["Skulls! More skulls!"]
["Blood! More blood!"]
["Find him! Find him!"]
["Son of Vulkan—bring me his skull!"]
Razor felt like he was going insane. Ever since he picked up that thing in the Hollow, his emotions had spiraled further out of control.
He dragged himself out of bed, indescribable fury blazing in his chest. That creature calling itself as the Blood God was whispering again, endless and maddening.
At first, he thought it was just some strange ailment from prolonged Ether exposure inside the Hollow, but no medicine or doctor could calm it.
When that useless doctor poked and prodded him without finding any clue, Razor suddenly lunged forward and tore open the man's throat.
As the blood splattered over his skin, peace—true, comforting peace—returned to him for the first time in ages. The bloodstained parts of his body grew stronger, harder.
The scent of blood made his head spin. Watching the man crawl across the floor, leaving a trail of red, fascinated him. He rushed forward, tearing the wound wider—lifting the corpse up.
The blood—warm, crimson, intoxicating—filled every inch of his being with raw power wherever it flowed. He felt his bones crack and stretch; his body grew larger, his muscles dense and powerful.
But the euphoria only lasted for a fleeting moment. When the blood stopped flowing, the rage returned, gnawing at his soul once again.
Though the Mountain Lion Gang's base was inside the Hollow, Razor always valued logistics. He and his honor guard lived quite comfortably in the Lion's Den.
He walked to the window. The Hollow outside was filled with ruined cityscapes—the remnants of the old capital, rich with hidden treasures waiting to be unearthed.
["Find him! Bring me the skull of the Son of Vulkan!"]
"Damn it…" Razor growled. That voice was giving him orders again.
Pain exploded in his skull. His blood felt like it was boiling, his strengthened muscles crushing bone and joint alike as he rolled on the floor in agony.
"I'll find him! Stop torturing me!" Razor screamed. The pain was so fierce that it obliterated thought itself—every nerve felt crushed and shattered.
"Quick! Bring me the sacrifice!" Razor roared. "Now!"
Footsteps echoed outside. His honor guards were moving—heading for the basement where the sacrifices were kept.
Perhaps appeased by the promise of blood, the voice in his head quieted slightly. The agony in his body eased.
He gasped like a fish out of water, sweat pooling beneath him in a warped puddle. Crawling back to his feet, his muscles spasmed uncontrollably, every motion painful.
He turned toward the bed. The thing that had ruined him was sitting right there.
It was an axe—massive and grotesque. Its metal body was studded with spikes, its crimson base framed with brass filigree, and countless tiny skulls formed an uneven eight-pointed star.
Its edge was unlike any blade; it was a row of heavy, jagged teeth. Pulling the trigger on the haft sent them spinning to life with a furious roar.
The weapon's lethality was horrifying. Recently, Razor had ambushed a small patrol of Defense Force soldiers and their Sentinel-III autonomous combat mech inside the Hollow. The four-meter-tall steel giant was shredded to pieces under his axe.
He had once tried throwing the weapon into a Hollow rift—but every time he returned to his room, it was waiting beside his bed… along with the Blood God's punishment.
Razor didn't know what this "Blood God" truly was, but he understood one thing: through that cursed axe, the entity had given him strength—and enslaved him.
The Blood God demanded skulls and blood. Razor could only keep hunting sacrifices. Fortunately, the Hollow was full of factions and wanderers, and the Mountain Lion Gang always managed to catch a few alive.
But lately, the demands had grown. The Blood god wanted specific skulls.
After satisfying its request for Leonard's skull days ago, the monster in his mind had begun chanting a new name—"Son of Vulkan." Razor had no idea who or what that was.
No gang in New Eridu called themselves "Salamanders." He had already sent his outer-ring contacts to search, but the thing in his head grew increasingly furious with each failure, torturing him relentlessly.
"Boss, the sacrifices are ready."
A burly man entered, shorter than Razor.
Razor hefted the axe and walked out. His honor guard had prepared eight captives—Hollow Raiders, Hollow Investigators, even a few Defense Force soldiers—all freshly caught in the Hollow.
"Untie them. Give them weapons."
At his order, the guards loosened their bonds and handed them blades and guns.
The captives were confused—attacked, captured, and now armed again? None understood what was coming.
"The Blood God doesn't want the blood of the unarmed," Razor declared. "Pick up your weapons! Defeat me, and you walk free!"
He swept the axe across the air, eyes burning red.
"I'll fight!" said a Defense Force soldier, stepping forward with twin daggers. He lowered his stance and charged.
Razor heard a guttural laugh—the Blood God was pleased with this offering.
"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!" Razor bellowed, charging with inhuman speed.
His colossal body whipped up a gust that swallowed the soldier whole. The axe roared, its jagged teeth hungry for flesh.
They passed each other. Blood filled the air. The soldier's head flew skyward.
Razor caught it midair, and crimson-black fire engulfed it. Flesh burned away, leaving a clean white skull.
The other captives screamed, while the Mountain Lion Gang cheered in ecstasy.
Fueled by the scent of blood, Razor felt power coursing through him. He felt invincible. Even an armored vehicle from the Public Security Bureau couldn't stop him now.
"Next! The Blood God calls!" Razor panted, drunk on bloodlust.
The captives froze, none daring to step forward.
The guards shoved them into the arena of death. Seven more entered the storm.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
Laughing madly, Razor swung his roaring axe, tearing bodies apart, decapitating heads. Blood rained. His men reveled in it, licking crimson droplets from their lips.
The severed heads burst into flame and burned clean, leaving polished skulls.
The guards gathered them and carried them outside. A great pile stood there already—eighty-eight skulls, now crowned with eight more.
When the ritual ended, Razor could feel the Blood God's satisfaction—temporary though it was.
The punishments were unbearable. He had to prepare more sacrifices before finding this "Son of Vulkan."
But where could he find them? The Blood God wanted only warriors, not helpless civilians. Abductions inside the Hollow were slow and unreliable.
Attack the Public Security Bureau? After Leonard's death, they'd tightened patrols, reinforced their weaponry. Even a skirmish could summon armored vehicles or gunships.
Fighting them head-on would be suicide.
The Defense Force? Even worse. Ambushing small squads was possible, but facing them openly would crush him.
He needed fighters—ones whose deaths wouldn't draw official eyes.
Razor thought hard—not his strong suit. He preferred brute strength to brains.
Then his gaze swept over his guards. Like him, they'd all been "blessed" by the Blood God—painting their gear red, carving skulls into armor.
And suddenly, an idea struck him.
Other gangs in New Eridu. They had enforcers, fighters—and nobody would care if they vanished. Better yet, there were plenty of them. Enough to keep the Blood God satisfied for a while.
"I remember Ironclaw Bear got killed not long ago," Razor muttered, recalling one of his old subordinates—a massive bear-man.
"Yes, boss," one of the guards replied. "They say a really tall guy burned him alive with a Molotov. Lit him up like a candle."
"Good. Then we'll cleanse that area," Razor said coldly. "And avenge our old friend while we're at it. That turf's crawling with gangs. We'll hunt, lions."
"Oh!"
His guards roared in excitement. Days of boredom had left them starving for slaughter.
"We move in waves," Razor ordered, voice hard. "Meet near the target zone. Too many of us together will draw attention from Public Security. Protect your Carrot data—if you're about to die, wipe it. No exceptions."
The thought of the coming bloodshed made every one of them tremble with anticipation.
More blood. More skulls. More battle. More blessings. More glory!
"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"