Bloodlust

Three Ascended Battle Masters stood at the far end of the hall, their gazes fixed on the intruders with eyes as sharp and merciless as drawn blades. Killing intent emanated from them like a wave of ice — frigid, suffocating, absolute.

But Klaus and Kai had noticed them long before their dramatic arrival. With lazy grace, Klaus tilted his head and leaned against the stone wall, exuding the same casual arrogance as one might display at a garden party — not a blood-soaked battleground.

The first warrior had hair like spilled flame and bore a massive odachi, its blade forged from brilliant scarlet steel. Klaus immediately noted its eerie resemblance to his own cursed spear — a sibling in malice. The second wore a crown of raven-black hair and gripped a rune-etched spear whose shaft pulsed with quiet menace. The third, most unsettling of all, was unarmed — white-haired, and deathly serene.

It was this one that chilled Klaus to the core. The same way Solvane once had — that strange, effortless confidence, the aura of one who had surpassed the need for weapons. If the first two Maidens were masterful warriors, this third one radiated something else entirely.

A true vessel of War… perhaps.

But that wasn't the worst.

No — the presence that turned Klaus's blood to frost was the fourth arrival. She moved behind the other three, her expression unreadable, her steps slow and deliberate. Brown hair, aged features — perhaps in her sixties, but her aura was as vicious and unrelenting as a blade honed by decades of war. She bore no weapon, yet Klaus instinctively recognized her as the most dangerous of them all.

She was like Jet — someone whom even Saints might hesitate to challenge, not because of her rank, but because of the sheer weight of her experience and terrifying mastery over her aspect.

Klaus inhaled slowly, the cold air a welcome anchor to his unraveling thoughts.

Transcendent Ranked Aspect... No… not Transcendent. Supreme. Without a doubt.

She didn't waste time. Inside the boundless, nightmarish expanse of her spirit sea, Hassan looked up, surrounded by constellations that shimmered in grotesque and impossible geometries.

"What do you think?" Klaus asked coolly. "Could you beat her?"

Hassan lingered in silence for a time. Then, like a whisper carried through the void, his response came.

"She is formidable. The battle would be grueling… but I believe I could emerge victorious." He paused and than added, his voice solemn. "But your companions? The archer will be struck down without much resistance. As for that treacherous shadow… even with his full strength and shadows, I foresee his loss. Eighty percent confidence in his defeat." He turned his gaze toward star exploding into supernova in Klaus's spirit sea. "And you, Master? A perfect coin toss. Fifty-fifty."

Klaus's eyes lit up — not with fear, but with exultant pleasure. His mouth curled into a deranged grin, one that oozed the hunger of a predator.

"Good…" he whispered, voice trembling with anticipation. "It's been far too long since I've had the pleasure of going all out… of meeting someone worthy."

The tension was shattered by a voice — cold, steady, echoing through the sacred halls.

It was her. The old woman. The monster.

Her brown eyes locked with Klaus's, and though her expression was composed, there was a glint of something ancient and dangerous lurking beneath.

"I've been told that you seek to claim the legacy of our foremother," she said, voice resonating with solemn weight. "You seek the Glass Knife, demoness. I am High Elder of the Red Sect, its supreme authority."

Her lips curled into a smirk.

"They did not lie. You are… indeed a worthy adversary."

Klaus straightened, his grin lazy and mocking. He drove the butt of his spear into the floor with a hollow clang and leaned into it like a queen reclining on a throne of bones.

"And I hope you won't disappoint me, High Elder," he said, her voice velvety and edged with madness. "I've come for battle worthy of death. A glorious massacre."

Sekra's lips twitched — the faintest sign of amusement, tinged with something darker.

"Then your task is simple," she said. "All you must do is prove yourself before the Chalice. Kill me… and then my three sisters. Should you succeed, the Glass Blade will be yours."

Before Klaus could respond, the red-haired Maiden with the odachi stepped forward.

"However… before you earn the right to challenge us, you must first fight — and kill — one disciple of each of us."

The black-haired Maiden added in a voice like falling ash, "...Or you will die."

Klaus's smile faded into a sneer of contempt. His voice, laced with venomous amusement, slithered through the silence.

"Huh? Did I hear that right? You're letting your disciples die in your place? Is that what passes for honor here? Is that what glory means to the Red Sect now — letting others bleed for your pride?"

Sekra's brow arched with curiosity, a low chuckle escaping her lips.

"Hm. It seems you know our doctrine well, warrior. Then tell me — what do you propose?"

Klaus stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes burning with unholy fire.

"I won't waste my breath — or my blade — on anyone weaker than myself. There's no struggle in that. No pain. No evolution. No ascension!"

His voice rose, fevered and wild, a sermon to blood and agony.

"Let's slaughter one another beneath the gaze of the goddess! Let the ground drink deep of our rage! AHHH…! Yes! That's it! That's how it's meant to be!"

