2026-08-18 18:18:20The tannery’s rafters rained dust as the Council’s elite landed, their movements unnaturally jagged, like marionettes pulled by invisible, frantic wires.
"You two are making a terrible mess of the order," the lead assassin spat, his eyes glowing with that same sickly violet hue.
Freecs clutched his chest, his fingernails digging into his own palms. The System’s interface screamed behind his eyes, a strobing, jagged crimson.
[Error. Host compliance at 0%. Initiating forced recalibration.]
"Freecs, talk to me! What’s happening?" Vivina demanded, her blade humming with golden light as she deflected a strike from the nearest Council member.
"It… it wants me to cut your throat," Freecs gasped, his vision fracturing into a thousand shards of blue static. "It’s burning me from the inside out."
"Then don't listen to it! Fight back!"
"Easy for you to say," Freecs groaned, dropping to one knee as the System spiked his nerves with white-hot agony. "You aren't literally being rewritten by a god-complex code."
"Well, fix it, because we have guests!"
Vivina ducked a serrated blade, her heel shattering the skull of an attacker.
"They aren't human," Freecs noted, his breathing shallow. "Look at their eyes. The purple haze. They’re being controlled by the same thing that sent the Warden."
"Then stop worrying about your brain and start helping me with their bodies!" she yelled, parrying a heavy blow that sent sparks showering across the dark room.
"Fine," Freecs snarled, shaking the numbness from his limbs. "Just keep them off me for five seconds."
[Warning: Host deviation detected. System Enforcer manifest.]
The shadows beneath the assassins began to boil. Out of the darkness, clawed, amorphous entities—hollow-eyed reflections of Freecs’s own 'glitch' nature—began to drag themselves into reality.
"What in the light is that?" Vivina gasped, her golden aura faltering as the temperature in the room plummeted.
"That’s my problem," Freecs said, his voice dropping an octave. He gripped his dagger, his knuckles white. "They're copies of me. Only… louder."
The Enforcer lunged, a blur of jagged dark energy. Freecs pivoted, his movements no longer hesitant. He felt the System’s rage—not his own, but the machine's—and he turned it against the monster.
"You want a fight?" Freecs muttered, lunging into the shadow. "Have it."
Clang.
His blade connected with the Enforcer’s spectral defense, the force of the impact sending a ripple through the room.
"It’s copying your style, Freecs!" Vivina shouted, casting a blinding burst of holy fire that scorched the encroaching darkness. "Use your blind spot!"
"I can't! It knows the sequence!" Freecs dodged a swipe that shredded his cloak. "It’s a mirror!"
"Then stop looking at it! Close your eyes!"
"Are you insane?"
"Do it! I’ll be your eyes!" Vivina dashed forward, her hand grasping his shoulder, guiding his posture. "Trust me. Now, strike to the left!"
Freecs didn't think. He trusted the cold steel of her grip and swung. The blade didn't hit an armor plate; it sank into something yielding and cold. The Enforcer shrieked, a sound like tearing metal.
"Again!" she commanded.
"Under the ribs!" Freecs surged forward, driving his dagger into the monster’s core.
The Enforcer dissolved into a pile of black soot. The Council assassins hesitated, their eyes wide with disbelief.
"They're afraid," Freecs panted, blood dripping from his chin. "Good."
"They're not just afraid," Vivina said, her face pale as she looked toward the rafters. "They’re being discarded."
The remaining Council members began to twitch uncontrollably, their bodies bloating and warping as the purple light consumed them from within.
"The System is purging them," Freecs realized, the dread settling into his bones. "They’re just fuel for the next wave."
"Freecs, the ceiling!"
A massive, distorted hand—far larger than any human’s—burst through the roof. It wasn't an assassin. It was a mass of fused, twisted limbs and glowing, fractured code.
"That's not an Enforcer," Freecs whispered, staring up at the monstrosity.
"It’s a System Architect," Vivina corrected, her voice barely a breath. "It’s the immune system of this place."
"It’s here to delete us both."
"So, what’s the plan, 'Hunter'?" she asked, her sword glowing with a desperate, brilliant intensity. "Run, or die fighting?"
Freecs looked at the screen hovering before him. The text was no longer blue; it was a corrupted, pulsing, demonic red.
[Objective: Eradication of anomalies. Priority: Absolute.]
"The plan?" Freecs grinned, though his eyes were frantic. "We break the game."
"How?"
"We stop taking orders."
The giant hand descended, tearing the entire tannery structure apart. Freecs reached out and grabbed Vivina’s hand, his fingers interlacing with hers. The interface flickered violently, struggling to process their connection.
"Are you ready to be a criminal?" he asked.
"I’ve been a hero long enough," she replied, her eyes meeting his with a terrifying, wild resolve. "Let’s burn this system to the ground."
The ceiling collapsed entirely, drowning them in shadow, but as the debris fell, a golden and blue light erupted from their clasped hands, tearing a hole through the darkness itself.
"The System isn't just watching us," Freecs realized, his voice trembling as the truth slammed into him. "It’s afraid of us."
"Good," Vivina whispered as they braced for the impact of the Architect. "Let's give it something to be truly terrified of."
