The Kin-Slayer’s Hallucination

  "This planet is a graveyard," Sam commented, kicking a virtual rock through the gray dust. It passed right through his holographic foot, disturbing nothing. "Look around. No vitality. No mana. Just a wasteland."

  Amara and Aryan moved through the ruins of what used to be a city. The air didn't just smell like ash; it tasted metallic, like licking a rusty battery. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was heavy, the kind of silence that comes after a scream is cut short.

  Aryan ignored the scenery. He was busy tearing into a massive leg of roasted meat with desperate hunger. The Multiplier Effect demanded fuel, and his Rank Five body burned calories like a furnace. Grease stained his chin, but he didn't care. The hunger was a physical pain, a void in his stomach that mirrored the emptiness of the landscape.

  "Since we are here," Aryan said between bites, "and the Resistance class said they'll dump that info packet into our heads... give us the summary."

  Sam floated closer, a devilish grin on his holographic face.

  "You look like you're struggling, kid. You miss my 'Nutrient Smoothie', don't you? Want me to blend that bone, dirt, and some radioactive moss into a shake?"

  Aryan turned green. "Spare me. I'd rather let Monarch Markus torture me than drink that sludge again."

  "Hahaha. Suit yourself," Sam laughed, his expression turning serious. "Here is the situation. This planet encourages two paths to power."

  "Path A," Nine interjected, her voice devoid of emotion. "Slay a higher rank. Instant promotion, faster growth. High corruption risk."

  "Path B," Sam continued. "Cultivate diligently. Takes three times the effort, but keeps your sanity intact. You two are on Path B."

  "Except we haven't slayed anyone to rank up yet," Nine noted. "Amara was a Peace Officer. Her encounters were defense. But here... they hunt for sport. Every shadow could be a predator."

  BOOM.

  The conversation was cut short by a shockwave that rattled their teeth. The ground trembled, sending puffs of gray dust into the air.

  Fifty meters ahead, the air cracked. Three figures blurred in and out of existence, their weapons colliding with enough force to shatter eardrums. The energy pressure was suffocating, distorting the light around them like a heat haze.

  [Scan Initiated.]

  [Targets: Rank Five Warriors (Early, Middle, Late).]

  [Status: Kin-Slayers.]

  "Oh, good," Aryan muttered, wiping grease from his mouth. "They haven't noticed us. Let's keep it that way."

  They turned to leave, but the madness of the battlefield spiraled out of control.

  "I MUST SLAY YOU!" the Early-Stage warrior screamed. His eyes were bleeding crimson, his sanity completely eroded.

  "Try me!" the Middle-Stage warrior sneered.

  "DIE!"

  The Early-Stage warrior didn't attack. He grabbed his opponent, and his chest glowed with blinding white light. The veins in his neck bulged, pulsing with unstable energy.

  Self-Destruction.

  Aryan flinched, bracing for a nuclear-level blast. A Rank Five detonation should have vaporized the entire state.

  Phut.

  The explosion happened, but it was... contained. The shockwave barely knocked over a nearby wall. The suicidal warrior and his victim were turned to mist, but the ground beneath them didn't even crack. It was as if an invisible hand had crushed the explosion into a tiny ball.

  "What?" Aryan blinked, shielding his eyes. "That was a Rank Five core detonation. Why are we still alive?"

  "The System," Nine explained quickly. "The Law of Suppression. When entities of the same rank fight, the damage is capped to protect the planet. And since a Warlord resides nearby, their pressure suppresses the blast radius."

  "Convenient," Amara muttered.

  "Otherwise the whole universe would had gone extinct. This law is same everywhere." Amara said.

  But the fight wasn't over.

  The Late-Stage warrior—the sole survivor—stood amidst the bloody mist. He flicked the gore off his blade. He began to sheath it, but then... he paused.

  He sniffed the air.

  Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head. His cold, dead eyes looked past the rubble and locked directly onto Aryan.

  He sees us.

  DING.

  It wasn't Sam. It wasn't Nine. The sound came from the sky, vibrating in their very bones like a bell tolling for a funeral.

  [Planetary System Alert.]

  [Threat Level: Detected.]

  [Mission Updating...]

  Text appeared in the air, glowing with the authority of the world itself.

  [Problem Identified: The Warlord is too strong.]

  [New Objective: Acquire Allies.]

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  [Reward Calculation Complete.]

