1% Lifesteal

Freddy stared at the stranger standing right outside his apartment. "Yeah, that's me," he answered the man's previous question. "Uhm… is there anything I can help you with?"

"You should probably get out of the apartment," the man said casually. "There might be something dangerous here."

"Uhhh, who… who are you?" he asked skeptically, showing no intent to leave and even lightly closing the doors.

Some random dude came barging in, claiming there was something "dangerous" in his apartment, and now he wanted him to leave? This smelled incredibly fishy, and every instinct he had honed during his time in this god-forsaken complex immediately flared up.

However, the man didn't force him to leave or do anything untoward. He merely closed his eyes for a few seconds, but it wasn't long until they shot open as he glanced at him. "You're an arch," he said, slight surprise apparent in his lightly raised eyebrow. "Freshly ascended at that. Huh…" he mused out loud as he cocked his head. "What did you do in the Netherecho here?"

Well, this changed the situation quite drastically. Judging by the man's demeanor, he was undoubtedly an arch himself, and based on his behavior, he was here with a purpose. Some details were beginning to line up. "Something dangerous" was probably Bloodshed, and this man had somehow found out about the creepy skeleton remnant.

However, the idea of coming clean and laying it out straight to the man had never crossed his mind for even a second. To him, who had grown up in an orphanage, the unique combination of "This might be an authority figure" and "I might have done something they don't like" instantly triggered a deeply ingrained habit of his—"It is time to lie my fucking ass off."

"Oh man," he said, shaking his head. "I went in there, and this thing was under my bed. It went freakin' wild, slaughtering all the vestiges in my room, and at the end, it was quite wounded, so even though I barely touched it, it just went poof. I nearly shit my pants. My hands are still shaking, see?" His hands were, indeed, still shaking, albeit for several different reasons.

The man frowned upon hearing that. "Jesus! You shouldn't do stuff like that at your level," he chastised. "You're lucky to be alive. Wait, did the vestige that went wild in your room look bloody in any way?"

"No," he denied outright. "I'd say it was more of a mini-boogeyman."

"I see," the man said, nodding, likely convinced by the shadowy wisps he had seen in the Netherecho. "Just a quick question. Was there anything strange behind your trash can?"

"Yeah," he responded with a tiny shred of hesitation, but an intentional one. Because he wasn't about to lie; he was about to tell the truth. "I had some bloody clothes there. Ah, I mean, I didn't, like, kill anyone—well, I did, but a monster in the passage bre—"

"Bloody clothes?" The man latched on to that detail, as expected. "And where are they now?" he asked with a clean undertone of urgency to his voice.

"I… Uh… I threw them in the trash."

"Ah fuck," the man swore and clicked his tongue. "When?"

"Uh… A-A day ago?" He tried remembering. "Yeah, something like that; sorry, I've had a few crazy days, so I—"

The man groaned as he turned around to run. Halfway down the stairs, though, he paused and turned around. "Just another quick question. Nothing serious, I'm just curious," he said as he squinted at him. "Did you kill a monster with a plastic bag?"

He was caught off guard by the question, and he reflexively chuckled. "Yeah… I guess."

The man grinned. "How the fuck did you do that?" he asked with genuine mirth in his voice.

"I uh… I—uhm, I swung the uh, bag, I mean, it had a can in there, a can of beans, and I swung it like. You know, like a—"

"Ha!" the man guffawed, clapping his hands in mirth. "A can of fucking beans!?" he wheezed. "What a riot! You bean flailed that thing, holy shit!"

"Bean flail?" he asked with a chuckle.

"You know what, kid?" the man said, wagging a finger at him. "I have a strange feeling that this won't be the last time we meet."

I kind of really hope that it will, he thought but still forced a smile on his face.

Now that the man was leaving, he finally permitted his curiosity some freedom. "I have a question for you, too, if you don't mind," he said, "uhm, who are you?"

The man with strange eyes grinned at the question, waving him off. "I'm just some random bastard," he stated dismissively and, clearly in a rush, fled down the stairs and left the building.

"Ah, I see," he said to nobody in particular. He slowly closed his apartment door, and once it was locked, his legs immediately lost all their strength, and he crumpled to the ground, breaking into a cold sweat.

"Did I have to lie to him…?" he whispered quizzically into his chin. "He seemed pretty nice…"

But someone just being nice wasn't enough to stop the habit from kicking in. If anything, it made him even more likely to lie. The nicer they seemed to be, usually, the harder they hit.

If you come clean, we'll go easy on you. The words flashed in his mind. Every kid at the orphanage fell for it once. Only once. And never again.

He buried his face into his knees, unable to move from where he sat. For whatever reason, his first reaction was to enter the Netherecho. The instant he appeared there, he felt slightly better.

The anxiety and flush of adrenaline were gone, left behind in his physical body. He still didn't feel good; the vague sensation of anxiety and general distress was still there, but it was easier to ignore it. Yeah. This could quickly turn into a terrible habit. But, at the moment, if it freed him from feeling like that, he wouldn't mind letting it turn into one. Running away from one's problems for the win.

The swarm of colorful splotches of ethereal paint shimmered through the air around him, each morphing and shifting in a way appropriate to their element.

