Chapter 18: Killer seed
"Micah."
Dax called out softly—voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of command.
Without a sound, Micah appeared behind him—presence silent and absolute, wings folded, golden eyes watchful.
"Watch over me."
Micah bowed his head in acknowledgment—no words needed.
Dax turned his gaze inward.
This time… I will have no regrets.
His hand rested on Cil's hilt—fingers curling with quiet reverence.
A dark surge rose within him, and a wave of killing intent poured from his body like a bursting dam—thick, suffocating, black-red wisps drifting outward in slow, predatory coils.
The proper method to train the Killer Series began with the formation of the Killer Seed.
In an instant, the suffocating, depressive aura blanketed the entire House of Fall—seeping into stone, wood, and air alike.
"Take your stances! We are under attack!"
Four figures shot into the sky—elders of the clan, senses sharpened to razor edges, scanning the night for the source.
"What is this killing intent…?"
"Who could produce something so dense…?"
The air grew heavier—thicker—until red and black wisps drifted across the courtyards, taking tangible form as they coiled like living mist.
One of the floating guards turned his head sharply toward Dax's residence.
Without a sound, he descended—careful, silent—toward the origin.
Deep inside his quarters, Dax's grandfather opened one eye.
He looked outside, feigning ignorance…
But he already knew exactly where the killing intent originated.
With a casual flick of his sleeve, a black veil wrapped around him—concealing his presence completely.
He vanished.
Heading straight to Dax's courtyard.
"Come."
At Dax's command, the killing intent erupting from his body abruptly reversed—rushing inward like a black tide, condensing at his heart with violent precision.
There, it solidified into a small, crimson crystal droplet—pulsing faintly, etched with faint, wailing inscriptions.
From the swirling mist, figures materialized—twisted silhouettes of the people Dax had killed in the past.
Their rage was palpable.
Even innocents he had slain stood among them—screaming silently, faces frozen in accusation.
Dax looked at them with a heavy expression—almost sorrowful.
"Do not resent me. Instead… direct that will into your next life."
The atmosphere grew unbearably heavy as the phantoms slowly merged into the forming seed—each one vanishing with a final, mournful wail.
Sensing danger, Micah moved to intervene—
—but Dax raised his hand.
"I wasn't interested before…"
His eyes darkened—crimson light flickering in their depths.
"Now you have my attention."
The Killer Seed flickered once—and in a flash, it appeared before Dax.
He pressed a finger to his forehead.
Light swallowed him.
He found himself standing in a place that felt painfully familiar.
"Where… am I?"
He looked down and froze.
The hands he saw were small—the hands of a child.
"I remember now…"
His voice trembled—raw, real.
"This is where it all began."
The scene shifted violently.
Dax stood before the half-devoured corpse of his mother.
The reflection in a blood-soaked puddle showed his younger self—broken, trembling, drenched in gore.
"No… no, it can't be…"
His chest tightened.
His mouth tasted bitter—copper and ash.
"Mother… please forgive me…"
He tried to gather her torn intestines with shaking hands.
"Please… don't die… don't leave me…"
He knew it was an illusion—but the pain was too real.
"Why didn't you abandon me…?"
His voice broke completely.
"You sacrificed yourself… for me…"
There were no tears left in him.
He had drowned in this nightmare long ago.
A hollow laugh escaped his lips—bitter, self-loathing.
"Today… I face my demons."
His eyes darkened with resolve.
"I will face what I did."
Dax began to eat the remains of his mother—a horrific action, but one he had once committed in madness and grief.
He relived every agonizing second—flesh tearing, blood warm on his tongue, the taste of guilt and survival.
As he consumed the last piece, the resentful spirits around him ignited—burning away one by one, flames of release rather than vengeance.
"Mother… forgive me. I promise… I will save you in this life."
He swallowed the final morsel.
The House of Fall fell eerily silent.
High above, Dax's grandfather watched from the sky—the black veil hiding him entirely.
Another elder felt Micah's presence and quietly retreated to his own residence.
All the miasma covering the estate retracted—flowing back into Dax's body like ink returning to a pen.
It fused into the Killer Seed—which now bore inscriptions of wailing ghosts etched across its crimson surface.
Dax's eyes narrowed.
"What… did I just witness?"
Both Micah and the grandfather were shaken.
Micah studied Dax intently—wings half-unfurled, expression unreadable.
"He claims to have no mana… yet he imitates it."
"I've never seen this—using killing intent like pure energy."
"Impossible… and yet…"
Grandfather had reached his own conclusion, though he said nothing.
Silently, he returned to his chamber.
As he departed, Dax opened his eyes.
They glowed with a deep, unsettling crimson.
He gazed directly at the spot where his grandfather had stood.
"Nosy old fox…"
Dax gripped Cil by the hilt and rose.
His stance shifted fluidly into the Killer Series' Second Form: Blood Flow.
His long hair draped over his shoulder—hanging heavy as if soaked in water.
His posture changed completely—rooted, disciplined, dangerous—like a seasoned martial artist who had walked through rivers of blood.
Slowly, killing intent leaked from the Killer Seed and spread through his body.
A baleful aura wrapped around him—dark, oppressive.
Behind him, the vengeful spirit manifested—silent, twisted, watching.
Dax stepped back and stretched one leg behind him.
Slowly, he pulled Cil—mimicking the motion of drawing a blade from a scabbard.
She had no scabbard—yet the motion was flawless.
Perfect.
Sharp.
In that single movement, energy surged from the Killer Seed into his sword.
Cil's edge grew cold.
She hummed softly—releasing a faint, eerie hymn.
Dax swung.
A wide, devastating arc.
A crimson crescent tore through the air—silent, perfect.
I didn't think this through, he thought, palm twitching against his face.
The arc traveled at impossible speed.
The manor split cleanly in two.
The cut was silent.
Perfect.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a surge of baleful aura erupted—blasting the severed half away in a storm of shattered stone and splintered wood.
Grandfather, hearing the disturbance, returned to the courtyard.
This time, he did not conceal his presence.
He appeared beside Dax in an instant.
He surveyed the destruction—half the manor gone, the remaining structure trembling on its foundations.
Admiration flashed in his eyes.
Then he turned to Dax—a dark, approving smile curling across his lips.
"Why destroy your own house?"