Chapter Nine: The First Sigil, The Night Net Trade (Graphic violence, gore, and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion advised.)
The air in the wooded area was cool, smelling of pine and damp earth. Lena, no longer in her maid's uniform but wearing jeans and a heavy jacket, walked with a swift, urgent stride. Her mind still recoiled from the psychic trauma Urca had inflicted, but the echo of his command drove her onward. She had a task to complete—and no freedom to refuse it.
She reached a dense thicket concealing a battered, thatched hut. A simple keypad was hidden near the doorframe. After tapping in a quick code, the hut's floor shifted, revealing a narrow metal elevator descending into the earth.
Lena stepped into a large, brightly lit basement facility—the headquarters of the Silent Watch. It was less a military base and more a cluttered, high-tech garage filled with computers, weapons, and arcane equipment. Five people, ranging from their late teens to early thirties, looked up from various workstations.
"Lena! You were just here yesterday," said Jax, a slender man with quick, nervous energy, who was soldering wires on a small drone. "What's the rush? Did you finally get revenge on the Rurns? Did you kill the fat man?"
"No, not yet," Lena said, forcing a weary sigh and a slight limp for effect. "But there's something worse. My Night Net unit's been compromised."
That got everyone's attention. Chairs scraped. Screens flickered awake.
"Compromised how?" asked Mila, a woman with a no-nonsense expression who was cleaning a large, custom-made rifle. "We swept the system two nights ago."
Lena leaned against a workbench, letting the fear in her body mask the lie she was about to tell. "Someone—or something—piggybacked on my signal while I was scanning the outer port grids. I caught the trace too late. The encryption was… wrong. It felt alive. I wiped the phone and burned the core, but whatever it was, it tried to speak through the network. I think it was a possession attempt."
Jax froze, his drone forgotten. "Through the Night Net? That's not possible. Not without an open channel."
"I know what I felt," Lena said quickly, lowering her voice as if afraid the walls might hear. "It was like the system itself turned on me. I didn't risk tracing it—it could've followed me home. But I can't be off the Net for long; my clearance codes will decay. I need a replacement before the trace settles or whoever did this finds the backdoor I left closed."
Kai, the leader of the group—a thoughtful man who focused more on strategy than combat—studied her face. "If the Night Net's infected, we need to know who's behind it. Are you certain you purged the link?"
Lena nodded, meeting his gaze with steady exhaustion. "The old phone's ash. But if there's even a whisper left on the network, I want to be in position to catch it before it spreads."
Kai hesitated, then nodded slowly. "All right. A new unit, but it doesn't leave this base until the diagnostics finish. Jax, prep one of the spares."
Jax grinned, half nervous, half thrilled by the drama, and hurried to the armored safe.
Lena exhaled softly. The hard part was over. She had her replacement—the one Urca wanted.
She didn't let herself think about why. The less she knew about what he planned to do with it, the easier it was to keep breathing.
Meanwhile, in the alley behind the private school, the air was thick, suffocating. The three bullies stood frozen in place, their bodies locked by Urca's low-level power. Their breath hitched but never escaped, their muscles trembling under invisible chains. They were conscious, trapped in their own skin, their eyes wide with disbelief and escalating fear.
"I said get lost, grandpa! You hear me? We're filming! This is going to be viral!" the Lead Bully had tried to roar moments before, but the words were now mute, trapped behind his paralyzed lips.
Urca ignored their frantic, internal pleas, kneeling by the Bullied Boy. The boy, whom Urca had already mentally christened Jasper, was covered in blood and dust. He clutched a torn backpack strap as if it were a lifeline.
"Stop wishing, and start asking," Urca's voice was a low whisper, utterly devoid of emotion, yet it resonated with an unnatural command. "You crave strength and vengeance. I can give you both. Do you desire the power to make your tormentors suffer, to make them fear the shadows they once hid you in?"
Jasper, trembling, his bloody face streaked with tears, felt the overwhelming, agonizing confluence of pain and hope. He knew the cost was his soul, but the desire for finality was stronger than his fear of damnation.
"Yes," he managed to whisper, his voice barely audible, thick with pain and acceptance.
