Bloodhound

Chapter 10

A Couple of Years Ago

The capital building of Sierra Nova was surrounded by a sea of protesters. Anger rippled through the crowd as chants and slurs echoed in unison, a tidal wave of discontent crashing against the thin line of police officers attempting to hold the chaos at bay.

Inside the grand halls of the building, the Council of Sierra Nova convened in tense deliberation. Lucien and Isaac sat among the council members, frustration and stress etched deep into their faces.

"The aftermath of the war has crippled our economic balance," the oldest member of the council said, his voice heavy with authority. His aura and central placement at the table marked him clearly as the head of the council.

"We pride ourselves on being the most successful of the colonies," said another member, a sharp-eyed woman whose tone barely concealed her worry. "The others surely have it worse than us."

"Even so, the peace treaty is fragile. Our colony remains vulnerable to invasion," she continued.

"No colony currently has the manpower to launch an invasion," an older man interjected, his expression grim. "Not with the recent outbreak of the VOR virus. The mutations it causes—those Revenants—would tear through any invading force before they reached us."

"It's ironic," Lucien added, his tone clipped. "The very rise of these mutations during the war is what finally forced us into signing the peace treaty. We were losing too many soldiers to the Revenants, not just to our enemies."

"Still, we cannot underestimate the military might or scientific advancements of the Vostaran forces," Lucien continued. "Their hunger for war is insatiable."

"And that is why, for the survival of Sierra Nova," he said, his voice dropping ominously, "I propose that those who cannot cope with the current cost of living in Sierra Nova should leave."

The room fell into stunned silence.

"That would mean forcing out eighty-five percent of the colony," Isaac said, his voice incredulous.

"The war has already diminished our colony's value, and the unrest we face now threatens to destroy us further," Lucien replied, his tone firm. "Segregating the majority, even temporarily, would give us the breathing room we need to rebuild our economy."

"Are you out of your mind? How would that stop the unrest?" Isaac snapped, his voice rising in anger.

"It's only for a period of time, Isaac. And the fact that the council remains silent," Lucien said, his eyes narrowing, "tells me they've already considered this option."

"Segregating the colony would weaken us even further," Isaac countered, his fists clenched. "Our economy is already crumbling—we need manpower, not division!"

"Are you suggesting we make them slaves, then?" a council member asked, her voice cold and cutting.

"I—" Isaac faltered.

"Segregating those who cannot afford to live under the new economic rules allows them to live by rules better suited to their means," the head of the council said, cutting through the rising tension in the room.

"Forcing them to follow laws that don't work for them, or working them to the bone, is no better than slavery," he continued. "Sierra Nova was built on the principle of freedom for mankind, and we cannot abandon that ideal now."

Isaac stood speechless, his protests silenced.

"They will remain part of Sierra Nova," the head of the council said, his tone resolute, "but as a separate city—Nova."

A young Malick sat at the roadside of the developing Sierra, his thin frame draped in rags. His malnourished body bore cuts and bruises, and flies swarmed over his wounds, undeterred by the occasional, weak rise and fall of his chest. His breaths were shallow and lazy, barely enough to keep him conscious. A rusted steel plate rested in front of him, his trembling hands occasionally raising it toward passersby.

They either ignored him, lashed out at him, or—worse—took out their frustrations on him with kicks and slaps. Yet, no matter how they treated him, they all wore the same expression: disgust. Their disdainful eyes met his only briefly, noses and mouths covered as they hurried past, as if he were a plague they feared catching.

A woman strolled by, elegant and unbothered. Malick raised his plate feebly in her direction. The rattle of the steel seemed to alarm her, and she shrieked as he tried to inch closer, clawing the ground beneath him.

"Get back, you filthy pig!" she snapped, stepping away in horror. Her voice rose sharply as she glanced around, spotting a nearby policeman. "What are those stupid policemen even doing? Get this thing out of here!"

The officer turned, his eyes narrowing as they fell on Malick. Recognition flickered across his face.

"Hey! How many times do I have to chase you off, you pig?" the officer barked, his voice cold and merciless. "Sorry, ma'am, I'll take care of it immediately," he assured the woman before walking toward Malick.

