Chapter Eleven: The Currency of Sin, The Prison's Gauntlet
The hospital waiting room was sterile and cold, providing a poor backdrop for human misery. Serena, looking ravaged and brittle, paced the polished floor. She was no longer acting; her distress was genuine. She was still in shock from the sight of Caleb screaming at the air and the subsequent horrifying fall.
A door burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Thorne—Caleb's parents—rushed in. Mr. Thorne, a thick-set man accustomed to wielding authority, immediately focused his blazing, furious grief on Serena.
"Look at what you've done, girl! Look at this catastrophe!" Mr. Thorne's voice was a ragged shout that drew immediate attention from the nurses. "My son, fighting for his life, and you sit here pacing! Everything went wrong after he met you. The erratic behavior, the paranoia, and now this!"
Mrs. Thorne wept quietly into her silk handkerchief, her eyes accusing.
Serena stopped pacing, defeated. She could offer no defense. She couldn't tell them Caleb saw the ghost of the boy they ruined. She could only accept the blame for the general moral decay that their wealth had bought.
"Mr. Thorne, I swear, I don't know what happened in that room," Serena pleaded, her voice cracking. "He just… he snapped. He was screaming at something that wasn't there."
"He snapped because of the stress you put him under! The wild parties, the lack of focus, the drama!" Mr. Thorne hammered on, completely unaware that his son's tormentor was a supernatural entity. "You are a cancer on his life, Serena. You were always useless, and now you've driven him to the brink. Get out of here. I don't want your face near my son."
Serena sank into the nearest chair. The ticking of the wall clock felt louder than the human voices around her. Each second was another reminder that she couldn't explain the truth — not to them, not to herself.
Serena could only back away, morally and emotionally vanquished. The consequence of her original lie was a perpetual, escalating misery.
In the depths of the Cult Domain, the cavern felt profoundly isolated from the world above. Jasper was seated at the massive table, still recovering from the fusion. Urca sat on the Throne, the calm architect of damnation.
Urca used Origin to manifest a semi-transparent, obsidian board that shimmered near the ceiling. A single figure glowed on the display.
"Look at the board, Jasper," Urca said, his voice flat. "The number 45. That is the immediate yield from your act of necessary Tyranny in the alley. It is the currency of your new life: Authority Points."
Jasper, now more focused, opened the Imperium Veil interface that was integrated into his mind.
"Authority Points (AP)... 45," Jasper confirmed, staring at the number on his internal menu. "And the Store… Master, is this correct? It lists things like 'Lifespan for Points' and 'Soul Shard Regeneration.' Everything is currency?"
Urca gave a cold, dismissive nod. "Everything is currency. Open your Store. Your immediate need is to return to the world without suspicion. Simple physical intimidation will not suffice; you need to dominate their will before you even speak."
Jasper navigated the interface, his focus shifting from the terrifying power to the calculated necessity of survival.
| Item | Description | Cost (AP) |
| Tier 1 Enhanced Physique | Acquired | 0 |
| Predatory Aura | A subtle, psychological effect that projects primal danger, making weaker-willed people hesitate and avoid direct eye contact. | 40 AP |
| Minor Wound Regeneration | Accelerated healing for surface cuts and bruises. | 50 AP |
"I see Predatory Aura listed for 40 AP," Jasper muttered, reading the description in his mind. "A subtle intimidation effect. That would be useful. I can't afford to look weak going back to school tomorrow; they need to forget the victim and see only the victor."
"An intelligent choice," Urca approved. "You purchased a subtle tool for dominance, not a blunt weapon. Done."
The 45 AP dropped to 5 AP. Jasper felt a strange, cold wave wash over his skin. He didn't look different, but he felt an invisible weight of command settling around him—a subtle, psychic sheath that demanded deference.
"Now, for the real test," Urca said, his voice dropping to a low intensity that brooked no argument. He stood, his shadow stretching toward the Prison wall. "The system is integrated, the power is flowing, but every cultist must prove himself, Jasper. Not with words, but by walking through the Prison of Sins."
Jasper's eyes widened, looking toward the baleful, hungry aura of the wall. "Master… what is that?"
"That is the source of our strength, and the collective grave of every consumed soul," Urca explained. "It is where the Totem stores its power. To prove your loyalty—to prove that your will is stronger than the accumulated despair of a thousand lost lives—you must endure a trial."
Urca fixed Jasper with a chilling gaze. "A fragment of your soul will be torn from you and cast into the Prison Realm. There you'll face the distilled agony of a thousand consumed spirits — every scream, every memory, every terror, all converging on you alone."
Without another word, Urca extended his hand. Before Jasper could object, a cold, crushing force struck his consciousness.
The Prison's Gauntlet
Jasper's vision went black. The cavern vanished, replaced by an abyss of sound and sensation. He was now floating in a chaotic void, a realm of pure, spiritual torment.
A thousand eyes bloomed in the dark — his eyes — each reflecting a different sin. One begged for mercy. Another laughed as it drowned.
The atmosphere was intensely oppressive, a weight of spiritual decay that threatened to shatter his mind. Then came the whispers — thousands of them — each a shredded remnant of a life devoured by the Totem. They didn't just speak; they tore at him, their grief like claws scraping across the inside of his soul.
"You are lost… there is no light… we are the consequence… join the despair..."
The voices were not just sound; they were memories of absolute betrayal, failure, and agonizing death. He felt the cold shock of Elias's death and the desperate, fading plea of Caleb's soul before it was forced back into his body.
Urca's voice, though distant, cut through the din, sounding like a judge's gavel. "Every second will feel like a lifetime, Jasper. You must endure. You must stand against the fear and the desperation. If you beg, if you break, the Totem will know you are unfit."
"The abyss whispers, Jasper. Show me you can stand and listen."
Jasper curled into a ball in the ethereal void, clutching at his consciousness, fighting the overwhelming urge to surrender to the collective spiritual anguish. The first minute of the one-hour trial was a brutal eternity.