The pitter-patter of the rain upon the roof of the cover that kept Sean safe from it was the only thing that let him keep track of time. It was like he was all alone in the world. It was late, almost ten o’clock. The last bus was coming. He knew that. The app said that it was ten stops away thirty minutes ago and had promptly died, courtesy to his forgetfulness.
The windows were lit and he could see the occasional car speed past him, but they didn’t register in his mind. They were just background noise, not important, and most certainly not something he should be bothering himself with.
He sat on the bench and stared down at the puddle on the ground. The rain was strong and a dozen different patterns made themselves apparent every single second. Each pattern was different but similar to the previous one. It was a beautiful scene of nature —it was relaxing.
Walking wasn’t an option. He didn’t have an umbrella and the rain was strong enough to seep through his backpack and make its way into his backpack. If it got burnt off, then he would lose half his savings.
At least his studies didn’t depend on it. Not yet.
He then heard it —it was the sound of someone walking nearby.
Sean turned his head to the side and looked at the stranger with lifeless eyes. Safety came first and he knew better than to sit near a sketchy-looking man with baggy clothes. It had been hammered into his brain by his father. He was an overprotective man that wanted far too much from him.
What met him wasn’t what he expected.
It was a girl, with long black hair that reached her back. It looked as if the rain didn’t even touch her, the clothes dry and fluffy. She wore black, a fur vest over a sheer shirt with floral patterns on it. It was intriguing, how he could see and hear her far too clearly amidst the rain, even when she was over twenty meters away.
He couldn’t even see the other side of the road clearly.
Her icy blue eyes locked with his and Sean peeled his eyes away.
What was he thinking?
Staring at others was rude.
Inevitably, she came to the stop and took a seat at the other end of the bench. She didn’t even notice him and that much was for the better. He hadn’t gotten a haircut in over three months and most certainly didn’t look his best, dressed in a drenched plain gray hoodie that and jeans. He was far from presentable, in his own opinion.
“You don’t have to look away,” she said. There was no one around and the only one that had been staring at her would be him, “I’m used to it.”
“Being used to it doesn’t make it okay. It just means you’ve gotten used to something that you shouldn’t have gotten used to,” said Sean, still staring at the ground.
“It’s a caveat of the profession. I have to get used to it,” she said.
“I see,” said Sean. Maybe she was an actress. She certainly looked the part.
An awkward silence rested upon them and it was quiet for a few seconds.
It seemed that the girl didn’t like that.
“So, what’s your name? Might as well pass the time,” she asked.
He wasn’t used to talking to strangers, let alone girls. They were always looking for excuses to get pissed off at him. That was the sad truth. If you looked like a nerd, girls that didn’t know you didn’t even bother talking to you, and starting a conversation with them was nigh-impossible. At least with how fickle teenagers their age was.
“Sean,” he said, slowly. It wasn’t something he’d ever said casually. Any time he said his own name, it was either inside his own head or for official business such as having a bank account started. He didn’t know how to say that.
“I’m Clara,” she said, a wide grin on her face, “Nice to meet you. Also, I like your hair. Everyone tries to keep it so neat where I’m from. It’s a nice change of pace.”
Sean snorted. He scratched the back of his head, at a loss as to what else to do. He had rarely been praised by his parents, let alone someone he didn’t even know.
“You’re too kind,” said Sean. He’d heard that some girls used it as a pick-up line from Sammy. But he was also the best-known liar, so it was safe to assume it was everything but what he said it was.
“I mean it,” she said. She then pointed at her chest with her thumb, “That said, am I pretty?”
He was at a loss.
The answer? Most definitely yes. But would he be able to say it? Not likely.
So he simply nodded, barely managing to look away.
She raised her eyebrows as if surprised. What was there to be surprised about? She was pretty and Sean greatly doubted that anyone had told her otherwise before. Maybe she was giddy with excitement after getting plastic surgery done, but something deep within him said that she hadn’t.
