Chapter 37: Blood Frenzy

Chapter 37: Chapter 37: Blood Frenzy

The surviving B-Rank Blood-Mage did not flee. Recognizing that retreat was mathematically impossible against a Vanguard and an Investor whose synergy was actively feeding off one another, he opted for mutual destruction.

He plunged both of his pale hands directly into the bubbling, molten slag of the ruined plasteel door, ignoring the horrifying smell of his own cooking flesh.

"If we burn," the Blood-Mage hissed, "we take the light with us."

He violently ripped his hands upward, tearing the latent, boiling blood out of the ash of his fallen comrades. The bunker was instantly plunged into a thick, cloying crimson fog. It wasn’t just smoke; it was a physical, viscous miasma of dark magic. The blood-mist completely absorbed the ambient light, plunging the ruined entrance into absolute, suffocating darkness.

Worse, the mist was highly acidic. It immediately began sizzling against the dark-steel micro-mesh of Evelyn’s Obsidian Van-Armour.

"I’m blind!" Evelyn shouted, the sound of her voice muffled and swallowed by the dense red fog. She swung the Bloodhound’s Fang in a defensive arc, but the blade only cleaved empty air.

"Don’t move! Anchor your footing!" Donald ordered, his voice remarkably steady.

He squeezed his eyes shut. His physical vision was entirely useless here, and even his EX-Rank [Valuation Eye] required a line of sight to process data. He had to rely on something deeper. He focused entirely on his passive skill, [Lesser Mana Perception].

With his eyes closed, the world shifted. The bunker vanished, replaced by a dark, three-dimensional void in his mind’s eye. The blood-mist registered as a static, humming gray noise. But moving through that static were bright, freezing-cold voids of aggressive crimson mana.

The Blood-Mage hadn’t just cast a smokescreen. He had used the mist to resurrect the three shattered C-Rank initiates as mindless, blood-crazed thralls.

Four hostile signatures were moving through the fog, completely silent, rapidly closing in on Evelyn’s radiant, blazing blue core.

"I am your eyes!" Donald yelled, stepping flush against Evelyn’s back, his [Compound Interest] passive immediately spiking their combat stats. He kept his heavy Pile Bunker raised, acting as her shield, and surrendered the offense entirely to her. "Three o’clock! Four meters! High arc!"

Evelyn didn’t question him. She pivoted flawlessly on her right heel, her body coiled like a steel spring inside the Obsidian Van-Armour. She unleashed a vertical [Crescent Rend], the pressurized blue aura tearing a vacuum through the red mist.

A wet, heavy THUD echoed in the fog as a leaping thrall was cleaved cleanly in half before it could strike.

"Six o’clock, ground level! Sweep it!" Donald commanded.

Evelyn dropped low, spinning her leg in a sweeping kick that shattered the second thrall’s knees, immediately followed by a reverse thrust of her cursed blade that pierced the creature’s heart. It dissolved into ash instantly.

The choreography was beautiful, a terrifying dance of absolute trust. Donald acted as the radar, mapping the spatial coordinates of raw magic, while Evelyn executed the kinetic violence with flawless, brutal precision. They moved as a single, lethal organism in the suffocating dark.

"Nine o’clock, close! Defend!" Donald barked.

Evelyn brought her crossguard up just in time to deflect a heavy, jagged scythe forged entirely of crystallized blood. The third thrall shrieked, pressing its weight against her. Donald stepped out from behind her, shoved his Pile Bunker against the thrall’s ribcage, and pulled the trigger. The pneumatic piston roared, blowing the creature’s torso into a shower of gray dust.

"Only the Mage is left!" Donald called out, his mental map tracking the final, massive well of crimson mana. "He’s fast! Twelve o’clock, weaving left!"

Evelyn lunged forward, her blue Vanguard aura flaring bright enough to temporarily push back the red fog. She closed the distance in a fraction of a second, her blade poised to decapitate the Blood-Mage.

But it was a trap.

The Blood-Mage didn’t dodge. He stood his ground, letting Evelyn’s blade shear cleanly through his collarbone and deep into his chest. As the Bloodhound’s Fang buried itself in his heart, the Mage smiled—a gruesome, blood-stained baring of fangs.

He raised his left hand, revealing a jagged, obsidian dagger pulsing with a sickly, necrotic purple aura.

"Evelyn, pull back!" Donald roared, his [Mana Perception] suddenly screaming with the intensity of a lethal curse.