The War Maidens stood in stunned silence as Klaus cackled like a madwoman, his laughter echoing through the temple like thunder from a broken sky. Then, unexpectedly, Sekra began to laugh as well — low, guttural, amused.

At the elder's command, the white-haired War Maiden turned her head toward a younger sister and offered a smile — dark, cold, and edged with cruelty.

"Let us not shame ourselves before our esteemed guests," she said silkily. "Bring me that feral little wretch I have the misfortune of calling my successor. She shall atone for her many transgressions today... by killing that Shadow and his insufferable master, as the Elder has decreed."

Klaus watched the exchange with a glint of curiosity in his eye. Acting like a deranged lunatic wasn't much of a challenge — he enjoyed indulging in reckless absurdities now and then — but still, there was a dangerous edge creeping into his own bloodlust. It stirred in him like a rising tide, one he barely restrained.

Ah well, what did it matter? He'd kill them all anyway. And as for Sunny…

That bastard was resilient. Besides, he'd only be fighting a child.

Klaus glanced sideways at Sunny, catching the man's expression — quiet, unreadable. His eye narrowed slightly. Would that heartless bastard really go so far as to kill a child? Sunny wasn't a monster… but he could become one, if the moment called for it.

Klaus scoffed and shook his head, briefly glancing down at the chest that rose and fell with each breath.

Heh. Boobs.

A wicked grin crept across his lips. Somehow, he hadn't fully noticed it before, but this female guise — this beautiful mask — was stunning, even by his impossible standards. Of course, it wasn't truly his face. Not anymore.

He had long since torn his original face from his skull, along with any claim to a stable identity. Over the years, he'd worn so many visages — taken so many lives — that even he struggled to remember his original appearance. This one was borrowed. A nameless man he had killed without fanfare.

Not that he'd forgotten what he looked like. That was impossible — Klaus possessed a photographic memory. But he had been a child when he'd destroyed that face… and he could never quite picture what his adult self would have grown into. So, for the past two years, he'd worn another's skin. His siblings were aware, of course. No need for confusion. Just a colossal pain in the ass.

The heavy doors creaked open, and two Awakened War Maidens dragged a girl into the hall — no older than eleven, perhaps twelve. They tossed her carelessly onto the cold stone floor, her body hitting the ground with a thud that echoed in the silent chamber.

She was small, thin, almost skeletal — a wild little thing caught in the liminal space between childhood and the horrors of maturity. Her short, ragged hair flared in a vibrant shade of red, mirroring the tattered silk clinging to her bruised form. Her pale skin, once fair and soft, was now marred by deep bruises and angry welts, painted in shades of blue, black, and sickly purple.

It wasn't just the wounds. It was the way her body moved, the way it didn't flinch. The whites of her eyes were clouded crimson from ruptured blood vessels, making her look less like a child and more like a rabid beast barely holding itself together.

For a moment, she remained still… then slowly pushed herself upright, lean muscle shifting beneath bruised and broken flesh. Despite her height — she barely reached Klaus's lowered shoulder — she stood with a defiance that filled the hall.

She raised her bloodied face, a sneer curling her lip, and spat crimson onto the floor.

"What now, you decrepit hags?" she asked, voice high and soft like any child's, but venom laced each syllable. "More training? Hah. And here I was just starting to enjoy my daily beatings!"

The words were insolent, but the pitch of her voice — so delicate, so young — robbed them of any true venom. The result was unintentionally comedic, a mismatch between tone and fury. Realizing this, the girl's expression contorted in frustration, and she flipped the War Maidens off with a crude hand gesture, as if trying to reclaim her dignity.

Klaus grinned wider.

Even if he hadn't recognized the voice — which he had — the gesture was a dead giveaway. People of the Kingdom of Hope didn't express defiance with middle fingers. That was a human thing, from the waking world.

And beyond all that… he could see her. That same fiery, untamed essence — unmistakable, raw, and familiar. His eye glowed softly, crack-like spiderwebs forming from his pupil, spreading outward along his cheek.

Effie.

Hearing the girl's outburst, the senior War Maiden narrowed her gaze and smiled coldly.

"No training today, insolent brat. You have visitors. A test, if you will. Kill them… and I might let your older sisters feed you tonight. You have been begging for food, haven't you?"

At the mention of food, something dark flickered behind the girl's eyes. Her fierce bravado faltered for a heartbeat — just a breath — before she turned her gaze, searching for the guests she was meant to slay.

Then her bloodstained eyes found Klaus.

She blinked.

Then chuckled, scuffing the toe of her foot against a stone as she casually kicked it aside.

"…Am I supposed to kill that pretty princess?"

Klaus twirled his spear lazily, letting it spin in his grasp as a glimmer of amusement sparked in his glowing eye.

"Ugly little gremlin, aren't you? But no, I'm just here to look pretty." He nodded toward Sunny. "Your target is that miserable little shit."