“And…” she started, and as if after thinking about what to say, she then added, “That’s all?”
“You wanted more?” asked Sean with a small smirk.
He didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell… did he?
“No, no, it’s just oddly unsettling,” she said, “Most of them ask me out almost instantly. I’m just surprised that you didn’t. Oh well, you’re an interesting guy.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?” asked Sean, a wry grin on his face and a tired look in his eyes. Apparently, being asked out was so common that she was used to it.
“Yes, absolutely,” she said, “I’ve seen a lot of people and not even one in a thousand are interesting.”
Yep… he had no chance. If he had any, it’d be in the negatives.
“Oh, let’s meet again, by the way. Here, that’s my number,” she said and she pulled out something from her pocket —it was a piece of paper. She expertly swung it at him and it somehow managed to make its way into his right hand. Throwing a piece of paper like that? That had to be magic, “Call me this time tomorrow.”
She winked at him.
The emotional part of him said that he didn’t have a chance but the logical part was screaming out that he indeed did.
Usually, it was the opposite.
The bus pulled over to the bus stop, bathing him in water. But he didn’t feel that. It was barely noticeable as Sean’s eyes were locked on Clara.
“Bye-bye,” she added cutely, waving her hand, and as if broken out of his stupor by her words, he absent-mindedly entered the bus.
He stood there, at the entrance of the bus as the door closed behind him, fully drenched.
“Sorry about that, kid,” said the fat bus driver, “Didn’t want to ruin your moment, but ended up doing just that.”
His mind didn’t register the driver. He simply pulled his bus card and waved it past the scanner and walked to the back seat, a smile on his face.
He totally had a chance.
***
Sean felt a piercing headache —it was the first thing he felt when he woke up. Then he saw light so blinding that he couldn’t even be bothered to open his eyes due to. But then he felt something else. It was a repulsive and warm feeling rising from the pit of his stomach and reflexively, Sean stood up and turned his head to the side. Out from his mouth dripped vomit and bile.
He was panting now and against all the alerts that were firing inside his head, he forced his eyes open and saw glimmers of sunlight and a window. That didn’t last long, though, as his eyes snapped shut moments after seeing the light —it was blinding.
“Ha, and they say you’re Jackie boy’s kid,” said a deep voice, audibly stifling a laugh. Sean could vaguely recognize it but couldn’t quite put his finger on that —it was a female one, “I’d say you’re closer to Jerry boy.”
Sean rubbed his eyes and wiped his mouth with the blanket. His clothes were gone and he was covered in a blanket, lying on a bed. He could feel the soft fabric of the bedsheets underneath himself and the warm feel of a blanket on him. That, and the coldness he felt whenever he stuck his hand out of it. The pillow underneath his head was wet, whether, with sweat or tears, he did not know.
“Aunt Charlie,” said Sean weakly. That was the closest guess he had among the people that had any business being there.
Then Sean felt it.
His fists hurt and so did his right shoulder. His entire body was sloppy, but he doubted that was because of an injury
“I’m inside?” asked Sean. He’d been in the mansion a few times. It wasn’t even a handful. Twice but it’d be thrice if you counted that one time he was a newborn.
“Yeah, you are. And sorry about, ugh, Clai-… the girl,” said Aunt Charlie and Sean felt his memories come back. He put his forearm over his eyes and forcefully shut his eyes. He’d drunk to forget it but she’d managed to remind him that not even a minute after he’d woke up. Talk about rotten luck.
“What happened, ugh… yesterday?” asked Sean, not even bothering to look at her or to get up.
“Well, we heard a noise,” started Aunt Charlie, talking in a tone similar to one people used when listing things, “So we came out to have a look. And there we found you, punching a damned tree and hacking away at it with broken glass. You kept calling it a monster and all. Was quite a show, I have to admit.”
Sean grit his teeth.
The Vampires.
He wanted to hunt them.
