Death to Power
Copyright© 2025 by TheSmartOne
Chapter 39: This Shit’s Getting Out of Hand
The guard—whose name, by the way, was Rome—couldn’t help but be stunned by Kaden’s question.
It was only when the words finally registered, only when he realized where he was and what just happened, that his eyes widened in shock.
“You ... you’ve trespassed on the territory of the Celestial Empire,” Rome said, bewildered. His gaze instinctively dropped to his body, searching for something. But he found nothing—just his near-naked form. Whatever uniform or talisman he once had? Gone.
“Do I look stupid to you?” Kaden scoffed, catching that panicked glance. “I might be new here, but I know the basics.”
He was clearly referring to that little runic talisman most guards wore—something that was now missing.
“And what do you mean by trespassing?” Kaden added coldly as he stepped forward, stopping just an inch from Rome’s face.
“Do you think I’m here because I want to be?” His voice dropped, low and bitter.
Because truly, he was going through hell thanks to that fucked-up thing called Fokay’s Will, and this guy had the nerve to talk as if he’d chosen any of this?
“You are—!”
“Shut up.” Kaden cut him off without hesitation.
He didn’t have time to listen. His trait—Wolf’s Instincts—was tingling.
Softly, but consistently.
And when that happened, it only meant one thing: danger was close.
He couldn’t afford to waste even a second more.
“I’ll ask questions. You’ll answer. If you don’t, you’ll feel so much pain you’ll wish you were dead.” Kaden’s red eyes glowed with a wicked, unnatural light—so much so that Rome’s body shook on its own.
This is what happened when you dropped your guard—even in a supposedly safe place.
Because let’s be honest—if Kaden had faced Rome head-on, no tricks, no setup?
He would’ve struggled heavily against him.
Not just because Rome, as an Intermediate Rank, had better stats across the board. But because beings at that level awakened a second Origin Skill—and their first was boosted as well.
But Kaden had ambushed him.
Was that the Warborn way?
Hell no.
Warborns were brute-forcers, the rawest of raw. They hated tricks, despised deception. They liked it bloody, bold, and in your face.
But Kaden didn’t quite agree with their thinking.
Kaden believed in something else entirely—flexibility.
In battle, adapt or die. Even if it meant playing dirty.
Especially if it meant playing dirty.
So that’s what he did. And that’s what he was doing now.
“Where’s the exit?” Kaden asked again, cold and focused.
Rome stared back in defiance, lips sealed.
Kaden didn’t press again.
Instead, he tore a strip from his own shirt and stuffed it into Rome’s mouth.
Rome’s eyes bulged in horror. He thrashed, tried to fight, but the corrosive blood coursing through his veins left him too weak, too drained. His body was already halfway useless.
Then came the pain.
Kaden sliced his finger again—just slightly—and let a few drops of blood fall onto Rome’s leg.
Sizzle—
“Mhhhhh—!”
A muffled scream clawed its way out of Rome’s throat as his eyes widened in raw, animalistic agony.
He watched—watched his own skin bubble and crack as it turned from white to black, watched the flesh peel, watched his leg slowly wither.
It was slow.
Painfully slow.
Because Kaden was new to this trait, still learning, still growing—but that made it worse.
The slower it was, the deeper the pain dug in.
Rome screamed, or tried to. But his body had no strength left, and his mouth was gagged. All that came out were weak, broken moans.
And through it all?
Kaden stood there.
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