## Chapter 2: Breath of Iron & Chains of Blood
The crystalline chime marking his first successful breath echoed in Kelvin's skull, a tiny spark igniting a furnace of determination within his shattered frame. The pain was a constant, grinding presence, a physical manifestation of his betrayal, but it was now secondary to the blue interface hovering before him and the raw potential it represented.
*Two,* he thought, forcing air past the constriction in his ribs. *Inhale… 1…2…3…4…5…* He visualized the warmth of the Architect's emergency mana, picturing it knitting fractured bone, soothing bruised tissue. *Hold…1…2…* The dizziness threatened again, a wave of nausea cresting, but he clenched his jaw, focusing on the faint, almost ghostly tingling in his legs – a lifeline offered by the System. *Exhale…1…2…3…4…5…6…7.* It was smoother this time, less ragged. Another soft chime. **Progress: 2 / 10.**
Sweat slicked his forehead, plastering strands of dark hair to his skin. Each cycle was a battle fought inch by agonizing inch. He wasn't just breathing; he was *commanding* his broken body. He was wresting control back from the helplessness Vincent and Evelyn had condemned him to.
*Three.* The pain flared sharply as he expanded his diaphragm, a white-hot lance through his side. He gasped, nearly losing the rhythm. *No. Not again.* The image of Vincent's triumphant grin as the barrier sealed flashed before him, fuelling a surge of cold fury. He channeled that anger, that desperate need to *survive*, into the breath. *Inhale… deeper… hold… steady… exhale… longer.* **Chime. Progress: 3 / 10.**
He repeated the process, cycle after torturous cycle. Each successful breath chipped away at the despair, replacing it with a burgeoning sense of agency. He was *doing* something. He was fighting back, not with fists or weapons, but with the fundamental act of drawing life into his lungs. The System was his weapon now, his path out of this sterile prison of pain and insignificance.
*Seven.* His vision swam. The effort was immense, draining what little reserves he had. His bandaged chest heaved. Doubt whispered: *F-rank. Worthless. Why bother?* He silenced it with the memory of the Ghoul Shambler's slavering jaws, of Evelyn's averted eyes. He *had* to be stronger. He *would* be stronger. *Inhale… hold… exhale…* **Chime. Progress: 7 / 10.**
*Eight.* His hands, resting on the thin hospital sheet, trembled violently. He focused on the coolness of the fabric, grounding himself. *Almost there. Vitality. Healing.* The promise of the reward was a beacon. *Inhale… hold… exhale…* **Chime. Progress: 8 / 10.**
*Nine.* Agony screamed through his ribs. He bit down on a cry, tasting blood where his teeth had pierced his lip. Tears of pain and exertion blurred his vision. *One more. Just one more.* He pictured the Status screen. Level 1 (0%). 100 EXP. *Level up.* The thought was pure adrenaline. *INHALE… HOLD… EXHALE…* The final exhale was a ragged, shuddering gasp. **Chime!**
---
**<< DAILY QUEST COMPLETE! >>**
**<< Steady Breath >>**
**Rewards Claimed:**
* **+100 EXP**
* **+1 Vitality**
---
Instantly, a profound warmth, different from the initial emergency infusion, flooded Kelvin's core. It wasn't comforting sunlight; it was molten iron, searing yet revitalizing. It surged through his veins, concentrating fiercely around his broken ribs and shattered leg. He felt, rather than heard, a series of minute *shifts* and *settlings* deep within his torso. The grinding agony lessened significantly, replaced by a deep, powerful ache – the ache of accelerated mending. Simultaneously, the terrifying numbness below his waist receded further. The tingling intensified, spreading down his thighs and calves, becoming distinct pins and needles, then morphing into a powerful, almost electric awareness. He could *feel* the sheets against his legs again! Not perfectly, not without discomfort, but *feel* them. He could wiggle his toes – a minuscule, exhausting effort, but undeniable movement beneath the blanket.
He gasped, tears of sheer, overwhelming relief mingling with the sweat on his face. *It worked. It actually worked!*
Before he could fully process the miraculous shift in his physical state, a new cascade of notifications erupted in his vision.