“Then your dad tried to talk reason to you first. Your uncle tried to bring you to the basement to drink more. Your dad and him had a short brawl but your dad won. He then beat the living hell out of you and voila, you’d have been bedridden for some time unless you were one of us,” said Aunt Charlie. Her optimism was almost infectious.
“Unless I was a hunter,” said Sean.
“So you found out,” said Aunt Charlie, “How and when?”
“After I found out the Heart Factor,” said Sean, “I had some hints.”
“Then you must be some damned genius and an Olympic-level athlete in mental gymnastics,” she said, “Unless… well, someone told you. Who was it?”
“Someone from the Calibration,” said Sean with a slight chuckle. He couldn’t help but do that. It was like a reflex, “Apparently, some legendary hunter there recovered fast after eating the hearts of werewolves. Then I awakened the Heart Factor and the rest is basic logic.”
“Hmm, that sounds fair,” said Aunt Charlie and walked up closer to him. He could hear her walk. It wasn’t very much her boots clicking on the ground as much as it was the old wooden floor creaking.
There was a bit of silence.
“You know, your dad said that you wouldn’t be a good fit for a hunter. Said that you were weak and that you’d end up dying,” she said, “And he said that the System made you a bit more competent. But I say that you were always a stubborn prick. Jackie boy mightn’t have seen it, but I did. You’re basically him but younger.”
“Ha,” snorted Sean. He didn’t believe that. Him and his father? Similar? That required mental gymnastics, “I feel tired.”
“Don’t we all? I, for one, loved my ordinary life as a baker,” said Aunt Charlie. She tapped something to his lips and Sean opened his mouth —it was bottled water. He was parched, “It was definitely better than having to scavenge to survive.”
If there was one annoying trait about Aunt Charlie, it was her loose mouth. She spouted everything that was on her mind but he was used to that. After years, he’d been deafened to minute amounts of blabbering.
It was nice to have familial company again.
“How many of them have you killed?” asked Sean after he finished gulping down the entire bottle.
“Hm?” she muttered and Sean could hear the slight bit of surprise in her tone, “Oh, I can’t really give a number. I guess around a hundred and fifty when I was on mania but I suppose I killed another fifty while babysitting you and Chris. If you count banishing spirits, then it’s well over a thousand.”
That sounded like a lot.
“Why do you ask?” she then asked in return.
“I want to learn how to ,” said Sean. She chuckled in return and that turned into a full-on laugh. He frowned and spoke, “What’s so funny?”
“Well, didn’t you just kill one yesterday? Just do that again,” she said, “There’s no real method, kid. Stab them in the heart with whatever. If you can manage it, you could even kill them with a damned arrow. If you can wrestle them into the sun, do that. Just find your own method. Jack put everything you needed to know in your head already. But I can teach you something.”
“And what’s that?” asked Sean. The headache was fading now and he could finally sit up without feeling dizzy.
“I can refresh your memory by…. finding an encyclopedia that’s lying somewhere in the house,” said Aunt Charlie, “And I can teach you how to not get thrown around like a rag doll before you even touch them. Oooh, I can also teach you what all the cool weapons do. Did you get the dagger?”
“Gave it to someone. It was Chris’s girlfriend,” said Sean.
“Wait, you’re saying he got a girlfriend? And he didn’t tell me? Well, I’ll be damned,” said Aunt Charlie, shaking her head sarcastically.
“Lives with her, from the looks of it,” Sean added helpfully. There was a small smirk on his face, “Her bicycle was in the garage and she had her own cup there.”
“I really should have given him a few surprise visits, then,” said Aunt Charlie, “Anyways, that thing is called a Cruciform Dagger. It has silver and uncast steel in it, forged together in the Vatican with the lost method of creating true Damascus steel, blessed by the Pope himself and imbued with so-called Holy energies. Basically, if something can be killed, that thing kills it. Demons, ghosts, Nobles, whatever.”
