1% Lifesteal

Freddy couldn't help but ogle the interior decor of the opulent building. Matt strode before them, leading down the colorful, slick hallways. Everything was plasticized; pink, beige, and turquoise were the dominant colors, and the flowers growing in the space swayed on their own, even though the air was perfectly still.

They had been escorted into Madame's headquarters—a large, gaudy building dominated by a headache-inducing color palette. And now, the assistant was taking them to Madame's office.

Mark looked stricken, glancing anxiously at every corner, and Freddy kept trying to calm the young man with affirming nods and kind smiles.

The last thing he wanted was to be judgmental, but if Mark didn't get his shit together, it would only worsen his situation.

Matt brought them into an ample, open antechamber with a massive golden door on the other side, the murmurs of a crowd echoing through it. The door's frame looked like fluffy, pink clouds, and there was a neon light shaped into a cartoonified version of Madame above it. Numerous people sat along the benches encircling the room. Most were women dressed in, at least in his opinion, silly outfits that looked like something that belonged in a sci-fi-themed circus.

God, I hate rich people, he thought.

It wasn't long until they were among the strange crowd, sitting on one of the benches lining the walls.

"Excuse me," called a woman sitting to their right.

She wore a skin-tight, black leather suit with extremely pale makeup, and her red hair tied into a… side tail? Like a ponytail, but starting from above her right ear. It was also weirdly stiff and protruded far out. That looked frighteningly inconvenient to live with, and given that her head turn made her hair slap the other woman sitting next to her, it probably very much so was.

"I was just wondering, are you two orphans?"

He blinked at that, surprised at the question.

"Ohohoho, I must be correct!" the woman declared without even a hint of shame. "Don't worry, don't worry, trust me, you two are lucky. Parents can be such a drag."

He had no idea what made this person presume they were orphaned, and it kind of miffed him that she was even half-correct. But, rather than say anything, he merely politely nodded at her with the shakiest smile-frown he had ever given anyone and turned around. The unusual actions of the woman seemed to have confused Mark out of his frightened state, at least partly.

Both the men jolted a bit as the neon light above the large door suddenly lit up, and a surprisingly loud voice rang out as Madame spoke through the speakers, "Greetings, my darlings!"

"Hi, Madame!" a chorus of female and a few male voices echoed throughout the room.

Suddenly, the door opened with a rainbow light show, with giant arrows lighting up on the ground below, guiding whoever was inside, out of the building. Two suited men left through the door, shooting disgusted glances at the people around the room. They promptly walked out, and the voice continued, "I would like the two boys that just arrived to step inside, darlings, and our meeting will probably take a while. You know what that means!?"

As if on cue, all the women got up and yelled, "Coffee, tea, and cake, bestie!"

Jesus Christ, this is a damn cult! he thought, wishing he could die from the cringe he was experiencing and contemplating whether coming here was a mistake.

The large crowd gathered in the room slowly left, and Matt, who had momentarily disappeared to who knew where reappeared again and escorted them toward the door. The confusion was gradually replaced by fear once more as the three men strode into the office.

It was a large, primarily pink chamber. One of the walls was a massive window looking over the twenty-fifth and 24th districts. There were numerous couches, bean bags, and chairs scattered around, and the desk in the middle stretched considerably and formed heart shapes on both ends.

On the other side of the desk was a fluffy chair with its back turned to them, and only as they stepped right before the desk did the chair rotate, revealing Madame seated on it, smiling cheekily at them.

Her cerulean hair was, this time, combed back into a much more ordinary hairstyle, and she was wearing a beige suit. With an appearance like this, it wouldn't be hard to mistake her for a slightly eccentric businesswoman.

"Boys," she called in a sultry tone, maintaining the smile on her expression. "I hear you want to talk to me about something."

"Yes," Freddy declared, taking a step back and opening his mouth to—

"Hold up, sweetheart," Madame said with a lift of her hand. "First, why don't you take a seat?"