---
**<< LEVEL UP! >>**
**Congratulations! Kelvin Argent has reached Level 2!**
**<< Allocating Stat Points… >>**
**(5 Points Available)**
**<< +2 Strength >>**
**<< +2 Agility >>**
**<< +1 Vitality >>**
**<< Calculating EXP to Next Level… >>**
**Level: 2 (0%)**
**EXP to Next Level: 200**
---
A fresh wave of the molten-iron warmth washed over him, less intense than the Vitality boost but still potent. He felt a subtle strengthening in his limbs, a slight loosening of the stiffness in his joints. He felt… *more*. More resilient, more capable. Still broken, still in pain, but undeniably improved.
Then, the System voice resonated again, colder, more resonant than before.
**"Host has achieved Level 2. Threshold for Novice Gift unlocked."**
**"Dispensing Gift: Blood War Chains."**
The air directly above Kelvin's chest shimmered violently. Two objects materialized from nothingness, hanging suspended in the sterile hospital light. They were chains, perhaps eighteen inches long each, forged from a metal that seemed to drink the light rather than reflect it. Deep, venous crimson pulsed within the dark iron links, like captured blood flowing sluggishly through obsidian channels. Tiny, razor-sharp barbs, barely visible, adorned every third link, glinting with a cruel, hungry light. They radiated an aura of primal savagery, of bound fury and desperate, life-stealing struggle. They were instruments of pain and survival made manifest.
Kelvin stared, transfixed and horrified. They were beautiful and terrifying. He instinctively recoiled, but before he could even form a thought of refusal, the chains dissolved. Not into smoke or light, but into twin streams of liquid shadow and seething crimson energy. They shot downwards like striking serpents, coiling around his wrists with an icy, electric tingle that sank deep into his bones.
The sensation wasn't painful, but profoundly alien. He watched, heart pounding against his newly strengthened ribs, as the dark energy sank into his skin, etching itself permanently. On the inside of each wrist, just above the pulse point, a tattoo formed. It depicted a single, intricate link of the Blood War Chain, rendered in stark black ink, but with the central channel filled with a deep, unsettling red that seemed to shift and shimmer when looked at directly. The barbs were subtly hinted at, tiny points of darkness radiating menace. They felt alive, thrumming with a low, predatory hum against his skin, a silent promise of violence and stolen vitality.
**"Blood War Chains (Bound):** Primordial weapons attuned to the Host's will. Manifest physically for combat. Primary Function: Life Siphon. Damage inflicted transfers a portion of the target's vitality to the wielder. Efficiency scales with Host level, Strength, and target susceptibility. Warning: Excessive siphon may induce Bloodlust."**
The description sent a thrill of power and a shiver of dread through Kelvin. Life Siphon. Healing through violence. It was brutal, monstrous… and perfect. It was the power to turn the tables, to make his enemies fuel his ascent. He touched the tattoo on his left wrist with his right thumb. It felt warm, the humming sensation intensifying slightly. *Mine,* he thought, a fierce possessiveness mingling with the lingering horror. *My weapon. My path.*
He was still processing the implications, the chilling potential of the chains, the tangible proof of his level-up healing his broken body, when the door to his room crashed open.
"KELVIN!"
The voice was raw, choked with tears, tearing through the sterile silence. A young woman, perhaps nineteen, with messy auburn hair escaping a hasty ponytail and eyes red-rimmed and wide with terror, stood framed in the doorway. Elara. His little sister.
She looked like she'd run through a storm. Her coat was askew, her cheeks flushed and tear-streaked. Her gaze swept the room, frantic, landing on him in the bed.
"Oh god, Kelvin!" She sobbed, the sound tearing from her throat. She stumbled forward, tripping slightly in her haste, collapsing onto the chair beside his bed. Her hands flew out, trembling violently, hovering over his bandaged torso, afraid to touch him. "I came as soon as they called! They said… they said it was bad. Really bad. That your team…" Her voice hitched, fresh tears spilling over. "They said you were abandoned! Left for dead!" Her eyes, filled with anguish and fury, scanned his face, searching for confirmation of the horror. "Is it true? Did they… did Vincent and Evelyn…?"
