Code Vein Fanfic

(A/N: I'm not one to tell you what to listen to while reading as everyone has different tastes and there are too many songs and soundtracks to pick a definite choice for a certain situation, but I wrote and read proof this chap while listening to "Under Attack" from Wolfenstein... Anyway, chapt start!)

...

Planting my feet firmly on the only stable surface of this terrain made of corpses, I welcomed the ambush of a blue coral devil for the hundredth time.

I still had some trouble distinguishing them from my surroundings with Ichos when they hide themselves, however, even if I were to be robbed of the light which the shinning pebbles the team used to light our way in this place, the darkness of this cloudy night would still be of no trouble for me.

The salty wind of the sea masked their movements as they maneuvered through it, the air resistance that every being above water experienced every time they moved didn't seem to apply to them.

Black claws stabbed towards my neck with a purple liquid oozing from them. Just a cut was enough to hinder the usage of ichor in seconds. Any revenant heavily dependent on gifts like Louis and Yami would struggle with such an enemy which is why they are on the rear as support while Yakumo, Oliver, and I took them on.

Even without activating gifts, we could not be easily overpowered.

These monsters knew how to hunt revenants. They just needed to hinder one member of a team to create a weak point as the other revenants would try to protect the wounded teammate. An uphill battle would start at that point and all hope was lost if one has no cure for the poison.

Usually, they try to overwhelm us in surprise while aiming for the weakest revenant… and to think they chose me…

Assholes.

The onslaught of blue coral devils started once again, albeit somewhat differently. But not on their part.

The horrible smell of this place didn't bother me as much so I took a breath and readied myself.

I held my zweihander, its handle was much more comfortable now than before. The balance of such an enormous weapon is now perfect between the grasp of my fingers. The hound blood veil I was clad in didn't feel as cumbersome.

My focus increased, a clarity beyond intuition was perceived, and awareness exceeding sharpness was acutely grasped.

Everything became much more real than before. My life became more than a mere existence. The target in front of me was more than an enemy… there was muscle, bone, and a heart to crush!

With the surge of strength I gained from switching blood codes in milliseconds, I swung my giant blade while twisting my waist and shoulders to move out of the way, cutting its striking arm from the elbow into a diagonal angle which sliced its neck down to its chest before splitting the beast apart.

As the two halves went past my sides and blood splattered all over me, I didn't let go of the momentum and turned with my swing to face the other blue coral devil attempting to pierce my side.

When the enemy tries to overwhelm you with numbers, every strike has to be a killing blow. Wasting more than one move on a target will stop your rhythm, once you lose control of the battlefield it will be over.

You have to control it. You have to decide who dies and who gets to breathe a second longer than the rest.

A battle with time begins, and in that clash, speed is what will separate the living and the dead. Every moment, every action, and every thought is a response to multiple questions.

Will you have to receive an attack to kill the enemy in one move? Do you block? Do you dodge? Who is closer? Who is faster? Who can you overpower more easily? Who can predict each other first?

And most importantly, who will be next?

Every fiber of muscle being severed from each other by a blade that may as well be a heap of iron was so clear. The resistance of dense bones, sturdy coral armor, and firm cartilage being crushed, torn, and sliced were distinguishable despite the lack of noise in their stealthy maneuvers.

The vivid sound of fighting and feral screaming around me was nothing but background noise. Attempts at distracting me with their shouts were useless despite being so clearly aware of them.

More blood spilled on the dead land.

Not even before the remains of my first kill had fallen to the ground did a third enemy leap towards me.

'Kill one just as the other is dying!'

Yakumo's words had engraved themselves into my head. Words that he made sure to instill with a good dose of pain.

'More than one second in dispatching a target is too long!'

A duo began their assault after the first three died. Their high-frequency screaming was unable to cause any dizziness in my head.

'You strike downwards? Bring your sword back up!''

Their blood splattered on the battlefield. It wasn't even a second long before more ran on all fours towards me at full throttle.