He looked around. While there were plenty of things to sit on, they were all scattered around the room. Not to mention that there was a drastic lack of "ordinary" seats to be seen, which made picking something much more difficult.

"I would prefer to stay standing, Madame," he said politely.

Mark couldn't stop a fearful gaze from flicking between Madame and the ground. She was most certainly aware of his state but tactfully ignored it.

"I…" he started, but paused to take a deep breath. "I want to offer you a trade."

"A trade?" Madame said with a slight surprise.

He steeled himself, forcing himself to execute the plan he had prepared. "You have the life-affinity, correct?"

"Life is one of my affinities, yes," she confirmed, her smile growing more amused.

"Well," he continued, "I believe my talent would be handy to you."

"In what way?" she asked skeptically, squinting her eyes.

"First, I would like his," he said with a gesture at Mark, "family to be guaranteed safety. And in turn, you can… You can…" he tried, doing his best to keep himself from shaking. "You can do whatever you wish to me."

This was his plan. Regardless of how extreme an injury he suffered, his talent could heal it. He was the perfect target if she needed or wanted someone to experiment on.

He wasn't just making this offer to help Mark's situation.

No matter how he thought about it, the assassination attempt and what happened to Mark were just a bit too extreme.

His story came down to him beaning a stray monster; would anyone truly go that far just to sabotage Madame's interview?

There was more to it than that. No matter what it took, he would get closer to Madame and unravel—

His thoughts were interrupted as Madame finally reacted to his suggestion. The way she did, though, wasn't what he expected to see.

She sighed, an exasperated look descending upon her expression, followed by a hint of… shame? Guilt? Her hand reached for her forehead and sat there as if she were experiencing a headache. "How manly of you, darling"—she breathed out, unimpressed—"but I really don't want what you're offering." And then, with another sigh, she got up. "I believe I owe you two an apology."

Mark appeared flabbergasted, but Freddy didn't react to her actions.

"Believe it or not," she said, "I'm not a sadist that goes around killing people for sport, and I certainly don't enjoy torture or human experimentation," she explained. "What happened then caught me in a bad mood, and I might have overreacted slightly. I hope you," she said with a slight nod at Freddy, "understand that I did that for your protection."

"As for you," she said as she turned to Mark, causing the young man to flinch. "I'm really sorry for the untimely threat. I didn't know that you already refused the offer, and I certainly wasn't aware of the fallout. What you did deserved a reward and encouragement, not… that. Sorry for what happened to your sister. I hope you accept my sincerest apology."

Mark appeared bewildered at Madame's apology, but Freddy simply nodded and thanked her. "Thank you, Madame. I also apologize for my presumptuousness."

That earned him yet another glance, this time from all three of the people present in the room.

Madame raised her eyebrow, but she didn't comment on his behavior. "Regarding the transpired events, I believe it would be best to inform the two of you of what's happening. How about we have a seat and get a bit more comfortable?"

This time, Madame took the lead before they could refuse, moving to a half-moon-shaped couch with a small coffee table in the middle.

"Do you boys want anything to drink?" she asked.

"No, thank you," Freddy refused instantly.

"I—Uhm… I would like tea if you have any," Mark said, wincing, likely at the last part of what he said. "Whichever Madame recommends."

Madame clapped her hands and got more comfortable, taking the coat off her suit and throwing it loosely on the couch beside her. "I will cut right to the chase," she said. "Freddy, darling… who did you offend and how?"

He was genuinely surprised at that question. But it didn't take him long to realize why she was asking him that. "Do you mean to suggest someone is specifically after… me?"

"Bingo," she confirmed. "Or, at least, that's the only conclusion I can make."

It didn't take him long to remember the unusual man who paid him a visit a while back, but unless explicitly asked to mention him, he would refrain from talking about that. "If I did, it was without my knowledge," he answered truthfully.

Madame sighed and pinched her brow. "It has been giving me the biggest headache. No matter how I think about it, it doesn't make sense."