Seeing her, hearing the raw pain and fury in her voice for him, was a sucker punch to the gut, different from any physical blow. The cold calculations of the System, the simmering rage for his betrayers, momentarily receded. This was Elara, who'd looked up to him even when he was just an F-rank disappointment, who depended on him since their parents vanished into a high-rank dungeon years ago.
He saw the fear in her eyes – fear for him, fear of his injuries, fear of the world that had done this to him. He saw the accusation burning behind the tears: *How could they?*
The Architect's interface flickered at the edge of his vision. His Blood War Chains tattoos pulsed faintly against his skin, a reminder of the dark power he now held. But looking at Elara's tear-streaked face, all he felt was a fierce, protective love and a renewed, white-hot hatred for the people who had caused her this pain.
He moved his hand, slowly, carefully, the pins and needles still strong but manageable. He reached out, ignoring the lingering ache in his ribs, and covered her trembling hand where it hovered near his arm. His grip, though weakened, was firm. Stronger than it had been an hour ago.
"It's true, Elara," he said, his voice rough but steady, a new iron core forged in the crucible of betrayal and the Architect's fire hardening his tone. "They left me. Sealed me in with the Ghouls."
A choked cry escaped her, and she gripped his hand back fiercely, as if anchoring herself. "Bastards!" she hissed, the word thick with tears and venom. "Cowards! I'll kill them! I swear I'll—"
"Elara," he interrupted gently, squeezing her hand. He met her furious, grief-stricken gaze. He saw the reflection of his own rage, but also her vulnerability. He couldn't let her drown in it. Not yet. "Look at me."
She blinked, tears still falling, but focused on his face.
"I'm alive," he stated, the simple truth resonating with the profound shift his existence had just undergone. "I'm hurt… but I'm healing. Faster than they think." He managed a small, grim smile, devoid of humor but full of a newfound certainty. "And what they did…" His voice dropped, low and dangerous, the hum of the Blood War Chains vibrating against his wrists. "...they'll regret it. Every single second of it. But *I* will handle it. Not you. Understand?"
He saw the protest form on her lips, the fierce desire to protect him warring with his command. He held her gaze, letting her see the change. The pain was still there, etched in the lines around his eyes and the pallor of his skin, but the despair was gone. Replaced by a chilling focus, a glacial determination that hadn't been there before. It was unnerving, even to her.
"You… you seem different," she whispered, her tears slowing slightly, replaced by bewildered scrutiny. "Your voice… your eyes…"
"I had to be different, El," he said, the nickname softening his tone just slightly. "Being the same got me left for dead." He glanced down meaningfully at his legs, hidden under the blanket. "I can feel my legs again. Move my toes. The healing… it's starting."
Hope, fragile and desperate, bloomed in her eyes, momentarily eclipsing the fury. "Really? Oh, Kelvin, really?" Her hand tightened on his.
"Really," he affirmed. He wouldn't tell her about the System. Not yet. Not about the Architect, the leveling, or the predatory chains now bound to his soul. That darkness was his burden, his weapon. She needed hope, not the chilling reality of the power he was embracing.
He pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as best he could. She buried her face against his uninjured side, her body shaking with residual sobs, but now mixed with tremors of relief. He held her, the sterile hospital room shrinking to the space containing just the two of them – the broken hunter and his sister, bound by love and trauma.
As he stroked her hair, murmuring wordless reassurances, his thumb absently traced the intricate pattern of the Blood War Chain tattoo on his wrist. The dark link pulsed faintly, a silent, hungry promise. Outside the window, the city sprawled, indifferent. Vincent Thorne and Evelyn Vance were out there, likely spinning lies about the dungeon raid, absolving themselves.
Kelvin Argent met his own reflection in the darkening window glass. The eyes staring back were no longer those of a victim. They were the eyes of a predator in the making, tempered by betrayal, empowered by an ancient Architect, and fueled by a cold, relentless purpose. The breathing quest was complete. Level 2 achieved. The chains were bound. His sister was safe in his arms, for now.
The path of vengeance had begun. And it would be written in the blood of those who had forsaken him. The daily grind of the Architect had just become his entire world, and the first, crucial steps were taken lying broken in a hospital bed, holding onto the one light he refused to let the darkness consume. Tomorrow, a new quest would come. And he would be ready.