The hunters did not rush.
They advanced in a calm, disciplined line, boots crunching over broken stone and bone. Their armor was
pale steel etched with purification sigils that pulsed faintly as they moved. Chains of silver links hung from
their belts, clinking softly with each step.
Ritual tools.
Ayesha counted six.
Too many.
"Stand down," the leader said, voice steady and polite. "Hand over the plant healer. No one else needs to be
harmed."
Aron felt the hollow pull in his chest tighten.
Ayesha drew her sword fully.
"No."
The word was soft.
Final.
The leader sighed, almost regretful. "Then you choose heresy."
The sigils flared.
The world lurched.
Pain stabbed through Aron's skull as invisible pressure slammed into his senses. The air thickened, heavy
with suppression mana designed to crush anomalies. His knees buckled—but he did not fall.
SYSTEM RESPONSE
Abnormal Status Nullification — Active
External Interference: Denied
The hunters faltered.
For the briefest instant, uncertainty rippled through their formation.
Ayesha moved.
She crossed the distance in a blink, blade flashing in a tight arc that severed a chain and sent its bearer
sprawling. Steel rang against enchanted armor as sparks burst like dying stars.
But the hunters were prepared.
A net of runes unfurled midair, slamming into Ayesha and pinning her to the ground. She grunted as the
symbols burned into her armor, locking her muscles in place.
"Bind the woman," the leader ordered. "Take the boy alive."
Aron's breath hitched.
Alive.
That meant cages.
Experiments.
He raised his hands.
Green light bloomed—and the hunters recoiled as the ground answered him.
Vines erupted from cracks in the stone, whipping outward with violent speed. One wrapped around a
hunter's leg and yanked him off his feet. Another pierced a shoulder joint, tearing armor open like paper.
The vines drank.
Aron felt it clearly this time.
Strength flowed into him—thin, metallic, wrong.
SYSTEM LOG
Vitality Acquired: Minor (External Source)
The leader's eyes widened.
"He's feeding," he said quietly. "Kill him."
A bolt of white fire streaked toward Aron.
Ayesha roared.
She tore free of the binding runes at the cost of skin and blood, throwing herself between Aron and the
spell. The impact hurled her backward, armor shattered, body skidding across stone.
"Sister!"
She didn't answer.
Aron's vision tunneled.
Something inside him twisted—tightened—opened.
He did not think.
He reached.
The vines thickened, darkening as they spread, crawling over weapons, arms, throats. The hunters shouted
prayers, curses, orders—but the sound faded beneath the rush of life being pulled, measured and
consumed.
Aron staggered.
Too much.
He dropped to one knee, retching as foreign vitality burned through his veins like acid.
SYSTEM WARNING
Assimilation Instability Detected
A hand gripped his shoulder.
Firm.
Real.
"Enough," Ayesha said hoarsely. "Look at me."
He did.
Her face was bloodied. One eye swollen shut. She was breathing.
Alive.
The vines withered.
The remaining hunters fled.
Silence fell over the ruins, broken only by Aron's ragged breathing.
He stared at his hands.
They were shaking.
Not from fear.
From hunger.
Ayesha sheathed her broken sword and pulled him into a brief, fierce embrace.
"They've marked you now," she said into his hair. "The world doesn't forgive what it can't control."
The system chimed once.
SYSTEM STATUS UPDATE
Global Awareness: Increased
Designation: Emerging Threat
Aron closed his eyes.
Somewhere beyond the ruins, the world had chosen its enemy.
And it had chosen him.