"What exactly?" he asked.

"At first," she said with a squint of her eyes, "I assumed that the threat and assassination attempt were from two completely different individuals. It would make sense. The party that went after Mark wouldn't have called for such a costly favor if they knew that you would be dead soon. But it's already been nearly a month and a half… so why haven't they appeared again?"

He thought about it for a second, landing on one possible answer, but he closed his mouth before giving it. The first thing that came to mind was that they didn't expect Madame to find out, but that was preposterous. They must have acted knowing that Madame would know and likely had a way around it.

His thoughts were interrupted as he noticed Madame grinning at him. He broke out of his contemplation, looking at her apprehensively. "Is… Did I do something strange?" he asked.

"No… No…" she denied, leaning back on the couch. "I just remembered something funny."

"Sorry about that," she said. "Back to the topic. I believe the party that contacted Mark is the same one that bribed the doctor. It isn't that they weren't aware that you would likely be dead; it was that they were expecting it."

He frowned at that. He hadn't made that connection quite yet, but if that was the case—

"Which is what makes me so confused," she admitted, twirling a handful of her hair while blowing air.

At that moment, a seemingly seamless patch of the wall slid open, revealing an entrance that a strangely dressed waitress walked out of. She wore frilly, skimpy clothing, comprising barely more than a tight crop top and a short skirt.

Freddy made no comment or showed any outward indication that he noticed the unusual get-up, deciding it was none of his business.

As the woman placed coffee before him, he was taken out of his thoughts. It smelled enchanting. He immediately grabbed it and brought it up as if he were about to take a sip, but then paused, putting it back down while frowning. "Madame…"

"What is it, darling?"

He didn't actually intend to drink anything she served him, because he simply didn't trust her one bit.

He barely held himself back from wincing as Mark slurped loudly. "This tea is incredible!" the man complimented.

Madame smiled and nodded at the young man, then turned back to Freddy. "You don't need to feel obligated to drink. I just don't like seeing my guests empty-handed."

"Thank you, either way," he said.

Madame took a large sip of her cocktail and continued, "So… I'm very confident that this was all orchestrated by a single individual or organization, but I have no idea who or why. Which is why I've asked you whether you've offended anyone. Can you tell me if you have met anyone powerful or participated in some sort of political event?"

He tapped his lips contemplatively and frowned. Then, he proceeded to retell his business at the ATA, sharing precisely what happened without any omissions or alterations, even intentionally accenting his own naivete and foolishness.

After a bit of hesitation, he decided to share his meeting with that strange, casually dressed man who visited him at his apartment. While he wanted to stick as close to the truth as possible, there was no way he would mention Bloodshed.

He did say that the man was strangely interested in his filthy clothing; however, the moment he said that, she seemed to light up with realization.

Shiiiiiit, he cursed internally. Did that just give away a critical hint?

"Oh my God," the woman said while putting her cocktail down. "That couldn't… But wait. No!" she said with a massive grin. "How didn't I think of that?"

"What… What exactly?" he asked cautiously.

"All right, darling," she said, "I need you to retell me what happened when you encountered the monster. Please do not lie or change any details."

He frowned at how she said that but agreed to the request, retelling the whole thing.

She chuckled incredulously when he finished his story. "Incredible. That creature must have been a two-star monster, then."

Mark had been listening to the story with rapped attention, and when she said that, he nearly choked. "What!?"

"What?" Freddy also asked, genuinely confused.

"Let me explain it like this," she started. "How has your growth been recently?"

He thought about it and answered honestly. "It has been slowing down a bit."

"I see… After almost two months of intensive gathering, you are only beginning to slow down."

"Is there something off about that?" he asked with a frown.

Madame scoffed. "Yes. Very. Why do you think people fight monsters to begin with? I promise you that it isn't because of boredom—at least not for most. It is because your growth stagnates unless you challenge yourself."

He already knew this, but he had no idea when it was supposed to kick in. He chalked it up to his martial arts training and overall growth, but there seemed to be more to it.

