CLANG.
The heavy, master-keyed iron bars of Cell 345 slammed shut with a definitive, ringing finality, echoing the absolute lockdown of Tier 2-B. The fluorescent corridor tubes flickered once and died, plunging the massive subterranean sector into the oppressive, pitch-black dark of 7:00 PM lights out. Twilight had fully passed. The prison was asleep, the guards were retreating to their administrative monitoring stations, and my window of execution was officially open.
I cut a sideways glance across the dark cell, and my jaw tightened in pure, unadulterated revulsion. Even with the lights out, the dim moonlight filtering through the high ventilation bars revealed Inmate 222 still completely lost to his base, animalistic desires. The unhinged old hag was shamelessly clutching my ruined mattress, using my semen-soaked pillow as a makeshift body pillow, frantically imitating sex in the dark with my sister Elicia's poster plastered to the fabric.
"Hey, you old hag, how the hell am I supposed to sleep with that absolute mess of yours?"
I gestured coldly to the lower bunk, where the dark, sticky stains of his fluid completely saturated my bedsheets. 222 didn't even bother to comment on his actions. He merely let out a shallow, vacuous wheeze, entirely desensitized to his own degeneracy, completely focused on maintaining his endless edging streak.
Perfect. His total degeneracy is the ultimate tactical smoke screen.
The final phase of my master plan was fully primed. To break out of this high-security fortress, I first needed to liberate myself from the cursed, mana-suppressing restraints binding my body. I planted my boots firmly on the stone floor, focused my internal kinetic energy, and forced a series of loud, violent gagging and vomiting sounds from the back of my throat.
"Hey! Don't vomit in here, kid! I know you're completely disgusted by the sperm on your bedsheets, but still... throwing up on the floor is just nasty!"
Let him believe his foul mess was the cause. In reality, I was executing a precise internal extraction. Channeling my biological control, I triggered a localized contraction in my stomach lining, forcing the hidden metallic objects upward. The sharp, cold wire edges circled smoothly up through my esophagus, gliding past my vocal cords, all the way into my mouth. With a soft spit, I caught three pristine, high-tensile steel paperclips in my palm.
While 222 immediately went back to his unhinged routine… now holding the poster up and aggressively imitating a blowjob in the dark… I went to work with the speed of an elite phantom thief. Manipulating the first paperclip with my teeth and fingers, I twisted the steel into a specialized double-tension lockpick. I jammed the improvised tool into the complex tumblers of the heavy mana-chains binding my left wrist, then the right.
CLICK. CLICK.
The heavy, enchanted iron cuffs split open, falling silently onto the mattress. The moment the steel left my skin, a violent, tingling jolt shot straight through my nervous system. My sealed pathways tore open, and my primordial vampiric mana was finally released from its physical cage. However, the prolonged, grueling suppression had taken a catastrophic toll. My internal reserves were completely hollowed out… my spiritual pool was severely, dangerously depleted.
I needed to consume fresh, iron-rich blood immediately to replenish my arcane core.
Leaving the wrist chains behind, I focused entirely on the primary constraint: the heavy, rune-carved iron collar locking down my throat. I slid the pick into the primary master cylinder, gave it a fierce, calculated twist, and released the collar in one fluid go.
SNAP.
The heavy iron ring hit the floor, and a wave of pure, unadulterated power surged through my true veins. I activated my internal appraisal skill known as Inspect to check my baseline parameters, watching the interface display a massive, god-like shift as my true, unsealed vampiric entity broke through Keane's mortal shell:
Keane Leon
Skill: Inspect, Blood Curse, Blood Sword, Defense Reduction, Blood Bow, Pain Manipulation, Shapeshift, Illusion of Cariñosa
Vitality:6700
Strength: 7800
Defense: 5700
Agility: 4900
Mana: 12500
The human stat caps had completely plummeted, shattered by my true, unbridled power. But that measly $5$ points of current mana was a critical failure point. If I didn't fill that tank right now, I wouldn't have enough arcane fuel to detonate the blood bomb at the fourth watchtower.
Luckily for me, an abundant, completely disposable source of biological fuel was currently gooning less than two feet away.
I bared my gums, a pair of elongated, razor-sharp white fangs sliding silently down from my upper jaw. Moving with the terrifying, silent velocity of my true agility, I lunged across the cell like a shadow. Before 222 could even register the shift in the air, I grabbed his ruined pillow and slammed it brutally over his face, pinning his skull down against the mattress with a thousand pounds of unsealed strength to completely suffocate his screams.
"Mmph… ! Mm… !"
His body thrashed violently beneath me, but to my true form, his 100-stat strength was nothing more than a minor annoyance. I tilted his neck back, drove my elongated fangs deep into his jugular vein, and began to drink.
SLURP. GULP. GULP.
