What had actually changed? Very little, to be honest.
Dark Waters still saturated the entire wetland, coiled beneath the surface like liquid tripwires ready to latch onto everything unruly enough. Though they remained out of sight, every inch of this treacherous bog belonged to Levia.
Nomine remained restrained and battered, his head held inches above the murky surface by Levia’s fist pulling his hair, water lapping his chin with each labored breath. On his part, the young heir showed nothing, neither satisfaction nor disgust, though Neon suspected it was due to emotional numbness rather than any kind of augment-enabled control.
Soldiers continued littering the place, menacing even after losing two members. Pessimista and the remaining three stood in their own posts, scattered like chess pieces waiting for a new command from the dastardly conductor sitting comfortably on his throne.
Yeah. The only difference was a very, very minute one. Yet it meant the world.
Hoax wrongly assumed Neon had been leashed into obedience.
The rookie forced his posture into the same mechanical stiffness as the others. Shoulders all the way back, knees barely bent, and arms rigid at his sides tensed to a snapping point. It was so… Uncomfortable. His spine was made to shrimp in front of a desk —absolutely not for a militarized mannequin reenactment.
But it was a necessary sacrifice in order to maintain the illusion. As long as Hoax was convinced Panspermic Infection had successfully wormed its way down his brain like with everyone else, he had a window, an opportunity.
"Finally, silence. What a crass lowlife." Oh, mighty rich coming from the decrepit yapper. Wasn’t easy to hold his tongue back, but grinding his teeth behind closed lips helped. “Now that we won’t be interrupted, let us proceed onto the main scene.”
One tiny issue made all of this very precarious. It was only a matter of time before he was found out, considering Hoax’s predilection towards non-verbal commands. Sooner or later, he’d tap that cane of his and expect Neon to dance. Better to think of what to do before he failed the status check.
"What differentiates the strong from the weak?"
Ah, well. Frustrating as he was to hear talk, at least the old man seemed more preoccupied with pontificating over his own vainglory. Let him enjoy every second of this false victory. Neon would make damn sure the fall from this height would be all the more strepitous.
“It isn’t wealth.” Hoax gestured expansively with his cane, monologuing like some movie villain that forgot the camera had packed up and gone home already. “Nor station. Not even physical prowess, or all the augments one could ever accumulate.”
>> “Those are but tools. In the hands of someone who doesn’t understand their proper application, they might as well be rocks clutched by an infant.”
His milky eyes fixed on Nomine with something approximating satisfaction, like a connoisseur admiring an expensive bottle of wine before it was uncorked.
“And none of them rival cunning. It’s superior intellect that triumphs. Every single time. That is what truly separates us, Black Lion.”
Nomine’s only response was a wet, rattling coughing as Levia wrenched his head higher as if presenting a trophy. Mud streamed down the veteran’s nose and mouth, but even waterboarded and broken, his eyes still burned with unmistakable hatred.
Good to know. He wasn’t gone yet.
"Your prowess and achievements are commendable, that I do admit. I truly can’t fathom a reason for the Sae-Deu Group to surrender such competent pawn.”
>> “I’m well acquainted with your combat style. The elegance with which you wield that blade. Those sharp instincts, honed through repeated violence. And while you’re not particularly insulting to look at either, it’s that cruelty of yours that enraptures the most. That utter lack of conscience.”
>> “But that bloodlust is your greatest flaw, the Achilles heel that convinced you brutality could substitute strategy. Your blade is sharp, yes. Pity the same cannot be said for your mind.”
>> “You never stood a chance against me. I knew you’d come before you ever set foot in this marsh. All I had to do was set the trap and wait for the feral mutt to walk into it.”
The old man leaned forward on his throne, savoring each word.
“And now I’m going to take everything from you. Dismantle you, piece by piece. Strip away that so-called reputation. Prove that the infamous Black Lion is nothing but a rabid animal, easily caged by an apex predator.”
Neon’s jaw clenched behind his frozen expression.
What was the point of all this endless rambling? The only people in this place were Hoax, his sock-puppet son, and all his soon-to-be victims. Who was this performance for?