“So if a decent swordswoman has that, she’s practically a murder machine,” said Sean. That was good to know. He didn’t have to worry about Liz, then. Then he remembered. He had to visit Liz! He tumbled to his feet, carefully making sure that he was getting off to the other side of the vomit, “Speaking of his girlfriend, I have to go and pick her up.”
“Chris can go and pick her up himself. He’s a grown man, apparently. Matter of fact, I’ll go with him,” said Aunt Charlie. She ended her sentence far too sarcastically, “It’s only natural.”
Sean sat at the edge of the bed and finally worked up the courage and will to open his eyes. It was manageable now, at least. He was in Uncle Jeremy’s bedroom. It was a minimalistic one. It had a bookshelf with old books in it, a desk, and a chair next to that with a bed to sleep in. There really wasn’t the need for anything else.
He could faintly smell cigarettes. It often reeked of alcohol but Sean was pretty sure he smelled of beer more, enough to overpower the smaller scent.
Aunt Charlie stood next to the bookshelf, looking for something —most likely the book she told him before.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
His shirt was off but his pants weren’t, thankfully.
“It’s torn,” said Aunt Charlie helpfully as she pulled out a thick book with a fur cover. Burnt into it were the words: Hunt, “Your shirt, I mean. You shot one of those blue balls and Jackie boy grabbed it and rubbed it against you. Jerry boy left you a jacket there. You two are basically the same size.”
Sean could see that he was slightly hurt.
It was peculiar how he called his condition slightly hurt.
Having both arms cracked and out of commission would be what he’d call an injury. Everything below that ended up being labeled slightly hurt.
His fists were slightly burning, the skin at the knuckles torn open. Compared to riding a bike with his entire palm almost flayed open, that wasn’t much. But his right shoulder was worse. He could barely move his right arm without it aching.
Aunt Charlie put the book on the bed next to him. She then spoke, “Read that and you’re pretty much set. Well, I’m gonna go meet my grown-up boy and bully him a lil. Jackie boy and Emma are downstairs. Oh, also, some of your old classmates are there.”
“From middle school?” asked Sean, a frown on his face.
“Yeah. From back when I was your babysitter,” said Aunt Charlie, with a cheeky grin. She pat his head and ruffled his head, “Don’t worry, they’ve grown up a lot.”
With that, she left the room, leaving the door open behind herself.
Old classmates.
He could do without meeting any of them.
Sean had changed a lot after he entered high school. Rather, he’d left behind his dark, bullied past thanks to his father’s suggestions. It was, quite frankly, the best decision he’d made in his life.
Anyone that knew that the him of now was that frail little boy was a danger to his current social status of someone that was perfectly mundane with a slightly fit body. His father had forced him to be at least decent in terms of physique.
He could run as fast as most amateur athletes that didn’t specialize in running and could lift decently well —all without learning to fight. He hated hitting people. It’d hurt them, it’d hurt him and it’d escalate the situation. So he learned to hug people really hard and got a decent physique, also a courtesy to his father’s suggestions.
Suffice to say, he hadn’t gotten into many fights thanks to his peaceful lifestyle and tendency to make accomplices more than enemies.
Brandon reminded him of the bullies during their first encounter, but Sean’s expression soured when he thought of the berserker boy.
He’d died because of his stubbornness.
Whether Veidrheim was merely a simulation didn’t matter. What mattered was that Brandon was something of a friend. He got attached easily and he’d managed to get attached to Brandon. But he’d killed Helthur and his goons were probably taken care of by the others. Fillmore, too, was like a father to him —a gentle father that he never had.
Jack Morris, his real father, was everything but a father. He was more of an overprotective older brother that had seen a lot of things. And he had, as a hunter that killed monsters.
Sean forced himself up to his feet and noticed that he was barefoot. It made sense and he chuckled, even despite his aching heart.
He’d never taken them off after the System came. There was no time to worry about hygiene and in Veidrheim, he’d collapsed without even thinking about it. After coming to Earth, only a single night had passed, and even then he was exhausted far too much and had slept with the shoes on.
