SOVEREIGN OF BLOOD: The Emperor's Debt System

DWELLERS OF THE QUARANTINE SECTOR

"Just a little further, Satria... hang in there," Kirana whispered, her voice raspy from the dust.

Somehow, Kirana had managed to help Satria escape the Debt Collector.

They reached the mouth of the Bundaran HI MRT tunnel. What was once a symbol of Jakarta's modernity had mutated into a makeshift refugee camp, a pocket of passive resistance the survivors called the "Quarantine Sector." The air here changed drastically,  from the smell of ozone and sulfur on the surface to the suffocating stench of sweat, human waste, and fear.

"Halt! Who are you? Hands up!"

A high powered flashlight beamed into their faces, momentarily blinding them. A middle aged man in a filthy police uniform, buttons nearly popping off, stood behind a barricade of concrete tables and haphazardly welded iron fences. He held a Glock with steady hands, but his eyes held a glint of excessive suspicion, the kind of look possessed by someone who feared their fellow man more than the monsters in the sky.

"I'm a doctor... Kirana. I've brought an injured man," Kirana tried to negotiate in a pleading tone.

The man, whose name tag read BIMO, stepped forward. He didn't look at Satria’s pale face, his gaze went straight to the red medical bag slung over Kirana’s shoulder. There was a flash of greed in his sleep-deprived, bloodshot eyes.

"Get in," Bimo grunted. "But listen to the rules, Doctor. Down here, the laws of the Republic are dead. The only law is the law of the gut. All medical supplies, medicine, and food you carry become the camp's property. That’s the 'rental' f*e for your security."

Before Kirana could protest, Bimo forcibly snatched the medical bag. When Kirana tried to pull it back, one of Bimo’s thugs, a burly man with a buzz cut, shoved her, sending her sprawling onto the cold station floor.

Satria, leaning weakly against the station's ceramic wall, clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. Inside his head, the voice of the War Emperor’s Heart whispered mockingly.

"Look at this scum, Satria. They prey on each other even before I get a chance to bleed them dry. Give me the word, and I’ll make that uniformed man’s heart your midnight snack."

Satria took a deep breath, suppressing the surge of bloodlust creeping up his chest. His energy was too low. The Neural Overclock from earlier had drained his "soul capital" to a critical level. If he forced a fight now, he might pass out before landing a single blow.

He chose silence, observing with narrowed eyes.

The MRT station was a pure portrait of suffering. Along the platform, hundreds of people huddled on discarded cardboard. Children cried silently, their throats too dry to scream, while the elderly moaned, clutching wounds that had begun to fester.

However, the scene in the corner of the station, near the closed staff room, was a stark contrast. Bimo and his group, numbering about ten armed men, were eating heartily. They had an abundance of canned corned beef and bottled mineral water. They chuckled, using their petty power to oppress the starving crowd below.

Night deepened, but underground, time was a blurry concept. As most refugees began to drift off, curled into defensive positions, Satria felt a strange vibration coming from the station's control room. Using the faint remnants of his system's sensory abilities, he tried to sharpen his hearing.

[PASSIVE SENSOR: ACTIVE (CONSUMPTION: 0.01 SOULS/MIN)]

Satria saw Bimo sneak into the dark control room, closing the door with extreme caution. Satria crawled slowly, avoiding the gaze of the drowsy guards, and pressed his ear against the metal wall of the control room.

Inside, Bimo wasn't counting food rations. He was kneeling before a table. On the table sat a strange device, a small pyramid made of seamless, pristine white metal. It emitted a soft white light that felt "holy," but to Satria, it felt like poison.

"I have a hundred souls here... a hundred and twenty if you count the children who just arrived," Bimo whispered toward the pyramid, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

A cold, static voice answered from the device, sounding like thousands of insects flapping their wings.

"The quality of souls in this sector is declining, Mortal Bimo. However, your obedience will still be rewarded."

"Please... send me the 'Light Injection,'" Bimo pleaded, his face looking pathetic. "I’ve done everything. I’ve ensured no one escapes. I’ve marked them all. I want to live forever. I don't want to become golden dust like the others when the harvest time comes."

Satria’s eyes widened behind the wall. His heart pounded so hard it was painful. This man wasn't just corrupt. He was a collaborator. Bimo was selling his fellow humans, people who looked to him as a protector, to the harvesters from the sky just for a guarantee of personal safety.

"Treachery is the most delicious seasoning, Satria," the system voice laughed, louder this time. "Do you still wish to be a hero for these sheep being led to the slaughter?"

Suddenly, the pyramid glowed brighter. The control room was instantly filled with an energy so immense Satria felt his chest tighten.

"Your request is granted, Bimo," the voice from the pyramid echoed. "The Light Injection will be delivered now. However, there is a disturbance in your sector. A black blood anomaly has entered."

Bimo jerked. "What? Who? I’ll take care of it immediately!"

"He is behind that door."

Satria froze. He was just about to turn and run when the control room door exploded outward under immense energy pressure. Satria’s body was hurled back until he slammed into a concrete station pillar.

Bimo stepped out of the room, his face flushed red with rage, holding a small vial of glowing golden liquid, the Light Injection. But behind Bimo, from within the pyramid, a projection of light emerged, forming a figure Satria knew all too well.

A small scale Heavenly Vanguard appeared, but its presence was more oppressive than a thousand Hounds. And most horrifyingly, the creature’s blue laser eyes locked onto Satria, who was coughing up blood.

"You..." Bimo aimed his pistol at Satria. "You’re the anomaly they’re looking for! Because of you, my deal could fall through!"

At that same moment, the station siren, which should have been dead, suddenly roared. From the ventilation shafts in the station ceiling, golden light began to seep in. The mass harvest at the Bundaran HI MRT Station had begun, and Satria was pinned between a human traitor and a celestial executioner, his body nearly paralyzed.

"Kirana... RUN!" Satria screamed, but it was too late.

From above the platform, dozens of light-spears plunged down, piercing the bodies of refugees just waking from their sleep. In seconds, the MRT station transformed from a sanctuary into a death trap.

[CRITICAL WARNING: HOST ENERGY BELOW 5%.]

[SYSTEM SUGGESTS: "SACRIFICIAL LOAN" – EXCHANGE LIFESPAN FOR POWER.]

Satria stared at Bimo, who was laughing maniacally as he injected the golden liquid into his own neck, while all around them, human screams filled the air. Satria clenched his fist, staring at the system image awaiting his answer.

"Take my years," Satria hissed, his eyes beginning to turn a deep, thick blood...red. "Give me enough power to crush everything!"