Bloody Odyssey

Kakarai spoke.

His voice was hoarse, broken—but the words that came out were sharp, precise, filled with the weight of years spent in service to the Blood River. He did not hesitat. He knew that his life depended on what he revealed.

"The Blood River operates across the Bethel Empire," he began, his head still pressed to the floor. "We have hidden bases in every major city. Some are buried deep underground. Others are disguised as temples, warehouses, even brothels. The cult is everywhere."

Dax listened.

His red eyes never left Kakarai's trembling form. Behind his calm expression, his mind was already cross-referencing the information with what Inerous had extracted from the angel. With what Zero had pulled from the apostle's shattered memories.

Everything he says is matching.

He is not lying.

"Tell me about the ranks," Dax said. "The about the power structure."

Kakarai's voice grew steadier as he spoke. He was no longer begging. He was reporting.

"The main powers stand between the twelve Blood Apostles. They are the direct representatives of the Blood God. Each one commands a legion of cultists and possesses a fragment of the Blood God's power." He paused.

"Then there is the Blood Emperor. He sits above the apostles. He is the vessel of the Blood God's will on this world. I have never seen him. No one has. He is a myth to most, a truth to those who know."

Dax's eyes narrowed.

The Blood Emperor.

He filed the name away.

Kakarai continued. "Beyond the apostles and the emperor, there are deep infections within the Blood River. Soldiers capable of reattaching torn limbs. Ritualists who can control the human body like puppets. They call it the Crimson puppetry—a technique that bends flesh to the wielders will."

Capybara Blood.

Dax tilted his head.

"Interesting."

Kakarai swallowed. "They can do rituals. Many rituals. Some are for healing. Some are for corruption. Some are for—" He hesitated.

"For what?"

"For ascension, my lord."

Dax smiled.

"Go on."

Kakarai's voice dropped slightly. "There are three city lords out of the ten in the Bertha Empire who are Blood River members. Through them, cult members can move freely. They provide safe houses, resources, protection. They are the backbone of our operations in the empire."

Three city lords.

Dax's smile widened slightly.

"Which ones?"

Kakarai named them. His voice was cold now—clinical, detached. He was no longer Kakarai the broken man. He was Kakarai the informant.

"Low-level cultists like myself are trained in the branches. We are given missions. We are tested. And if we prove ourselves, we are elevated." He paused. "I proved myself many times. That is why I was given the mission to take you. That is why I was sent."

Dax was silent for a long moment.

He already knew all of this. Inerous had confirmed the locations. Zero had extracted the memories. The apostle, alive and dead, had given up everything.

But he wanted to hear Kakarai say it.

To confirm his mind.

To see if the broken man before him had any loyalty left to his old masters.

And he didn't.

Dax hid his smile.

---

Kakarai banged his head on the floor.

The marble tiles stayed intact beneath the force. Blood dripped from his forehead, pooling around his face, staining the beautiful surface.

"Please, my Lord." His voice was desperate. "Let me prove myself. I can bring you the heads of the two city lords. Please—just don't send me back there. I don't want to go back. Even if it's just a month—please, Lord Dax."

He bowed deeper. Trembled.

Begging for a bit of freedom.

Dax watched him.

His expression was unreadable. His red eyes held no warmth, no pity, no mercy. Only calculation.

Then he snapped his fingers.

Kakarai was gone.

Returned to the Backrooms.

Dax leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before him.

"I really think your suggestion is good," he murmured to himself. "I think I'll release him later. Maybe to give out a message or two to those bastards."

His smile widened.

"Yes. That will be satisfying."

——

Later that day, Dax sat in his father's courtyard.

The evening sky was painted in shades of orange and gold—a canvas of warmth that seemed to soften the edges of the world. The air was still, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the garden that surrounded them.

Omin stepped out in white robes, his silver hair catching the fading light. He smiled at Dax—a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes.

Then he hugged him.

It was brief. Firm. The embrace of a father who had almost lost everything and was grateful for what remained.

"I am so proud of you," Omin said, his voice thick with emotion.

Dax did not pull away.

"Thank you, Father."

They sat together, the silence between them comfortable, unhurried. Omin studied his son's face—the sharp features, the steady eyes, the calm that seemed to radiate from him like heat from a fire.

Then Dax spoke.

"Father… what was my mother like?"

The question hung in the air.

Omin leaned back, his gaze drifting upward to the orange sky. The clouds had begun to shift, painted in shades of crimson and amber. The sunset was beautiful—a fleeting masterpiece that would soon fade into night.

He was quiet for a long moment.

"She was everything."

His voice was soft, distant. Lost in memory.

"She was just as beautiful as the sunset. Her eyes… they lit up my day. She could brighten any room just by walking into it. Though a bit stern, she was lovely." A pause. "She was everything. And she was like a dream my dream."

Dax watched his father.

A strange emotion played in his heart—something he could not name. Something that felt like warmth and sorrow and longing all at once.

He must have truly loved her.

They sat in silence.

The sky deepened from orange to crimson to violet. The first stars began to appear, faint and distant, like candles being lit one by one.

Omin broke the silence.

"My son."

Dax turned to him.

"The path you have decided to walk… it is a very dangerous one." Omin's voice was steady, but there was a weight beneath it. "A very deadly one, in fact. I don't know how you have managed to kill two angels. I don't know how you were able to heal me, or how you have this much knowledge and power."

He paused.

"But as your father, I worry. My only hope for you is that you are safe." His eyes met Dax's. "And now, this war you have declared… it gives me so much unease. I wish I could tell you to stop. To be safe. To live a quiet life."

Dax shook his head gently.

"Father. This is the path I chose." His voice was calm. Resolute. "It is my choice. It is not your fault. It is not your fault at all."

He looked up at the stars.

"The Blood River took my mother. They took so much from us. And the world watched. They did nothing."

His voice hardened.

"I will bring the Blood River to its knees. I will tear them apart piece by piece. And if the heavens stand in my way… I will destroy them too."

He turned to his father.

"I need you to understand that this is not about revenge. Its about making things right. About ensuring that we dont suffer like this again."

Omin was silent.

Then he reached out and placed a hand on Dax's shoulder.

"I understand, my son."

He smiled—a sad smile.

"I will always understand."

They sat together in the fading light, father and son, bound by blood and loss and a love that had survived everything.