The revenge the old man allegedly coveted so much sat right there. One more instruction and it’d be over. And yet he dragged it out. Pontificated like some grand philosopher.
It didn’t track. Disgusting as Hoax was, Neon couldn’t buy that someone this meticulous would waste time playing cartoon villain for an amphitheatre of corpses and mind-slaves.
But if this was performance, if this bog was his stage, then…
You also brought shame to the entire Von Drachenfels name for everyone to laugh at.
There was no denying reality just because he lacked solid proof. Hoax had made it abundantly clear. Someone, somehow, was watching them. Pointed and laughed at their misery and pain. Betted on outcomes, probably, sipping expensive drinks while they tore each other apart.
The VileSports weren't just a game. They were a spectacle.
Neon’s blood went from cold to boiling in the space of a heartbeat.
Somewhere safe out there, way beyond this manufactured arena, way beyond whatever it was that transmitted this carnage… People were watching.
Watched the expression on Plaza’s face as she died. Watched Whisper’s body split open. Watched CC crumple with a blade through her chest. Watched Teitai’s head roll. Watched Nomine become a vehicle for their amusement.
Every drop of blood, every scream, every moment of agony.
All of it entertainment.
"To think you were partnered with such a pitiful-looking boy.” Hoax’s words snapped Neon back to reality, sharpened by resentment. “A brat rookie, helpless and useless.”
Was it a show that they wanted? Better watch this one very closely, then.
“I wonder if those traits made you feel protective of him.”
Protective? Who? Nomine? Pfft. The absurdity almost made him break character with the urge to laugh, but the impulse died as soon as Hoax’s cane struck the ground with the finality of a judge’s gavel.
“How tragic it would be for him to be the one who cuts you down.”
Oh. Shit. That was his cue.
Context clues, Neon. Context clues.
Careful not to oversell it, Neon forced his limbs into jerky and resistant motions. Hoax wanted Nomine cut down, and there was only one thing nearby that could do it. He shuffled down where Chameleon’s body lay half-submerged in water, closing his fingers around the hilt jutting from her throat.
Blood warmed his hands in a way that made his stomach turn, worsened by the wet sound that emerged when he pulled the blade free. Don’t think about where this thing was. Don’t think about her. Just move.
Unavoidably disgusted as he was, Neon guided his feet through the shallow waters, each step mechanical in nature. He didn’t need to guess Hoax’s orders to know where to walk. Nomine.
“Wouldn’t it be better to—”
“To what? Dirty your hands with his vulgar blood?” Hoax interrupted his son mid-objection, tone casual but imposing. Levia’s expression soured, letting go of Nomine with a face full of unspoken curses. “No need for that. Neon will handle the filth for us. The irony alone is exquisite.”
Dark Waters answered by coiling around Nomine’s forearms, wrenching him up to a kneeling position like a criminal presented for execution. But Levia? He simply watched the approach like witnessing a car crash in slow motion.
When Neon finally closed the distance, equally kneeling in front of the veteran, the young heir averted his gaze entirely. Coward.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“But you won’t be killed quickly, Black Lion. No. Your death will be slow. Gradual and agonizing. We shall return the suffering you inflicted upon Friedrich, magnified tenfold.”
From this close, Neon realized the damage was worse than he’d initially assumed. Mud sullied Nomine’s face in thick smears, mixing with blood from a burst lip and what had to be a broken nose. His immaculate corvid hair now hung in matted tangles, sticking to his features by marsh water or worse.
His chest heaved with labored breaths, rattling like something vital had come loose inside. Even the undersuit showed tears now, revealing deeply bruised flesh underneath.
And yet… Those silver eyes still burned.
Was it just fury? Hm. There was certainly some… No, a lot of that. But there was also something much stronger. Surrender? Or obstinance? Guilt? Or acceptance? Exhaustion? Or verve? Neon didn’t know how to read it.
Neon leaned further, positioning himself directly in Nomine’s line of sight alone. The rookie kept his movements stiff, but gradually, he allowed his hair to fall into a curtain to protect this lone man from the watching world.
