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Sanguine Prince | Chapter 13: Breaking Point (Second Draft)
🕑 Added 2026-01-04 13:10:36 +0000 UTCArcturus’ gaze remained locked on his helpless foe, a dark thrill surging through him.
He knew this wasn’t the man who’d killed Angela, thanks to context clues, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. Holding the intruder in a crushing vise of telekinetic force, seeing the struggle—the sheer inability to resist the power killing him: it was catharsis for a young man who had been utterly deprived of any sense of control over his own circumstances.
He shivered at the pleasure that he derived from the image, and the magnitude of potential power he might access if he honed his gifts. Power enough to destroy anyone who stood in his way, and to ensure he would never fail those he loved again.
“How many families have you torn apart with your fucking barbarity, you piece of shit?!"
The words left him in a stream of vitriol, spurred by the blood thundering in his ears as his rage bubbled like acid in his veins.
"You came here for me, you thought you were the predator?! No! Not this time!”
[Willpower Check] successful!
[Vitality Check] successful!
Driven by his fury and growing mania, by the sweet and seductive intoxication of his bloodlust and rapidly spiralling hatred, Arcturus pushed himself up. He staggered to his feet, advancing towards the terrified, eye-bulging form of his enemy.
“I want you to feel it! Every iota of the terror you instill in others' hearts. You failed!” He snarled. “You bastards might have killed Angela, but you fucking failed to kill me! You won’t kill me! I won’t die! Not again!”
You suffer 3 Damage from [Minor Haemorrhage]!
Health at 61 / 110.
Your [Telekinesis] is draining 5 Mana per 4 seconds!
Mana at 39 / 110. Mana generation disabled due to combat!
Unknown Assailant suffers 10 Damage from [Suffocation]!
Unknown Assailant is [Suffocating]!
Unknown Assailant has Died!
He was shouting by the end, his voice near-hysterical with emotion.
The dying body he held aloft within the merciless power of his telekinetic grip was not even the same person.
In his mind, the rolling eyes were ice blue, and the body shone with silvered scalemail and plates. He shook his bleeding fist at the enemy present only in his frenzied mind, roaring in desperate hate, filled with the agonizing memory of being powerless to stop his life from ending.
“You won’t kill me again! You won’t! I’LL NEVER LET YOU KILL ME AGAIN!”
Unknown Assailant’s [Essence] captured!
Congratulations, you have reached [Level 3]!
Congratulations, you have reached [Level 4]!
Arcturus stumbled as if struck, feeling the rush of power flood him in his rage-fogged mental state as he absorbed the now-unchained essence that had comprised the existence and power of his slain foe. His telekinetic cut out a moment later, letting the corpse crumple to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
His eyes narrowed as he blinked against both the stabbing agony in his head—temporarily muted by the murderous intent racing through his mind—and the slow but steady build of pressure in his body from the need to distribute his essence. The latter he knew to be inevitable, and some part of him understood that he was only able to control it thanks to the single-minded killing focus he still held.
You suffer 3 Damage from [Minor Haemorrhage]!
Health at 58 / 110.
Mana at 41 / 110.
Mana Regeneration enabled! You are regenerating 1.8 Mana per minute!
His footsteps carried him away from the corpse he’d created, some part of him recoiling in horror at the act of actually taking another person’s life, before being promptly crushed by the pounding, visceral hatred raging through his mind. His movements stopped shortly thereafter in front of the unconscious form of the second intruder, his knees bending as he grabbed her by the black choker latched around her pale throat.
[Strength Check] successful!
“Who would have thought that a murderer could be so pretty?” Arcturus spat angrily as he narrowed his eyes in analysis of her unconscious face, feeling his rage only spiking at the deceptive innocence of her features while she was unconscious.
How dare she try to gain pity from him!
Angrily, he placed her roughly into a sitting position against one of Angela’s many drawers under the closest workbench, stepping backward a whole foot. The moment he stepped back, he activated his Telekinesis, feeling the power flood into him like a drug.
[Telekinesis] activated!
Mana Regeneration is disabled!
His mind flipped through the ingrained selection of known ways to use telekinesis, until he settled on the [Telekinetic Lance]—extending his right hand to conjure it after a few seconds’ precious focus. He felt the magic coming to him somehow more easily, and the pain in his head reduced fractionally from agonising to a severe, distant buzz. Whether it was simply his crash course in lethal experience, the pending level-up pounding at his mind, or the razor focus of his bloodlust-enhanced mind, it didn’t matter to him.
None of it did.
All that mattered to Arcturus in that moment was ensuring that those who tried to kill him never had the chance to try again.
You suffer 2 Damage from [Minor Haemorrhage]!
Health at 56 / 110.
[Telekinesis] Casting successful!
