CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Neighbors Slay Neighbors

The smell of blood lingered, sharp and wrong, twisting my gut. The monocle pressed against my chest, its cord taut under my shirt, touching skin and humming with the ghosts' voices, their whispers slicing through the evening air. "Failed again… blind… too slow…" they mocked, their tones jagged, layered with scorn. My jaw clenched, frost prickling my veins.

How? The ward's mana hummed steady, unbroken, with no mana traces and no surge except for Meris's faint Life Magic and my own. Yet death clung to the air, a new sensation crawling under my skin: wills fading, growing faint, like candles snuffed one by one. I'd never felt it before, not like this, each vanishing spark a pang in my core.

"How did they get in?" I muttered, my voice low, lost in the district's growing din. The Obelisk—its door was ice, my ice, unbreakable by normal means. Another entrance? There was none. Or was there? Doubt gnawed, my mind racing. Beasts inside the ward, killing people, didn't add up, yet the blood and the fading wills didn't lie.

"Omen?" Meris's voice cut through, soft but sharp, her steps halting beside me. Her green eyes searched mine, catching the tension in my stance, the frost curling faint around my fingers. She wasn't the carefree girl I'd left; she'd grown, her gaze steady, reading the urgency I couldn't hide.

I shook my head, decision snapping into place. "No time," I said, my voice clipped. I reached for Hazeveil, the hooded cloak stirring as my fingers brushed its fabric, sentient, alive in its way. It pulsed, a faint agreement, as I draped it over Meris's shoulders. The cloak dwarfed her, its dark folds swallowing her slight frame, shadows rippling like liquid night. "Keep her hidden," I told it, my will pressing into the bond. Hazeveil tightened, its edges curling around her, consuming light, dimming her vibrant light into darkness.

Meris blinked, startled, her hands clutching the cloak's edge. "Omen, what's going on?" Her voice trembled, but she didn't pull away, her trust anchoring me even as fear flickered in her eyes. She was stronger now, not just in mana but in will, sensing the weight of my silence.

"No time to explain," I said, softer, meeting her gaze. "Go home, Meris. Take your family, wrap them in this if you can. Stay hidden. Wait for me." My words were blunt, but they carried everything I couldn't say—her safety, her life, above all else.

She nodded, lips tight, then flashed a small, defiant grin. "Omen… Always making me wait." Her voice held that jovial spark, a jab to lighten the dark, but her eyes stayed serious, understanding more than she let on. She turned, Hazeveil cloaking her steps, her form fading into the street's shadows, invisible to all but me.

I exhaled, alone now, the blood smell sharper. My fingers found the monocle, lifting it from my chest. I pressed it to my eye, and the world shifted. The gray wasteland opened, drained of warmth, where District 98's streets twisted into a nightmare. Colored figures stood out—ghosts, not echoes, their forms vivid, glowing in hues of ash and crimson. They lined the corners, motionless, their faces twisted, mouths stretched in silent screams or grimaces, eyes hollow but burning. Each raised an arm, pointing, their fingers gnarled, trembling, guiding me deeper into the chaos.

I ran, frost claws forming, their icy edges glinting. The ghosts' whispers grew louder, a chorus of dread. "Hurry… death waits… blood flows…" Their voices clawed at my mind, not mocking now but urgent, driving me forward.

The streets were alive with shouts, clattering metal, and distant screams, all mixing with the echoes' looped cries, the dead reliving their ends. A ghost ahead, its form a sickly green, pointed left, its arm shaking, bones visible through translucent flesh. Another, crimson-hued, stood at an alley's mouth, its head tilted at an impossible angle, finger stabbing toward the residential area.

My heart pounded, the fading wills sharper now, each one a tug at my core, like threads snapping. I turned a corner, frost claws ready, expecting a beast, its maw dripping with the blood I smelled. But the last ghost, its form a dull blue, pointed and there were only humans. No claws, no fangs. Just people, their blades wet, bodies at their feet.

Three bodies sprawled on the cobblestones—one chainrunner, face pulped beyond recognition; two guards, their vests torn, throats slashed clean. My monocle rested against my eye, the gray realm fading as I lowered it, but the ghosts' whispers lingered, sharp and mocking.

