Chapter 70: Dead Hands Rise
The battle slipped from Olson's grasp. No matter how many kits he carved down, more poured from the docks, ripping his men apart in heaps of blood and screams. For the first time, he felt the fight tilting past recovery. He didn't even notice the presence behind him until it was too late.
Bloodlight flared.
"Wha—?!"
Pressure detonated in his spine. The world spun as his body was launched like scrap iron, smashing through the siding of a warehouse.
On the dock, the Dead Hands froze. Then they saw him, Seo-jin. Kicking Olson aside like a mongrel. Bloodlight dripping from his skin, cleavers steady in his hands. Their boss. The one they thought lost forever. Some cried, some raged, but all of them stood.
Almost in unison, every Dead Hand bowed.
"Welcome back, Boss Wohan!"
Seo-jin barely heard them. His mind churned elsewhere.
'The applications are endless… if only I could mark more than three.'
[User should be satisfied. Rotmark is an extremely versatile skill.]
His grin sharpened as he walked toward the rubble.
'I'm never satisfied...'
The thought was honest. The skill wasn't what it had first been. A class reward for level 18, Goregate, an ability that let him break wounds into living gates, tearing his own body into doorways for short-range movement. But the system had deemed it too similar, and merged it with Rotflow instead, birthing Rotmark.
Set a mark with blood. Spawn from it at will. The perfect ambush. The rabbit had set the mark. When Olson stomped it, he'd sealed his own trap.
The rubble split with lightning as Olson clawed his way free, armor scorched, face twisted with disbelief. To Seo-jin, he wasn't a threat...just meat thrashing against inevitability.
"I'll admit—"
Olson spat, aura flaring.
"You know how to make an entrance. Luck's really on your side. How the fuck did you manage to drag these bunnies back with you?"
'He thinks I just came through a rift. Idiot.'
Heavy steps thundered closer. Big Min's bulk. Gregor's shadow. Both were charging to support him—until Seo-jin lifted a cleaver and pointed it back at them.
"Don't interfere."
They stopped cold. Both exchanged a glance, their auras bristling at the edge, but they obeyed.
Seo-jin turned back to Olson, blade raised.
"You attacked my men behind my back. You know what that means, don't you?"
Silence pressed in. The last Wire Dog scream guttered out. The kits had chewed through every straggler, F- and E-rank corpses torn into steaming piles. All eyes turned to Olson. All sharing the same look.
He was prey.
"It means your Dead Hands were too weak to hold what they had. I just did what you would've done."
Olson's voice carried, but the arrogance was gone. His chest rattled with the truth he hated, Seo-jin had always been the shadow over him. Same rank, same strength on paper, but every time they crossed paths he felt smaller. Lesser.
"Wrong."
Seo-jin sank low, bloodlight rising from his skin like molten tar.
"I'd have finished it already."
The world blinked. Seo-jin was gone.
"He's faster…"
Gregor muttered, eyes narrowing. Big Min didn't laugh, her jaw set tight.
Impact split the dock. Sparks burst. Bloodlight and lightning cracked the night, steel ringing like a dozen blades colliding at once.
[-12SM]
[Black Pit // Activated]
[-30% Speed / Radius 4m / Duration 30sec]
The ground beneath them drowned in shadow. Time staggered. To the onlookers, the blur slowed just enough to see the slaughter unfold.
[-2SM]
[Rend // Activated]
[+15% Slicing Damage]
Butcher's Wrath stretched to six feet, cleavers howling as they slammed against Olson's sword. Olson moved with polish, each parry and riposte tight, his technique precise.
Seo-jin didn't care. He hammered forward with raw savagery, blades carving at angles no duel had ever taught, a tide of violence Olson only knew from beasts.
Embarrassment cracked the knight's focus. Aura detonated, lightning flaring, gales of wind shredding around him, his speed doubling.
Cuts landed. A rib opened. An arm split. Blood sprayed across the docks. Demonic Will stacked as Butcher's Wrath shrank. Instead of backing off, Seo-jin grinned through the wounds, pressing deeper into range. His cleavers ruled up close.
Steel rang as he crossed his blades, catching Olson's strike, then drove an elbow deep into the knight's gut—
"Is this it?!"
Olson barely flinched. He twisted his grip, letting the sword dip—then snapped the pommel down.
Metal crushed skull. Seo-jin slammed into the dock with bone-cracking force.
"The mighty Reaper of Shatterbay came back just in time to die!"
Fire bloomed in Olson's palm. In a blink it stretched into a roaring torrent, a dragon's throat vomiting flame straight at Seo-jin.
Gregor's pistols cracked. Min charged. The Dead Hands shouted. Olson ignored them, raising his sword only to shield his face from the gunfire.
"Stop!"
For a heartbeat Olson thought the shout was aimed at him. Gregor and Min knew better, it was for them.
A hand burst from the flames. Claws hooked, punching straight through armor and skin, crushing Olson's throat.
His vision blurred, and his head hit the concrete.
