The tunnel's incline grew steeper—a sign that the end was near. Orion quickened his pace, his heartbeat rising in anticipation. After so long in the oppressive underground, the thought of breathing fresh air again washed away the lingering unease from his stolen memory.
He sprinted toward the light at the tunnel's end, his steps sure and steady. But as the exit neared, instinct whispered a warning. Something was off.
His gaze flicked downward. Shadows shifted unnaturally across the ground. An ambush.
Without hesitation, he dropped his stance and slid forward. A heavy whoosh passed overhead as a massive mace slammed into empty air—its owner had expected an easy kill, only to strike nothing.
Orion's grip tightened around his right-hand blade. In one fluid motion, he slashed upward.
Steel met flesh.
A sickening scream tore through the night as blood splattered across the rocky ground. A severed arm hit the dirt with a dull thud. Only now did Orion take in his attacker—a man in his twenties, unshaven, his body marked with a prominent tattoo.
His Sin Mark.
For a Sinbound, losing a limb meant losing everything. His future was already over. Letting him live would be a fate worse than death.
Orion exhaled, then swung his blade once more.
Silence returned.
He stood still, breathing in the crisp night air. The underground was behind him at last. The world stretched before him—a mountainside bathed in moonlight. Towering trees lined the rugged path ahead, their dark silhouettes swaying gently in the cold breeze. In the far distance, beyond the rolling hills, Hope City shimmered with lights. The place of his birth.
His eyes drifted to the stone wall beside the exit. Etched into its surface was a single command:
"Reach the summit before sunrise."
Orion rolled his shoulders, took one last deep breath, and stepped forward.
Judging by the ambush at the tunnel's exit, Orion knew the climb wouldn't be as simple as it seemed. The other survivors from the underground would also be scaling the mountain, each one a potential threat. Then there were the hollows. And the traps.
A glorified game of cat and mouse.
He exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on his blades as he pressed forward.
Meanwhile, in the observation room, Nova remained unimpressed. Orion's survival instincts had been tested, but now he wanted something more.
"He's barely a month into his corruption, Lord," Geraldth cautioned.
"Still, we need to see how much he can handle," Nova replied, his gaze locked onto the screen.
A long silence stretched between them before Nova finally made his decision.
"Unleash them."
Geraldth bowed. "Yes, my lord." He stepped out, leaving Nova alone with his thoughts.
His fingers traced the screen's surface, watching Orion advance.
"You've shown me resilience—now show me your power."
Time seemed to slow as Orion hiked toward the summit. The atmosphere was unnervingly still. Too still.
At this pace, he would reach the top before sunrise. No need to rush. Safer to move cautiously. He had learned that lesson in the pits of the Church of Atonement.
Then—
"Aooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!"
The howl split the night.
Orion stopped breathing.
His stomach twisted. His lungs locked.
A cold, clammy sweat broke across his skin.
His heartbeat slammed against his ribs, erratic and too fast. His fingers numbed, his grip on the blades slackening as an invisible weight crushed his chest.
He knew that cry.
Another howl followed, the sound reverberating inside his skull, rattling loose the past.
Flashes of memory hit him in violent waves.
The filthy, narrow alleys of the slums. The sickly orange glow of fire licking the walls. The stench of burnt flesh—his flesh.
Pain's Hellhound.
It had hunted him for sport. Its molten eyes locked onto him, its massive form blocking any escape. He remembered the feeling of rough stone scraping his back as he was pinned against a wall, a growl rumbling in his ears.
Then—the fire.
White-hot agony. The beast's molten breath engulfed him, turning the world into unbearable heat. He had screamed until his throat gave out. He remembered curling in on himself, hands over his head, trying to make himself smaller—trying to survive.
But the flames didn't stop.
The burns on his back throbbed in response to the memory as if reliving the pain all over again.
His body trembled. His breath hitched.
Another howl rang out. Closer.
No.
He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. His fingers tightened around his blades.
The Mark of the Patience virtue activated.
A cold wave washed over him, fighting against the rising tide of panic. His pulse steadied. His ragged breaths evened. The weight on his chest lightened, but the fire in his mind still lingered.
Another memory surfaced.
The night he turned the tables.
The crack of brittle bone under his grip. The taste of blood in his mouth. The satisfaction of watching the beast twitch in its final moments.
Orion's lips curled into a slow, sharp grin.
"When have I not paid back my debts tenfold?" he murmured. "A day, a year—it doesn't matter. I always get my revenge."
He lifted his gaze.
Hundreds of fiery eyes pierced through the darkness. Growls echoed. Smoke curled into the night air.
He welcomed it.
The shaking stopped. The fear melted away. This was the beginning of a new era, for him. One where he would be the instigator, not the victim.
"Yes… come to me." He whispered as he cut open a small portion of his flesh with the help of his blade. He let the blood drip slowly into the ground, festering the air with the iron smell.
*Drip* *Drip* his gaze never stopped fixating on the fiery eyes moving closer. The growls were more erratic than before. The smell of wounded prey had amplified the excitation of the horde, as they all seemed to converge toward him.
Once he was satisfied with the amount of traction he pulled, Orion moved like the wind.
.He turned and bolted toward the summit at full speed. The trees turned into blurs, and wherever he passed he bathed the ground with drops of blood.
"Let's burn this mountain to ash—like we will the rest of the world."