The aftermath of the battle still lingered in the air—like smoke that refused to dissipate. Cracks marred the walls of the community center, broken windows stared out like hollow eyes, and the scent of scorched earth clung stubbornly to the wind.
Yet amidst that devastation, a strange pulse of life shimmered.
A faint hum stirred the air as Leo stood at the apex of the community center's entrance, his bloodied boots heavy against the cracked tiles.
The moment the system had officially declared him the Zone Lord of Dead Zone 3, a ripple of unseen force had surged through the air.
The crumbled parts of the community center groaned, shifting like awakened titans. Dust lifted. Cracks mended slowly.
The structure, once on the verge of collapse, repaired itself inch by inch—guided by unseen hands or perhaps some deeper connection to Leo's ascension.
He remained still, eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon beyond the encroaching forest that circled the settlement.
The Blood Path pulsed within him—not with its usual steady rhythm, but with sporadic surges, like heartbeats spurred by fear or anticipation.
Something was watching.
His gaze lingered northward, where the trees stood too still, where silence echoed too loud.
Whatever it was, it didn't step into the light.
Not yet.
But Leo could feel it. Like an itch beneath his skin, a warning crawling across his spine.
Still, there were other priorities. He turned, cape dragging through the ash-dusted path as he began a long and quiet patrol around the community.
The roads beyond had begun to warp—once-stable asphalt cracked into spiderwebs, and foliage crept across abandoned intersections, turning civilization into chaos.
Transportation between Zones would no longer be simple.
The reign of decay had begun.
...
Inside the community center, tension threaded itself into the daily rhythm.
Ana paced along the hallway lined with flickering emergency lights, her fingers twitching at her sides.
Despite Victoria's calm reassurance and Leo's continued survival, doubt gnawed at her mind.
Every conversation among the survivors ended with hushed words about him—about what he was becoming.
A leader.
A monster.
A tyrant.
She leaned against the cold wall, breathing shallowly, before slipping into a quiet meeting room.
There, Victoria sat cross-legged on a broken couch, scribbling notes across a salvaged notebook. Damien stood by the shuttered window, arms crossed.
"We need to talk," Ana began.
They exchanged glances, and then nodded.
"I don't know how much longer I can keep pretending everything's fine," she admitted, her voice low. "Leo's... changing. And I don't know if we're still following a man or something else entirely."
Victoria remained quiet, listening.
Damien didn't flinch. "You're afraid of what he might become. Or maybe what he already is."
Ana nodded slowly.
"I've seen him speak less. He's colder. Efficient. Like his humanity's peeling off."
"But he hasn't betrayed us," Victoria countered. "Not once. He's protected us, fed us, led us through hell. That has to count for something."
"Maybe," Ana said. "But if he decides we're in the way of whatever he's becoming…"
Silence lingered.
"Then we'll deal with it when it comes," Damien muttered. "But until then, we follow. Because the alternative is chaos."
Ana closed her eyes, nodding. "Then I'll try. I'll trust him. Even if part of me doesn't want to."
...
Out in the field, Leo suddenly staggered.
His vision flickered.
A heartbeat skipped.
Then—
He was gone.
Not physically, but pulled inward, dragged into the depths of his own bloodstream. Time halted. The world froze in crimson silence.
The Sovereign awaited.
A towering, twisted mirror of Leo's own soul—shimmering in dark robes, eyes like blood moons.
"We meet again," the Sovereign whispered. "The world bends at your feet, yet still you doubt."
"I don't trust you," Leo said evenly. "And I don't trust this... throne you want me to sit on."
The Sovereign chuckled.
"Yet you accept the power. Let me offer you the first of the Crimson Degrees. Law is the soul of an empire. You will carve yours into blood."
Runes flared across Leo's skin, burning into his flesh.
A new mutation pulsed through his veins.
"Blood shall obey blood," the Sovereign said, and with his clawed finger, he began to inscribe glowing marks onto Leo's arms, chest, and spine—script written in Leo's own blood.
When Leo awoke, gasping, he found himself kneeling in the forest.
And a notification flickered in front of his eyes:
[Blood Influence Unlocked]
Terrain Shaping Enabled
Blood Altars Available
Labyrinth Customization Enabled
But the question remained—how? How did the Sovereign have this power?
Was he above the system?
A rival?
A god?
...
Three days later, Leo returned to find strangers at the gates.
A dozen survivors—scarred, elite, hardened—arrived from Zone 5.
He narrowed his eyes. The journey should've taken weeks.
And one among them made his blood run cold.
A man with short black hair, striking gray eyes, and a lean, toned build. His name was Erik.
They had history.
Dark history.
Leo didn't acknowledge him.
But Erik smiled. A dangerous, knowing smile.
That night, the survivors whispered about Leo's return. And among those whispers, Erik stirred dissent.
...
Inside his quarters, Leo tested his new ability. A red pulse glowed in his palm as he shaped a small, thorned altar from his own blood, embedding it with minor commands to channel energy.
The blood responded like clay. Obedient. Alive.
Yet doubt festered.
"What is the Sovereign?" he muttered. "What is his game?"
He felt as if he were no longer walking his own path—but one carved long before he was born.
...
The weather turned.
The sky, once cracked in rare intervals, now split daily with jagged tears that bled crimson. Lightning hissed without storms. Rain carried whispers.
And with it came discontent.
Tensions boiled.
A group within the survivors began questioning Leo's command. Whispers turned to debates. Debates to shouts. Erik, charming and authoritative, took center stage in their gatherings.
He spoke of freedom.
Of a world not ruled by monsters.
Of rebellion.
Leo watched from afar. Silent. Cold.
He let it grow.
Then, when the murmurs reached their peak, he summoned Erik.
The crowd gathered.
Erik arrived confident, sure that his words alone would sway the mob.
Leo offered him a blade.
"Strike me down," he said. "Take Dead Zone 3 if you believe you can."
Humiliated but still prideful, Erik lunged.
The fight was over in seconds.
Leo didn't just defeat him—he broke him.
A speech followed:
"You seek democracy in hell? There is no freedom in survival. Only law. And power. I am both. Obey... or bleed."
He etched those words into the center wall of the community—with Erik's blood.
The rebellion died that day.
Fear took its place.
...
The days afterward slowed.
Survivors performed mundane tasks. Cooking. Scouting. Fixing walls. Life tried to return to a semblance of order, but Leo's looming presence kept it all in check.
He had become the symbol of power.
A monster to protect them from worse monsters.
And in the depths of the night, as storms roared above and blood altars pulsed softly in the earth, Leo sat on his throne carved from crimson stone.
Waiting.
For what came next.