“Your undershell may be resilient, but it’s no match for our top-of-the-line military-grade steel. DrachenTech engineering, naturally.” Behind them, Hoax droned on. His speech sounded like he had rehearsed extensively in front of a mirror, and wouldn’t accept deviating even one single line from the script. “And I believe most appropriate that we commence with those fingers. The very ones that wielded your blade with such devastating proficiency.”
“Looking a bit rough there, buddy.” Neon sent the words directly down their mental link, unable to contain a very faint smile. Nomine’s pupils contracted immediately, wavering in genuine shock stronger than any control or composure. “What? Did you really expect me to follow some old fuck’s orders?”
>> “I never obey. Shouldn’t you already know that?”
“Yes. They would make for the finest of trophies. I’m certain Friedrich will appreciate mementos on the empty grave we were forced to inter due to your actions.”
Fingers? He’d have to cut fingers?
No way…
“I fail to see how that’s necess—”
"Dieter!” The name exploded from Hoax’s mouth with enough venom to make Levia physically recoil. “What have I told you, over and over, about speaking out of turn!?”
“Yes, father. I understand. But this is just…”
>> “… Aren’t we supposed to be better than this?”
“You spineless disappointment.” Disgust dripped like acid designed to flay skin from bone. “You served your purpose. Barely. Now you stand there, questioning my righteous wrath for the death of your brother!?”
>> “Friedrich would have never demonstrated this kind of weakness!”
Levia’s shoulders hunched inwards. He looked smaller suddenly. Younger. Like a child bracing for punishment.
“I’m giving you simple tasks. Subdue the animal. And even that required my strategic brilliance to execute properly. You’re fortunate I don’t require your irritating participation next. Go. Make yourself useless elsewhere.”
>> “Remove yourself from my sight before you taint this moment further.”
The dismissal hung in the air like a slap. Levia stood frozen, fingers curling and uncurling in aborted gestures, lips working around words that never came. Then, something inside him gave way, sagging with defeat, with the dissociation of someone who’d learnt that emotion only made things worse.
He turned mechanically, then walked towards the swamp’s edge without another word. Neon watched him go, tracking how Levia’s trembling hand disappeared into a pocket almost with desperation. The click of a lighter echoed across the stagnant waters, followed by the scent of burning tobacco carried on the breeze.
“Now then.” Hoax’s voice returned to its usual cadence, as if he hadn’t shown such a profound ugliness just moments ago. “Proceed, Neon.”
>> “Remove the fingers from his right hand and bring them to me. We will continue with other parts later, after he’s had time to appreciate what he’s lost.”
Neon’s grip trembled as he lifted Nomine’s hand with his free one. He felt the veteran’s heartbeat, his coldness, his limpness. Was he calm, even now? What a stark contrast from him, and how he wished to have at least a fraction of that ruthless composure.
In a way, this was a debt that needed payment. Nomine had painted their night in blood without hesitation, and Neon… Neon hadn’t forgiven.
But…
“I’ll get us through this.” He steadied himself by locking gazes with Nomine. Would’ve been almost intimate, if not for the nightmarish pain to come. “So prepare yourself until then.”
The blade’s edge caught moonlight as he positioned it carefully, precisely. His hands shook, but not due to any spore. This was all him. All genuine terror at what he was about to do.
Knife met flesh.
It required pressure at first, more than expected, but then skin parted with revolting ease, like slicing through fruit. Resistance came only once he encountered denser tissue, then some more at the bone. Blood welled immediately, hot and thick, painting both their hands red.
Every nerve in Neon’s body screamed at him to stop. To find any other way. But his hands kept working, sawing through cartilage with sounds that turned his stomach inside out.
His vision blurred —From tears or shock, he wasn’t sure. Didn’t want to make sure. There was only the knife, the first severed finger, and the blood pooling in his palms, making his grip slip. He had to readjust around the handle to move on to the second digit. And then the third.
By the time the final finger fell away, Neon’s entire body was shaking like a leaf that got caught in hurricane winds and was then electrocuted for good measure. The knife clattered from his numb hand, splashing into shallow water. His arms, slick with gore, hung uselessly at his sides.
“Excellent work.” Hoax’s voice cut through the haze in his head, sharp and expectant. “Now bring them to me. Don’t keep me waiting, boy.”
