Chapter 17: The Conduit
Jonathan's body was a warzone. The black ichor that seeped from his pores felt like molten lead, searing his skin from the inside out. His bones creaked and cracked, reshaping themselves under a force he couldn't comprehend. His screams were silent, stolen by a power that was rapidly stealing his will. The crimson runes from his mother's body flashed in his vision, each one a nail hammered into his own coffin.
Seraphina and Chloe stood frozen, their faces masks of pure horror. The man they had come to save, the one who had just broken down in front of them, was now a monster in a cage of his own making.
The metamorphosis was brief but brutal. Jonathan's limbs elongated, his back hunched, and his skin hardened into a glistening carapace. His eyes, for a final, terrifying moment, were his own wide with a silent plea for help before they flickered to a demonic, pulsing red.
He was no longer Jonathan. He was the Beetle Tyrant.
The monster's head, with its smooth, eyeless face, turned to look at Seraphina and Chloe. It was the same creature they had fought in the tunnels, but this time, it was different. It had a purpose. It had a mission.
[VESSEL SYNCHRONIZATION: 17%] [CONDUIT ACTIVATED] [TARGET: GUILD MASTER'S ARCHIVE]
The message seared Jonathan's vision, a demand from a master to a slave. His body moved, a blur of motion that shattered the walls of his home. He was a force of nature, an unstoppable blur of chitin and flesh. He was a ghost in his own body, a captive observer to the monster's rampage.
Seraphina and Chloe screamed, but their voices were swallowed by the wind. The creature was gone, a phantom blur of motion, leaving behind a trail of destruction and a terrified silence.
The Guild Master's archives were located in a sprawling complex in the heart of the city. Jonathan moved like a ghost, a blur of motion that shattered sound barriers and left trails of broken air in his wake. He was a flash of crimson and black, a phantom hunter in a city that had no idea of the threat that was coming for it.
He tore through the Guild's defenses, his movements a symphony of destruction. Guards crumpled, their bodies broken and twisted, their screams silenced by a power they couldn't comprehend. The archive's titanium doors were no match for him; they bent like paper under his sheer, unadulterated strength.
He tore through the archives, his mind a captive observer to Aethel's cold, tactical precision. The creature was not interested in the books or the scrolls. It was interested in a single artifact, a small, unassuming chalice.
Jonathan recognized it. He had seen it in one of Arthur's tomes, a chalice said to contain the power of the gods themselves. It was an artifact of immense power, a tool that could turn the tide of a divine war.
As he reached for the chalice, a voice echoed in his mind, a panicked, desperate cry. It was the voice of a man who had seen too much, a man who had tried to warn him. Arthur.
The beetle monster faltered. It looked at the chalice, a single, agonizing moment of hesitation. It was Jonathan's soul, a captive ghost fighting for a single, precious moment of freedom.
[RESISTANCE DETECTED. CONDUIT FAILURE IMMINENT]
Aethel's rage was a burning, cold fire in his veins. The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that threatened to rip his very soul apart. The creature roared, a distorted, guttural sound of pure agony, and it looked at the chalice with a new sense of purpose. It was a tool. A weapon. A way to finally become one with her.
And in that brief, agonizing moment of clarity, Jonathan realized the terrifying truth. The chalice was not a cure. It was the final piece of the puzzle. The final step in Aethel's plan.
What will happen as Jonathan's consciousness fights against Aethel's control for possession of the chalice? next time