Chapter 18: "Asterion Possesses Me and All I Got Was a Gang Empire"
(Also, possibly PTSD. Definitely both.)
Evan Mercer was, for lack of a better term, completely asleep.
We're talking full-on, mouth-slightly-open, face-in-a-pillow, dead-to-the-universe type sleep.
And honestly?
He needed it.
Between supernatural trouble, Asterion's training, and dying a few dozen colorful ways in an ancient cultivator's mental death simulator, the kid was tired.
But while Evan's consciousness snoozed peacefully inside their shared mental space, someone else had clocked in for the night shift.
Enter:
Asterion Ardyn.
Ancient cultivator.
Knight of Fate.
Former Sect Head of the Heavenly Flame Sect.
And—at this very moment—Evan's consciousness co-pilot.
And he had plans.
The moment Asterion slipped into the driver's seat of Evan's body, things changed.
The exhaustion?
Managed.
Muscles?
Supported by Asterion's energy.
Ki?
Flowing through pathways Evan himself could barely use yet.
Asterion gave a slow stretch, every joint popping one after another.
He glanced down at Evan's slightly stronger frame.
"Hm."
He rolled one shoulder experimentally.
"You're improving."
A faint smile appeared.
"Still fragile, but improving."
He slipped on a black mask, grabbed the handgun he'd confiscated from a particularly troublesome mercenary earlier in the week, and stepped into the night.
Mission Brief:
Target – Arrogant Gang Boss with a fancy mansion and too many opinions.
Status – Ignored all warnings, doubled his security, and reinforced his windows.
Objective – Make him reconsider his recent decisions.
Asterion moved through the darkness like a rumor—fast, quiet, and just a little bit terrifying.
Guards were patrolling.
More than before.
The gang boss had apparently decided that throwing additional armed men at the problem counted as strategy.
Asterion crouched atop the outer wall and looked over the estate.
"Hm."
Two guards beneath him.
Three near the eastern entrance.
Four cameras.
Reinforced windows.
Additional motion sensors.
Asterion smiled.
"He really did try."
Almost admirable.
Almost.
He dropped silently behind the first guard.
Two fingers tapped the man's neck.
Down.
The second turned.
Asterion caught his wrist, redirected the weapon, struck once beneath the ribs, and gently lowered him beside his friend.
"Sleep."
The man was already unconscious.
Asterion continued.
Walls.
Balconies.
Security systems.
Armed patrols.
None of it mattered very much to someone who had spent centuries breaking into places designed by cultivators who could level mountains.
The iron bars?
Simple.
The additional guards?
Manageable.
The skylight?
Convenient.
Once inside, Asterion moved with quiet efficiency.
Pressure points.
Joint locks.
Controlled strikes.
Occasionally, he looked down at an unconscious guard as though mildly disappointed.
"You really should choose another profession."
Not that the man could hear him.
But Asterion felt the advice was sound.
It wasn't until he reached the gang boss's bedroom that things became less subtle.
Asterion placed one hand against the door.
Paused.
Then kicked.
BAM.
The reinforced door tore inward.
Gunfire erupted immediately.
Bullets ripped through the doorway.
Asterion moved.
One step.
Turn.
Drop.
Roll.
A pulse of ki reinforced Evan's body as Asterion crossed the room faster than the shooters could properly track him.
He came upright behind an overturned table.
Silence lasted half a second.
Asterion sighed.
"I did give you a peaceful option."
Another burst of gunfire.
His expression changed.
The easygoing amusement disappeared.
The Sect Head surfaced.
"Very well."
The atmosphere dropped.
Not physically.
But every person in the room felt it.
Asterion released a fraction of his killing intent.
The effect was immediate.
Men who had spent years around violence froze where they stood.
Hands trembled.
Breathing became shallow.
One dropped his gun without realizing it.
Another tried to step backward and found his legs refusing to cooperate.
This wasn't some supernatural trick designed specifically to frighten humans.
It was simply the presence of someone who had killed, fought, commanded armies of cultivators, and stood before beings that could erase cities.
For a brief moment, the men in that room understood something instinctively.
They were prey.
And the person standing before them had chosen not to kill them.
Yet.
The gang boss went pale.
Asterion walked forward.
Slowly.
Calmly.
The boss raised his pistol with a shaking hand.
Asterion shot him through the arm.
BANG.
The man screamed.
The pistol fell.
Asterion continued walking until he stood directly in front of him.
"That was your warning."
The boss clutched his bleeding arm, staring upward.