The flesh felt wrong to the touch. Like handling something never meant to exist separately from its whole. Fresh blood still seeped down, but his hoodie’s wide sleeves helped conceal the worst of it.
He rose on legs that barely held them, each new footfall carrying him towards the throne where rot masquerading as aristocracy waited with open, eager hands.
This was it. Course set to the only chance he’d get.
In need of something to keep his mind and body from complete collapse, Neon brought up his interface mid-walk, ignoring the system’s warnings about his vitals to probe at Hoax’s hidden arsenal.
[Skill: Panspermic Infection Lvl 10] <>
Perfect symbiosis, craving slaves.
[Trait: Atom is Non-Servant]
I, apostle of total unsubmission.
[Trait: Worship Industrialized]
Blind worms praise their own demise.
<>
Great. Just great. Thinking. Exactly what he needed. Sigh.
At least the fossil wasn't loaded with dozens upon dozens of the things.
Touching Hoax would let him disable one augment, but only one alone. No do-overs. No save-scumming. Messing up here wasn’t an option, amusing as it’d be to politely request an hour-long intermission for a retry.
So what did each of those augments do?
The obvious play here was to take away Panspermic Infection. It was the linchpin of Hoax’s build, and the foundation of this rotten kingdom.
And yet… Neon hesitated.
His head went to Door with a Smile, then to Vengeful Spit. Skills that worked in tandem with a trait that enabled them. Descriptions, frustratingly vague as they were, were important hints to their nature.
It was difficult to think straight, but bit by bit, Neon formed a theory.
Panspermic Infection created and diffused the spores. Gave them power to gnaw away at someone’s insides, spreading and multiplying until they became the oppressive weight he felt inside his lungs even now.
If he was right, disabling the skill wouldn’t release anyone already infected. It’d only stop Hoax from making more of them. So he had to aim for the strings themselves, for the trait that transformed mindless spores into leashes.
There was barely any need to ask which. Atom is Non-Servant might as well have been something that filtered oxygen around Hoax so that he wouldn’t need to breathe in the air of peasants. Who cared?
Worship Industrialized was the target.
By the time Neon had convinced himself to take the gamble, he was already standing before Hoax’s throne, his own severed fingers nestled inside a blood-soaked palm.
In his wobbling silence, Hoax’s eyebrow arched.
"What are you waiting for? Kneel and hand me those fingers."
Cane struck ground again. Tap, tap. Like a conductor discovering that his baton had never made any music, only now did Hoax realize how useless it all was.
A weak smile formed on Neon’s lips, half-delirious, half-triumphant. The gesture made Hoax’s expression crack even further, eyes bulging, mouth opening in shock yet barely making any noise.
"D... Diete—!"
Neon didn't let him complete the cry for help. He mustered every ounce of strength left in him to lunge towards Hoax, shoving what the old man coveted so much directly into his mouth for him to choke on them.
For as painful as it was to lacerate his own fingers… This made it all worth. Wouldn’t have been the same if he had hurt Nomine to achieve it.
Plus, he needed the veteran in the best shape he could.
His intact arm immediately locked around the Hoax’s neck, laughing as his ruined hand slapped the old man’s head like a bongo. Again. Again. Painting that pristine silver hair with the colours of blood.
“Ahahaha!” Laughter kept bubbling up, uncontrollable, hysterical. Maybe it was blood loss that left him like this. Maybe he was already going mad himself. Either way, the collective shock tasted delicious. “The worst is yet to come, Hoaxie…”
>> "... I can do more than just resist your shitty spores."
"Dieter!" Panic tincted Hoax's voice after he spat Neon's fingers away, stripping decades of make-believe refinement. “Get… Get this miserable runt off m—”
But pleading to his son now wouldn't change a thing.
Neon’s consciousness brushed against that singular point of decision —the mental trigger to activate Ours to Steal, and disable Worship Industrialized.
The effect was immediate, like a fracture in the very fabric of the wetlands.
And the first to move was Nomine.
Black Metal materialized like a black sun rising in the fog. Violence made manifest, the veteran erupted forward, unshackled.
And Neon? He just needed to lift Hoax’s head. Expose his neck for the descending dark angel to reap.