11 - Bloodied Transaction / Returning To Nebraska

As Stiles and Riven stood in silence, the weight of the moment pressed down on him like a vice. His mind raced through every possible outcome, every way this could go wrong—but in the end, survival was all that mattered. He exhaled slowly, the sound ragged and almost bitter.

"Deal," he muttered, his voice void of hesitation but thick with resentment. "I'll kill those bastards for you… if it means I can live."

A slow, sadistic grin spread across Riven's face, his amusement barely concealed. He lifted his hand, and Stiles hesitated before reaching out, grasping it in a mockery of a handshake.

Riven's voice turned deathly cold, devoid of emotion.

"As the Principle of Bloodshed, I release thee to the new contractor. May thy life be drenched in suffering and thy path paved in the corpses of the fallen."

The moment the words left Riven's lips, the air twisted, suffocating and heavy. A deafening crack echoed through the room as his mana surged like a tidal wave, an unrelenting force that sent shockwaves through the foundation. The stone and steel beams split apart, crumbling into dust, and sparks of raw energy flickered like dying stars, devouring everything in their wake.

Then, all of it—every ounce of Riven's mana—rushed into Stiles like a violent flood.

It was pure agony.

It was as if molten steel had been poured into his veins, searing through his body, ripping apart his mana core, and stitching it back together with something monstrous. Stiles barely had time to scream before his body collapsed to the ground, convulsing. His fingers clawed at the floor as his breath came in ragged gasps. His vision blurred. The pain was unbearable.

"F-FUCKING HELL!" he howled, his voice raw with torment. His mana surged uncontrollably, a crimson glow bursting forth like a storm of blood. It spread through the ruined room before vanishing just as suddenly, leaving behind only the lingering scent of iron.

Through the haze of agony, Stiles forced himself to check his status. His breath hitched.

His HP had shattered its limit, overflowing beyond what should have been possible. A new buff pulsed in his vision.

Bloodied Regen (Always Active) – The more foes bleed, the more life you restore. 

After another agonizing ten seconds, a second surge of mana erupted from Stiles, lashing out violently before dissipating into nothing. His body trembled, every muscle screaming in protest, but the torment wasn't over yet.

Riven watched with cold amusement, then finally spoke.

"Now... The last wave will hurt the most then it'll stop afterwards. My mana was too great in every way possible, It's releasing the amounts of mana your body physically and mentally cannot withstand." 

Riven coughed weakly, a trickle of blood staining his lips. His eyes, once sharp and unyielding, widened slightly as he forced out his final words.

"Kill... those bastards."

His body gave out, collapsing to the floor. In an instant, his form withered away, turning to ash. A sudden gust of wind swept through the ruined room, scattering what remained of him into the void.

For several agonizing minutes, the pain wracked Stiles' body, but then—silence. The torment faded, leaving behind something entirely new. He staggered to his feet, his breathing ragged as he looked down towards his hand and flexed his fingers, feeling the raw power coursing through him. His mana—refined, potent, unlike anything he had ever felt.

"This… this power…" he whispered, but before he could dwell on it further, his instincts took over. He grabbed his twin blades, sheathed them, and rushed out of the ruined chamber.

He sprinted toward the massive entrance doors of the building, and as they came into view, he spotted SteelArm and Dante seated on the ground, waiting. Relief flooded his chest at the sight of them, and without hesitation, he ran over and wrapped them both in a tight embrace.

"I told you… I'd be back."

SteelArm gave a firm nod. "I knew my friend wouldn't lie to me."

Dante, however, narrowed his eyes. He had already sensed the shift in Stiles' mana—something was different. Something unnatural.

"What the hell happened to you?" Dante asked, his voice low.

Stiles hesitated. The truth weighed heavily on his tongue. He exhaled, then finally spoke.

"A deal," he admitted. "I don't know how… but he gave me his power. To kill others like him."

Dante's expression darkened. "The fuck do you mean 'others like him'? You're telling me there's more out there? More people with that kind of power?" He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Shit. Let's just get the hell out of here. I don't wanna be in this godforsaken place any longer than we have to."

SteelArm and Stiles nodded, helping Dante to his feet before making their way toward the healers.

