It was a trap.


    My breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, each inhale sharp and desperate. Blood poured freely from the stump where my left arm had once been, and the pain throbbed with every beat of my heart. Selena''s lifeless body rested in my remaining arm, her chest a mangled ruin, her blood soaking into my torn jacket. Her dull eyes stared up at the stars above, their light mocking the loss of her spark.


    Leora was gone. I didn’t know if she was dead or alive, but I’d seen it—Ulrich had used spatial manipulation to take her. To where, I couldn’t even guess. My gut twisted at the thought of her fate.


    I crouched low in a shallow pit, barely covered by the rocky outcrop. My teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. We had a plan—a damn good one. We had tracked Ulrich to a cliff dwelling, knew the routes he’d take, and prepared for every scenario. Or so I thought.


    I replayed the moment over and over, each scene burned into my memory like a curse. Selena had rigged the rocky cliffs with her bombs, her precision and ingenuity unmatched. I’d set up Soul Marks imbued with Soul Chains along the pathways, ready to spring them at a moment’s notice. I even borrowed Selena’s sniper rifle and positioned myself on the high ground, confident in my aim.


    Leora, always the blade in the shadows, had crept ahead to block their escape once they were deep enough inside. Everything was perfect. It should have been swift. Deadly. Effective.


    But I’d overestimated myself. No, I’d underestimated them.


    The first sign of disaster came through my scope. I saw him—Ulrich—approaching Leora from behind, moving too fast and too quiet for me to warn her in time. I tried, but the words caught in my throat as something heavy slammed into me from the side.


    Alya.


    Why?


    Her face was twisted with anger and pain, her strikes filled with a ferocity that was all too familiar. I barely managed to defend myself before another woman appeared, her blade glinting in the moonlight. She severed my arm in a single stroke. The pain was blinding, but I didn’t have time to process it. I was falling, scrambling to regroup.


    And then Selena…


    She detonated the bombs prematurely, collapsing the cliffs and throwing our enemies into chaos. I managed to reach her, but not before it was too late.


    I saw it happen.


    A figure in a plain hoodie and jeans stepped out of the smoke and shadows, faster than I could react. Selena fired her gun, threw her bombs, fought like hell—but it wasn’t enough. The figure ripped her heart out with bare hands, as if it were nothing.


    I roared, the sound tearing from my throat like an animal’s cry. I drew on the coin I’d won three years ago, tapping into every ounce of aura I had left. Chains lashed out, their metallic echoes filling the night. I fought like a madman, dragging Selena’s body with me, refusing to leave her behind.


    But it wasn’t enough.


    Now I was here. Hiding. My breathing stilled, shallow and controlled, but my mind burned with rage.


    I stared at Selena’s lifeless face. She’d been more than a partner, more than a comrade. She’d been family in a way I couldn’t explain, and now she was gone.


    The pit offered little cover, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t running. I wasn’t retreating. I wasn’t done.


    I gripped the coin in my hand, feeling its warmth, its promise of power. The blood dripping from my stump mingled with the dirt below. My aura simmered, flickering like a dying flame, but it wasn’t extinguished yet.


    I would find Ulrich. I would find Leora.


    And I would make these mercenaries pay.


    “Alya, why?” I asked myself for a second time, voicing them out.


    The question lingered in my mind, gnawing at my resolve. I looked down at Selena’s lifeless body, her blood-soaked clothes, and the emptiness in her once-vibrant eyes. Grief twisted in my chest, but another question burned brighter, hotter.


    How am I going to kill them?


    I set Selena’s body down gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. I closed her eyes, not because it brought me peace but because I couldn’t bear to look into them anymore. My focus needed to shift—grief was a luxury I couldn’t afford.


    The bleeding from my left arm hadn’t stopped completely, but I poured my aura into sealing the vessels and forcing the blood to clot. Pain flared with every pulse of energy, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through. I’d survive. I had to.


    I replayed the fight in my mind, each moment vivid and raw. I knew who they were now. The figure in the hoodie—Thomas. The black-haired swordswoman—Fatima. Members of the Undead Troupe.


    That was bad. Very bad.