Mana at 31 / 110. Mana regeneration is disabled due to combat!
Your [Telekinesis] is draining 3 Mana per 6 seconds!
[Perception Check] unsuccessful!
His eyes slowly scanned over her body, his right hand raised in preparation as the Lance hovered in the air beside him, its impossibly sharp point—thanks entirely to its coalesced kinetic force—shifting to track wherever his eyes moved along her body, as if his gaze were the targeting matrix for its attack. It was foundationally true, after all, given that the Lance was a construct of Arcturus’ mind, and visible only to him; a transparent shape outlined in thin currents of white and black energy.
His indecision on where to strike, he reassured himself, was solely to ensure that she suffered an appropriate amount before she died—his rage muting the little voice in his head that said otherwise.
“What the fuck?!” exclaimed a male voice nearby.
[Willpower Check] successful!
[Telekinetic Channelling] unimpeded!
Arcturus spun on his heels as he spotted what he immediately assessed to be the two remaining members of the intruding band, his expression turning to a hateful snarl as they looked towards him. The man, evidently the leader of the group, was solidly built and massive. Taller than Arcturus, he wore what appeared to be a steel cuirass, greaves, and gauntlets—all with single orange lights on them, like circular generators—over black clothes.
His head was shaved, his face bearing notable pockmarks and a scar running from his left eye down across his nose to the edge of the right side of his mouth. He also wore a jacket, like the others, and sported a wicked-looking axe on his left hip and a medium-length rifle currently in both hands.
His companion, the second woman of the group, conversely had only a cuirass on her chest and a compact assault rifle in her hands. Her hair was cropped into a pixie cut and dyed a shocking shade of electric blue, complemented by lip and ear piercings that gave her a definitively ‘punk’ appearance. Part of him, despite the violent rage bubbling up, couldn’t help but find strange comfort in knowing that Terra possessed at least some of the same fashion affectations as Earth.
[Agility Check] successful!
[Arcana Check] successful!
[Willpower Check] successful!
You suffer 2 Damage from [Minor Haemorrhage]!
Health at 54 / 110.
Your [Telekinesis] is draining 3 Mana per 6 seconds!
Mana at 28 / 110. Mana regeneration is disabled due to combat!
The instant lift of their guns silenced any further consideration of the matter, however, as Arcturus reacted instinctively. His left hand snapped out, and both intruders swore when they were unable to fire their rifles thanks to blocks of telekinetic power now slotted in behind the triggers.
[Telekinesis] Casting successful!
Mana at 25 / 100. Mana regeneration is disabled due to combat!
The man reacted before the woman, tossing aside the rifle and charging at Arcturus, leaving his axe where it was as if he intended the takedown to be done by his hands alone. Arcturus’ fury spiked at the implied belief of weakness, and his hatred flashed hot inside of him. Seething loathing filled him, and he felt his rage reach unprecedented heights, unleashing a well of power inside of him that he knew to exist only in his deepest subconscious.
Deprived of his usual measured thoughts, Arcturus instead acted on savage instinct, and both the charging man and woman froze as massive bands of telekinetic power gripped them, their eyes going wide as blood rolled out of Arcturus’ ears and noise in renewed streams.
[Vitality Check] unsuccessful!
You suffer 23 Damage from [Major Haemorrhage]!
Health at 31 / 110.
You are suffering 8 Damage per 8 seconds from [Major Haemorrhage]!
Your [Telekinesis] is draining 3 Mana per 6 seconds!
Mana at 10 / 110. Mana regeneration is disabled due to combat!
Arcturus smiled the smile of the damned as telekinetic power froze both intruders in place, eliciting panicked expressions as they struggled—and failed—to break the bonds holding them.
All sense of reason vanished from Arcturus’ mind as he beheld them, and the ferocity of his loathing overruled all else. He was dying from his wounds, dying from his body threatening to unravel from the strain of containing his level up and the undistributed essence, and dying from the sheer nihilistic abandonment of his desire to persist. All that mattered, all that he cared about in that moment, was being the predator and never again the prey.
His right hand shifted, the Lance moving to accompany it as he initiated its rapid spin, a trick to maximize its penetration damage. His eyes locked on the man he knew to be called Jakob, and he opened his mouth to deliver his judgment.
“Arcturus! Stop!”
The new voice, one he recognized immediately, cut through the fury in his mind—staggering him and causing him to lose control over the [Telekinetic Lance], which dissipated almost instantly.
[Willpower Check] unsuccessful!
[Telekinetic Lance] shatters!
[Willpower Check] successful!
[Telekinetic Force] is maintained!
You suffer 3 points of Damage from [Psychic Backlash]!
You suffer 8 Damage from [Major Haemorrhage]!
