Han Sen stood frozen, the phantom voice still echoing in his skull. Sacred Blood Creature. Sacred Blood Soul Beast. It felt impossible.
Creatures in God's Sanctuary were classified: Common, Primal, Mutant, and the legendary Sacred Blood. Consuming their flesh granted corresponding tiers of gene points. Humanity had only accessed four Sanctuary sectors so far. Each evolution unlocked the next, and the quality of genes used determined survival chances in the harsher zones.
A Sacred Blood Soul Beast? That was top-tier. Worth a planetary fortune. Any Sacred Blood Soul Beast.
Snapping back to reality, Han Sen's hand trembled as he gripped his dagger. He pried open the golden carapace. Inside, flesh like luminous jelly pulsed. He sliced off a chunk and shoved it into his mouth.
*<< Consumed: Golden Carapace Flesh. Sacred Gene +1 >>*
Warmth exploded in his gut, spreading like liquid fire. The voice confirmed it. Han Sen nearly choked on the surge of raw, disbelieving relief. Tears pricked his eyes. He didn't hesitate. Grabbing one of the severed golden legs, he sucked out the stringy meat inside like a starving man, gulping it down. Heat waves crashed through him, making his blood feel like molten lead.
He worked like a man possessed, cracking open the remaining legs, extracting every shred of precious flesh. The phantom voice chimed relentlessly:
*<< Consumed: Golden Carapace Flesh. Sacred Gene +1 >>*
*<< Consumed: Golden Carapace Flesh. Sacred Gene +1 >>*
<< ... >>
Each chime sent euphoria singing through his veins. He was high on hope, meticulously carving more meat from the main body cavity. Slice. Slice. Slice. Then—
CLANG!
His dagger jarred violently, striking something impossibly hard. Metal on metal. Han Sen froze. Black Carapace beetles were soft inside, like crabs. No bones. Definitely no metal.
He carefully shifted the dagger aside. Pushing the glistening flesh back from the cut, he glimpsed a sliver of black. He carved around it, revealing a smooth, oval object the size of a pigeon egg. Not metal. A crystal. Deepest obsidian, polished to a liquid sheen.
He picked it up. Cool, inert. Just a pretty black stone. But holding it close, peering deep within… something shifted. Swirling nebulae, galaxies being born and dying in miniature, trapped within its flawless depths. Breathtaking.
This makes no sense, Han Sen thought, the euphoria cooling slightly. A Sacred Blood creature? Here? In the absolute dregs of the First Sector? Primals are rare enough. And a Sacred Blood Black Carapace? Unheard of. And this one… it was weak. Pathetically weak. Did this crystal draw it here? Cause it?
No answers came. He pushed the questions aside and devoured the remaining Sacred Blood flesh, stuffing himself until his stomach felt ready to split. Seven points. Seven Sacred Genes. Before today, hunting a Sacred Blood creature was a death wish. Even a Primal was a desperate gamble with terrible odds.
The empty carapace was still treasure. Sacred Blood materials were absurdly potent. Even boiling the shell into broth could yield another point or two. He gathered the six severed legs and the main shell sections, stuffing his pockets. Selling it whole? He could probably buy a luxury skimmer back in the Left Spiral Alliance.
Seven points from the meat. Three more potentially in the shell. He'd gotten lucky. Damn lucky.
The walk back to Steelhold Sanctuary felt different. The usual crushing weight of despair was replaced by a buzzing energy. But the stares… those were the same. Worse, maybe.
As he entered the main street, eyes locked onto him. Pointing fingers. Smirks. Barely suppressed snickers. People actively stepped aside, clearing a wide berth around him. The whole damn place watched him like he was a walking biohazard.
Most newbies, even broke ones, could scrape together a crew. Hunt weak Primals. Survive. Not Han Sen. In all of Steelhold, not a single soul would risk being seen near him. Not after… The Incident.
Three months ago. His very first day stepping outside Steelhold's gates. Nervous, keyed up. He'd rounded a corner of the massive wall… and froze.
Right there. A creature. Massive. Easily taller than a man on all fours. Fur pure, blinding white. A single, wicked horn spiraled from its forehead. Its back was turned.
Panic seized him. Pure, primal terror. No thought. Just instinct. He lunged, dagger raised high, and drove it with all his strength… right into the beast's backside.
The roar that followed wasn't bestial. It was human. And furious.
That single, ill-fated stab made Han Sen – and Qin Xuan – the laughingstock of Steelhold Sanctuary.
The white horned beast wasn't a monster. It was a human. A woman. Using a Soul Beast transformation.
And Qin Xuan wasn't just any woman. She was Steelhold's Ice Queen. Arguably its most powerful fighter. Rumored to be stacking Sacred Blood Genes for her first evolution. A future powerhouse.
A clueless newbie had stabbed Qin Xuan in the ass.
The scandal was legendary. No one dared mention it within earshot of Qin Xuan herself, of course. But behind her back? The entire sanctuary choked on suppressed laughter for weeks.
Han Sen earned a new name: The Ass Pounder.
Qin Xuan, humiliated and blazingly angry, issued a decree: Anyone associating with Han Sen makes an enemy of Qin Xuan.
In Steelhold, few had the power to defy her. And none had the inclination to risk it for the sake of "The Ass Pounder," a nobody. So Han Sen scraped by alone. Isolated. Desperate.
He didn't blame Qin Xuan. Not really. It was his fault. First day jitters. Never seen a Soul Beast transformation. Never fought anything deadlier than a training drone. He'd screwed up monumentally. He was just grateful her rage hadn't ended with him bleeding out in the dirt.
His one small mercy? Arrival in God's Sanctuary was random. No friends. No family in Steelhold knew him. Here, he was just "Han Sen." His real name, his past… that stayed buried. For now.