Mireya Korvin — one of the top leaders of the Vornshade Clan — was dead. Killed by Alex Axe.
Alex hadn't expected it to be that easy. One swing, one clean hit, and she was gone.
Paragon Mages were powerful, sure—but their bodies? Weak. They built their strength through mind and mana, not muscle and bone. Magic required focus, not durability. Qi users, on the other hand, trained their flesh to survive hell itself.
That was the difference.
And that difference just got Mireya killed.
Unless a mage carried some enchanted beast armor or magical barrier, they were as fragile as any normal person. And Mireya… she was even worse off. Naked.
While the clan's compound burned outside, she had been tangled up with Varkov in bed—skin against skin, unaware of death walking through their halls.
The axe tore through her back, the edge bursting from her chest in a red spray. Blood misted across the satin sheets, splattering over Varkov's face.
Alex reached out.
The weapon ripped free from Mireya's corpse, spinning back through the air until it slapped into his palm.
He didn't wait.
He charged.
"Arhh!" Alex roared as he leapt, bringing his axe down in a savage swing.
Varkov's reflexes kicked in. A thick, shadowy aura burst from his hand as he shoved Mireya's body toward Alex, using her corpse as a shield.
The body crashed against the incoming blow.
Their bodies collided midair, the impact cracking through the room. Alex was thrown backward with Mireya's corpse slamming into him, both of them crashing hard onto the cold floor.
Varkov didn't waste a second. He rolled off the bed, his feet hitting the ground with a heavy thud, and darted toward the far end of the chamber.
There—half-hidden by the shadows—was a door Alex hadn't even noticed before.
Dark aura coiled around Varkov like smoke. He kicked the door open with a sharp crack, splintering the wood, and rushed inside.
Alex gritted his teeth, shoving Mireya's body off him. The sheets were soaked in blood, sticky and warm. He pushed to his feet and sprinted after Varkov.
The new room was larger than he expected—an office, maybe. Wide space. Polished floor. A long L-shaped couch sat at one end beside a glass table.
But Alex's attention didn't stay there.
He froze.
All along the walls hung skeletons. Dozens of them. Some human. Some... not. Their bones were twisted, shaped wrong, hung like trophies.
And at the far end stood Varkov. Still naked, his pale skin glowing under the dim light. His hand, wrapped in that dark, shifting aura, rested against a small human skeleton. The bones were tiny—child-sized.
Alex's grip on his axe tightened.
Varkov looked up, breathing heavy, his face a blend of fury and amusement.
"It seems Lucius couldn't even handle a simple job," he said, voice low and bitter.
The shadows on his arm pulsed. The air grew colder.
"But it doesn't matter," he continued, his eyes glinting red as the aura deepened. "I'll finish the job myself."
Dark aura poured out from Varkov like smoke from a broken furnace. It thickened, spreading fast, then began seeping into the skeletons hanging on the walls. Each bony figure twitched as the energy crawled through them.
Alex didn't need anyone to tell him this was bad. He could feel it—whatever Varkov was doing, it wasn't something to let finish.
He dashed forward.
But before he could take his third step, something cold and powerful gripped his shoulder. The next second—boom!—he was thrown backward like a rag doll. His body slammed through the office doorway, crashed into the bed frame, then bounced off the wall.
"Ugh…!" Alex groaned, rolling over as pain rippled through his ribs.
'Shit… what just happened?' he thought, forcing himself to his feet.
He looked toward the office entrance. That's when he saw it.
Someone stood there—bare, motionless, drenched in blood. A woman. Her skin pale like a corpse, her chest split open right where his axe had struck earlier.
Alex's heart jumped.
'Wait… that's—no, it can't be.'
It was Mireya Korvin.
The same woman he'd just killed.
'Didn't I just—how the hell is she standing?'
Then he caught her eyes. They were pure white, glowing faintly, empty of life. Not Mireya anymore. Just a puppet.
'Damn it… Varkov. I should've known,' Alex thought, clenching his jaw.
He remembered the intel they'd gathered on the Vornshade Clan leader. Varkov practice the dark magic of necromancy—dark resurrection, body puppeteering, soul traps. They loved showing off their magic to their soldiers like it was a badge of power.
And now he was seeing it up close.
Varkov had turned Mireya into his weapon.
Varkov wasn't an ordinary mage—he was one of those freaks who swam deep in the dark side of magic. His specialty? Nochromancy.
It was one of the oldest and dirtiest branches of dark arts. The kind that let you twist death itself. Some could summon undead creatures from other realms, while others—like Varkov—preferred turning fresh corpses into obedient puppets.
The moment Mireya's heart stopped and Varkov felt danger closing in, he'd made his move. He'd bound her corpse, flooding it with dark energy until it danced again—lifeless, soulless, but his.
Now that same puppet stood in Alex's path, blocking the way to the office where Varkov was still channeling power into the skeletons.
Alex exhaled sharply. "Fuck it, I don't have time for this," he muttered.
[0.000001% Bloodline Power has been assigned to Death]
His veins burned cold. The axe in his hand thrummed like it had its own heartbeat.
Alex lunged forward and swung.
Mireya—no, it—moved fast, her arm slicing through the air to block. The axe met flesh. A clean cut. Her forearm dropped to the floor with a wet slap.
Alex didn't pause. He pivoted, stepped in, and drove a heavy kick straight into her chest. The corpse flew backward, crashing hard into the wall.
He was on her before she could rise. Another swing—hard, precise, final.
The axe bit through her neck cleanly. Her head hit the floor, rolled once, and stopped.
Alex stood there, chest heaving. The energy in his weapon pulsed like it wanted more.
'Shit… it's wild how much easier this gets when my Bloodline power's active,' he thought, gripping the axe tighter as the surge of strength buzzed through him.
"Alex!"
The shout came from behind him, sharp and urgent.
Alex froze mid-step, just before entering the office. Turning around, he saw Gwen standing in the doorway, her whip still wrapped loosely around her arm, her face set but tense.
"Time's up," she said. "We need to move. Now."
Alex frowned, gripping his axe tighter. "We're leaving? Varkov's still alive."
"Yes," Gwen snapped back, stepping closer. "But this is an emergency. We've got the captives. Mission's done. We need to get out—now."
Alex's jaw tightened. "What are you talking about? There's just one bastard left. If we leave him breathing, he'll rebuild everything again. You know that."
Gwen's lips parted, ready to argue—but she froze.
Her pupils shrank. Her voice cracked with alarm. "Alex! Behind you!"
Alex spun around.
A giant shadow loomed over him. A skeleton, massive and humanoid, its bones blackened with decay and dark magic. Its right hand clutched a blade the size of a car door, the edge humming with that same shadow energy Varkov had been channeling.
The sword came down fast as it fell toward Alex.