She tried to twist away, but the Blood-Mage had locked his shattered ribs around her sword, trapping her weapon.

With his dying breath, the Mage drove the dagger in a desperate, upward thrust. The blade bypassed the physical kinetic defense of the Obsidian Van-Armour, the necrotic magic phasing through the spider-silk mesh like a ghost, and sank deep into Evelyn’s right side, just below her ribs.

Evelyn gasped, a horrific, agonizing cold radiating from the wound.

Donald didn’t hesitate. He dropped the heavy Pile Bunker, surged forward, and conjured a compressed [Fireball] directly into his palm. He slammed his burning hand flat against the Blood-Mage’s face.

The detonation was point-blank. The Mage’s head was incinerated in a flash of fire, his headless body instantly turning to ash and dropping the cursed dagger to the floor.

[Target Killed: Wildfire Blood-Mage (B-Rank, Level 34).]

[Massive Experience Gained.]

With the caster dead, the blood-mist immediately lost its cohesion, dissipating into a thin, foul-smelling rain that left the concrete floors slick and wet.

The bunker was silent, save for the crackling of the molten plasteel doors and the ragged, heavy sound of Evelyn’s breathing.

She stood frozen for a second, her hand hovering over her right side. Then, her knees buckled.

"Evelyn!" Donald lunged forward, catching her before she hit the wet concrete. He wrapped his arms around her, gently lowering them both to the floor.

"I’m... I’m fine," Evelyn gritted out, her teeth clenched tightly together. But her face was deathly pale, and beads of cold sweat were already forming on her forehead. The puncture wound in her Obsidian Van-Armour was small, but the flesh beneath it was weeping a thick, unnatural black liquid. Dark, spidery veins of necrotic magic were actively spreading outward from the wound, climbing up her ribs.

Donald’s [Valuation Eye] automatically scanned the injury, the golden text flashing with urgent hostility.

[Status Effect Inflicted: Rank-B Blood-Curse (Necrosis).]

[Effect: Suppresses natural regeneration. Drains stamina rapidly. Lethal if untreated.]

"It’s a blood-curse," Donald said, his heart hammering against his ribs. The invincible Vanguard was suddenly incredibly fragile in his arms. "We can’t stay here. The blast doors are compromised. If they have a second squad waiting, we’re completely exposed." 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ

Evelyn nodded weakly, using Donald’s shoulder to push herself up. "Sub-Level 4... the generator room. There... Should be a... manual override vault... heavy steel."

"Right. Let’s go."

Donald grabbed his Pile Bunker with his left hand and wrapped his right arm firmly around Evelyn’s waist. He pulled her left arm over his shoulders, taking the vast majority of her weight. She felt impossibly heavy, her dense Vanguard muscles sapped of all their kinetic strength by the spreading curse.

They limped away from the ruined entrance, leaving the smoldering ash of the execution squad behind. They navigated the dark, labyrinthine concrete corridors of the subterranean bunker, moving deeper underground. Every step Evelyn took drew a sharp, suppressed hiss of pain.

They reached the end of the hallway, arriving at a thick, wheel-locked vault door leading to the old generator room. Donald kicked the locking mechanism, spun the heavy wheel with his enhanced strength, and shoved the door open.

They practically collapsed inside. Donald hit the emergency release, slamming the heavy steel door shut behind them and throwing the three deadbolts.

The generator room was small, lit only by the faint, pulsing blue glow of the massive, dormant mana-batteries lining the walls. It was dry, cold, and definitively secure.

A moment of absolute respite.

Donald gently lowered Evelyn onto a camping bed tucked in the corner of the room. She immediately leaned her head back against the concrete wall, her eyes fluttering shut. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. The spidery black veins of the curse had crept up past the collar of her armor, tracing sickeningly up the side of her neck.

"Donald," Evelyn whispered, her voice barely carrying over the hum of the dormant generators. She opened her eyes, looking up at him with a startling amount of vulnerability. The cynical edge was completely gone, replaced by raw, exhausting pain. "It’s freezing... my core is burning out trying to fight the rot."

"I’ve got you," Donald said, his voice thick with quiet desperation. He unstrapped his gauntlets, letting them clatter to the floor, and knelt beside the cot. "I’m the Investor, remember? I don’t let my assets crash."

He hovered his hands over the spreading black veins, his mind racing through his System inventory, desperately searching for a way to purge a B-Rank curse before it reached her heart.