No beasts. Just humans killing humans. Why?

A crowd pressed close to the residential building, their voices a chaotic hum of anger, fear, and grief. Guards shoved through, swords drawn, their boots heavy on the stone. In the center stood Artemis, her braids tight, her runic blade dripping red, her stance wide and unyielding.

Beside her, Leslo, her brother and also a fellow guard from district 97 who joined 98 as a chainrunner gripped his sword, his frame slighter, less steady, but his eyes burned with the same fire. Their bloodied armor glinted, sub-artifacts humming faintly, a stark contrast to the guards' plain steel. Artemis's gaze flicked to her brother, a quick nod, a silent check. He nodded back, his jaw set, their bond clear in the wordless exchange.

Five guards circled them, their faces twisted with rage. "You filthy bastards!" one bellowed, his sword shaking, spit flying. "Drop your blades, now!" Another stepped closer, voice shrill. "Surrender, or you're dead!"

Artemis smirked, her blade tilting toward the loudest guard, who flinched. "Come take it, then," she said, her voice low, taunting. Leslo shifted, mirroring her stance, his grip tightening, ready to follow her lead. They'd been guards once, back in 97, hardened by the barricade fight, unchained by survival. Fear didn't touch them, not with runic armor that could shrug off beast claws, not with swords that could pierce guard plate like cloth.

"You'll pay for this," a third guard snarled, his step forward cut short as his boots locked to the ground. Ice crept over their soles, thin but unyielding, my mana pulsing through the stone. All five froze, their curses sharp as they tugged, blades useless. The ice wouldn't harm, only hold, breakable with time, but I needed none wasted.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Without Hazeveil, my runic carvings glowed faintly—swirls and jagged lines across my face, neck, arms, visible in the dim streetlight. The crowd gasped, parting as I stepped forward, their whispers spiking. "It's him…" "The one who made that giant." My presence, small as I was, loomed—crimson beast mana, raw and cold, silencing their shouts. Guards glared, their eyes venom, but they were pinned by frost. I didn't fear them, didn't fear anyone here.

Artemis and Leslo straightened, their defiance melting into respect. "Sir," they said, voices synced, blades lowering, their salute crisp despite the blood on their hands. Artemis's eyes met mine, bold but deferential, a warrior's loyalty to chainrunners. Leslo mirrored her, his posture less sure but no less devoted, his glance to her seeking strength.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice flat, cutting through the crowd's murmur.

Before Artemis or Leslo could speak, voices erupted from the crowd, raw and jagged, cutting through the dim residential square. A woman, her apron stained with flour, shoved forward, pointing at the dead chainrunner's broken body. "Guards did this! Beat that chainrunner dead just for wanting a bed!" Her voice cracked, thick with grief, her hands trembling as she clutched a worn shawl.

Another voice, a man's, rough and bitter, rang out from the back. "Good riddance! Those District 97 lowborns are crowding us out!" He stepped into the faint streetlight, his face weathered, eyes narrow with resentment. "We got no room!"

A younger woman, holding a ration bag, spun toward him, her voice shrill. "They brought us food. You'd spit on that?" Her words hung, the crowd stirring, their murmurs splitting into angry hums under the night's creeping chill.

The air thickened, the crowd shifting, forming clumps, some near the chainrunner's body, others by the grizzled man, their shadows flickering in the dying streetlights. A burly worker, his coat patched, pushed closer to the grieving woman, his voice low but fierce. "My kids ate 'cause of them. Guards don't care about us, never did. They just walk around all day and do nothing."

Across the square, a wiry man, his hair matted, jabbed a finger at the worker. "You think they're heroes? They're taking our homes! My sister's got to share a room with one of these outsiders now." He shoved the worker's shoulder, not hard, but enough to make the crowd gasp, their shouts overlapping in defiance, rage, and fear.

The ghosts' whispers slithered through my mind. "Rage splits… blood calls…".

Then it broke. The wiry man swung, his fist cracking the worker's jaw, blood spraying under the faint light. The worker staggered, then lunged, tackling him to the ground, their grunts sharp. The crowd surged, no blades, just fists—neighbor against neighbor, screams piercing the night. The grieving woman shoved the grizzled man, her nails raking his cheek, while a teenage boy tackled another, his yell raw. Fists flew, bodies fell, blood smearing the cobblestones, the square a chaos of fury and pain. I stood, runic carvings glowing, watching humans fight not for survival, but for pride.