She hesitated, her face contorted in disgust. "Are you… actually going to touch him? Is that safe?"

The policeman stopped, visibly uncomfortable, then hurried back to his patrol car. He returned with a rope. Malick didn't resist; he just sat there, motionless, his empty eyes staring past the man. The officer tied him up like a piece of livestock and began dragging him across the ground.

Blood smeared the dirt path where Malick's battered body was dragged. The policeman didn't seem to care. He stopped at the subway connecting the two cities, dumping Malick unceremoniously at the entrance before walking away. He left the rope tied tightly around the boy's frail limbs, refusing even to retrieve it.

For a long time, Malick lay there, silent. His head drooped to the side, his breaths slow and faint. Then a foul stench invaded his nostrils. Putrid, rancid, unmistakable.

Malick's hollow eyes flickered with a spark of awareness. He began to crawl, inch by inch, down the grimy stairway of the subway, drawn toward the familiar stench. As he descended, the smell grew stronger, more intense, until finally, he reached its source.

Beneath the stairway lay a rotting carcass, a decayed animal surrounded by buzzing flies and writhing maggots. Malick's sunken eyes widened. His hands shook as he reached out, tearing a piece of flesh from the carcass. Without hesitation, he bit into it, maggots squirming between his teeth.

He was mid-bite when a shadow fell over him.

Malick froze, turning slowly. A girl stood there, no older than him, equally gaunt and ragged. Her long, dirty white hair clung to her face, and her deep blue eyes pierced through the dim light of the subway. Despite her frail condition, there was something defiant about her presence that held Malick's attention.

Without thinking, he held out the piece of rotting flesh he had just torn off.

The girl hesitated for a moment, then smiled faintly, stepping closer to join him.

"Th… thank you," she said, her voice barely audible as she stuffed the piece into her mouth.

Malick said nothing, watching her chew.

"What's your name?" she asked between bites.

"Malick… Malick Nassir," he replied, his voice hoarse and weak.

"Nice to meet you, Malick. I'm Anna. Anna Ibarra. My parents were immigrants… before the war."

"That…" Malick began, but his voice trailed off. His body trembled violently before collapsing to the ground, his limbs convulsing uncontrollably.

"Malick! Malick!" Anna screamed, kneeling beside him and shaking his frail body. "Someone help! Please, someone help!"

Her voice echoed through the empty subway, but no one came.

Malick slowly opened his eyes, his vision swimming as he took in his surroundings. The world around him was bathed in an unnatural red hue. Too weak to panic, he closed his eyes again, squeezing them shut before opening them once more. The red tint remained. With a resigned sigh, he gave up.

"You've come to, huh?" a feminine voice said, cutting through the silence.

Malick exhaled heavily, his body aching. "Where am I? What… what happened to me?" he croaked, his voice barely audible.

The other person in the room stood from where she sat. Her movements were deliberate as she reached for a clown-face mask resting on a nearby table. She slipped the mask over her face before dragging a chair across the room and sitting on it, facing him.

"You should be thanking whatever higher power you believe in," she said coolly, her voice slightly muffled by the mask. "And your new little friend. Without her, you'd be dead by now."

Malick's brows furrowed, confusion flashing in his tired eyes.

"Consuming a dead Revenant is never a good idea," she continued, her tone sharp.

"Did I have a choice?" Malick muttered weakly.

"Of course you did," she replied, her head tilting slightly, as if amused. "But I suppose there's still a built-in sense of good in people, some instinct that makes them avoid evil. Unfortunately for you, the way things are now in Nova, a 'necessary evil' has become the only way to survive."

She leaned back in the chair, her voice hardening. "You almost died after eating that Revenant. But the fact that you're alive now? That might mean you have a role left to play in this broken world."

Malick didn't respond, his body trembling faintly.

"The burning sensation you're feeling in every nerve of your body?" she said, her tone softening. "That's not death, kid. That's untapped power."

Reaching beside her, she dragged a small mirror closer and handed it to him.

"Take a look. You're not alone in this."

Malick's shaking hands clutched the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. His sclera had turned pitch black, his irises glowing a faint red.