    The Undead Troupe wasn’t just a group of mercenaries; they were an elite band of killers, notorious for their lethality and their refusal to die. Facing one of them was dangerous enough. Facing two—or more—was suicidal.


    But I wasn’t planning to survive.


    I reached into my pocket and pulled out the copy of tarot card I’d given to Loki, the Troupe’s leader. The image on the card shimmered faintly as I focused my aura into it, forging a telepathic link. “Loki,” I called, my voice cold and steady.


    A familiar chuckle echoed in my mind. “Well, well. You don’t usually call unless it’s important. What’s the occasion?”


    “Where are Thomas and Fatima?”


    The chuckle faded, replaced by a wary tone. “Wow, you know my people’s names, huh? Why do you ask?”


    “Answer me,” I growled, my patience razor-thin. “Your life depends on it.”


    A pause. Then, “I sent them on a mission. Recruiting a talented hunter. That’s all.”


    “What else?”


    “That’s it,” Loki insisted.


    “Did you send them to bodyguard or work for a man named Ulrich?”


    “Ulrich? No. Never heard of him.”


    I focused on the faint hum of his soul through the connection. No ripples, no shifts, no signs of deceit. He was telling the truth. But this was a Trickster we were talking about. BUt then again, I would take his word at face value at the very least.


    “Good,” I said, my voice like steel. “I don’t have to kill you then.”


    “Wait,” Loki began, his tone shifting to something more conciliatory. “Let’s talk about this—”


    I severed the connection before he could finish. There was nothing more to discuss.


    I stood, adjusting my aura loadout. Connection. Toughness. Sharpness. Swiftness. Four attributes. Four tools for survival.


    I clenched my right fist, feeling the weight of my remaining strength. I was down to one arm, and I was alone. My enemies were in full health, their positions favorable, their confidence unshaken.


    The odds were stacked against me, but odds didn’t matter. Not anymore.


    “How can I kill them?” I muttered to myself, the question sharp and clear.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I looked down at Selena one last time, my heart heavy with unspoken promises. Her death wouldn’t be in vain.


    My left arm was gone. Leora was missing. But I was still here.


    And they were going to regret that.


    I crouched low in the crags, every muscle tense as I felt the weight of my choices pressing down on me. My aura pool problem was solved—temporarily, thanks to the artifact acting as a battery. But my aura output? Pathetically low.


    Without a high output, unleashing any killer moves was impossible. And here I was, surrounded by killers. You’d think three years being a Hunting Dog would help me patch up my flaws, but what it only did was open my eyes to more flaws.


    I regretted not bringing Reina. She wasn’t just a doll; she was my weapon, my edge in battles like this. But I’d grown too soft, too sentimental, seeing her as human rather than the tool she was created to be. This wasn’t the time for regrets or assigning blame. I had to focus.


    The Toughness attribute I borrowed from that tank-like person years ago kept me in one piece, but I could only tap into a fraction of its true potential. Maybe a tenth. Maybe less. Still, my gift was all about combining attributes and crafting techniques on the fly. It wasn’t about raw power—it was about ingenuity.


    I stilled my breath, feeling the weight of eyes scanning the area, searching for me.


    A boom echoed in the air. Dust burst from where I had left a black ring embedded in the ground earlier. Ironic, wasn’t it? The distraction worked as intended.


    Thomas.


    He landed heavily, his figure obscured by the swirling dust cloud. My Soul Chains burst from the ground, imbued with altered Toughness and Sharpness attributes. They slashed through the air, cutting into his clothes and forcing him on the defensive.


    This was my moment.


    I pumped my aura, activating Swiftness, and launched myself toward the source of the eyes I had felt before. I moved fast, silent, and precise.


    Fatima.


    The black-haired woman with red eyes stood waiting, her dark katana gleaming ominously. A master of the blade and a gravity manipulator, she was deadly. But so was I.


    Dark bluish strings flowed from my remaining hand, shimmering with aura. Every breath I took fortified the Toughness of my strings. Every breath I exhaled sharpened them to a deadly edge.


