Keegan woke to the rhythmic beeping of a monitor and the sharp scent of antiseptic. White ceiling tiles swam into focus as his eyes adjusted to the light. For a moment, panic surged through him, his body bracing for pain that didn't immediately come. He tried to move and felt resistance, followed by a dull ache rather than agony. Tubes ran from his arm, and a clear bag of dark red fluid hung beside the bed. Blood. Fresh. Controlled. Someone had intervened.
A nurse noticed his movement and immediately stepped closer, her expression shifting from routine focus to alert professionalism. "Easy," she said, firm but calm. "You lost a dangerous amount of blood." Keegan swallowed, throat dry, as the reality settled in. He wasn't dead. He hadn't collapsed in the docks and been forgotten. The Guild had retrieved him.
A doctor entered moments later, tablet in hand, eyes sharp and analytical. "You're lucky," he said without sugarcoating it. "Another ten minutes without transfusion and you would've gone into irreversible shock." Keegan turned his head slightly, watching the blood drip steadily into his vein. The warmth spreading through his chest felt foreign, almost intrusive. He could feel strength returning in small increments, like a system rebooting.
As the transfusion continued, something stirred beneath his skin. Not pain—presence. The Blink Hemarch fragment pulsed faintly, responding to the influx of blood like a machine receiving power. Keegan's breath hitched as the shadow panther head briefly flickered into existence, translucent and unstable, before vanishing again. The doctor stiffened, eyes narrowing. "So it's true," he muttered. "You formed a Pact."
The Guild representative arrived shortly after, expression unreadable and posture rigid. "Mid-tier confirmed eliminated," they said. "E-rank Knife Hemarch neutralized afterward." Keegan closed his eyes briefly, absorbing the information. His body had failed him, but he had still finished the job. That mattered in Guild accounting. Survival alone wasn't enough—results were currency.
"You overdrew," the representative continued. "Your Hemarch runs on blood, not stamina." Keegan looked back at the IV, understanding clicking into place. Blink hadn't abandoned him out of cruelty. It had shut down because the system hit zero. No blood meant no power. Simple. Brutal. Fair.
The doctor adjusted the flow rate, watching Keegan closely. "This transfusion will stabilize you," he said. "But don't mistake stability for readiness." Keegan flexed his fingers slowly, testing sensation. Strength was returning, but sluggishly. The shadow remained dormant, watching, conserving. The Hemarch was learning restraint.
Hours passed in a controlled haze. Vital signs stabilized. Pain dulled into manageable pressure. Keegan drifted in and out of light sleep, each time waking with clearer thoughts. When he finally sat upright, he felt whole—but not complete. Something fundamental had shifted.
The Guild representative returned with a datapad. "Official designation updated," they said. "F-rank Hunter, Pact-bound." Keegan didn't react outwardly, but the words settled heavily in his chest. Pact-bound meant monitored. Evaluated. Exploitable. But it also meant recognized. He was no longer invisible.
Before leaving, the representative paused. "One more thing," they added. "Your Hemarch didn't intervene during the transfusion." Keegan met their gaze. "It didn't need to," he replied quietly. The panther didn't save him. Systems did. Blood banks did. Humans did. That distinction mattered.
When the room finally emptied, Keegan stared at his reflection in the darkened window. Pale. Scarred. Alive. Somewhere deep inside, the Blink Hemarch observed in silence, its hunger temporarily satisfied. Not gone. Not dominant. Just waiting.
Keegan exhaled slowly and lay back against the pillows. He had survived rage, collapse, and recovery. Now comes the next phase: control. Power without collapse. Blood without waste. The system had shown its limits. And he intended to learn them before they killed him.