It was surreal, how many people he’d seen die in no more than fourteen days and how used to it he was.
How he simply understood that Clara had died and instantly started thinking of revenge.
But it was for the better.
Death was now a part of their lives and deaths had to be avenged. He’d done that for Brandon and had started doing that for Clara. And he would finish the revenge —by killing the entire race of creatures that had taken Clara from him.
He felt another wave of bile rise up from his guts as the image of the woman he’d blown up flash before his eyes and the smell of Mana filled his nostrils. He gagged and gagged, yet nothing came out. Then a phantom pain stabbed across his guts, right where Helthur had bitten him in half and Sean found himself panting —something he had stopped doing due to exhaustion.
It was always due to hyperventilation.
I shall etch the pain into your mind. That is my farewell gift for you. You cannot leave it behind.
“Fuck. Off!” roared Sean as Helthur’s words resonated through his head. It wasn’t one of fear, but of rage. He had enough on his plate as is. He didn’t need voices inside his head now, of all times.
There is no turning back once you’ve made the choice.
This time, it was a voice he knew far too well —it was that of his father, and then mother, and then Aunt Charlie. Into the chorus joined Fillmore, Ashley, Samson, and finally, Brandon.
“Quiet,” he whispered underneath his breath, “Just… be quiet.”
Just like the voices had hours before Brandon’s demise, they started to repeat a single line.
A single line that he hated.
Do it, do it, do it, do it… Do it!
Just like it had before, it added onto it. It contorted into a line that he despised even more. He knew it, he wanted to do it but he didn’t need to be reminded of it.
Kill them!
Sean gritted his teeth as the voices chanted within his head.
He covered his ears and closed his eyes, but they did not stop. They were from inside him. He couldn’t stop them. They were unstoppable and chanted on as if the sound of drums during war scenes in movies —unstoppable and constant.
Then came the voice of Clara, full of venom —contorted beyond recognition, but he somehow recognized it.
Rather, it was the only voice his mind could devise to torture him now.
Kill them.
This one was no more than a whisper, unlike that of the others. The others were shouts and screams, but this one was a mere whisper. Yet, it was stronger than the rest. It drowned everything out and Sean felt the warm tears course down his face like a downpour.
He bit his lips and wrinkled his nose.
Then he screamed out, “I’ll kill them all! I’ll fucking murder them!”
After he let that out, Sean was tired again, empty and hollow.
He quietly mumbled underneath his breath, again and again.
“I’ll do it. I’ll kill them all. That’s a promise. A promise. That’s a promise…”
Once again, he was saved from his mind by an outside source.
This time, it wasn’t Brandon.
He couldn’t save Sean again. Not anymore. He was dead.
This was a gentle hand, caressing his cheek. The hands pulled him closer and Sean could smell the aroma of flowers. They weren’t random flowers, either. They smelled like… mom!
“Everything will be fine,” she said quietly and Sean broke apart, the tears flowing down freely. His voice cracked.
“Mom,” said Sean, barely able to form words. He was tired. Far too tired. It wasn’t exhaustion of the body, but of the mind, “Mom. I… I’m tired.”
He didn’t recover quickly.
Far from it.
For at least an hour, he cried and kept on going until tears no longer came out. He wanted them to so that they could be a parallel to his feelings. Yet, he cried still, even without tears, and he kept on going until he was tired. He saw nothing and he thought of nothing. He simply collapsed, the facade of a man that was still going forward now broken, returned to the state of a child.
But it started to build itself up, this time made of something else.
This time, it wasn’t made of love and dedication. Instead, it was hate alone that was used to build up the facade. Hate for the vampires and all that went bump in the night. This time, he was ready. If the world gave him a ghost, he’d banish it. If the world gave him a vampire, he’d turn its heart into a shish kebab and if the world gave him a werewolf, he’d tear their fucking head off.
By the time he was fine, he was ready.