    Fatima struck first, her blade a blur of motion too fast for the eye to follow. I didn’t need to see her strikes. My aura strings manifested at her sword’s path, blocking the attacks as I willed them into existence.


    Her blade met resistance, sparks flying as it clashed against the web of strings I’d woven.


    I flicked my wrist, unleashing a volley of sharp strings toward her. She tried to evade, but I was faster. Cuts appeared on her arms and cheeks, crimson streaks marking her pale skin.


    I raised my hand with a snap, conjuring a sword made entirely of aura strings, every fiber imbued with the Sharpness attribute.


    “Perish,” I commanded, swinging the weapon down with intent to kill.


    A crimson blur came from my blind spot—a fist wreathed in flames and blood.


    I sidestepped just in time, catching a glimpse of her: a woman with a blood-soaked scarf wrapped around her neck, her hands wreathed in fire. I’d placed a Soul Mark on her earlier, and now it saved my life as I could perceived anyone or anything who I have marked.


    She stumbled past me, her momentum sending her skidding across the rocky ground. But she recovered quickly, slamming her palms into the earth. Blood and flames erupted from her body, swirling around her like a macabre dance. The flames coalesced into a spear in her hand, her scarf glowing with violent energy.


    I didn’t let her regain control. I mentally pulled down my conjured sword, slashing toward Fatima with the same motion.


    Fatima deflected it with her katana, her stance unwavering.


    I was running out of time. My aura pool, even with the artifact, wouldn’t last much longer at maximum output.


    I had to end this. Fast.


    Thomas came from the left, a wrecking ball of fury and muscle. He had finally broken free of the Soul Chain, his aura flaring wildly as he charged. His fist, large and glowing with raw power, came crashing down at me—or so he thought.


    The moment his foot landed, a burst of aura shimmered beneath him. Another Soul Mark, this one primed with a fresh Soul Chain, burst upward like a serpent, coiling around his legs and pulling him to a halt.


    I got lucky. Thomas’s straightforward, brute-force approach worked against him.


    Unlike Fatima, who balanced her swordsmanship with the precision of a caster, Thomas was a pure Fighter. No subtlety. No tricks. Just raw, unrelenting power.


    I didn’t waste the opportunity. I charged forward, my conjured sword glowing with sharp blue aura. I swung with all the strength I could muster, aiming for his torso.


    Before the blade could connect, Ayla’s fiery spear came hurling toward me from the side. The heat was oppressive, and the air around it shimmered with the energy of her Blood and Fire attributes.


    “Tsk,” I twisted my wrist and parried the spear, the force of the deflection sending a shockwave up my arm. “You are only delaying the inevitable.”


    Fatima didn’t miss the opening.


    She rushed in with terrifying speed, her form a blur as she closed the gap. If my eyes weren’t lying, she was manipulating her weight with her gravity gift, making herself light to move faster.


    Her dark katana came slashing at my left side, aiming for the weakness created by my missing arm. I barely managed to twist away, but then the pressure hit me.


    My body grew sluggish, every movement feeling like I was wading through water.


    Gravity.


    She was suppressing me, her gift weighing me down like an invisible hand pressing on my shoulders.


    I couldn’t fight like this. I shifted my attributes, replacing Swiftness and Toughness with Homing and Perception.


    The change was immediate.


    The sluggishness remained, but my perception sharpened, and the battlefield became clear. Every movement, every angle, every opportunity—I saw it all.


    My sword homed to the tip of Fatima’s sword in a blur.


    Fatima’s blade came down in a flurry of strikes, each one precise and unrelenting. I parried, my conjured sword meeting hers in a shower of sparks. The force of her blows reverberated through my arm, but I held firm.


    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thomas breaking free of the Soul Chain, his aura surging as he prepared to flank me.


    And then there was Ayla, already preparing another spear of fire and blood, the energy swirling in her hands.


    I was in a bind.


    Three opponents, all deadly in their own right, and I was down an arm with my aura pool running dangerously low.


    But this wasn’t over. Not yet.


    I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my attributes shift within me. My Homing strings coiled around my blade, subtly extending its reach. Every parry against Fatima now sent the strings lashing toward her, forcing her to adjust her footing.