'Connect every strike after the next one!'

The sound of torn flesh resounded faster than their shrieks.

'Every attack must build to a stronger one!'

I danced in a rain of blood-

'If you move once then you must know your next attack.'

-to a song made by my sword, one of crushing bone and flesh.

'You can't afford to lose momentum!'

My every move dictated the fate of my enemies. The metal-like jaws of hounds spawned from my shoulders and lounged at my enemies when overwhelmed.

'It's scary, ain't it?' Another voice took over. Not as strong or firm as Yakumo's, but its calmness and steadiness carried an unwavering conviction of an old hardened soul. A particular voice I would never forget, I couldn't afford to.

Yes, it still was. Maws with rows of teeth wanted to tear my flesh apart, they spewed saliva and chemicals that would mean the doom of me. Their claws were too sharp to even attempt any trades. The dark purple eyes inside those deep eye sockets stared at prey, not at an enemy.

'Do you feel it? Clammy hands? A tight stomach? A raising heart? A lump in your throat?' The rough voice questioned, its tone conveyed a smile of amusement.

Yes, I did. I felt them. Never have they left my side. Every encounter I found myself in never lacked such senses. Whenever I stepped onto the ring and faced an opponent, when I realized this world was bigger than anything I knew, the moment I understood that if I didn't push myself to the breaking point, this world would do it for me.

'Haven't you dealt with worse?' The voice spat with ridicule, 'Numb and burning muscles from punching the sandbag for hours? The feeling of puking after running dozens of miles? A stomach constantly reminding you of your starvation, one that you endured just to be within the weight limit for the fight through a whole month?'

I've dealt with worse. I was just suddenly thrown into an apocalypse after my supposed death, kicked out of my grave as if the world wanted another piece of me. I have suffered a broken spine more than once, and have almost been decapitated, bones and muscles have been tempered through painful training involving more torture than exercise.

'Good, you have no time to waste with those measly sensations. If you spend time suffering because of them, then you might as well be dead! Wasting time in such distractions will be your doom! Life is a battle, and to live life you have to be a warrior!

Life is not easy, It never was. Every second will be a struggle, and every struggle will give you life!' He old man said, his boastful smile grew. The old jaded veteran expectantly watched, to see when a boy became a man.

Monsters increased. The number of times I almost felt my skin being torn open by claws and bones being crushed between horrifying jaws became too many to count.

'Do not cower upon death, be afraid of not living.'

I felt blood soaking my boots. Gore splashed in my every step.

'Afraid of not living like a warrior.'

My body was drenched in the guts and blood of monsters, my blade strangely clean.

'Be scared of a meaningless death…'

The ground composed of dead bodies had a new layer of death added to it.

The only difference between the corpses was whose victims they were.

At one point, the air began to struggle moving out of my way, the droplets of blood that had seemingly frozen in the air parted way without my blade touching them.

Screams became quieter, fighting scarce, and death much more abundant.

Nonetheless, I swung my weapon towards the last remaining enemy ahead of me.

Muscles strained and relaxed to create a perfect motion, joints tightened to stop the tiniest escape of energy in my swing, and bones supported the violent distribution of weight. The last attack carried all of the strength my body could muster. My now agonizing body told me that much.

*WHOM!*

The Lost wasn't even cut in half, it was torn apart as my zweihander brutally struck downwards.

As my target disintegrated, guts, blood, along with other bodies that had yet dispersed across the battlefield flung up into the air as a path opened in front of me.

The dead layers of coral revealed itself momentarily before the lake of blood covered it once again.

In the silence that had befallen on the battleground, I looked at my trembling hand.

My entire body now had the gall of telling me that it wanted some rest. My muscles were sore, my joints felt like they needed to be replaced, bones pained as if they had been struck by a hammer repeatedly. My entire being felt like crumbling at the moment.

I managed to keep those sensations from distracting me from a certain thought.

