Layla flinched, not from the tiny woman's sharp words, but from the raw, mental intrusion of her voice. It was like a needle pricking directly into her thoughts, bypassing her ears entirely. Rava, still perched imperiously on her shoulder, tilted her head, those impossibly bright eyes scanning Layla's face.
"Don't worry, you'll get used to it," Rava's voice echoed in Layla's mind, a cynical amusement lacing the mental words. "Or you won't, and you'll go mad. Either way, it's efficient. Now, are you going to keep standing there contemplating the dust bunnies, or are we going to talk about your utterly pathetic starting point?"
Layla shook her head, trying to clear the lingering disorientation. The system was gone. Just... gone. It had been her anchor, the cold, logical guide in a world of madness. Now, this volatile, pocket-sized tyrant was in charge. "Pathetic?" Layla finally managed, her voice a low growl, the new Berserker energy still humming beneath her skin. "I just became a Blood Berserker. I'm stronger than I've ever been."
Rava snorted, a surprisingly loud sound for such a tiny creature. Her physical form shifted on Layla's shoulder, tiny, pointed ears twitching. "Look, bloodling, you're a fresh lump of clay," Rava continued aloud, tapping a minuscule finger against Layla's ear. "You think kicking some glorified goblins around in a different dimension makes you a queen? Please. You're a barely sharpened butter knife in a world of plasma cannons."
Layla's fists clenched, the instinct to unleash her newfound fury rising. The Madness Soul Mark thrummed, a low vibration in her core. "What are you talking about? What objective?"
Rava's eyes gleamed, a predatory glint. "Oh, you think you just randomly got picked to be a super-powered meat shield? Adorable. The System, bless its dull, bureaucratic heart, set you on a path. And now, it's my job to make sure you walk it without tripping over your own feet."
"And now what, bloodling?" Rava's mental voice cut through Layla's thoughts, sharp as a dagger. "Dear old dad kicked you out. You're a pariah here. What's your grand plan? Sit in a cave and brood?"
A wave of dejection washed over Layla. Rava was right. Her home was gone. Her father... The anger that had fueled her journey here now felt hollow, leaving a bitter emptiness. She had embraced the beast within, but for what? To be an outcast, hiding in a cave?
Rava, sensing the shift, adopted a deceptively calm tone. "Alright, don't just wilt on me. This isn't a tea party. You're a Blood Berserker. You have a purpose. And your purpose needs funding. So, how about we prepare for your next tour to Isekai?"
Layla looked up, a flicker of hope amidst the gloom. "How? How do we prepare?"
Rava scoffed, a tiny, dismissive sound. "How do you think you got those pretty Heim Coins, bloodling? You killed goblins. Denizens of Isekai, right? Your system, in its infinite dullness, converted their essence into your currency." Rava paused, her bright eyes fixed on Layla. A chilling grin spread across her small face. "Well, who says it has to be goblins? I say we try people. It's worth a shot, isn't it? A different dimension, different rules. And if they're particularly nasty, perhaps their 'essence' is even more potent."
Layla recoiled, a cold shock going through her. Kill people? The thought was a raw, visceral punch. She had killed in Isekai, but those were monsters, grotesque creatures that wanted her dead. This was... different.
Rava, oblivious or uncaring of Layla's internal turmoil, continued, her voice resonating purely in Layla's mind now, a dark, conspiratorial whisper. "So, where can we find the meanest, baddest people society won't miss if they simply disappeared, bloodling?"
Layla's mind raced, a terrifying realization settling in. People that fit that description weren't rare in this part of the world. Not with terrorists and corrupt politicians holding sway. The thought of unleashing her newfound monstrous strength on them, on humans, twisted her gut. But the alternative... what was the alternative?
-----------------------
Meanwhile, not far from Layla's desolate cave, was a village that had once mirrored her own—small, peaceful, nestled away from the world. Now, it was a festering scar on the landscape, a base for terrorists and bandits. Its remoteness meant the military had long abandoned any pretense of reclaiming it, leaving it to fester as a hub for dark professions. Human trafficking, assassinations, drug and weapon sales—you name it, they'd get it for you. In the dim, smoke-filled rooms of the bosses, the latest news of the Vanguards and the UN's new directives was being hotly discussed. Every boss now lusted to get their grubby hands on these newly discovered Vanguards.
Elijah, one of these bosses, was in a particularly difficult predicament. A recent accident had decimated his ranks, leaving his position and influence in the city teetering on the edge. If not for the widespread phenomenon of the Thunderbolts, the other bosses would likely be tearing him apart for his weakened state.
A subordinate, a nervous man with darting eyes, was currently reporting the dire situation, detailing the audacious moves other factions were making. A sudden commotion outside cut him off. Elijah, irritation etched on his face, demanded to know the cause.
"Some tramp, Boss," a guard replied, poking his head through the doorway. "Says he's got something important to tell you."
Elijah, grasping at straws in his desperation, waved a hand dismissively, yet his tone held a sliver of desperate hope. "Let him in."
The man, disheveled and reeking of stale fear, began to speak, his voice a hurried whisper. He told Elijah about a ray of thunder that had struck someone from his village, and how, twelve hours later, that person had inexplicably returned.
Elijah's half-hearted interest vanished. This was it. This was his chance to turn everything around. If he could find this person first, sell them for a colossal sum, he could rebuild his empire, reclaim his power. His eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger.
"Your name?" Elijah demanded, his voice low and intense. He promised the informant a reward, a small fortune for such invaluable news. But as the guard began to escort the man out, Elijah met the guard's gaze with a cold, clear command. This information couldn't leak. Not a word.
"Gather the men," Elijah ordered, his voice ringing with renewed authority. "Only those we trust. We're going to get our price."