    I couldn’t overpower them, but I could outmaneuver them.


    I just had to survive long enough to find an opening.


    I released my grip on the sword, allowing it to dissolve into a circular wave of razor-sharp strings. They whipped outward in a deadly radius of a sphere, forcing Thomas and Fatima to scatter.


    Alya wasn’t as fortunate. The strings tore into her with precision, not enough to kill but enough to cut deep and leave her writhing in pain. She crumpled to the ground, clutching at her wounds, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain would drain her strength, forcing her body to exhaust itself just to stay conscious.


    Switching my Sharpness attribute for Puppetry, I turned my focus back to Fatima.


    She spotted what she thought was an opening and launched herself forward in a burst of black lightning in her boot. It was an instantaneous movement technique. Her blade glowed with an ominous aura, her gravity gift amplifying its weight mid-swing to devastating levels.


    I sidestepped, the blade missing me by a hair.


    Thomas, caught in her trajectory, instinctively raised his arm to parry. The clash of aura-enhanced weapon and fist sent a shockwave through the air, and Thomas retaliated with a roundhouse kick aimed at Fatima’s ribs.


    She barely dodged, the force of the kick grazing her side as she stumbled back.


    Thomas didn’t stop. He pressed the attack, his strikes aimed with brutal efficiency at Fatima.


    “What is happening?” he demanded, his voice laced with panic as his movements betrayed his confusion. “W-why can\’t I control… my limbs?”


    I allowed myself a grim smile.


    “Let me enlighten you,” I said, stepping back to watch the chaos unfold. “Do you know that if you’re subjected to enough Soul Chains, it becomes significantly easier to manipulate you with Puppetry? This is my Soul Marionette! It doesn’t matter how refined your aura control is or how strong your willpower might be. You’re already mine, Thomas.”


    “Snap out of it, Thomas!” Fatima shouted, her voice desperate as she deflected another of his attacks.


    I danced around them, weaving between the blows as if I were merely a spectator. With every step, I rigged the battlefield further, laying down more Soul Chains and Soul Marks. Fatima was skilled, but her movements were becoming predictable.


    I lured her into a trap, the ground beneath her lighting up with a Soul Mark imbued wiith Soul Chains. Chains erupted around her, coiling tight and slowing her movements.


    Her willpower was impressive—she lashed out with a powerful strike, the gravity-enhanced blow cracking the stone beneath her feet as she barely missed me.


    Thomas struggled against my control, his body moving like a puppet on strings, his consciousness fighting to regain command.


    Meanwhile, Alya, in a desperate attempt to rejoin the fight, stumbled forward.


    “You shouldn’t have bothered,” I muttered.


    With a flick of my mind, I activated my Soul Link with her, siphoning her aura and then flooding it back into her system in chaotic bursts. Her body convulsed as the unstable energy overwhelmed her. Blood seeped from her pores, and she collapsed, choking on the very life force she couldn’t control.


    She wouldn’t die from it—at least, not yet. But she wouldn’t be a threat either.


    “Time to end this,” I said, my voice cold.


    Fatima’s body was already wrapped in layers of Soul Chains, her aura steadily drained through the Soul Link I had attached to her earlier. The chains coiled tighter, forming a cocoon that left her immobilized.


    Thomas stood rigid, his limbs jerking unnaturally as he fought against my control. His strength was impressive—he even managed to break through some of the chains I had placed on him.


    But it wasn’t enough.


    I stepped closer, my gaze locking onto his.


    “Thomas,” I said softly, my tone laced with malice. “Rip your heart out for me.”


    His eyes widened in terror, his body trembling as my command seeped into his mind. His hand twitched, then moved toward his chest, shaking violently as he fought to resist.


    “You’re strong,” I admitted. “But not strong enough.”


    His fingers curled into a fist, hovering over his chest, as the chains around his body tightened, pulling him further under my control. Fatima’s muffled screams from within her cocoon only fueled the growing tension.


    The battlefield was silent except for the sound of Alya’s ragged breathing and the faint creak of chains tightening around my enemies.


    I waited, my focus unbroken, as Thomas’s will began to crumble.