Right now, something was in my mind, it was a single word that separated the common man and those who had their image immortalized in history. A word I heard a lot of the time when I was human.

…

*Thump* *Thuack*

The sound of punching clearly resounded in the empty gym. The blond kid punching the sandbag had many bruises across his face, but the focused look in his eyes didn't give away any pain or discomfort.

"Why did you pick a fight with someone bigger than you, even worse, outnumbered as well?" An old man asked with a blank stare and flat tone.

"..."

There was no answer to his question.

Just an incessant assault of punches to the sandbag.

"... was it about your father?"

*THUMP!*

The sandbag shook at the sudden increase in force, the rattling of the chain holding it from the ceiling echoing in the gym.

The man sighed at the sight of the kid throwing such a punch. He walked towards the small Adam and stopped him from throwing another strike. "Boy, don't throw those kinds of big motions so early without a proper warm-up."

"Teach me how to fight. Actual fighting!" The child didn't even seem to acknowledge the advice. He looked up to meet the gaze of the old man.

His grandpa simply stared with the same blank look. No feeling seeping through it whatsoever… but it didn't last a moment, he stared at the face of the bruised kid before muttering a word with a growing smile.

"Fine."

Like a goldfish, little Adam opened and closed his mouth. He couldn't even make a surprised gasp at how easily his old man agreed.

"Put some damn gloves on, punching without them is by far the dumbest thing you have done today." The old man ordered.

Through Adam's training, he learned many things. Some were forgotten and others were teachings he still used up until today.

"What is a deciding factor between professional fighters within the same weight category?" The old and rugged face of the man was serious.

Adam pondered for a few seconds before answering, "Experience."

The word 'experience' could be translated to time spent on a task, the knowledge which is forged by hours of experimentation and hard work. Awareness of weaknesses and strengths in their field, tricks that could be borderline illegal.

However, "Half right." The old man hummed and bobbed his head side to side. It was clear that he wasn't looking for that answer.

"Footwork, punching power, accuracy, endurance, perceptiveness, tempo, all those skills are needed to be a boxer. Many put in exhausting hours to learn them, there is no pro athlete who doesn't work hard. What will divide people who are in the same weight category won't necessarily be experience, but cognitive ability.

Or, as most people like to call it,-"

…

-Talent.

Life is equally unfair to everyone. Some have it and some don't. Others are blessed and the rest are cursed in comparison.

Cognitive ability might as well mean the potential of the human mind and body. The capability of grasping concepts faster than others, to control their body with much more precision than the rest. As babies, humans spend most of their time adapting to their bodies. The process of assimilation will differ, how long the mind and body work will take to work in tandem is decided by this factor.

After all, tens of hundreds of muscle fibers will contract and relax with precision to generate movement, hundreds of joints will provide stability to said motions, and numerous bones will allow different ranges of motions.

Humans will get used to these mechanisms to do the simplest to the most complex tasks in their daily lives. The action of a single step is not so simple once looked at closely.

Starting from the contraction of muscles from the pinky toes going up to the Achilles heels, the calves, knees, and then the thighs before the cycle begins again. How the hips and torso make sure the rotation needed for the step isn't excessive or too little, and arms and shoulder motions are used to keep balance, keeping your face away from the floor.

High cognitive ability is what keeps the normal person away from the extraordinary.

The ability which grants full control over the body, full focus, and usage of the mind. Motions that don't even let the tiniest flow of energy escape. An unwavering concentration that cannot be broken by any pain or feelings, but rather fueled by it.

The potential is needed to set world records that remain unbroken in history. Unreachable goals for the rest of humans. Their legacy is immortalized in history as the peak of human perfection in the art of sports.

So, I wondered. Was that what 'talent' feels like?

The full control of my body. No motion wasted, not a second gone by uselessly, no pointless distractions, only the necessary to get my task done.

Maximize every single part of my body and mind into a goal.

Maybe, this is just the side effect of being a revenant?