The woman tilted her mask slightly, just enough to reveal her own darkened sclera and red iris. "I am Hero Z. You can call me Vera." She paused for effect, her voice calm but firm.

"Welcome to—"

Her words blurred and began to fade as Malick's strength gave out. His body slumped, his mind slipping back into unconsciousness.

Malick and three masked individuals sprinted through the dimly lit streets of Sierra, the blaring sirens of police cars growing louder behind them.

"Captain Malick, they're gaining on us!" one of the team members shouted, holding a small device to his ear. "I'm picking up their radio waves—they're calling in Hero reinforcements!"

"We keep moving. Do not engage," Malick ordered, his voice sharp but controlled.

"But we can take them on!" another member protested, his tone eager and defiant.

"Listen to the captain," Anna cut in, her voice calm yet firm through her mask. "Under his guidance, has he ever failed us? Put your faith in him," she said, her words steadying the group.

"What's the plan?" she asked, directing her question to Malick.

"We rendezvous with Luna and her team. They should be just around the corner."

"Yes—"

A loud crash interrupted her. The team froze, turning to see one of their comrades lying in a growing pool of blood.

"Vayne!" Anna screamed, her breath catching in her throat.

Their eyes darted around, scanning the dark rooftops and alleys for the source of the shot. Before they could react, another bullet tore through the air, piercing a second teammate's forehead. The body crumpled to the ground lifelessly.

Malick's sharp eyes traced the trajectory of the bullet. "Take cover!" he barked. "I'll—"

"I'm coming with you!" Anna interrupted, her tone resolute.

"The group's safety comes first," Malick said firmly. "Both of you—head back to the rendezvous!"

Before they could respond, another shot rang out, this time aimed at Anna.

Malick moved faster than thought. In a single, fluid motion, he placed himself in front of her, the bullet ricocheting harmlessly off his back. His muscles tensed as he slammed his hand into the ground, tearing out a massive chunk of rock and hurling it toward the building where the second sniper was hiding. The rock crashed into the rooftop, collapsing it with a deafening roar.

Without pause, Malick's legs bulged with unnatural strength. The ground cracked beneath him as he leaped toward the first sniper. His body blurred midair, landing in the building with a thunderous impact. His hands shifted, dark claws forming as he struck the sniper with a brutal swipe, ripping the man's head clean from his shoulders.

Gunfire erupted from the remaining officers, their bullets raining down on Malick—but none could penetrate his skin. His body moved like a shadow, leaving trails of black smoke in his wake. He tore through the officers, clawing out hearts and severing heads with lethal precision.

Anna watched the chaos from afar, torn between her fear and determination. "I have to help him," she said to the remaining teammate. "You can make it to the rendezvous, right?"

The last member nodded, their face pale with shock.

"I'll meet you—"

Anna froze as blood sprayed across her mask. The teammate staggered, coughing blood, before crumpling to the ground with a dull thud. Behind him stood a towering figure. A steel bar jutted through the teammate's chest, driven in with brutal force.

The attacker stepped forward, her black spandex suit glinting faintly under the dim streetlights. Her face was concealed behind a sleek, computerized mask, and her athletic build hinted at her precision and strength.

"Where did you think you were going?" the figure said, her voice calm and mechanical, carrying a cold finality.

"Attempted murder on a council member is punishable by death. And as a Hero of Sierra, it's my duty to deliver that punishment."

She raised her arm, and suddenly—

Crush.

A massive gravitational force slammed Anna to the ground, pinning her flat against the pavement. The ground cracked beneath her as her bones groaned in protest. Anna let out a pained cry, her voice echoing through the empty streets.

"Anna!" Malick's roar cut through the air, filled with fury.

Unbeknownst to him, his pupils elongated into vertical slits, his breath growing ragged and uneven. His dark skin turned an ashen, corpse-like black, veins spreading across his body in jagged patterns. His hunched posture was predatory, his movements twitchy and feral.

Malick had undergone his full transformation.

With a deafening crack, he leaped toward Anna's location, his fist clenched and his entire body trembling with unbridled rage. He landed hard, narrowly missing her, his feral eyes locked on the masked figure.