Chapter 24: "How to Crash a Party and Accidentally Commit Arson (On Purpose)"
In which I gain new skills, ignite questionable morals, and light up more than just the dance floor.
So there I was, zooming through the streets on a motorcycle like some leather-clad action movie protagonist.
Well...
Technically Asterion was still driving.
I was riding shotgun inside my own head, my sister was probably still trying to process today's emotional rollercoaster, and I—Evan Mercer, teenage disaster with an ancient cultivator for a life coach—was thinking about whether it was too early in life to start referring to myself in the third person.
Then Asterion's voice echoed through our shared mind.
"Evan. It's time for some heroism."
Heroism.
Right.
No pressure.
I focused on what he was seeing just as Asterion eased the Fireblade into a slower cruise.
His eyes—
my eyes—
narrowed, scanning the crowd with that something is wrong here look he somehow managed to make intimidating even while borrowing my face.
And that's when I saw her.
Talia.
Yes, that Talia.
The one who was always hanging around Sofia like a backup dancer with a little too much glitter.
The kind of girl who treated popularity like currency and sarcasm like a second language.
And right now?
She was walking arm-in-arm with some older guy who looked like he belonged in one of those crime dramas where everyone keeps saying:
"We've got a situation."
His smile was too wide.
Too practiced.
And Talia?
Her posture screamed:
Please let me be anywhere else but here.
Not that anyone else seemed to notice.
Asterion pulled the bike over a short distance down the street.
"Your turn."
And just like that, I was back in control.
I steadied the Fireblade.
"Okay," I muttered. "This could mean a few things."
Option one:
Talia had developed questionable taste in men and was voluntarily going for...
whatever this was.
Option two:
She was being led somewhere she didn't want to go.
Option three:
I was overthinking everything, and this was just her uncle from out of town with a really weird fashion sense and absolutely no understanding of personal space.
"Asterion?" I asked mentally. "Do I jump in now, or...?"
His answer came immediately.
"Observe first. Act when you understand the situation."
Then, after a pause:
"Helping someone isn't simply about throwing punches. Judgment matters."
Easy for him to say.
He'd spent nearly a thousand years learning how to read danger.
I was still trying to figure out whether I was witnessing a crime or an episode of Riverdale.
So I did what any hero-in-training would do.
I followed them.
Yup.
Full-on creeper mode.
Shadowing them from behind like I was auditioning for the role of Stalker #2 in some teen drama.
I kept my head low, trying not to look suspicious.
Which, naturally, made me look even more suspicious.
Okay, I know what you're thinking.
Evan, maybe following people into suspicious situations isn't your best decision.
And you'd be right.
Absolutely, one-hundred-percent right.
But try telling that to the ancient Sect Head currently living rent-free in my brain.
I was crouched behind a hedge across the street, trying to act natural—which is surprisingly difficult when you're dressed in black, whispering to yourself, and sweating like you're auditioning for an action movie called:
Teenage Regret: The Evan Mercer Story.
Talia had followed Mr. Definitely-A-Creep into a modest-looking house that was now shaking from the inside out with music, laughter, and the kind of bass that probably registered on the Richter scale.
I squinted at the building like it had personally offended me.
"This... doesn't feel right."
The music kept pounding.
"What am I even doing here?"
Asterion's voice, calm as ever, answered from the back of my mind.
"You're about to see part of the world your parents have spent their lives dealing with."
...
Okay.
Creepy.
Mysterious.
Also not remotely comforting.
"Their world?"
My brain clicked.
"Ghosts."
"Correct."
Asterion sounded almost pleased.
"Now choose your skill before the situation worsens."
"Wait, we're expecting it to worsen?"
No answer.
Of course.
No time for arguing.
I closed my eyes and focused, bringing up the strange training interface Asterion had established in my mind.
Skill options.
Points.
Techniques.
Basically a martial-arts RPG living in my head.
Because apparently my life wasn't strange enough already.
Old Evan would've chosen the flashiest thing available.
Some kind of giant fire punch.
Maybe an explosion.
Possibly both.
But Old Evan had also been metaphorically—and occasionally literally—kicked through enough training sessions to learn something.
I needed mobility.
I needed control.
"Movement Skill."
The option responded.
