Chapter 10: The Price of Salvation
The scent of antiseptic and old linen clung to the air in his mother's hospital room, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of monster blood and ozone that had become Jonathan's new normal. Morning light, filtered through the blinds, cast weak, striped shadows across the room. He sat by her bedside, his hand gently clasped around hers. Her skin felt fragile, almost translucent, a stark difference from the hardening calluses and tightened muscles of his own. Her breathing remained shallow, a faint, rhythmic sigh that tore at the edges of his control.
"Mom," he whispered, his voice rougher than he remembered it, a raw edge he hadn't possessed weeks ago. "I saw her. The one… she said there's a way. A cure." He squeezed her hand, a silent, desperate vow. His eyes, once so full of a beaten helplessness, now burned with a cold, unwavering resolve. "I'll do anything. Anything to bring you back. Just hold on. Please. I'm coming for you." The promise of a cure, whispered by Aethel in his dream, resonated like a sacred truth, a beacon in the terrifying darkness. The 'hunger' within him no longer felt just like a craving for power but a vital, necessary path to salvation.
Later that day, the air in Arthur's study hung heavy with the scent of aged paper and bitter, forgotten lore. Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight, cutting through a crack in the drawn curtains. Arthur sat hunched over a sprawling, brittle map of what looked like an ancient, pre-Cataclysm world, surrounded by stacks of yellowed scrolls and leather-bound tomes. His reading glasses were perched on his nose, but his gaze was distant, troubled.
He traced a gnarled finger over faded glyphs, muttering to himself. "Aethel... the Eternal... the Weaver of Chains... Gustin, the Creator, betrayed..." His voice was a low rumble of dread. The cryptic warnings he'd given Jonathan now seemed too mild, too insufficient. The texts spoke of entities beyond mortal comprehension, not just 'gods' but cosmic forces, and Aethel, even in these fractured accounts, was depicted less as a benevolent bringer of power and more as a parasitic entity, a force that consumed and corrupted.
He found mentions of a "Great Hunger," not for sustenance, but for something far more esoteric – perhaps ambition, despair, or even the very essence of evolving life. The concept of "gifts" from such beings was invariably followed by accounts of catastrophic prices: souls consumed, worlds enslaved, realities twisted. Arthur ran a hand through his thinning hair, a cold certainty settling in his bones. Jonathan was walking into a fire, drawn by the purest, most desperate kind of love. And Aethel, he now suspected, was not offering a cure, but a gilded cage. He just didn't know how to prove it, or how to stop it.
The fluorescent lights of the school hallways felt jarringly bright, almost painful, to Jonathan's heightened senses. The cheerful chatter of students, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum, all seemed distant, irrelevant. He moved through the crowds like a phantom, his steps silent, his gaze colder than before. Students parted before him instinctively, a small ripple of unease spreading through the corridors as he approached. They didn't understand why, but they felt it – the subtle, chilling aura that now clung to him like a second skin.
Liam, who had once relished every opportunity to make Jonathan's life a misery, now actively averted his gaze, scrambling to put desks or other students between them. His usual smirk had been replaced by a faint pallor and a nervous fidgeting whenever Jonathan was near. The old humiliation had been a fire in Jonathan's gut; now, he felt nothing but a cool indifference, a sign of the deeper changes within. The mundane world was fading, becoming a blurry backdrop to the grim, thrilling reality of the Gates.
The "Hunter's Roost" was a cacophony of cheerful clatter, robust laughter, and the rich scent of roasted coffee and savory pastries. It was a cozy, bustling café popular with Guild members, its walls adorned with trophies from past hunts and photos of beaming, if slightly battered, hunter teams. Jonathan felt the familiar awkwardness settle over him as he scanned the room. He was a zero-ranker, still officially a novice, yet here he was, invited by Lilith, an A-rank powerhouse.
He spotted her easily, seated at a large, round table in the back, her amethyst eyes sweeping the room, sharp and observant even in relaxation. Beside her sat three other hunters. There was Kai, a burly man with a boisterous laugh and arms like tree trunks; Seraphina, a lean woman with an almost perpetually amused smirk and keen, intelligent eyes; and Ryu, a quiet, watchful mage, his gaze often distant, lost in thought. All bore the distinctive crests of high-ranking hunters.
Lilith waved him over, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "Havery. Glad you made it."
Jonathan nodded, sliding into an empty chair. The other hunters offered polite but curious greetings. Their eyes, unlike most, didn't dismiss him. They studied him.
"You've been... busy," Seraphina commented, her smirk widening. "Heard you've been practically living in the D-Rank gates. And clearing them fast."
"Efficiency," Jonathan responded, his voice flat, devoid of pride.
Kai scoffed good-naturedly. "Efficiency, he says! Heard you clear them faster than some of our rookies clear C-Ranks." He leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Alright, Havery. We've seen a lot of hunters come and go. Most of 'em stick to the Guild's standard forms, you know? But you..." He paused, genuinely intrigued. "What exactly are you doing in there? What's your secret?"
Ryu, who hadn't spoken, simply watched Jonathan, a rare intensity in his quiet gaze.
Lilith, however, cut to the chase, her amethyst eyes locking onto Jonathan's, devoid of her usual aloofness. "He's not asking for your training regimen, Havery," she clarified, her voice low, a challenge mixed with genuine curiosity. "We've watched your recent Gate runs. There's a... precision to your movements. An economy of force that's almost unnatural for someone of your supposed rank. You're not just strong. You're different."
She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Show us what you've really got. Not just what the System says. A controlled spar. No holds barred, but no serious injury. Just... a demonstration. We want to see how you do what you do."
Jonathan met her gaze. He felt the cold fire within him respond, the hunger stirring. This wasn't about showing off. This was an opportunity. They wouldn't understand the System, but he could show them the results. He could learn from them, gain access to higher Gates, and accelerate his path to the cure.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips, a chilling echo of Aethel's own. "Lead the way," he said, his voice quiet, but firm, the first step into a new, complex, and potentially dangerous reality. His strategic mind, honed by the system, was already calculating the gains.
Jonathan is willing to do anything for his mother, but Arthur's warnings about Aethel are dire. Do you think Jonathan is walking a dangerous path, and what do you predict will be the true cost of Aethel's 'cure'?. Thank you guys