The Ring of Fear (1)

The blade dragged against the wall, emitting a sharp, grating noise that echoed through the underground passage, becoming distorted and eerie. In the darkness and stench, such a sound was undoubtedly the most effective way to stir human fear.

Karyl walked slowly, keeping his pace measured to better control the speed at which the blade scraped the surface.

He had studied this extensively; he knew exactly what angle and pressure to apply against different types of walls to produce the sharpest, most unsettling noise.

Of course, his purpose was not to create experimental music, nor was he bored enough to decide to dismantle the tunnel with a knife.

In fact, Karyl had only one reason for doing this.

To sow fear.

People are always afraid of the unknown, and that was precisely his goal.

Squinting, Karyl stopped in his tracks. He could hear the woman ahead, her ragged breathing betraying her uncontrollable terror, and her footsteps, which she clearly thought were well-concealed. The underground passage amplified every sound.

He could kill her right now.

But not yet.

Or rather, it wasn't enough.

After standing still for five minutes, a massive shadow leaped down from above his head. The Wraith hunched over and whispered in his ear, "Are we not killing her?"

"Of course we are."

"But she is running away."

"She won't get far. The end of this tunnel leads to Lynch Avenue. She will find the leader of the Blood Tooth Gang there, and then she will receive protection."

"Do the people in the Blood Tooth Gang know her?"

"No, but they recognize the crest of the Skolevok Family. They will provide protection, albeit skeptically, just like the previous gang. No gang can refuse the chance to associate with nobility."

"I still don't understand," the Wraith said honestly. "Karyl, you said you gave them twelve hours to run or hide, but that time is almost up."

Karyl slowly bared his teeth.

"That is exactly what I wanted. The twelve hours were just a ruse, Wraith."

"From the moment I set that deadline, they began to count. They would grow nervous, tremble, and even collapse under the pressure of wishing those twelve hours would pass quickly. Fear makes them forget many things."

"Oh, so you lied to them about the twelve hours?"

"Not entirely."

Karyl chuckled softly. "They could hide, run, or try to resist within those twelve hours. But once the twelve hours are up, they will die regardless."

The Wraith blinked; he could not yet grasp how terrifying Karyl's words were for their prey. However, he still had a few questions that needed answering.

Karyl had told him that if he had any questions, he could ask at any time.

"Why do you know where they are?" the Wraith asked, puzzled. "We didn't even do any reconnaissance before starting this job."

"Because I have some special little methods."

"Oh. You said there were three of them?"

"Yes."

"Then why aren't they staying together?"

"Because the Skolevok Family needs an heir to inherit the title. Nobles always have strange obsessions in strange places. One of them clearly thought that splitting up would increase their chances of survival."

As he said this, a face flashed before Karyl's eyes.

He decided to save her for last.

The rain continued. After a seven-hour rest, Karyl had regained his energy. Although sleeping against a chair had left his neck a bit sore, overall, it was nothing of consequence.

"Let's go, Wraith. She should have made contact with the Blood Tooth Gang by now."

Karyl said softly, "Remember, be sure to stay quiet later."

"Oh," the Wraith replied, feeling confused.

How strange, he thought. Hadn't Karyl always demanded that they work quietly? Why would he repeat himself?

He certainly didn't know the reason, and he didn't need to.

There are many ways to manufacture fear.

Lena Skolevok was nearly insane. Covered in filth and disheveled, she huddled in the basement of the Blood Tooth Gang's stronghold, not even daring to draw a full breath.

She was afraid. She was afraid that her breathing would attract the monster lurking in the darkness.

That vengeful, malevolent spirit.

Just as she was gasping in terror, a knock sounded on the basement door. Lena Skolevok immediately raised the automatic pistol she had demanded, staring at the entrance without saying a word.

Her eyes were widened to their limit, her mouth agape, yet she dared not breathe. The scar running across her face turned a faint, angry red.

A manic fragmentation bloomed across that once-noble face, making her look like someone entirely different from Lena Skolevok.

"Uh, Miss Lena Skolevok?"

A hesitant voice drifted from outside the basement door. "I'm Ralph from the Blood Tooth Gang. Do you need a change of clothes? The acid rain is corrosive, Miss? Are you still there?"

Blood Tooth Gang.

Lena let out a breath, her cheek twitching, though she couldn't fully relax. She stood up, slowly made her way to the corner leading to the basement door, and whispered, "Is there any movement outside?"

"Uh?"

"Outside, is there any movement?"

"...Are you new to Quintus? It's raining outside, and there are some people drag racing on the streets. There's a perfect spot for it at the end of Lynch Avenue—"

Lena Skolevok took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to scream. In the span of that brief exchange, the anxiety spreading from the depths of her heart began to erode what little sanity she had left.

Her hands began to tremble again.

"—No, no, listen to me, Ralph of the Blood Tooth Gang."