And holy—
The rush that hit me was like drinking five energy drinks while being struck by lightning in slow motion.
Ten out of ten.
Would not recommend unless you enjoy feeling like your bones are vibrating.
My limbs tingled.
My heartbeat steadied.
Then something changed.
The partygoers moving around outside suddenly seemed...
slower.
Not actually slower.
More readable.
Patterns.
Weight shifts.
Intentions.
The way one guy leaned against the doorway told me he was about to step left.
A girl carrying a drink shifted her hip.
She was going to trip over the lawn ornament in—
Three.
Two.
One.
She stumbled.
I stared.
"So this is movement technique?"
Asterion answered.
"A very basic version."
"Basic?"
I stepped sideways as someone passed without even thinking.
It felt effortless.
"It's like dancing with physics."
"Don't get poetic."
"And I can feel the Yin energy more clearly now."
That part was strange.
Cold traces.
Heavy patches.
Something darker gathering around the house.
"Focus," Asterion said. "You're not here to admire yourself."
"Geez. You could at least pretend to be impressed."
A pause.
"I am impressed."
I smiled.
Then:
"You haven't tripped in almost a minute."
My smile vanished.
"Wow."
Asterion chuckled.
I slipped out from behind the hedge and crossed the street.
The technique guided me naturally through the people outside.
Not invisible.
Just...
Unnoticed.
A step when someone looked away.
A shift behind a moving group.
A pause in the right shadow.
Where Old Evan would've stumbled through danger like a blindfolded penguin, now I felt—
Okay, fine.
I felt cool.
Like a panther.
A ninja panther.
A—
"Evan."
"Right. Focusing."
So, quick question:
Have you ever been handed a throwing skill by the ancient cultivator living in your head, had reality suddenly transform into a supernatural horror show, and then been told to start a house fire?
Because I have.
And let me tell you—
it does not pair well with teenage anxiety.
My heart was doing backflips.
Olympic-level.
Gold-medal-winning backflips.
Right before my eyes decided to betray me.
One second, I was looking at a normal, if obnoxiously loud, house party.
The next—
everything shifted.
I blinked.
Green-black energy crawled through the walls.
Not metaphorically.
Actual veins of supernatural energy ran through the structure like some kind of haunted circulatory system.
They spread through the drywall.
The floors.
The ceiling.
And every person inside?
Connected.
Thin glowing threads stretched from their bodies into the house.
Pulsing.
Feeding.
Draining.
Like the entire building was some kind of parasite.
My stomach turned.
"Oh."
I swallowed.
"Nope."
Asterion spoke.
"Now you see it."
"I wish I didn't."
"Good choice on the movement technique."
Then another sensation struck my mind.
Information.
Angles.
Weight.
Balance.
Trajectory.
How an object rotated when thrown.
How much force changed its path.
Where to release.
I grabbed my head.
"What did you just do?"
"A reward."
Knowledge settled into place.
Throwing Skill.
"Oh, you shouldn't have."
Seriously.
He shouldn't have.
Then Asterion's tone became serious.
Not joking.
Not teasing.
Sect Head serious.
"I'll guide you this once."
I swallowed.
"Everything around you can become useful. When you're weaker than what you're facing, you don't attack it on its terms."
The glowing veins pulsed.
Harder now.
"You change the situation."
"How?"
"Get Talia out."
Okay.
Good.
Reasonable.
"Then start a fire upstairs."
...
I froze.
"Excuse me?"
"A controlled one at first. Enough to force everyone out."
I stared at the house.
"Did you just tell me to commit arson?"
"The entity is feeding through the structure. Panic will break its hold on many of them, and evacuating the building will deprive it of victims."
My mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"I'll go to jail if I get caught!"
The threads suddenly pulsed faster.
A woman inside staggered.
Another partygoer slumped against a wall.
The supernatural veins brightened.
Asterion's response was immediate.
"They'll die if you don't act."
That shut me up.
My fists clenched.
Breath caught.
No time.
Fine.
Heroism.
Judgment.
Arson.
Apparently these things were related now.
I moved.
The new movement technique carried me through the crowd almost without thought.
Step.
Shift.
Turn.
People barely noticed me slipping inside.
The music hit like a physical wall.