Health at 20 / 110. You are now in danger of critical system failure!
[Vitality Check] successful! You resist falling unconscious!
Arcturus’ eyes moved immediately to the entrance and the woman now framed by the sunlight within it, her left hand covering her right shoulder as she stepped forward, her blue eyes locked on his own without blinking.
“That’s enough, Arcturus,” she said steadily, voice soothing. “It’s enough. You can rest now.”
Arcturus’ fury wavered at her words, as if Angela’s presence alone catalyzed a renewal of the pushback against his blinding hatred, inspiring some part of him to fight with a desperation for survival that sent a ripple of shock throughout his body. He grit his teeth, blood staining his rictus grimace as he spoke.
“I won’t be killed again! I won’t let them! They have to die before they kill me!”
“No one is going to kill anyone,” Angela said harshly, moving towards him with a confidence that only served to weaken his resolve further, stopping a few feet away and pushing down his fists with complete confidence. “You’re acting like an utter idiot, Arcturus. I said that’s enough! You’re ruining my workshop, damn it.”
The fury wavered again.
The haze lifted from his eyes, and for but a moment that little voice in his head—normally so vocal—was once again allowed a chance to speak its piece; and the words it used served as the final straw to utterly shatter his focus and release his telekinetic power. He couldn’t even recall what it had said clearly, yet in a single statement, it had obliterated his mental resistance.
[Willpower Check] unsuccessful!
[Telekinesis] lost!
You suffer 3 points of Damage from [Psychic Backlash]!
You suffer 8 Damage from [Major Haemorrhage]!
Health at 12 / 110. You are now in danger of critical system failure!
[Vitality Check] successful! You resist falling unconscious!
Once again, the words repeated in his mind, and this time he heard them clearly.
Vengeance won’t change the past, only stain your soul as black as those you revile.
Arcturus jolted at the words of his subconscious, remembering them clearly: his father had said them to him on Earth, ten years prior, when they’d been watching the latest in a string of retaliatory strikes against a country that had killed American soldiers.
He’d said the words calmly, but with such a firm belief that Arcturus knew his father had experienced that lust for vengeance himself—that he’d sated it, and knew with absolute certainty that even the most initially satisfying revenge eventually lost its allure. In the end, only bitterness remained; bitterness, regret, and a stain on one’s soul. Standing with another man’s blood on his hands, fighting off pain so severe it threatened to claim his ability to stay conscious, Arcturus at last understood the meaning behind his father’s words.
A righteous killing was an acceptable killing, so long as the motivation behind it was the protection or betterment of others. He knew that. He’d been taught them from a young age, when his father had been grooming him to eventually follow him into the Military.
Tradition, he’d said.
Service was a Valouran tradition.
That had made Arcturus proud and filled him with nervous excitement. Fighting and even killing for the right reasons, his father had told him, was more rewarding than anything in the world. It meant making a difference in a way that nothing else could. Violence was always the last resort, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a valid one—especially when confronted by some of the truly evil, truly heinous crimes committed by the darkest elements of mankind.
Righteous war was Arcturus’ genetic lineage, and in that moment, he knew.
This wasn’t righteous, this wasn’t valorous.
This was just murder.
You suffer 8 Damage from [Major Haemorrhage]!
Health at 4 / 110. You are now in danger of critical system failure!
“Oh my God,” Arcturus said out loud, his eyes moving first to Angela, then to the unconscious woman, and finally to the man he’d killed—the man he’d murdered for no other reason than a desire to validate his own desire for empowerment, and a wild belief of unfounded guilt; the man whose life he’d taken out of rage and hatred, and in so doing violated every precept, code, and moral or ethical guideline his father had ever laid out before him.
“What have I done…?” he croaked through a bloodstained throat, looking back to Angela as she approached him. “Wh-what have I d-d-d…!?”
[Vitality Check] unsuccessful! You are falling unconscious!
Arcturus’ eyes rolled into the back of his head, his last sight Angela and the two intruders rushing in towards him as he finally succumbed to panic, fear, stress, and the injuries he’d sustained during the course of the workshop altercation.
The world faded away, and as his mind slipped towards oblivion, his father’s face appeared at the last. It was his father’s firm, calming voice that bade Arcturus to take the rest he so sorely needed.
As he always had since he’d been a child, he listened.
Unconsciousness claimed him immediately.
Comments
Hannibal Forge
He's not mopey, I gotta get more up... He's just overwhelmed, which tbh, I would be, too.
LiquidDew
"the phaser was set to stun!" I'm reserving judgement, although I'm not pumped about the potential for a mopey protagonist. Also, condescension from the absentee crafter is annoying, no matter how many faulty pistols she gave him. (I know he probably fried it but still)
