marksman / Duelist
Race: Human (Modified by Soul-Bound)
Titles: Soul-Bound Tracker, Aether-Forged
Marksman, Arcane Duelist
Health: 40/1400
Mana: 60/1600
Stamina: 40/1400
<hr>
My eyes skim the familiar list of skills—Beast
Mastery, Marksman, Duelist, Tracking, Soul Magic, Aether Magic, Arcane Magic.
Each one hard-earned. Each one completely useless if I bleed out before
I can move again.
And then there’s the "Flagged for
PVP" tag, glowing at me like a taunt. Because of course. Just my luck.
My weapons—"Soulfire" Rifle and
"Shadowsteel" Shortsword—are listed as Unavailable: Summon
Possible.
Five minutes. Five minutes before I can
recall them. Five minutes to sit here and bleed.
I clench my fists, my jaw tight. I need those
weapons.
I shift my focus to my unique abilities—Soul
Link, Aether-Forged Precision, Arcane Blade Mastery, Soul Scent. Each one a
game-changer. Each one useless while I’m shackled by this damn
debuff.
My gaze flicks to Ember. She’s still locked in
combat with the Broker, her every movement a lethal rhythm. Precise.
Calculated. Unyielding.
A dance of death.
Pride twists in my gut. So does fear.
She’s holding her own.
But for how long?