Boom!
"You—!"
Boom!
"Let—!"
Boom!
The fire around him flared, but his face kept meeting the ground. Helm gone. Teeth shattered. Blood spraying in ropes. Boom, boom, boom! By the seventh slam, he was little more than a sack of broken flesh.
Seo-jin released him at last, standing over the twitching mess. His clothes half-burnt, skin cool to the touch, the fire hadn't even singed a hair.
"Get up."
Olson wheezed awake, scrambling backward, armor scraping as he crawled.
"I—I'm sorry! Take the territory, you can have my contacts, just let me—"
"Get up!"
Seo-jin's voice cracked the docks like a gunshot. Olson froze, eyes wide, face twisting.
"Listen—I have powerful friends. They won't let you walk away—"
"That's better."
Seo-jin's voice dropped low.
"Threats suit you more than begging. Begging makes me soft."
The killing intent in his eyes made Olson shake. Cuts, bruises, blood streaking his skin—he was a pitiful wreck.
"A deal! Let's make a deal! If you spare me, I'll bend the knee—I'll bring my men under you. You'll own the south side!"
Seo-jin tilted his head, as if weighing it. But all he did was wait. The stink of desperation gave away the truth, this pathetic lump of meat wasn't going to just give up.
Then, system light flickered behind Olson. A spearhead shimmered, fracturing into dozens. Olson smiled, rolled, and unleashed them. Bolts of lightning-fast death streaked through the air.
Gasps. Stillness.
Except Seo-jin.
"Missed?! How?! Where d—?!"
Olson never finished. His eyes went wide as steel split bone. From behind, a cleaver buried deep in his skull.
Seo-jin leaned close, voice crawling into his ear as blood spilled down the man's chin.
"I'm right here."
The second cleaver fell. Olson's head tore free.
[+375Exp // +6SM // -15sec]
[Feed // Activated]
His corpse hit the dock in a wet sprawl. The Dead Hands roared, voices raw, bloodied fists raised.
The rush burned through Seo-jin. Instinct screamed to lift the severed head, drink deep, drown in it. He stopped himself...remembered the plan. With a flick, he tossed the skull aside, gore spraying across the planks.
'Like I practiced…'
He stepped forward, lips peeling back into something that was supposed to be a smile but came out twisted.
"Slick shit, right?! Now tell me—who's the boss?!"
"Wohan Seo-jin!"
"Wohan Seo-jin!"
He pumped his arms, forcing energy into their frenzy.
"Who's the Reaper of Shatterbay?!"
"Wohan Seo-jin!"
Even Big Min bellowed it, her laugh rolling between chants. Only Gregor stood silent, his eyes flat.
'Can't believe they'd follow an idiot like this.'
Feeling slightly embarrassed, Seo-jin ignored the sniper. He'd taken his time coming back from the dungeon, dragging up every scrap of memory he could about the Dead Hands, about himself. Every word, every smirk was guesswork. He was wearing a skin that wasn't his, and so far, they didn't notice.
The survivors rushed him. Bleeding, scorched, still trembling from battle. They didn't care. The boss had come back from the dead.
Over their heads, Seo-jin called out, voice light, almost cheerful.
"Lynn! We got wounded here!"
Heads turned. John appeared first, confusion snapping through the gang.
"Isn't he with Dirk's crew?"
"Where's the rest?"
"Who the fuck's the old lady?"
A sharp intake of breath cut them off. A thin man with a white streak in his hair—Slims—rushed forward. His eyes went wide when he saw her.
"It's Lynn! What the hell happened to you?!"
She shoved him aside, ignoring the question. Her steps dragged, but her hands already burned green as she dropped to a wounded man's side.
"The boss'll tell you. Who's bleeding worst?"
Her voice cracked like iron. She wasn't asking for pity. She was already stitching flesh shut. Seo-jin approved. No time for wallowing...only work.
"Just like she said—I'll give the story later."
He jabbed a finger at Big Min and Gregor.
"First, you two with me. Lynn, come when you're done. The rest of you—clean the mess, set patrols. If another gang's gonna move, it'll be now, while you're still limping."
"Yes, boss!"
They scattered, dragging bodies, dousing fires, hauling weapons. Seo-jin turned toward the main warehouse, cleavers still clenched tight in his fists. His palms itched. Butcher's Wrath drank the night, still hungry, and he couldn't let them see him sheath it—not yet.
[Detecting rising hostility.]
'Gregor's not an idiot like the others. But we prepared for this.'
[User may still abandon this identity. Assume a new one.]
'No. What's mine stays mine. They'll bend, or they'll break. Either way, the Dead Hands belong to me—and I'll bleed them myself before I let go.'
The graffiti-stained warehouse sat like his trophy. Across its steel doors sprawled a mural, skeletal fingers bursting from the ground, clutching a black cube, the Network's mark. Wire tendons at the wrist frayed, red slash bleeding behind it.
Dead Hands HQ.
His new home.