Shadow wisps were like little balls of darkness; light wisps were tiny constellations of flickering lights; water wisps flowed through the air like liquid seeking a path through cracked stone; wood wisps were like branches growing in random directions, wilting and vanishing at the tail end; metal, crystal, and glass floated in chunks; and what appeared to be air wisps looked like tiny gusts of cartoony wind, loopy squiggles flying through the air.

It was a mesmerizing sight once he finally had the safety to observe it as he pleased.

There were even some he hadn't noticed before, and now that he saw them, they appeared kind of… ew. Bloody marks, tiny masses of what looked like pulsing, freaky, organic matter, and clumps of… rot? There were also small masses of shifting skulls, which he presumed represented the death affinity.

There was a rather high density due to the slaughter that had recently transpired. Regardless of their nature, their ether would nourish his soul all the same, so he started collecting them without much hesitation.

His projection wasn't slow, per se, but it gave the impression of sluggishness. Running in the Netherecho reminded him of running in a dream. His projection felt weightless, and the air, or rather, the space around him, was like a dense liquid, preventing him from gathering momentum. While walking, it was unnoticeable, but whenever he tried to run, it stifled his movements.

First, he began gathering all the water wisps he could. Quite a few were floating too high for him to reach. So he tried jumping. His leap was surprisingly high, and he freaked out when he realized he was about to fall back down.

Yet, on his descent, not only did he slowly hover down, but when he hopped again, even when allowing himself to descend faster, he didn't feel any impact.

When he got slammed by that water jet, he certainly felt like he had fallen to the ground, all right. There was a slam, a thud, and everything.

He gradually realized a few things about movement in the Netherecho through experimentation. Strictly speaking, the "laws of physics," or at least whatever was left of them, didn't apply here. This was a place of ideas and truths in concepts—a dream world that didn't like playing by outside rules.

It wasn't much later that he replaced the physical action of "running" with the idea of "traversing quickly" and embraced the difference between a "descent" and a "fall." His projection fluttered around without fear of injury, and gathering the wisps in range became much more straightforward.

He went from forcefully crushing the shards of ether to pulling them apart and unraveling them, which took half the time and exertion. One colorful splotch after another was deconstructed and consumed by the little projection.

At a certain point, he was truly out of wisps in range. Granted, he could simply wait for them to float down, but he had a better idea. Returning to his body, he lifted an arm into the air. Then he focused, and his projection appeared on his palm.

"Success! Now I just have to—" He was interrupted when the arm he stood on vanished. His projection fell to the ground below, landing without any problem. But he looked at his body in abject terror, seeing that his arm had disappeared.

"Did something cut my—" But before he could finish, his arm reappeared, but in a relaxed position beside his body instead of hanging in the air. "Oh, yeah… I forgot about that."

Upon entering the Netherecho, his body would remain in the same position he left it in, but it wouldn't stay like that for long if the stance took any willpower to maintain.

Almost immediately upon entering the Netherecho, his arm had relaxed and dropped down to rest in a natural position beside his body. Given that moving objects couldn't appear within the Netherecho unless their movement was repetitive, like the spinning of a wheel or a fan, the arm had disappeared and only reappeared once it was stationary again.

Not a problem for his plans, though. He just had to react fast enough. Yet again, he appeared on his palm, and before the arm could vanish beneath his feet, he jumped off the hand. A water wisp entered his range, and he grabbed it out of the air, consuming it.

Through repeatedly repositioning his body, he was able to collect every single wisp of ether in his room. Now, all that remained was to check his progress. It was…

Honestly speaking, he could barely tell the difference. The star in his ethercosm had changed slightly. But it wasn't on the level of a few drops of water in a glass. It was more akin to a thin layer of condensation gathering on the glass's surface.

But that was fine. He was alive and well. With time, he would find better places to gather than this dingy apartment.

The sun was already setting, and he felt famished. His entire body was sore, and he craved proper rest. So he would have it. He ate his other sandwich, got ready for sleep, and went to bed.

It wasn't even 7 p.m. But in more ways than one, he was just done. The same way he had told himself many times recently, he thought it again as he drifted to sleep.

There was no more need to rush.

***

Harold stood at the dump yard, sighing deeply. He had tracked the shipment, the person who shipped it, even the position it was offloaded in, and still…

Before him was a bag filled with ordinary garbage and a brown-stained work uniform. It was dried blood. And judging by the amount, it must have been one heavy can of beans.

A trip to the Netherecho revealed a cursed object, as expected. The uniform was thickly oozing with blood and wrath aura. So much so that the surrounding garbage vestiges didn't dare come close to it.

He didn't find what he was looking for. Thank God.

Placating that bloody toddler would be a pain in the ass, but it was preferable to handing a competitor such a massive boon.

He bent over and picked up the smelly, sweaty clothes out of the pile of trash.

It was time to return and hopefully not have a fight to death.

***

Janhalar sat in the corner of the tent, his fury heightening with every second that passed. His foot restlessly hopped on the ground, and as the room entrance shifted, his foot slammed the asphalt hard enough to make it crack.