No, he wasn’t ready —he was eager to kill.
He wanted to murder them. That was the fuel for the machine that was the new Sean. If he ran out of monsters to kill? He didn’t want to think of such a reality. There were many of them and he would kill them all. He didn’t care about the mosquitos from the System. They were monsters, but not the monsters.
His prey were the Children of the Night, and where there was game, there’d be a hunter.
Sean simply needed to know where the game was.
“Are you alright now?” calmly asked his mother and Sean nodded, eyelids red and swelled up. Behind stood his father, arms crossed. The door was shut and Sean could see that half of his mother’s shirt was damp now.
Simply from tears.
“I am,” said Sean with a frown.
“The Heart Factor and the System’s brought the man out in you,” said his father with a booming voice, a small smirk on his face —seeing him smile when he wasn’t watching soccer was rare, and even if he was watching soccer, he wouldn’t smile unless his favorite team was winning. “That’s a good thing. The old you wouldn’t have survived half of what you’d have to go through now.”
He was just as what Sean remembered him to be —an asshole that thought he knew everything he was talking about, and most of the time, he did. That was the worst part about it. He was actually competent and could back it up, but his haughty attitude made him a bad fit for anyone that wasn’t mom.
She was too calm and mild if such a thing was possible.
“And you punched me,” he said and added, “Good job. Next time, do it without drinking.”
Just as he expected. He loved bravery, even if said bravery was Sean trying to punch him.
He remembered something about aliens and whatnot, but so far, nothing had happened.
Then again, he’d spent the entire day either passed out or drunk yesterday.
His father started to walk toward them and took a seat to his other side, and awkwardly, the three of them sat there for a while. They looked like a family, for once. It hadn’t happened all that many times.
“So, want to learn how to kill them?” asked his father, the smirk still there. It almost seemed like he was… giddy with excitement, “I’m rusty but I can still teach you some nifty tricks. Come down when you’re ready.”
He pat Sean on the shoulder once, ruffles his hair a bit, and walked away. He closed the door behind himself, thankfully.
“How are you feeling?” asked his mother and Sean couldn’t help but smile. It was good, being home again. He didn’t think he’d cry like that. He thought he’d talk to her, like a normal person. Apparently, that was a pipe dream. He’d instantly broken apart, “Are the whispers gone now?”
Sean’s smile slowly disappeared and he thought of it. Thought about how they whispered in his mind at the worst possible times and how they’d made him break down. But he knew one thing —that they never went away.
“For now,” he answered reluctantly.
“That is only natural,” said his mother and nodded her head softly, “But you’ll get used to them. They’ll remind you of who you are when you least expect them to. Better monsters you know than humans that you don’t.”
“Did you have them as well?” asked Sean. They were far too familiar with it and accepted it far too easily. That’d make sense if they did indeed know about it.
“Of course. I’m the one that passed it down to you. It comes with the Heart Factor,” said his mother, and Sean only nodded his head, “They first came when you awakened it, did they not?”
Sean nodded again.
“Don’t worry, Jeremy and Jack will teach you to embrace it,” she said, “Oh, and don’t listen to Charlie. She’ll just tell you to ignore it and trust me, you can’t. I’d know. I tried to learn from her back when I started.”
After a slight pause, she added, “That was a bad idea.”
Then she snorted.
“You look funny, all serious and grown-up,” said his mother cheerfully, “I don’t blame you, though. I haven’t lost anyone important to the monsters but from Jack’s reactions, I could see that it was painful for him. Especially with a Heart Factor as strong as his.”
“Do you still hear voices?” asked Sean. He knew that it was passed down from mother to child thanks to the System, but whether the mother still kept theirs, he did not know.
She slowly shook her head.
“I don’t. But I sometimes miss them and I feel like killing another werebeast. Sadly, we have a deal with them so I can’t,” she said, casually referring to killing and eating their heart as if it was natural, “But don’t worry yourself with it. They won’t even attack you if they see your last name. Appraisal makes it easier to recognize others, thankfully. Even if you’re not infamous.”