Madame continued, "True, you can simply overcome yourself through training and practice, but putting your life on the line to come out on top in dangerous situations is much more rewarding. While yes, killing a monster does provide a portion of its ether, it also does more than that. It generates pure ether directly inside your soul and the abilities you use, especially if the opponent is significantly more powerful than you."

"So…" Freddy started. "Is someone trying to kill me because I'm…?"

"No," Madame denied before he could even finish the sentence. "While it's true that you have a head start in your growth, it is a temporary boost. What's more important is what that pure ether generation did to the environment around you.

"What you've done in that situation was impossibly unlikely. Consequently, the generated pure ether likely caused some form of anomaly. Or several. The three-affinity prime vestige you manifested is just one of them. And the clothes you wore, which had likely become a powerful cursed object, is another."

And Bloodshed is likely the third, he realized.

But there was something else that caught his attention. "Cursed object?"

"We'll get to that," Madame dismissed the question. "That doesn't matter now. What does matter is the possibility of something you've generated being what's called a 'unique.'"

Freddy was about to ask what it was but immediately realized she would likely explain it anyway, so he kept quiet.

It was going to be something, he realized, once he noticed that Mark's jaw dropped upon hearing that.

Madame smiled. "A unique is an ether construct that holds a true soul within."

She jokingly wagged a finger at Mark and nodded approvingly. "That's a pretty appropriate reaction. Uniques are, well, unique among ether constructs.

"They contain far fewer limits and are priceless in value. Unique cursed objects, for example, can grow in power. Say you have a cursed sword and use it in combat. Depending on its affinity, it would have some form of extraordinary ability. Usually, a cursed sword would lose power with use, eventually becoming garbage like any weapon did with time. On the other hand, a unique cursed sword would evolve and grow along with its user.

"Then you have unique prime vestiges. Simply put, they completely ignore that you're already an arch, allowing you to acquire another talent and more affinities."

He paled upon hearing that, but Madame waved him down. "Don't worry, that little thing you sold wasn't a unique prime. Only three have ever been found, and their asking price is above what money can afford.

"There are also many different shades of unique treasures, all possessing some form of absurd effect that ignores conventional limits, and the last one, the type of unique that is likely the least rare but also the most difficult to obtain—unique sentient ether constructs."

It took all he had to not show any external reaction, and by some miracle, he managed to keep his heart from beating faster than was ordinary for a situation like this.

"These," she continued, "are notorious for being frighteningly dangerous. We have encountered plenty of them. But they grow too powerful by scouring the passages and swiftly become eidolons that nobody is qualified to subjugate. If one were to discover a unique vestige, on the other hand… well, that's a different story. Their defining trait is that they possess true will."

Every sentence she uttered made his blood grow colder.

"What makes them so priceless, however, is something else. Ether shells, and subsequently, their abilities, can't be evolved through any random concept. There needs to be some form of connection. Uniques don't have that sort of limit. You can use any unique to upgrade any ability. Do you want the general death concept tied to a fire spell? What about fusing heat and cold into an unholy abomination that defies basic logic? What about making your water sharper than a sword?

"Not just that, but also, upon absorbing a unique, you will acquire the affinities it holds a connection to, and if you already have one of the affinities, it will evolve into a unique affinity."

"So…" he started, gulping. "Do you think I generated a unique vestige!?" he exaggerated his panic. It was pretty easy, given how he already felt.

Madame nodded hesitantly. "It's possible. And I'm starting to form a few theories about who might be after you. It probably disappeared from where it spawned, and you are among the suspects who might have taken it."

It really pissed him off that she phrased that as if he'd stolen the damn thing. He was the one who manifested it. It was rightfully his.

"Either way," she said, finally finishing the final sip of her cocktail. "I think that's all we can talk about. I can't really share any further details without compromising your safety. I will say one last thing, however," she started, smiling at them gently and softening her voice. "You are under my protection, and while that is the case, you can feel free to focus on your work. I will use my influence to keep you safe, and we'll figure something out for when you're done with your contractual obligations."