The hot, thick, metallic crimson fluid flooded my throat. Within a matter of seconds, his struggles grew weaker and weaker. His skin turned an ashen, translucent gray as his life force was completely systematically reaped. His lifeless, completely drained body went entirely limp against the mattress, his eyes staring blankly into the dark.
[Drain Activated Extraction Completed consumed four liters of blood]
Instantly, my passive ability… Blood to Mana Conversion of my sixth evolution… kicked into overdrive. The consumed essence was violently incinerated within my heart core, converting the raw genetic material into pure, dark arcane energy. My mana pool skyrocketed back to 100%, the spiritual warmth radiating through my limbs.
My strength was complete. My true form was awake. I wiped a single drop of crimson from my lip, adjusted the classified map of Carcaka in my jumpsuit, and turned my eyes toward the ventilation shaft. It was time to blow this citadel to hell.
The dry, completely drained husk of Inmate 222 collapsed back onto the soiled mattress, his lifeless eyes staring vacantly into the dark cell. The moment the feeding frenzy concluded and the conversion process stabilized, I willed my true, predatory aura to recede. My internal interface recalibrated, masking my true power and setting my visible attributes back to the prison's baseline of 100 stats. I was perfectly camouflaged once more, hidden beneath the unassuming flesh of Keane Leon.
"The stealth phase is officially over, it's time for absolute chaos."
I didn't care if tearing down the security doors triggered a mass breakout, allowing the rest of the tier's degenerates and criminals to flood the corridors. I wasn't here to be a hero or a warden; I was an elite operative executing a mission. If the entire prison population rioted, it would only create a massive, chaotic smoke screen for my exit vector.
If any high-stat faction guards crossed my path during the scramble, I would dismantle them instantly, harvesting their blood to keep my mana reservoir at absolute capacity. The beauty of my strategy lay in the layers of deception. The kingdom's investigators and the prison bureau would never suspect that the infiltrator was Eirene… their highly trusted, elite bounty hunter. To their eyes, the perpetrator of this catastrophic containment breach would look like nothing more than an ambitious, low-tier inmate named Keane.
But I had to adhere to my own absolute first rule of survival: Do not unleash my true form. Under no circumstances could I sprout my primordial, razor-sharp vampiric wings. The high-tier bounty for the "blood-sucking winged demon" was still actively circulating across the continent. If I exposed my true aerial silhouette, the bureau would immediately scale my threat level, framing me as Public Enemy No. 1 and mobilizing the kingdom's supreme military assets. I would remain on two feet, piloting this mortal skin until I cleared the perimeter.
My comprehensive, master-level mapping of the Citadel gave me the ultimate tactical advantage. Ever since the moment I was processed, my sharp eyes had been meticulously documenting the layout of the fortress, memorizing the exact patrol rotations of the guards shifting between the second level and the first level. I knew every blind spot, every timing window, and every security latch.
However, breaching the walls was only half the battle. The Citadel was isolated on a remote, jagged island surrounded by treacherous, deep ocean waters. The surface was heavily monitored by high-stat naval boat patrols, and the freezing depths were infested with ravenous, flesh-ripping sharks waiting for escaping convicts. To bypass both threats, I needed to secure a set of tactical scuba diving suits from the lower naval depot. I had to remain entirely submerged, navigating the dark depths where the boat patrols couldn't track my heat signature. If any sharks or underwater sentries attempted to ambush me in the deep, I would utilize my high-tier Blood Manipulation magic to hyper-pressurize the surrounding water, tearing their biological systems apart from the inside out.
Once I reached the underwater baseline, I would snap my fingers, detonate the blood bomb planted at the fault lines of the fourth watchtower, and dive directly into the ocean current.
My exit strategy didn't involve swimming blindly toward the mainland shore. The bureau would anticipate that, and the city's heavily armed police units would already be forming containment blockades along the beaches. Instead, I would utilize the city's hidden, subterranean sewage network. My photographic memory recalled the precise, labyrinthine navigation sequence perfectly: Left, Left, Right, Right, Left, then hit the Mainstream.
That hidden path would dump me directly past the city's external borders, allowing me to make it out of Caria City alive, completely undetected.
I stood before the cell door, my unsealed power vibrating through my legs. Channeling my full, kinetic 100-stat output into a single, devastating point of impact, I raised my boot and delivered a thunderous kick straight into the center of the iron-reinforced security door.
BOOM!
The heavy iron door tore completely off its hinges, warping violently as it was thrown across the corridor, slamming into the opposite stone wall.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
Instantly, the Citadel's high-alert crimson emergency beacons flashed to life, a deafening, piercing alarm siren ripping through the quiet corridors of Floor 2-B. The cells began to shake, the voices of hundreds of waking prisoners erupted into absolute panic, and the heavy thud of guard reinforcements echoed from the stairwells.
I stepped out of the cell and into the flashing red light, my dark bangs throwing a shadow over my face as a cold, dangerous grin spread across my lips.
Now, it was my time.