I woke up to cold metal biting into my wrists and ankles, my head pounding like a war drum.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the stale chemical stench of disinfectant burning my nostrils. My vision swam as I forced myself to focus—blurry outlines of steel tables, gleaming instruments, a wall lined with cabinets.
A lab.
Not Bobby's. Not anywhere familiar.
Something worse.
Way worse.
I tugged at my restraints experimentally—thick leather, reinforced with metal bolts. Whoever strapped me down wasn't playing around.
I cursed under my breath. Idiot. I'd gotten cocky after Nebraska, thinking I could breeze through cleanup without backup. Should've known better. Should've felt the trap before it snapped shut.
I took inventory. Enhanced vision? Check, but fuzzy at the edges. Hearing? Still better than human. Regeneration? Ticking along, though sluggish.
Telekinesis?
I focused, flexing that invisible muscle.
A nearby scalpel quivered on a tray.
Weaker. Dulled. Like someone had stuffed my brain full of cotton balls.
Anaesthetic and maybe a lot of anaesthetic injected in me maybe dozen of elephant-like doses. Smart. Blunt the edge, but not break it completely and that's why my immunity was completely bypassed.
I closed my eyes, running through scenarios in my head. First, unstrap one arm. Then—
The door creaked open.
I snapped my eyes open, playing possum.
A man walked in, lab coat flapping like a tattered flag. Stringy hair. Thick glasses. A smile that made my skin crawl.
"Ah, you're awake," he said cheerfully, like we were two old pals meeting for coffee.
I said nothing, heart hammering steadily.
"You must be wondering where you are. Who I am."
He circled the table slowly, fingertips grazing my forearm, my jaw, like I was a prize steer he was about to carve up.
"I'm Dr. Hess," he said. "And you, Marcus Hale, are a very special guest."
The name struck a vague chord. Hess. Bobby had mentioned a rogue doctor once —a mad scientist who dabbled in corpse-stitching and ritual magic.
Fantastic.
Hess leaned in close, breath sour with coffee and something sharper. "I am the First Disciple of Lord Kharon."
My blood ran cold.
Of course.
Of course this freakshow was one of Kharon's cultists.
"My lord tasked me with retrieving you," Hess went on, practically vibrating with excitement. "A great honor. But..." He chuckled, low and wet. "Before I deliver you, I couldn't resist a little... experimentation."
His hand dipped into his pocket, emerging with a gleaming surgical knife.
"You're... an anomaly," he whispered, eyes glittering. "You defeated my finest creations. You absorbed them. Fascinating. I must know how."
He stepped to the head of the table, blade poised over my face.
"Starting with these marvelous eyes."
He pressed the tip of the knife against my right eyelid, just enough to nick the skin.
Pain flared. Hot and Immediate.
And it burned away the last of the fog clogging my brain.
I snapped.
With a roar, I unleashed my telekinesis, slamming Hess backward into the wall with a bone-cracking THUD.
The straps bit into my wrists as I surged upward—but they didn't hold. Not anymore.
Strength flooded my muscles, new strength, ten tons of raw, feral power, the gift left behind by those stitched-together werewolves.
The bedframe screeched as the bolts tore free from the floor. I ripped the remaining restraints apart like wet tissue, lurching upright.
Hess gasped, struggling against the invisible force pinning him to the wall.
"You... you shouldn't..." he wheezed.
I advanced on him slowly, the machete he'd left lying on a tray pulling itself into my outstretched hand with a thought.
"You really should've finished the job faster," I growled.
His eyes widened behind his glasses. "You don't understand! He's coming for you! Kharon—!"
I pressed the blade lightly against his throat, savoring the way he flinched.
"You can tell your boss yourself."
I raised the machete for the final strike—
—and that's when the shadow moved.
Something leapt from the darkness, a blur of black, fast and silent. This thing make my sense goes haywire.
Reflexes kicked in. I twisted mid-swing, telekinesis flaring, batting the attacker away just enough to deflect the fatal blow.
The machete sliced air. Hess crumpled to the floor, scrambling frantically away.
The shadow creature snarled, a rasping, inhuman sound. Tall, thin, wrong in all the ways monsters usually were.
Before I could blink, it scooped up Hess—like he weighed nothing—and melted back into the shadows.
Gone.
Just like that.
I stood there, chest heaving, machete dripping sweat and blood from my palms.
Silence closed in like a vice.
I swore viciously, slamming the flat of the machete into the wall, leaving a deep gouge.
Careless. Again.
I'd had him. I could feel it—one more second, one more swing, and Hess's head would've been rolling across the floor.
Instead, he was out there. Alive. Reporting back to Kharon.
I kicked over a metal cart, sending scalpels and vials crashing to the floor.
Breathing hard, I scanned the room.
No obvious surveillance. No backup sirens. Just the cold, sterile smell of failed experiments and broken promises.
I wiped my face, smearing blood and sweat across my forehead.
Focus, Marcus.
This wasn't over. Not even close.
If Hess was truly one of Kharon's First, then things were worse than I thought. Kharon wasn't just sending monsters after me. He was sending believers. Fanatics. Scientists.
People willing to stitch together nightmares and call it art.
I had to move.
Fast.
I grabbed a duffel from under one of the tables—probably Hess's emergency gear. Inside: a cheap burner phone, a flask of whiskey, and a second machete wrapped in cloth.
I pocketed the phone, ignoring the whiskey, and rearmed myself.
I needed to regroup with Bobby.
And maybe punch Bobby for being right about going solo being a bad idea.
As I stalked toward the exit, broken glass crunching under my boots, I couldn't help but glance back at the ruined lab.
A part of me—the dark, hungry part—wished Hess had stayed.
Wished I could've finished the job.
Because for the first time in a long time, the rage boiling under my skin wasn't just about survival.
It was about vengeance.
It was personal now.
You can run, Hess.
You can hide.
But when I find you—and I will—there won't be anything left for Kharon to save.
I pushed out into the night, the cool air biting at my face, the stars wheeling overhead like a thousand silent witnesses.
Time to hunt.
Again.
And this time?
No mercy.