  [Reward for Defeating the Enemy Warlord:]

  [The "Life Expectancy Timer" (Current: 41 Days) will be PAUSED.]

  [Duration: 1 Year.]

  Aryan and Amara froze.

  41 Days left to live... or 1 Year of freedom if they won this war.

  The Late-Stage warrior grinned, showing teeth stained pink. He raised his sword and took a step toward them.

  "All the best," the text seemed to mock them as it faded.

  [The Fight]

  The Late-Stage Warrior walked toward them. He didn't run. He didn't shout. He dragged his sword through the gray dust, leaving a trail of sparks that sizzled in the dead air.

  [Scan Complete.]

  [Enemy Status: Sanity Level 5%.]

  [Diagnosis: The System has consumed his frontal lobe. He is hallucinating.]

  "Amara," Aryan whispered, his hand hovering over the hilt of his weapon. "Stay back."

  Amara paused. Her daggers were already half-drawn. "He is Late-Stage, Aryan. His matter density is double yours. One mistake, and he takes your head."

  "I know," Aryan said, stepping forward. "But if I hide behind you forever, I’ll never bridge the gap to Rank Six. I need to understand what 'Corruption' truly looks like."

  Amara stared at him for a split second, then stepped back. "Don't die. The smoothie tasted bad, but your funeral would taste worse."

  The warrior stopped ten meters away. He tilted his head, his neck cracking audibly. His eyes were bleeding—not from a wound, but because his tear ducts were ruptured by mana pressure.

  "Mom?" the warrior whispered, looking directly at Aryan. "Why are you standing there? I told you to stay in the kitchen."

  Aryan froze. The word hung in the air, grotesque and wrong. "He thinks I'm his mother?"

  "He killed her," Sam’s voice echoed in Aryan’s skull, cold and clinical. "He killed her to rank up. Now his System is projecting her face onto his victims to justify the killing loop. It’s a coping mechanism for a broken mind."

  The warrior’s face twisted from confusion to rage.

  "Why are you holding a weapon, Mom?!" he shrieked. "I told you I did it for us! I did it for the family! WHY WON'T YOU STAY DEAD?"

  BOOM.

  The ground beneath the warrior exploded. He vanished.

  "Duck," Sam ordered.

  Aryan didn't question it. He dropped to his knees instantly.

  SWISH.

  A blade made of red, corrupted energy sliced the air where Aryan’s neck had been a microsecond ago. The wind pressure alone cut Aryan’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

  "Fast!" Aryan gasped, rolling away.

  He scrambled to his feet. The warrior was already turning, his movements jerky and unnatural, like a puppet on strings.

  "Don't look at me like that!" the warrior screamed, swinging his sword.

  [Seer Ability: Active.]

  [Predicting Trajectory...]

  Time seemed to slow. Aryan saw the red line of the attack. It wasn't just a swing; it was a desperate lash of energy.

  He’s aiming for the ribs.

  Aryan stepped inside the guard. Instead of blocking, he deflected. He slapped the flat of the warrior's blade, redirecting the momentum into the ground.

  CLANG.

  The warrior stumbled.

  "Now!" Aryan gritted his teeth. He channeled his Matter—the heavy, golden energy of his Greed essence—into his fist.

  PUNCH.

  He slammed his fist into the warrior’s jaw. It felt like punching a tank. The bone didn't give; it felt dense, reinforced by years of corruption.

  The warrior’s head snapped back, blood spraying, but he didn't fall. He just laughed. A wet, gurgling sound.

  "That tickles, Mom," the warrior giggled, blood pouring from his mouth. "You always hit soft."

  The warrior grabbed Aryan’s wrist. His grip was like a vice clamp.

  "Warning," Nine shouted. "Matter Surge detected! He’s going to crush your bone!"

  "Get off!" Aryan roared.

  He didn't pull away. He pushed. He flooded his arm with the raw density of his physical training. The air around his arm shimmered with heat.

  CRACK.

  The warrior’s fingers broke. Aryan ripped his hand free and backflipped away.

  "He doesn't feel pain," Aryan noted, wiping sweat from his eyes. "His brain is completely fried. He’s just a meat suit for the System."

  "Stop running!" the warrior cried, tears streaming down his bloody face. "I need the XP! If I get to Rank Six, I can bring you back! I just need one more kill! Just one more!"