We can smell better, see with more detail, and feel our surroundings more clearly. Our sensory abilities are overhauled, which means that our cognitive ability must be improved upon otherwise our brain will turn into gray mush the moment it attempts to process so much information at once…

Just like an old CPU trying to load a 4k image, it will fry its circuits.

(A/N: Does anybody know about that Minecraft mod that turns your CPU into a furnace because the lighting and textures are like 8k pixels in resolution?)

Then, was this what they call 'the zone' then? I couldn't answer that. I've never experienced it even when I was human.

Or this was what the original protagonist felt like? Could this be just the potential of the original protagonist finally being grasped by me?

The hand I had stared at for a while now was gently grasped by a slender and pale hand. Even after training and swinging a weapon for days, they remained just as tender and soft.

Io had brought my arm over her shoulder to help me stand…

I didn't have much trouble doing so. I can stand without feeling like passing out now. She probably misunderstood my musing.

Anyway, I made sure to bring her closer because what kind of man refuses help from a pretty lady?

"Good job." She… she praised me?!

I was a bit perplexed that she was the one complimenting me, it was rare. Most of what came from her were words of consolation or just questions out of curiosity.

The visible golden eyes through the glass of the mask were sparkling.

Ah, my heart…

{...?}

"I didn't fire a single bullet." She added.

Oh, that's right. She is supposed to cover for me whenever I'm in a corner. But if she didn't use a single bullet it meant that I had pretty much outdone myself. Especially, considering that this should be the last wave. I could see the rays of sunlight pass through some of the clouds now.

The numbers get bigger the closer the night gets to the morning. Since we are plowing through this place, we attract pretty much all of their attention at the point in time where most of them are already out of the water and that leads to this kind of waves in their attempt at eating us up.

"You sure you just were some random soldier in the war against the Queen?" Yakumo's inquiry reached my ears.

"I'm not even sure if I fought in the Queenslayer op. How am I supposed to know?" I asked back. The information I got about my new identity in this world from Davis was too vague.

"Well, if you can do this much-" he looked around the sea of gore reaching up to our ankles, "- then I have been too lenient in our training..."

I immediately let my body weight be supported by Io, she hugged my torso with her other arm, "Please don't, I'm very much at my limit!"

"You know, I would say that you should leave some for the rest of us, but, like, don't, actually. Keep it up." Yami joined after making sure our surroundings were clear, kicking some of the corpses and guts in his way.

Oliver picked up the shiny rocks used for illuminating our surroundings and the haze left by the dispersing blue coral devils, "It's good to see that these hordes of lost can really be dealt with in such a short time."

You know, I didn't think that I would get used to so much gore… I stopped gagging at blood and intestinal smells since Gramps had me help him cut up plenty of game in middle school. But this was too much of it. It wasn't even appealing to my new vampire taste.

"Hmm…" Louis looked at the map and at the view from the plateau we were standing at, alternating between the two.

"What's up, Louis?" I called for the researcher in an attempt at taking the attention away from me.

He answered without looking back. "That boat wasn't there before…"

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Word Count: 3,160

I don't even plan on giving MC a whole chapter for his backstory or anything. It will mostly be mentioned every now and then or be used as some exposition about the wisdom passed down to him from his old man. I will leave it somewhat vague as it isn't that relevant to the story. What matters is the man that he will become.

Anyhow, in case you said something like "being taller in basketball is better than just being SmaRt" or something like that to the explanation of 'Talent'... let me tell you, you are one dumb son of a gun.

No wonder you don't think the capability of high cognitive ability is important just as, if not more, than having a gifted body. The explanation was "The biggest difference between pro athletes within the same weight category." Since it was mainly directed towards the world of boxing. If you are tall, then your opponent is as well. If you have big muscles, the contender has them as well. The talent referred to here is all about performance.

Body and mind working together to their highest levels!

I swear I had this talk more than once than necessary and they end up saying the same thing like it enters through one ear and comes out of the other!