Bass pounded against my chest.
Lights flashed.
People laughed.
Danced.
Kissed.
Stumbled.
And none of them could see the threads connected to their bodies.
Walking meals.
I found Talia in the corner.
She looked completely out of it.
Far more than someone who had simply had too much to drink.
Her eyes were unfocused.
She leaned heavily against the older man from outside while he kept an arm around her.
There was smoke in the room.
Too much.
But it wasn't cigarette smoke.
It smelled sweet.
Rotten.
Wrong.
The spiritual threads around Talia were thicker than most.
"Oh, hell no."
I crossed the room.
The man barely had time to register me before I caught Talia around the waist and pulled her away.
"Hey!"
He reached for me.
I shifted sideways.
His hand caught air.
Movement Skill.
Okay.
Definitely worth the points.
"She's leaving."
"Who the hell are you?"
"Someone having a very stressful evening."
He moved again.
I kicked his knee just hard enough to buckle it.
Not heroic.
Effective.
Talia sagged against me.
"Ev... Evan?"
"Yeah."
She blinked slowly.
"Why are you..."
"Long story."
I got her toward the front entrance and handed her off to a confused girl who looked considerably more sober than everyone else.
"Take her outside."
"What?"
"Now."
Something in my voice worked.
She obeyed.
Good.
Step one.
Talia safe.
Now came the insane part.
I went to the kitchen.
Alcohol.
Lighter.
Fire.
This was such a terrible plan.
Asterion spoke immediately.
"Upstairs. Keep the first room empty. Start where people have time to escape."
Okay.
Controlled insanity.
Slightly better.
I grabbed a bottle.
Then ran upstairs.
The movement skill made the staircase feel different.
Every foot placement precise.
Every turn smooth.
I began opening doors.
Occupied.
Occupied.
Very occupied.
"Nope. Sorry. Continue regretting this tomorrow."
Next.
Two people.
"Out."
They stared.
"What?"
"Fire hazard."
"There isn't a—"
"THERE'S ABOUT TO BE."
That got them moving.
I pushed them into the hallway.
Checked the room again.
Empty.
Good.
I shut the door behind me.
My heart was pounding hard enough to escape my chest.
I looked at the bottle.
Then the curtains.
Then the carpet.
"This is insane."
"Probably."
"That's not comforting!"
"You don't have time to be comfortable."
Right.
I poured enough alcohol across the curtains and bedding to catch quickly.
Not everywhere.
Not enough to trap the hallway.
Just enough.
At least...
I hoped.
I pulled out the lighter.
My thumb hovered over the wheel.
One tiny flame.
One very large legal problem.
The supernatural veins in the walls pulsed again.
I thought about Talia.
About everyone downstairs.
About whatever this thing was feeding on them.
"Okay."
Click.
The flame appeared.
"Step one: commit questionable heroism."
I dropped it.
WHOOSH.
Fire raced upward across the curtains.
I jumped backward.
"OH."
It spread considerably faster than I'd expected.
"Okay!"
I opened the door.
Smoke started curling toward the ceiling.
"Step two: get everyone out."
The first scream came from the hallway.
Someone yelled:
"FIRE!"
And just like that—
the party changed.
Music stopped mattering.
People started moving.
The supernatural threads jerked violently.
Several snapped.
Asterion's voice sharpened.
"Good. It's losing control."
I stared at the glowing walls.
They pulsed harder.
Angrier.
Like the house itself had realized what I was doing.
"Oh, that's creepy."
More people rushed toward the stairs.
I grabbed one guy who was too dazed to move and shoved him toward the exit.
"Step three: don't die."
The fire cracked behind me.
Smoke thickened.
The spiritual veins writhed.
I started running downstairs.
"Step four..."
Something moved inside the wall.
I stopped.
"...Seriously."
A shape pressed outward beneath the wallpaper.
Long.
Thin.
Not human.
My eyes widened.
"Seriously, seriously, don't die."
Asterion's voice came calmly from inside my mind.
"Good. You've changed the battlefield."
The wall split.
Something screamed.
"Now finish it."
"Gee, thanks for the pep talk!"
I sprinted toward the stairs as the house began to shake.
"Next time, let's just crash a wedding!"