[Chapter 14: End in Sight]
Time dragged on, agonizingly slow, as Searanox’s arms grew heavy from the continuous, rhythmic swings. Every fiber of his muscles burned with a dull, throbbing ache, but he knew he couldn't afford to stop now. They were three hours into the operation, and in time, nearly two dozen humans—guards, shift workers, and maintenance crews—had met their ends. For the last thirty minutes, the only symphony in the air was the frantic clucking of the chickens, the wet, sickening sounds of bodies being smashed against concrete, and the high-pitched zap-zap of the magical pulse-rifles mounted on his drones.
Searanox paused for a brief second, wiping a smear of blood from his sunglasses. He called up his Status window, watching the translucent blue text hover in the air amidst the floating feathers and the smell of ammonia. A small, tired smile formed on his face when he saw the "Level 7" indicator. He was getting closer.
[Status]
─ Name: Searanox
─ Race: Dhampir
─ Class: Dronemancer
─ Level: 7
─ HP: 105/105
─ TP: 28/140
─ Strength: 14 (+8) [+5%] → 23
─ Dexterity: 12 (+8) [+5%] → 21
─ Constitution: 14 (+8) [+5%] → 23
─ Intelligence: 21 (+8) [+5%] → 30
─ Agility: 14 (+8) [+5%] → 22
─ Willpower: 22 (+8) [+5%] → 32
Only twelve more hours to go, he thought, calculating the remaining population of the farm against their current kill rate. We should take a break when my drones run out their energy the next time.
He was momentarily lost in thought as he brought the heavy wooden plank down. He struck a chicken with such unnatural force that the creature crunched against the corrugated metal wall and fell lifelessly to the floor in a heap of white feathers. His forearms burned from the constant exertion, a localized fire that seemed to grow with every strike, but he continued nonetheless. He hit one chicken after another, moving with a mechanical, joyless precision. It was simpler than he had expected to kill on this scale; in fact, it felt like cheating. It was almost too easy.
`If you can just hunt down any living being to climb the ladder...`
Whack. Once again, the head of a chicken hit the ground lifelessly after a brutal swing with his makeshift paddle. He stepped over the carcass, his boots squelching in the thickening mire of blood and waste.
`I'd like to know how the others compare, he mused, his mind wandering to the rest of the world. If I'm in first place and Iris is in second, and we're both at Level 7, what level is the person in third place right now? Is anyone else even trying, or are they all still hiding in their basements waiting for the news to tell them what to do?`
He waited for a popup, a leaderboard, or some kind of global announcement. There was nothing. The System did not react at all; there wasn't even a flicker of confirmation or a hint of a ranking system. He sighed, accepting the silence of the interface, and continued his grim work. A few minutes later, his TP had recovered enough to resummon his drones. The air shimmered with blue light as the twin orbs materialized once more.
─ [+2 Active Drones]
─ [-10 TP]
The speed of the experience counter in the corner of his vision surged instantly. The wet smacking sound of the board hitting feathers was the only thing that filled the hall for a short while, punctuated by a distant scream from the next building that stopped with jarring abruptness. Searanox was so used to the sound of death by now that he didn't even look up. He didn't flinch. He just continued with his labor, a harvester in a field of meat.
After three hours of almost constant, soul-numbing slaughter, he finally hit the threshold. He was so engrossed in the mechanical motion of the kill that he barely noticed the text that flared across his retinas.
─ Bing! Level Up. You are now Level 8.
The surge of energy that accompanied the level-up washed over him, momentarily dulling the ache in his muscles and clearing the fog from his mind. As the drones' connection vanished—their energy spent once more—he walked out of the building. Like the ones before it, there was nothing left inside but the stillness of the grave.
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─ [-2 Active Drones]
He stood in the yard, looking at the piles of dead chickens and the streaks of gore that marked his progress. He leaned the blood-stained plank from the fence against the exterior wall, right next to the door, and took a deep breath of the night air. It wasn't exactly fresh, but it was better than the suffocating scent of the warehouse.