"I—" Mark tried, but couldn't bring himself to speak.

"You can relax," Madame assured him. "Your family is safe under my protection, and yes, while your services aren't strictly necessary, we will extend your contract for another three months," she said with a wink.

"What about…?" He gulped. "My family. This has put us into a… rather unfortunate—"

"I can't help you with that," she said flatly.

He frowned, a look of frustration flashing through his expression. "Why?"

"Because that would create a weakness," she stated, picking her cocktail back up and swirling the straw around. "If I make a habit of doing that, my enemies will make a habit of harassing the people under me to force me to dip into my personal funds. Stopping once I start would be tricky because it would cost me the loyalty of my subjects."

"Couldn't you…" Mark tried, but—

"I'd love to make an exception," she said, smiling sympathetically, "but I can't. I made that mistake once already, and it hurt far more people than it helped… Don't worry, though…" Her expression darkened. "When I find out who's behind this, I will pay them back. Nobody will make a mockery of my name and get away with it. I promise you that."

Mark and Freddy gulped nervously, and after some more inane chatting, they headed home.

***

Mark's apartment had already been cleaned up, likely as a favor from Madame, and his door had been repaired. They entered the room, mostly staying quiet, until—

"So," Freddy said, yawning loudly. "I think I'm gonna take a short nap."

"In my living room? Dude, go home," the young man said, clearly tired from all that had happened today.

"No," he refused. "I don't think I will." Then, with an evident change to his tone, he said, "I think I want to take a nap right here." He promptly closed his eyes and appeared within the Netherecho.

Mark didn't take too long to catch on, and as the mannequin representing his body appeared, so did his projection.

"What are you—" Mark started, but—

"Do not talk about Bloodshed," he said, "and don't trust anything Madame says." With that, he left the Netherecho, and the man soon followed.

"Dude, you…"

"Your couch is hella uncomfortable, bro," he said teasingly. "I think I prefer my bed instead. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." He waved goodbye to the man and left his apartment.

Moments later, he was at his place, walking over to a specific drawer in the kitchen. A crumpled-up grocery bag was in there, and, with the drawer still open, he entered the Netherecho.

His projection slithered into the drawer, walking over to the small, crumpled bag. His tiny hand landed on the bag, and with a push of his will, he gradually sank into it, appearing within the smushed space with the giant skeleton.

"Bloodshed—" he greeted. He now knew how this thing had disobeyed him and followed him here despite being explicitly told not to.

Because it had a will of its own.

He couldn't safely get rid of Bloodshed and couldn't use it himself since it was too powerful to enter his soul. And it wasn't like he could sell it, either. He only had one option—ensure that it remained loyal to him and keep it hidden at all costs.

"—I bring dire news," he continued.

"What is it, my lord?"

"Gah!" he spat angrily. "My enemies… they are after you!"

"After… me?"

"Yes, my loyal minion," he said, clenching his fists and turning to look at the wall of the grocery bag. "They fear the potential you have, the contribution to my future plans you might provide! They wish to cut you down before you grow to your full potential, but they aren't aware of where you hide."

"My lord… should we eradicate them?"

"Patience, my little lake of blood," he declared dramatically. "All will come with time. Speaking of which, I do not have much left. I will speak with you again soon when I am confident they aren't watching."

He had spent much time talking to the remnant and developed a sense of how it operated. While getting it to do what he wanted wasn't hard, bringing it to understand could be tricky. Speaking in terms it could more readily comprehend just made the process faster.

Bloodshed nodded, and he retreated, leaving the Netherecho. "Where was it again?" He scratched the back of his head, pretending that he was just looking for something. "I guess not here… Well, whatever."

He proceeded with his regular routine, eating, cleaning himself, and going to sleep. Or at least trying to. But he couldn't.

Because how the hell was he supposed to walk out of this situation alive?