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
Chapter 84
The metallic tang of blood mingled with the pervasive, sickening stench of the low-tide muck as Freecs pressed his weight against the cold, weeping stone of the alleyway wall. Every breath felt like inhaling crushed glass, a reminder of the fractured ribs that had been knitting slowly under the pressure of too much movement and too little rest.He peered past the splintered remains of the tavern door. Three men in the charcoal-grey livery of the magistrate’s private guard stood amidst the wreckage of the Rusty Anchor. They were not merely searching; they were dismantling.Tables had been overturned and smashed into kindling. The floorboards were being pried up, one by one, with heavy iron crowbars. The tavern was being gutted, stripped of its secrets by men who didn't care for the history of the wood, only for the paper hidden beneath it."He isn't here, captain," one of the guards grunted. He tossed a handful of ruined ledgers into a guttering fire pit in the center of the room. "The
Chapter 83
The street leading to the Rusty Anchor was deathly quiet. A single, overturned cart blocked the main thoroughfare, its wheel splintered and half-sunken into the mire.Freecs halted. He held up a hand, signaling for Vivina to stay back in the shadows of the warehouse overhang.The tavern door stood wide open, swinging rhythmically on a single, rusted hinge. It groaned against the stone frame, a mournful sound that cut through the silence like a dull blade."Stay here," Freecs whispered. His voice was a flat, hard edge."Freecs, wait," Vivina hissed, her fingers gripping his sleeve. "If the guard is still inside, you won't stand a chance with that shoulder."He looked at her, his eyes cold and devoid of comfort. He pulled his sleeve from her grasp and stepped into the open.The street was empty, but the heavy, rhythmic thud of metal-shod boots echoed from somewhere deep within the building. They weren't the clumsy, sliding steps of the city watch. These were disciplined, weighted.Freec
Chapter 82
The rain over the Fishgut Quarter had turned to a greasy, clinging mist that smelled of rotting kelp and coal smoke.Freecs moved with his back pressed against the damp siding of an empty smokehouse. He paused at every cross-alley, his ears straining against the ambient rumble of the docks.Beside him, Vivina wiped a smear of wet rye flour from her cheek. Her breathing was ragged, her boots caked in grey muck from the granary courtyard."Did Joran turn them?" she whispered.Freecs shook his head once, his jaw tight."If Joran wanted to sell us out, we wouldn't have walked away from the granary gates," he said. "He’s a dog who knows which master pays him, but he doesn't bark for free.""Then we go back to the cellar," Vivina said, pulling her damp woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders. "We dry the grain dust off the ledgers and wait for Kjeldsen's runners."Freecs didn't answer immediately. He peered around the corner of the smokehouse, studying the narrow lane that led to the rear
Chapter 81
The courtyard outside the municipal granary looked like an open abattoir of wet grain and crushed chalk.A mixture of gray rain and split rye flour coated the cobblestones in a thick, slippery paste. Distant whistles echoed through the narrow alleyways, shrill and frantic, as the city watch scrambled to contain what they could not control.Freecs stood near the broken gate of the secondary grain depot, his breathing heavy and measured. His hands were coated in the pale residue of broken sacks, and his knuckles throbbed from the cudgel work at the barricade.A dozen dockhands scurried past him into the gloom, each carrying a heavy burlap sack over their shoulders. They moved quickly, like ants stripping a fallen carcass before the tide rolled in."Move them through the cooperage alley," Freecs called out, his voice low and rasping. "Don't cluster in the squares. Break into pairs once you hit the fish market."Kjeldsen gave a sharp, affirmative nod as he guided the last of the laden wag
Chapter 80
The smell of sour mud and damp wool hung over the North Quay like a wet shroud. For two days, no barges had unloaded their cargo, and the price of coarse rye had tripled before the sun cleared the eastern shoals.Freecs crouched beneath the eaves of a cooperage, his boots sinking into the dark muck of the gutter. Beside him, forty dockers stood in the persistent drizzle, their breath rising in pale, ragged puffs.They carried no swords, for swords invited hangings. Instead, they gripped lead-weighted boat hooks, oak truncheons, and iron cargo pincers worn smooth by years of hauling."The belly doesn't care about Vane's edicts," muttered Kjeldsen, the dock boss. The old man spat a glob of brown chewing tobacco into the ditch. "A man can stomach the lash, Freecs. He can't stomach listening to his children chew on boiled leather."Freecs adjusted the strap of his leather vambrace, feeling the dull ache in his right shoulder. The joint held, but the memory of the cliff's rocks lingered in
Chapter 79
The mid-morning air in Westreach felt brittle, like glass held over a candle flame. The sky remained an oppressive, bruised purple, heavy with the promise of more rain that refused to fall.Freecs stood in the shadows of an alleyway, watching the main thoroughfare. He leaned his weight against the damp brickwork, careful not to jar his recovering shoulder.Across the street, a column of armed men marched in lockstep. Their steel gorgets caught the weak morning light, glinting like the teeth of a predator.At the head of the detachment rode a man whose presence seemed to suck the warmth from the alley. Inquisitor Vane sat atop a massive, war-trained stallion that snorted clouds of steam into the cold air.Vane was a man carved from granite and spite. He wore robes of charcoal grey, reinforced with hardened leather plates that groaned whenever the horse shifted its weight."Look at them," Vivina whispered from the darkness behind Freecs. Her voice was barely audible over the clatter of
You may also like
My Rich Squandering System
NOVEMBRE24.3K viewsPenniless Man's Wealthy System
Calendula31.8K viewsThe Vampire System
Dragonslav51.0K viewsThe Golem Mage
Mystic_dark195.4K viewsRise Of The Black Sovereign
Priceless Praise53 viewsTHE APOCALIPSE CHOOSES ONE SURVIVOR EVERY NIGHT
Penyu langit135 viewsWHY THE WORLD'S LAST HOPE IS A CAN OF PEACHES
Zavier291 viewsMy Troll System
Ari102 views