Getting out of the apartment was harder than fighting monsters.
Marcus was on the couch, pretending to watch TV.
But Michael knew he was watching him.
His father's senses, even dulled by retirement and trauma, were still sharp.
"Just going to the library," Michael said, his voice casual.
He slung his backpack over his shoulder. It felt different now.
Instead of textbooks, it held a water bottle, a flashlight, and the cold, dark weight of the Reaper's Fang.
Marcus grunted. "It's late."
"Big test tomorrow," Michael lied.
His father's eyes scanned him, lingering for a moment.
It was the same look he gave the skyline when a new Gate alert flashed on the news.
A look of deep, profound worry.
"Be careful," Marcus said, turning back to the TV.
The words hung in the air.
I know you're lying. But I don't know how to stop you.
Michael slipped out the door, his heart a guilty drum.
The entrance to the Undercroft was exactly where an old, encrypted forum post said it would be.
An abandoned subway station near the industrial yards in Queens.
The stairs down were coated in grime and smelled of damp earth and ozone.
He descended into the darkness.
The platform was lit by the flickering neon signs of makeshift stalls.
It was a hidden city within the city.
Hunters with hard eyes and non-regulation gear haggled over glowing monster cores.
Vendors sold everything from illegal cybernetics to shimmering potions in unlabeled vials.
The air was thick with whispers, secrets, and the low hum of dangerous energy.
No DGC. No rules.
Just the law of the strong.
Michael pulled his hood lower, trying to look like he belonged.
He followed the faded signs for Sector 7, moving deeper into the network of tunnels.
The Alchemist's shop was at the very end of a dark, dead-end tunnel.
The door was a slab of reinforced steel with a single, glowing blue rune painted on it.
He knocked.
A slot slid open at eye level, and a single, cybernetic red eye stared out.
"We're closed," a gravelly voice said.
"I'm looking for the Alchemist," Michael said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "The System sent me."
He immediately regretted saying it. It sounded insane.
The red eye stared for a long, silent moment.
"The System, huh?" the voice rasped. "Been a long time since I heard that name."
The door hissed open.
The man inside was old, his face a roadmap of scars.
One arm was purely mechanical, polished chrome fingers tapping on a counter.
The shop was a chaotic mess of ancient alchemy equipment and high-tech medical scanners.
Bubbling beakers sat next to humming data servers.
A small, four-legged drone that looked like a metallic spider skittered across the ceiling, its single blue lens tracking Michael's every move.
"What do you want, kid?" the Alchemist asked, his red eye boring into him.
"I have… a problem," Michael said. "A seal."
The Alchemist grunted. "Everyone's got problems. What makes yours special?"
"It's a Bloodline Seal," Michael said. "It's blocking my access to the Legacy Archive."
The Alchemist stopped tapping.
He slowly turned his full attention to Michael.
"Legacy Archive," he repeated, the words tasting like rust. "You're one of them. An Arcana."
He gestured to a metal chair that looked more like a torture device.
"Sit. Let's have a look at this… problem."
Michael sat down. A mechanical arm lowered from the ceiling, its tip glowing with a green light.
It scanned him from head to toe.
A screen on the Alchemist's console flickered to life with complex data streams.
Then, it sparked violently and went dark.
"What in the hell…" the Alchemist muttered, smacking the side of the console. "Void Energy. Off the charts. Kid, you're not just an Arcana. You're a broken one."
He pointed a chrome finger at Michael's chest.
"That seal on your soul isn't just a lock. It's a cage. A divine-tier cage, built by someone with immense power and skill. Someone who was terrified of what you are."
"My father," Michael said, the words feeling like ash in his mouth.
"An S-Rank?" the Alchemist guessed. "Sounds about right. Only they have the juice for this kind of work. He didn't just lock your power away, kid. He tried to erase it from your very existence."
"Can you break it?" Michael asked, his voice tight.
The Alchemist let out a harsh, barking laugh.
"Break it? Kid, trying to break that thing head-on would be like trying to punch your way through a skyscraper. It would shatter your soul into a million pieces."
Michael's hope began to fade.
"But…" the Alchemist continued, a greedy glint in his cybernetic eye. "You don't break a cage from the outside."
"You rust it. Weaken it. Corrode it over time until the bars are thin enough for the beast inside to break itself out."
He walked over to a heavily locked medical fridge.
He typed in a long code, and it hissed open, revealing rows of glowing syringes.
He pulled out a single syringe filled with a viscous, black liquid that swirled with faint purple light.
"Void Integration Serum," he said. "My own special brew. Highly illegal, incredibly dangerous, and painfully effective."
"This won't break the seal. But it will agitate it. Force the seal to use its own power to fight off the serum. Every dose you take will weaken it, bit by bit. It will also cause you agony beyond your comprehension."
He placed the syringe on the counter between them.
"Consider this first one a free sample. A taste. The rest… will cost you. A lot."
"What do you want?" Michael asked.
"Monster cores," the Alchemist said simply. "High-grade ones. Or favors. Information. Rare materials from inside Gates. You're a Hunter now, kid, whether you like it or not. You need to earn your keep."
Michael looked at the syringe.
It was a vial of poison. A vial of pain.
And it was his only path forward.
His only way to get the answers he so desperately needed.
His only way to find his mother.
He picked it up. The glass was cold.
"I'll do it," he said.
"I know," the Alchemist grinned, showing teeth that were a mix of yellowed bone and polished steel. "The desperate ones always do."
He pointed to a vein in Michael's arm.
"Right there. Push it in slow."
Michael's hand was steady. He rolled up his sleeve, pressed the needle to his skin, and pushed the plunger down.
The black liquid entered his bloodstream.
For a second, there was nothing.
Then, the fire started.
It was a cold fire, a soul-deep burning that made the Gutterfang's claw feel like a gentle scratch.
His vision exploded in white-hot static.
The Bloodline Seal on his status screen flared with a furious, crimson light, fighting back against the intrusion.
He screamed, a raw, ragged sound of pure agony.
The Alchemist just watched, his expression unreadable, as Michael writhed in the chair.
The spider-drone on the ceiling clicked and whirred, its blue lens recording every agonizing second.
The last thing Michael saw before he blacked out was a new line of text from the System, glowing with a terrible, pulsing light.
[WARNING: SYSTEM INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. BLOODLINE SEAL ACTIVATING DEFENSIVE PROTOCOLS. SOUL DEGRADATION IMMINENT.]