The Outskirts stretched before Kael like a cracked, dying wound—a wasteland of shattered villages and rusted memories. The earth was scarred, dotted with the skeletal remains of homes burned to ash, and the air tasted bitter with smoke and decay.
Kael moved carefully, the bloodstone compass clutched tight in his hand, its pulse syncing with his own heartbeat. The crimson gem flickered erratically, as if alive, tugging him deeper into the wasteland.
His footsteps crunched softly on the cracked earth, but the silence was deceptive. Eyes watched him from every broken doorway, every shattered fence. Survivors — gaunt, hollow-eyed figures — peeked out, their faces etched with desperation and suspicion.
A thin woman stepped forward from the shadows, clutching a ragged bundle to her chest. Her voice was a cracked whisper.
"Stranger… the Bloodhunters are near. You carry their mark. Turn back before they find you."
Kael shook his head, his voice firm but quiet.
"I'm not turning back. Not now."
He met her gaze. "What lies ahead?"
She glanced nervously behind him before speaking.
"Bandits… they rule these ruins. They kill for anything they can take. If you want to survive, you'll need more than a compass."
Kael nodded, steeling himself. He pushed onward, senses taut.
Suddenly, a shout tore through the silence.
From behind a crumbled wall, a group of ragged scavengers sprang forward, weapons raised—knives, rusted blades, makeshift clubs.
"Got ourselves a visitor!" snarled a rough voice.
Kael barely had time to react before his heart hammered fiercely, his Blood Core igniting with a savage rhythm. The world slowed, then blurred.
With a burst of speed unlike anything he'd known, Kael surged forward, a streak of crimson light trailing him as he dashed between his attackers. His legs moved faster than thought, his breath shallow and quick.
The lead bandit swung a club, but Kael twisted aside, the weapon missing by inches.
His pulse drummed louder, each beat fueling the Blood Pulse Dash — a new, terrifying power coursing through his veins.
One by one, the bandits faltered, caught off guard by his sudden ferocity and speed. They stumbled, struggling to keep up as Kael moved like a ghost among them.
The fight was over in moments.
Kael stood among the battered forms, his chest heaving, eyes blazing.
The bandit leader, a grizzled man with a jagged scar across his cheek, collapsed to his knees, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead.
"Wait… please," the man rasped, voice shaky. "I'm done with this life. I swear it."
Kael crouched beside him, gaze cold but conflicted.
"You kill to survive out here. Why should I believe you'll change?"
The bandit swallowed hard, desperation flickering in his eyes.
"My wife and son… they're out there somewhere. I want to find them. I don't want to be a monster anymore."
Kael's grip on the compass tightened, the gem pulsing steadily now. The Blood System within him hissed, craving a darker choice. But Kael's voice was firm, tinged with a rare softness.
"Then go. Leave these ruins behind. If you ever hunt the weak again, I will find you—and end you."
The man nodded fiercely, relief washing over his face.
"You have my word."
Kael stood, looking out over the broken horizon.
The Outskirts were cruel, and the Blood System hungered—but Kael was determined. He would fight to keep his humanity, even as the shadows closed in around him.