Asterion crouched slightly.
"Now listen carefully."
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
"You will work for me."
The man's eyes widened.
"Or this ends tonight."
Around them, the gang members remained frozen.
Asterion glanced toward the bed.
The boss's wife was still unconscious beneath a carefully applied sleep technique.
Then back to him.
"And before you convince yourself you're indispensable—you're not."
The boss swallowed.
"If necessary, I can replace you."
That was somehow worse than a threat.
The man stared at him for several long seconds.
Then whatever remained of his resistance collapsed.
"I submit."
Asterion watched him.
"Say it properly."
The man swallowed again.
"I submit. I'll work for you."
The pressure vanished.
Several gang members nearly collapsed.
One sucked in a breath like he'd been underwater.
Asterion straightened.
The easygoing man returned just enough for the corner of his mouth to rise.
"Good."
He walked over to a velvet sofa and sat down.
"Now deal with your arm."
The boss stared.
Asterion leaned back comfortably.
"We have a great deal to discuss, and your screaming is becoming distracting."
Meanwhile, inside the mental world…
Evan slept peacefully.
Rolled over.
Mumbled something incomprehensible.
Then:
"Explosions..."
And went back to sleep.
If there's one thing that makes a gang boss shut up and listen, it's being shot in the arm by an ancient Sect Head using the body of an unconscious teenager.
Classic Tuesday night stuff.
Asterion sat calmly on a velvet couch while the gang boss occupied the chair opposite him, his arm now hastily bandaged.
Around them, his remaining men stood in uncomfortable silence.
Nobody seemed particularly interested in making sudden movements.
Asterion rested one ankle over his knee.
"From now on, your current illegal operations stop."
The boss stiffened.
Asterion noticed.
"Something to say?"
"...No."
"Good."
He continued.
"You're going legitimate."
The boss blinked.
"...What?"
Asterion looked at him.
"Was I unclear?"
"No. It's just—"
Asterion raised one eyebrow.
The man reconsidered his sentence.
Asterion continued.
"You already possess transportation networks, warehouses, contacts, manpower, and capital. You've simply been using them badly."
The boss stared.
Asterion leaned back.
"Trade. Construction. Security. Infrastructure. Food distribution. Clean water. Medicine."
He counted the sectors casually on his fingers.
"Underdeveloped regions offer plenty of opportunities for legitimate investment."
The boss's confusion slowly overcame some of his terror.
"You want me to run charities?"
"No."
Asterion almost looked offended.
"I want you to run businesses."
"Oh."
"Businesses that improve people's lives while making money."
The boss hesitated.
"That's... actually profitable."
"Yes."
Asterion gave him a dry look.
"I didn't become Sect Head by being incapable of understanding resources."
Fair point.
Asterion stood and began pacing slowly.
"Your men stay."
Several gangsters exchanged glances.
"But petty crime ends."
He gestured around the room.
"Some can become legitimate security. Others can handle transportation, investigation, logistics."
He paused.
"Anyone who refuses can leave."
Hope appeared on several faces.
Asterion added:
"After answering for any serious crimes they've already committed."
Hope vanished again.
"Actions have consequences."
The gang boss nodded very quickly.
Asterion continued.
"I'll give you one month to begin restructuring."
"One month?"
"Is that insufficient?"
"No!"
"Good."
Asterion reached into his coat and placed a small talisman on the table.
The boss stared at it.
"What is that?"
"Insurance."
The man went pale.
Asterion smiled faintly.
"You've already demonstrated that verbal agreements aren't enough for you."
He pressed two fingers against the man's chest.
Ki flashed once.
A formation appeared beneath the skin for a moment before vanishing.
The boss froze.
"What did you do?"
"A restraint seal."
His voice became colder.
"You betray me, deliberately return to the same operations, or attempt to harm Evan's family..."
Asterion tapped the man's chest once.
"You'll regret it."
The boss swallowed.
"Is it... explosive?"
Asterion regarded him for a moment.
"No."
The man visibly relaxed.
Then Asterion added:
"Explosions are unnecessarily messy."
The relief disappeared immediately.
Asterion smiled.
"Good. You're learning."
He extended one hand.
"Keys."
The boss stared.
"Finances."
A slim silver access card followed.
"Current operations."
A phone.
Asterion took everything.
"Better."
The boss hesitated.
"Sir?"
"Hm?"
"What should we call you?"
Asterion paused.
Using his own name would be foolish.
Using Evan's would be worse.
He considered it for a moment.
Then:
"Warden."
The boss blinked.