As they walked, Stiles felt something—a strange sensation pulling at his senses. His newly enhanced mana picked up on something deep within the forest, an energy signature unlike anything he'd felt before. It was faint, but unmistakable.

"Hey… let's go this way instead," Stiles said, turning toward the dense treeline.

SteelArm frowned. "What? Why?"

"Just a feeling," Stiles replied, keeping his eyes locked on the forest.

SteelArm crossed his arms. "Let's get the healers first, patch Dante up, then we'll check it out."

Stiles nodded in agreement.

Once they reached the gate, they gently laid Dante down, watching as the healers immediately got to work. Within moments, the color returned to his face, and his wounds knitted together as if they had never been there.

"Shit… that's better," Dante muttered, rolling his shoulders.

One of the healers glanced around before speaking. "Where's Kiera? She said she'd be here."

A heavy silence fell over them. The three exchanged glances, their expressions grim. Finally, Dante spoke, his voice quieter than before.

"Kiera… she did a lot for us in there. But she didn't make it."

The healer's face fell, but there was no time for mourning—not now.

Dante turned away. "Let's check out whatever Stiles found," he said, leading the way.

They moved swiftly through the forest, the air thick with tension. Then, Stiles stopped abruptly.

"I found something over here!" he called out.

The others rushed to his side, and as they caught sight of what he was looking at, Dante's breath hitched.

"Holy shit," he muttered.

Before them stood a golden gate—glowing, pulsating with an otherworldly energy.

"This… this is a dungeon exit," Dante said in disbelief. "I've only ever seen one of these twice. But this is real—this will take us out of here."

Stiles didn't hesitate. Without a second thought, he stepped through the gate. SteelArm followed, then Dante, then the healers.

And then—light.

When their vision cleared, they stood in the heart of a familiar city. Japan's cityscape stretched before them, its neon lights flickering in the night air. The distant hum of life, of civilization, surrounded them.

Stiles took in a deep breath, the scent of the real world filling his lungs for the first time in what felt like weeks.

"Holy shit," he whispered. "It actually worked."

As they all turned to look at the dungeon's entrance, it slowly faded into nothingness.

"What do you think was on the other three floors of that hellhole?" Dante asked, his voice laced with exhaustion.

Stiles exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I don't know… and I never want to find out." He sank onto the pavement, letting the weight of their ordeal settle over him.

Before anyone could say more, a sleek black car pulled up, a golden dragon emblem on its side gleaming under the city lights. The tinted window rolled down just enough for the driver's voice to carry.

"We were told to wait until we saw the four of you. Get in—we have places to be."

The door locks clicked open. Without hesitation, Stiles, SteelArm, and Dante climbed inside. The moment they settled in, the car sped off, weaving effortlessly through the quiet streets.

Leaning back into the plush leather seat, Stiles glanced at the driver through the rearview mirror. "So… where exactly are we going?"

The driver didn't turn his head, his tone professional yet firm. "Aria Noctis."

At the name, stiles and SteelArm stiffened a moment.

"We received reports from her teammates during her first gate raid—claims that something unnatural occurred with her mana and some sort of 'Knights' appearing. Normally, we wouldn't think much of it, or give a damn, but given the situation the guild found this girl in... They want to verify with the people who were there that found her as well. I don't have anymore information than that. Wait, where's Kiera? From my knowledge she also went in with Stiles and SteelArm before Dante Cross entered the gate." 

A heavy silence filled the car before Dante spoke up, "She didn't make it out alive from the dungeon." 

The driver looked over at Dante sitting in the passenger seat, "Dungeon? It was suppose to be a gate from what I heard." 

"Yeah? Well it wasn't." Dante said rethinking of his broken bones from earlier. 

Stiles rested his elbow against the window, staring at the blurred cityscape as it rushed past. His fingers curled into a loose fist. "Aria Noctis… just who the hell are you and why does the guild care so much?"

Minutes passed in contemplative silence before the car reached a private airstrip. A sleek jet waited on the tarmac, its engines humming softly in the night air.

Without another word, the four of them boarded. Moments later, the jet lifted off, leaving the glowing skyline of Japan behind as they set course for Nebraska.