Artemis's jaw tightened, her hand twitching toward her blade, but Leslo's touch on her arm stopped her, a quiet plea. Their eyes locked, her fire cooling just enough, his steadiness grounding her. "Life for life, sir," Artemis said, her voice steady, fierce. "We found him—one of us, beaten. Those guards did it. We paid them back."

Leslo nodded, stepping closer to her, his voice softer but clear. "He wasn't breathing when we got here. They wouldn't stop." His gaze dropped to the chainrunner's corpse, pain flickering, but he stood tall, shoulder brushing Artemis's.

My confusion deepened. No claws, no corruption—just humans, killing for space, for pride. The new chainrunners were heroes to some, invaders to others.

The crowd's chaos swelled, fists bruising flesh, screams splitting the night in the dim residential square. A wiry man, his hair matted, fumbled in his coat, yanking out a kitchen knife, its blade glinting faintly under the flickering streetlight. "Back off!" he shouted, his voice cracking, high with panic, waving the knife at the shoving bodies around him. The crowd surged, oblivious, a woman in a tattered shawl stumbling backward, pushed by an unseen elbow. Her gasp choked off as the knife sank into her back, blood blooming dark through her cloak.

She crumpled, eyes wide, a gurgle escaping her lips as she hit the cobblestones. The wiry man froze, the knife slipping from his hand, clattering loud in the sudden hush. "No… no, I didn't mean…" he stammered, his voice breaking, hands shaking as he backed away, face pale with shock. The crowd stared, their shouts faltering, the air thick with the reek of blood and the ghosts' hissing whispers. "Death breeds death…" they mocked.

A tall man pushed through, his face twisted, eyes locked on the fallen woman. "Sara!" he roared, his voice raw, shattering the silence, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands hovered over the bloodied shawl, trembling, then snapped to the knife on the ground. "My wife…" he choked, the words barely audible, thick with grief and rage.

He lunged at the wiry man, seizing his collar, the knife flashing as it pierced the man's chest, a wet crunch echoing. The wiry man gasped, blood bubbling at his lips, collapsing beside the woman, their bodies tangled in death. The crowd screamed, some shoving back, others frozen, their faces lit by faint streetlights, revealing horror, fury, and fear.

"I see now," I said, the words heavy with sudden clarity. The blood's reek clung to the air, pooling under my boots in the dim residential square. I'd known fear would be used as our tool to enact the changes needed. But I'd misjudged it, blind to how it would take root. Not in trembling acceptance, but in this, people tearing at each other, their shouts echoing off the stone buildings, our opposition fading like sparks in my chest.

The chainrunners' shadow had grown while we were gone, our absence a legend carved in hunger and loss. The guards tried to fill that void, but they faltered—weak, unworthy in the people's eyes. Most within the crowd saw us now as the district's spine, heroes. But the newcomers from District 97 stirred resentment.

The division wasn't forced; it grew, fed by months of want, by guards who couldn't match our fire. I hadn't seen it coming, hadn't felt the fracture until blood spilled, until wills snapped.

And there it was, the truth of caged beasts, as clear as the bodies at my feet. People, like beasts, clashed over vision. They'd rip and tear, fist and blade, until only one side stood, no monsters needed, no assassins' in the dark.

I'd failed to see it, failed to stop it before it sparked. Humans, here in the ward's shadow, were no different from the fog's monsters, their principles raw, bloody, unyielding. My frost couldn't mend this, only hold it still, and I stood, struck, as the square burned with their rage.

"Leave," I told Artemis and Leslo, my voice low, firm. They nodded, sheathing their blades, Artemis's hand lingering on Leslo's shoulder, guiding him through the crowd. Their steps were sure, unchallenged, chainrunner armor a warning to all.

The ghosts laughed, their voices grating. "More will fall… the spark spreads…" I pushed my mana out, frost creeping over every boot around, guards, the people fighting all locked in place. Their shouts faltered, eyes wide, my carvings glowing brighter as I walked out. Something had started, a rift tearing the district apart.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.