"Warden?"
Asterion stood.
"Yes."
There was something appropriate about it.
He wasn't joining their criminal world.
He was putting it in a cage.
A few minutes later, the roar of a motorcycle echoed through the estate.
A red Honda Fireblade—temporarily appropriated from the gang's garage—shot onto the empty road with Asterion at the helm.
City lights blurred around him.
Wind pulled at his clothing.
For the first time that night, Asterion allowed himself to relax.
One foothold established.
One criminal organization being converted into something useful.
Resources secured.
Contacts obtained.
And Evan...
Still completely unconscious.
Asterion chuckled.
"He's going to complain about the motorcycle."
He considered that.
"Then ask if he can keep it."
The motorcycle accelerated into the night.
One step closer.
The city was quiet.
Peaceful.
Serene.
A perfect night for reading a book, walking a dog...
Or testing a high-performance motorcycle while memorizing the entire city.
Guess which one Asterion chose?
The red Honda Fireblade thundered down the main avenue.
Asterion leaned forward slightly, studying every street as he passed.
Intersections.
Alleys.
Rooftops.
Bridges.
Industrial zones.
Police stations.
Hospitals.
Escape routes.
Potential ambush points.
Locations where spiritual energy gathered more densely.
Most people would use a navigation app.
Asterion preferred knowing the terrain himself.
Maps could fail.
Devices could break.
Memory generally did not.
Especially his.
Sooner or later, Evan would be moving through these streets during situations far more dangerous than schoolyard fights.
Asterion intended for him to know his own city.
Which meant Asterion needed to know it first.
Unfortunately, local law enforcement didn't seem particularly interested in the educational value of his midnight survey.
Red-and-blue lights appeared behind him.
A siren wailed.
A voice came through the loudspeaker.
"Pull over immediately!"
Asterion glanced into the mirror.
Two police vehicles.
He sighed.
"Of course."
He could stop.
Explain why a teenager was riding a motorcycle he didn't legally own.
At midnight.
While carrying a handgun.
After leaving the estate of a known criminal.
Asterion considered the likely conversation.
"No."
He accelerated.
The Fireblade surged forward.
The police followed.
Asterion wasn't interested in harming them.
They were doing their jobs.
So instead, he turned the chase into another exercise in misdirection.
A thin layer of ki spread over Evan's body and the motorcycle.
Dark spiritual energy gathered around them.
The bike's outline blurred.
Faint blue-white flames curled around the wheels—not ghost power, but spiritual flame shaped by Asterion's ki.
The officers behind him reacted immediately.
"What the hell is that?!"
"Did the motorcycle just catch fire?"
"It's still moving!"
Asterion tilted into the next turn.
One officer shouted something else through the radio.
Asterion didn't hear it.
He was already gone.
He threaded between vehicles with precise control, taking routes he'd memorized minutes earlier.
Left.
Underpass.
Right.
Service road.
Across an empty loading yard.
Then onto another avenue.
This wasn't joyriding.
Well.
Not entirely.
Every turn pulled the police farther away from Evan's neighborhood.
Farther away from the gang's mansion.
Farther away from anywhere Asterion didn't want questions asked.
Still...
The motorcycle was rather enjoyable.
Asterion accelerated again.
A small smile appeared beneath the mask.
"Not bad."
The bike roared in response.
He went through an industrial district, cut between two abandoned factories, and entered a narrow service tunnel.
The police followed.
Then lost him.
By the time they emerged on the other side—
Nothing.
No motorcycle.
No mysterious blue flame.
No masked rider.
Just an empty road.
One officer climbed out.
"Where did he go?"
His partner stared into the darkness.
"I don't know."
"Call backup?"
The other man looked at him.
"We are backup."
Several minutes later, once the police finally moved on, shadows shifted inside an abandoned loading bay.
The spiritual concealment faded.
The blue flames disappeared.
And one perfectly ordinary red Honda Fireblade rolled quietly onto the road.
Asterion looked after the departing police cars.
"No need to make their night any worse."
He started the engine.
As Havenbrook's skyline slowly gave way to quieter residential streets, Asterion reduced his speed.
Eventually, he stopped in an empty lot.
The engine fell silent.
For a moment, he simply sat there.
Then he looked upward.
Stars.
Still there.
His expression softened.
A thousand years of life.
Another universe.
Another world.
Another young man whose fate seemed determined to drag him toward something enormous.
Asterion rested his hands on the handlebars.
"Evan..."
He smiled faintly.
"You're going to have an interesting morning."