I Died and Became a Chapter 537: Contractee State

Chapter 537: Contractee State

Mira’s orange eyes scanned the battlefield, seeking any strategic advantage or opportunity to evade the formidable adversary who had just exposed her limitations.

Then she saw him.

Jack stood several ters away, his yellow eyes blazing with intensity that made the air around him shimr. But what caught her attention wasn’t his transford state or the golden lightning crackling across his body.

It was his left hand.

Instead of the anticipated cauterized stump, a consequence of the injury she had inflicted and the subsequent self-amputation, a hand composed entirely of fire had materialized.

The flas exhibited remarkable fluidity and precision in their movents.

’How?’ Mira’s thoughts spiraled through confusion and growing horror. ’Fire magic? He demonstrated lightning affinity during our fight. Enhanced physical capabilities, demon binding, and spatial manipulation through portals. But fire? That’s a completely separate elent. How many affinities does he possess?’

Her mind struggled to reconcile what she was witnessing with years of accumulated knowledge about magical progression and elental specialization.

Then sothing intruded inside of her body that jerked her around.

The first blood spear materialized from thin air, the crimson weapon forming in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

It shot forward with speed that eliminated reaction ti, punching through Mira’s right thigh just above the knee.

Her scream tore across the battlefield.

"AGGGHHHH!!!!"

Pain overwheld the tactical discipline as the spear embedded itself deep in muscle and bone. She reached down instinctively, her hands closing around the crimson weapon as she prepared to yank it free.

But the spear shifted under her grip.

It was squirming like it was alive, digging deeper into her flesh with a clear purpose that went beyond just being a projectile.

The sensation was horrifying, feeling the weapon claw its way through tissue like a parasite seeking to reach bone and marrow.

Mira’s fire erupted around her hands, concentrated heat designed to vaporize the blood weapon and cauterize the wound simultaneously.

The flas washed over the spear without effect, the crimson construct remaining solid and functional despite temperatures that should have instantly boiled liquid.

A second spear struck her left shoulder, punching through muscle to pin her arm against her torso. Another scream ripped from her throat as the weapon began its parasitic burrowing, clawing deeper with movents that felt disturbingly organic.

Then a third.

Fourth.

Fifth.

S’s assault was thodical and precise, each blood spear targeting a different location with surgical accuracy.

Right bicep, left calf, right forearm, left thigh, right ankle, left wrist, right hip, left elbow, right knee, left shoulder blade, right shin.

Thirteen spears total, each one embedding itself in non-lethal locations but positioned perfectly to eliminate mobility and create cascading waves of agony as they burrowed deeper into her flesh.

Mira collapsed to her knees, her legs unable to support her weight with multiple spears pinning her muscles and restricting movent.

Her arms hung useless at her sides, the weapons embedded in her limbs making coordinated action impossible.

Blood stread from thirteen wounds, painting her fire-enhanced body in crimson that mixed with the orange flas still flickering weakly around her form.

She tried again to break the spears, gathering what remained of her mana to create concentrated fire around each wound.

The flas responded sluggishly, blood loss compromising her ability to channel power effectively.

But what was worse, she knew she had mana left, but couldn’t use it for so reason.

The spears continued their parasitic movent, burrowing deeper with each passing second, creating fresh waves of agony that made breathing difficult and consciousness threaten to slip away entirely.

S maintained a distance of several feet, exhibiting a relaxed posture.

His crimson eyes observed her distress with a detached interest, akin to an art connoisseur appreciating an installation rather than an individual experiencing profound agony.

Then Mira noticed sothing that made her blood run cold despite the fire still flickering around her wounded form.

S’s butler suit was pristine.

Not just repaired, but completely unblemished, as if her earlier assault had never occurred.

The torn fabric she’d created with flaming strikes was whole again.

The blood staining his collar and chest had vanished entirely. Even the small rips and tears from her physical attacks showed no evidence of ever having existed.

’When the fuck did he have ti to change?’ The thought crashed through her pain-addled mind with absurd clarity, the disconnect between visible damage monts ago and current perfection too stark to process.

S’s hand moved to his pocket, his fingers erging with a tangerine held delicately between thumb and forefinger. He examined the fruit with the critical eye of soone evaluating quality, turning it slowly to inspect the skin’s color and texture.

"Would you like a slice?" S’s voice carried across the space between them, conversational despite discussing fruit while his victim bled from thirteen wounds.

"I find citrus quite refreshing after physical exertion. The acidity helps cleanse the palate."

He didn’t wait for her response, given that Mira’s breathing had beco too ragged for coherent speech.

Instead, he slowly peeled the tangerine, his movents precise and unhurried, like ti didn’t matter to him.

"Every ti you went to strike ," S continued, his tone carrying the patience of a teacher explaining concepts to a struggling student, "I moved my body just out of reach. Milliters, really. Barely perceptible displacent that made your attacks connect with space rather than solid flesh."

He pulled away another section of peel, the citrus scent mingling with the copper scent of blood, painting the wet stone around Mira’s kneeling form.

"So you felt contact, the resistance of impact, the sensation of striking sothing solid. But it felt wrong, didn’t it? Off sohow, like the feedback didn’t quite match what contact should feel like when fist ets face or fire burns flesh."

S popped a slice of tangerine into his mouth, chewing with evident satisfaction before continuing his explanation.

"That’s because you were hitting the space I’d just vacated. My presence manipulation allows

to leave... echoes, I suppose you’d call them. Temporary impressions that fool enhanced perception into registering solid contact when nothing substantial was actually struck."

He gestured to his pristine butler suit with the hand holding the remaining tangerine.

"The damage you inflicted? The torn fabric, the blood, the bruises marking my face and torso? All illusion. Deliberately created impressions designed to make you believe you were winning, that your assault was effective, that victory was achievable if you simply pressed harder and faster."

S’s red eyes glead with dark amusent as he watched understanding crash through Mira’s expression, her process the full scope of how completely she’d been manipulated throughout their entire engagent.

"But now," S’s tone shifted, becoming sothing colder despite maintaining conversational cadence, "I want you to watch Jack. My Master will show you sothing special. Sothing worth rembering in whatever brief ti remains before your death becos inevitable."

Jack’s yellow eyes tracked Warren’s position with a focus that excluded everything except the Council mber, who struggled to maintain a defensive posture despite the injuries he had endured.

"I can’t kill you," Jack’s voice carried across the battlefield with casual certainty, "but I can show you sothing you’ll never forget. Even if your life is about to end."

His posture shifted, power building within his core as he reached for capabilities he’d only recently acquired.

Emberion’s presence stirred within his soul space, and the Slag King’s consciousness recognized the call, responding with eager anticipation.