"Good. Vengeance is a potent prayer," Urca said, his smile cold and final.
He pressed a finger to Jasper's chest. A searing, white-hot pain instantly erupted—the Sigil burning itself onto Jasper's soul, forging a connection to the Totem. Jasper gasped, nearly blacking out, but the pain was instantly followed by a flood of alien, raw power.
He heard whispers like static flooding his ears, words he didn't understand burning into his blood. His deep-seated hatred, the accumulated despair of years, was suddenly given an electrical current.
"The Sigil is the answer to your hate," Urca stated calmly, retracting his hand. "Let the pain remind you of your debt, and let the power be the payment."
Urca released the three bullies and Jasper simultaneously.
Jasper's body felt different: lighter, stronger, coiled with lethal energy. Every heartbeat sounded like thunder inside his skull. The three bullies, now released from the paralysis, staggered back, rubbing their necks, looking at Urca and Jasper with confused rage. They didn't notice the faint glow still pulsing under Jasper's torn shirt.
"You little bastard, you think that cheap parlor trick is going to save you?" the Lead Bully roared, charging at Jasper. Jasper didn't answer. The silence was the last warning they never heard. Jasper moved.
He was faster than he should have been, his footwork economical and sharp. His fist landed on the bully's jaw with a sickening, audible crack. The bully didn't just fall; he spun sideways, his jawbone shattering into fragments. Blood sprayed onto the alley wall as he collapsed, choking on broken teeth and bone splinters. Jasper didn't pause. He kicked downward—a stomp to the bully's knee. The joint bent backward with a wet, tearing crunch. The bully screamed, a raw, animal sound that echoed off the bricks. Jasper kicked again. This time, the skull caved inward like rotten fruit. Bone fragments pierced the brain. The screaming stopped.
The second bully lunged, swinging wildly. Jasper sidestepped, grabbed the arm, and twisted. The elbow snapped backward, bone tearing through skin and muscle. Jasper pulled, hard. The arm ripped free at the shoulder socket with a wet, tearing sound. Tendons stretched and snapped. Blood jetted in a thick arc. The bully stared dumbly at the stump, then collapsed, gurgling as he drowned in his own blood. Jasper dropped the severed limb onto his chest. It twitched once.
The third bully froze, piss and shit soaking his designer trousers. A terrifying chill wracked his whole body. Pure dread and terror seized him as he felt his tail bone tingle. He wondered how the game moved from tutorial to asura mode but deeply knew he wouldn't know.
Jasper closed the distance. He didn't run. He walked. Slowly. Deliberately.
The bully tried to scramble backward. Jasper grabbed his hair, slammed his face into the brick wall. Once. Twice. The third impact pulped the nose, shattered cheekbones. Jasper pulled him back, then drove a fist into his throat. The trachea crumpled like tin foil. The bully gasped, clawing at his ruined neck. Jasper slammed him face-first onto the pavement. Then he stomped. Repeatedly. Ribs snapped. Organs burst. The bully's body jerked with each impact until it lay still—a broken, leaking sack of meat and splintered bone.
Origin flickered briefly around Urca's hand, a faint, black wisp absorbing the stray life essence and blood splatter from the scene. It even absorbed the bodies, leaving the alley unnaturally clean, as if the place had been licked smooth by shadow. The ritual was complete: the first willing follower, the first major feed.
Jasper stared at his hands, slick with blood, his chest heaving. He was a creature of horror and awe, terrified of the brutality he had just unleashed, but undeniably exhilarated by the power that finally made him the master.
"I… I didn't mean to…" he stammered, his mind reeling.
Urca leaned in, his calm authority ignoring the visual carnage. "You meant to. You wished them dead, and I delivered the means. Never lie about your desires, Jasper. It is the one truth you must keep now."
The Sigil on Jasper's chest pulsed once more, searing the bond into his soul.
Urca turned and walked away, not looking back. "Come. We have done enough here."
Jasper followed silently, unable to look away from his bloody hands. Behind them, the phone that had been filming the bullying lay cracked on the ground. Its footage was mysteriously corrupted—a subtle, final touch by Urca, removing all evidence.