He rushed to get up and marched forward to the city lord. "Did you find it!?"

Rather than answer his damn question, the prick simply handed him filthy clothes. A quick check of the Netherecho left him stunned. This was a very intense cursed object. But it wasn't a unique one. And the remnant was nowhere to be found.

"Harold…" He tried to be calm, but his upper lip still curled in a snarl as he barked, "Where is it!?"

"Didn't find it," the lord responded calmly.

He took a deep breath. Wisdom and patience could topple any mountain and cross any ocean.

He had been patient.

Now, he would be wise.

Without saying a word, he turned to exit and stepped forward.

Instantly, the ground shifted into snakes that wrapped around his ankles.

"Hold on there, partner," Harold called. "Where are you going?"

"Are you instigating a fight against me, Lord?" he asked, a chilling calm permeating his words.

"That depends," the man answered. "Where are you going?" he asked again.

"Our deal is finished. Am I not allowed to leave?"

"Not until you answer my question," Harold declared.

"All right then. Let me answer with a counter-question," he said as blood dripped down his arms and formed two red blades. He turned to face the city lord, eyes bloodshot and teeth bared. "Where is your proof?"

Harold shrugged. "If you doubt my word, take it to the Empress." The snakes dissolved.

He retracted his blood blades as he scoffed. "I have no reason to bother her with something like this. I will see for myself."

"We are already overstepping the boundary here, Patriarch," the slithery bastard claimed. "Our actions until now can be justified as protecting civilians, but this kid is a different story. Although he only ascended recently, he is an archhuman."

"And why should that concern me?"

"We can explain it away as protection when it's a matter of mortals, but legally and morally speaking, you aren't entitled to anything this man possesses," Harold informed him sternly. "You only get those clothes because he willingly threw them away."

That was correct. Technically. But he certainly didn't care. "Do not take me for a fool, Lord," he spat sharply. "If that man is keeping the remnant around, that is nothing but an act of delayed suicide. A freshly minted archhuman has no business playing with powers out of his grasp." Then, with a smirk, he added, "Or are you being intentionally negligent in allowing him to endanger his own life?"

Harold smirked at that. "Come now. Isn't it standard practice to let the ascended endanger themselves as they please?"

"Do you truly believe I'm going to accept that?"

"I highly recommend that you do," the city lord said, then hardened his gaze. "If I learn that you've stepped into any form of contact with an independent arch, intending to steal from him, no less, I will start the appropriate legal process," he threatened, wagging his finger. "A four-star arch arrested for petty theft? That would be quite embarrassing, now, wouldn't it?"

"I have no intention of stealing anything, you worm," he spat at the insult. "I know my rights. I will purchase it."

"You can't do that."

His neck whipped around, and he snarled. "You would dare forbid—"

"I'm not forbidding you anything, Janhalar. I'm merely stating a fact," the man said. "Can you afford to buy the vestige off of him at market value?"

He hesitated at that one. "I'm not—"

"Exactly," the lord confirmed, "you're not going to buy it at market value. You'll scam the fuck out of the poor boy. He won't be able to refuse an 'offer' from someone like you, even if it is extremely unfavorable. Such an exchange cannot be considered a consensual transaction, so I will be treating it the same as theft."

"That decision has no legal standing," he spat.

"That will be for the empress to decide," the lord stubbornly persisted.

His expression darkened. "You would go that far?" He bared his teeth, growling at the bastard. "I did not take you for someone who behaved like this, Basilisk. If you proceed, I will consider it hostility against my faction. Are you sure you want that?"

"Declare me an enemy then, and see what happens. I dare you."

Janhalar stood, maintaining eye contact with the lord for a few seconds. Then he turned around and started walking. "I've taken all that I'm interested in," and with those words, he left the tent.

"I liked you quite a bit more when you were quiet!" the lord yelled from within the tent, causing him to grit his teeth harder.

The streets around the tent were thickly populated with men in uniforms. Things were already moving. The nearby buildings were already being deconstructed in preparation for turning this entire area into a hub. With such easy access to the realm, it might even become one of the largest on the planet.

If he could secure his clan's position, they would soar. And to do that, he needed power.

Very well, then, Freddy Stern, he thought. I'll show you what happens to those who take what's rightfully mine.

***

Bloodshed sat obediently in the small box, waiting for Master to command it further. As it sat there expectantly, a long time passed, but nothing happened.

Master had told it to remain within this room. But there were no restrictions regarding moving around it. Its skeletal hand touched the barrier surrounding it. And as it focused, it began slipping through the thin box. Bit by bit, it phased forward, and soon enough, it went through—and fell to the ground with the wet splat of blood oozing off its bones.

"What are ye, ya creepy fucking thing?"

Bloodshed turned, spotting the small vestige that appeared like a pile of boxes. Not even seconds later, the creature was turned into splotches of tumbling brown wisps. It grasped one, clutching until it crushed it and absorbed a small portion of the dissipating ether.

A few other vestiges hid around the shelves and within the boxes.

Grasping another one by its wiry legs, Bloodshed bent its victim's body until it, too, began dissipating.

"I will be preparing, Master…" it said impatiently, "for the glorious day where we spill all the blood there is."

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