Clutching her gun, Lena did her utmost to keep her voice composed.

"What you need to do is simple. You must keep a constant watch on the movement outside, especially be wary of singing, and—and send someone to contact the Glory Warlords. Tell them Lena Skolevok sent you."

"..."

The person outside the basement door muttered something unintelligible, then replied, "Alright, noble Miss, we will do it. If you need anything, just call for me, okay?"

Lena didn't answer; she only trembled.

Something similar had already happened once before.

At first, she had been full of hope, believing she could escape with her life.

The attitude the gangs showed upon seeing her clothes and the Skolevok crest she produced had only bolstered her confidence.

After all, not every gang had nobles backing them, and even rival nobles wouldn't send their subordinate gangs to murder the scion of another house in the Underhive unless it was during a Great Purge.

Then, the nightmare on the highway had drifted in.

Lena still remembered that the first gang to help her was called the Blood Mist Gang. They occupied an old building as their base and were quite numerous, with over two hundred members.

At the time, Lena had believed they could help her last through those twelve hours, but she was wrong.

The twelve-hour countdown ticked away slowly, reaching the final three hours. It was at this moment, the moment she thought she was finally safe, that the nightmare arrived.

First came the singing.

Low, long, and carrying an obvious gloom. The melody was soft, yet it felt like a blade scraping against the delicate skin of her neck.

It was exactly the same as it had been on the highway.

It drifted into the Blood Mist Gang's base, into everyone's ears. Then, the ghostly slaughter descended.

Starting from the ground floor of the old building, screams and wails erupted, mingling with the sound of gunfire as it spread all the way to the fourth-floor rooftop where Lena was hiding. It never stopped.

And then? What happened then?

Lena swallowed a mouthful of foul-smelling saliva, the stench and the strange taste on her tongue making her despairingly aware of one thing.

She knew that her current state of nobility likely lacked any of the poise expected of a Skolevok scion. She breathed in the stench, her skin burned by the acid rain, and most importantly—

She was scared to death.

Scared so much that she didn't even want to recall how that monster had broken into the final floor and killed everyone before her eyes.

Trembling, Lena pulled a pocket watch from her coat. It was a twenty-four-hour model, exquisite, with the Skolevok family crest on the back. People in the Underhive didn't care about time, but nobles did.

They knew that above the boiling, purple-black clouds of Nostramo, a weak sun lay hidden.

Lena Skolevok watched her watch, staring with hopeful, trembling eyes at the movement of the minute and second hands. On the silver-white face of the pocket watch, they moved slowly. The mechanical ticking echoed her heartbeat.

Almost there, almost there.

The twelve hours were almost up.

She sobbed, weeping in the filthy basement of an Underhive gang she looked down upon.

Her clothes were dirty, her expression shattered, her fingernails caked with grime, and the soles of her fine leather boots were covered in the mud she had tracked in while fleeing in a panic.

But—

The twelve hours were almost up.

Only five minutes left.

As long as she survived these five minutes, she could return to the Upper Hive. She could be Lena Skolevok once more. She could rely on the power of her family to crush that monster during the Great Purge—it might be able to withstand forty private soldiers, but what about four hundred?

Yes, yes, it would definitely work.

She sobbed and laughed, the expressions of breakdown and hope flickering back and forth across her dirty face. She watched the pocket watch, counting its ticks silently, secretly praying for time to move faster.

And then.

Finally.

Five minutes. It was over. The second hand passed, then the minute hand, and finally the hour hand. They jumped past the archaic numbers, continuing their dance on the mechanism that only nobles could understand.

Lena stared at it, dazed.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

She stood up, trembling, still weeping, but these were tears of ecstasy. A smile inevitably spread across her lips; she almost wanted to burst into laughter. There were no sounds of slaughter coming from outside the basement door like before, which meant the monster hadn't found her.

It had lost her trail!

She climbed the stairs inch by inch, her boots making muffled thuds against the wood. Lena Skraivok pushed open the basement door, filled with hope, and then, she saw—

Corpses.

And a pitch-black shadow.

Finally, a low singing voice.

Deep, long, and carrying an unmistakable gloom. The melody was soft, yet it felt like a blade scraping against the delicate skin of her throat.

"No, no, no."

At the very end of her life, Lena Skraivok let out a shattered scream, a sound like a beast being slaughtered.

First, I would like to thank everyone for their monthly tickets and support.

Then, I have two things to say. First, the update time has been moved forward; while a midnight update fits the Legion's standards, it is indeed a bit hellish.

Second, some readers have likely realized that I have adjusted the timeline of this book. For instance, Curze is only a year and a half old, yet that piece of trash Count Tattoo is already an adult. I made this decision after weighing my options.

After all, this is a fanfiction.

And, I really, really want him to die.

(In any case, he will be dead tomorrow.)