Searanox walked over toward the next building, following the sound of Iris’s movements. Inside, he found her cleaving through the remaining livestock with a terrifying, graceful efficiency. Her claws were extended by the length of her fingers, glowing with a faint, ethereal light—a pale green hue with a slight blue tint that left shimmering trails in the dim air.
─ [+25,693 Exp]
"That's what I'm talking about," he muttered, a slight grin touching his lips as he saw the massive experience dump from their kills. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her work for a moment before calling out into the barn. "Iris! Let’s take a break. We’ve made a lot of progress. Let’s rest and continue after we've eaten something. I want us at full strength for the final push."
She stopped mid-swing, her claws hovering inches from a panicked bird. She turned to him, her amber eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. The ethereal light around her talons faded into nothingness, and she lowered her hands. Her form was a powerful silhouette against the mountains of white feathers.
"I understand, Searanox," she said, her voice a low, steady rumble. "We will resume after we have replenished our biological reserves."
Her tone was professional, as always, but he could sense a flicker of relief beneath the surface. The constant killing was taking a psychological toll on both of them—a shared burden of their new, brutal existence. Searanox hopped over a low retaining wall and retrieved the bag of food from where he’d left it near the car. He looked inside and chuckled softly to himself. He carried it back and spread out the contents.
"What's the blanket for, Iris?" he asked with a light laugh, noticing the fabric she had tucked into the side of the bag.
Iris looked down at the blanket, then back at him, her expression a curious mix of analytical confusion and something almost shy. "It is for comfort, Searanox. Based on my administrative data regarding human physiology and psychological well-being, I assumed it would be... preferable to sit on a soft surface rather than the blood-slicked ground."
Her response was perfectly logical, yet it felt like a stark, surreal contrast to the carnage surrounding them. He couldn't help but smile—a genuine, warm expression that actually reached his eyes. He was a monster, a predator, and a killer of thousands, but he was still a man, and he was finding small, precious moments of humanity in the most unlikely of places.
Searanox patted the spot next to him on the blanket, a silent invitation. She sat down, her movements a little stiff and awkward, as if she were still trying to wrap her mind around the concept of a 'break' in the middle of a war zone. He began to unpack the bag, laying out the cold cuts, bread, and even a few sweets she had grabbed from his pantry.
"Are you leveling up nicely, too, Iris?" he asked, tearing into a piece of bread.
"Yes. I have reached Level 8 at this moment," she replied. She picked up a slice of summer sausage and ate it in two quick bites, licking her bloody fingers afterward with a casual, predatory grace. She looked toward the piles of carcasses. "We should pack some of these for later, Searanox. It would be a filling meal to eat them properly cooked over a fire once we are away from this place."
Searanox blinked, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He hadn't even considered that, but it was a perfectly practical idea. He was a predator now, and a predator didn't waste a kill.
"Good idea, Iris. We'll do exactly that. A victory feast."
The break was mostly quiet. The only sounds were the distant hum of the city and the wind whistling through the gaps in the warehouse eaves. After Iris had had her fill, she lay her head down on his lap, closing her glowing eyes for a moment of true rest. Searanox sat there, stroking the soft fur of her mane, watching his TP bar slowly tick upward. Once it hit the maximum, he gently nudged her.
"Time to get up, honey. The sun will be up soon."
With a soft, involuntary growl of protest, she sat up and helped him pack the remaining food back into the bag. Searanox stood, stretching his limbs. The brief respite was over, and a sense of renewed urgency washed over him. The clock was ticking. The Mana Infusion was screaming toward them with every passing hour. He needed to be stronger, faster, and more deadly than anything else that was about to wake up.
`Let's finish this.` He thought.
With a single, decisive mental command, he summoned his drones again. Their silent, blue-lensed arrival was a familiar comfort in the dark.
─ [+2 Active Drones]
─ [-10 TP]
He sent them back to their work—a relentless, mechanical killing force that knew no fatigue. He picked up his heavy wooden plank, feeling the familiar weight in his hands, and walked back into the next building. The smell of blood and death was a constant, oppressive presence, but he no longer noticed it.
Only Level 8... I want to be at least Level 10 before we leave this farm, he told himself. This is taking too long. It’s inefficient. And yet, right now, it’s my only choice.