  The madness in the man's voice was heartbreaking. He truly believed that murdering his "mother" again would save her. It was a twisted, infinite logic loop.

  "This is the fate of the Kin-Slayer," Sam said somberly. "They kill for power, and the power drives them to kill again to fix the guilt. It is an infinite loop of hell."

  Aryan’s grip tightened on his weapon. The pity vanished, replaced by a cold resolve.

  "Then I’ll do him a favor," Aryan whispered. "I’ll end the loop."

  The warrior charged again, screaming in agony.

  This time, Aryan didn't dodge. He stood his ground. His eyes glowed with the blue light of the Seer and the gold light of Greed.

  [Seer Prediction: The Heart.]

  The warrior thrust his sword. Aryan sidestepped at the last millisecond. The red blade grazed his armor, scorching the metal.

  Aryan drove his own blade forward.

  SHUNK.

  His blade pierced the warrior’s chest, sliding directly between the ribs and piercing the core.

  The warrior froze. The red aura around him died instantly, like a candle snuffed out.

  He looked down at the blade in his chest. Then he looked up at Aryan. The madness in his eyes cleared for a brief second. The monster vanished, leaving only a scared boy.

  "Mom?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "I... I hurt..."

  "Rest now," Aryan said softly. "It's over."

  He twisted the blade.

  The warrior slumped forward. His body didn't explode. It simply crumbled into gray ash, his corrupted matter finally releasing its hold on reality.

  [Enemy Defeated.]

  [Warning: Corrupted Essence Detected. Do not absorb.]

  Aryan stood there, breathing hard. His hand was shaking. Not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the tragedy. The ash swirled around his boots, a grim reminder of a life wasted.

  Amara walked up behind him. She didn't clap. She just placed a hand on his shoulder.

  "You hesitated at the end," she stated calmly.

  "He saw his mother," Aryan said, looking at the pile of ash.

  "He saw a target," Amara corrected. "And so did you. That is the only reason we are standing here."

  "But I can't understand it," Aryan said, his voice cracking. He looked at his trembling hands. "The kills and the kills... can't we avoid them? It's getting generic. It feels like we are nothing but food to each other. Nothing more, nothing less. This kind of life... it sucks."

  Amara's face hardened, but her eyes softened. She squeezed his shoulder.

  "If you don't do it, they will. It is inevitable, Aryan."

  "This is the second person I had... I had slayed..." Aryan whispered.

  "I know. It sucks," Amara said. "But look around. This planet is a graveyard. If the universe had a better solution, they wouldn't have let us 'Other Worlders' participate in this war. They are hoping for a miracle."

  She paused, letting him collect himself.

  "Your Mother is still in the hospital, Aryan," Sam said gently in his head.

  Aryan stiffened. That was a low blow, but it worked. The reminder of why he was here cut through the pity.

  "Right," Aryan said, wiping the sweat and ash from his face. His voice hardened. "The fastest way to stop this... is to build the world we want. To save the next generation from becoming this."

  He looked at the pile of ash one last time.

  "Let's find the Allies," Aryan said. "We need the resources of the two countries if we want to change anything."

  Amara nodded. "Good. Let's move before—"

  CLICK.

  The sound of a safety catch disengaging echoed through the silent valley.

  Then another. Then a dozen. The sound was unmistakable—the charging of heavy mana capacitors.

  Aryan spun around.

  On the cliffs surrounding them, twenty figures stood up. They wore tattered white cloaks—the mark of the Resistance. But they didn't look like heroes. They looked like ghosts wrapped in rags, their eyes hollow with exhaustion and burning with the fanaticism of the cornered.

  They had heavy mana-rifles pointed directly at Aryan’s skull. The barrels hummed with a high-pitched whine, unstable and dangerous.

  "Don't move, Kin-Slayer!" a woman’s voice rang out, trembling with fear and rage.

  Aryan blinked. "What? No, we are—"

  "I SAID DON'T MOVE!" the woman screamed. She looked at the pile of ash, then at Aryan's glowing red Seer eyes, then at the black Greed aura leaking from his skin.

  "We saw you," she spat. "You slaughtered a mentally broken man. You twisted the blade while he cried for his mother. You monsters are all the same."

  "Uh oh," Sam muttered. "I think your 'Aura' might be a bit too... villainous for the good guys."

  Aryan raised his hands slowly. "This is going to be complicated."