Deal?
He wanted to ask about it, but he just wanted to be alone now. Away from everyone so that he could process everything and more importantly, focus on his magic.
It could help him, he thought.
Maybe, just maybe, burying himself in his studies could fill the hole in his heart. But he knew full well that he would never have the eagerness he once had again. It was gone now. He hated them, he wanted to kill them, but he needed to get stronger first.
The easiest way was to learn more Magic.
Or at least the easiest way without straining his body. He’d worked out quite a lot but compared to magic and learning it just about anytime, anywhere, it seemed tedious now. Especially with the benefit provided by Research. He’d never actually consciously moved while it was active. He’d only activated when he was standing, sitting, or laying down.
“I need some air,” said Sean and flashed her a smile. It was a hollow and empty one. He couldn’t smile wholeheartedly. Everything was either a smirk or a snort —a momentary reaction— or a fake one. They disappeared after moments unless he forced it to remain, to look alright.
She realized that it wasn’t a genuine one.
Sean saw her sad eyes look at him but he ignored that.
He didn’t want to think. He just wanted to… walk. Walk and study, possibly. Do anything to keep his mind away from that.
Even thinking of it indirectly made him frown and stop.
Sean stood before the closed door and stared at it, only realizing that he didn’t have a jacket almost too late. Sean looked down and saw well-toned six-packs —they weren’t like that before the System. They showed slightly but were definitely not as toned as they were now.
He grabbed the dark green jacket and tossed it over himself. It had nylon material inside, making him feel warm almost instantly. Not that he needed the warmth. He didn’t zip it up, leaving his belly for all to see.
Just coming home had taken a long time, but he was finally there and he was finally able to rest at ease. The book was in his hands and he’d read it after reading the Spellbook a bit.
Only after leaving the room did he realize that he didn’t have his shoes on.
He’d have to run into people now.
It was funny.
He didn’t know what answers he was looking for, but it felt like he’d gotten them already. So he wondered… what was the question he wanted an answer to?
“Are you really badass monster hunters?” he mumbled underneath his breath —that was the question he wanted to have answered.
Rather, it was a slightly different question.
“Can I be a badass monster hunter?” he then said again as he slowly walked down the stairs.
Yes…
That was the question.
He wanted a concrete answer to that, and it seemed like he’d gotten that. If his mother of all people could become one, why couldn’t he?
With Aunt Charlie’s pep talk, he believed in himself. Rather, he always did believe in himself. But now, it was a bit different. It was like the time he had to fight Helthur —it was a peculiar sort of motivation boost that seemed to say ‘Yes, it is possible. That is why you’re fighting against a titan. Because the System says you can.’
In this situation, it was his Aunt Charlie and his father, of all people, that had said that. Not the System, which knew for sure, but somehow, it made him feel even more reassured.
There were a lot of people downstairs. He counted almost twenty. Some of them he knew but some of them he didn’t. Some were strangers, some weren’t. Sean didn’t spot whoever Aunt Charlie was talking about. Then again, six or so years had passed. If they looked similar to their younger self, then the world wasn’t kind to them.
He probably looked like a zombie right now. He’d never passed out from drinking before. Slightly drunk, yes, but then he could still think sensibly, albeit with a looser mouth. There were no real expectations but the barely-real expectations he had made him think of himself as looking like some drunkard out in the streets.
For a moment, he thanked the System for taking care of his wastes. Otherwise, he assumed he’d have pissed his pants a long time ago.
It was so out-of-place that Sean smirked slightly, lazily so.
Uncle Jeremy was out there, wearing a black trench coat over a suit. He had a constant frown on his face which often contorted to a smirk whenever he started talking. Whether that was a habit or him genuinely enjoying the sound of his voice, Sean didn’t know, but he guessed it was the latter.
He peeked up the stairs and caught Sean walking down. The frown changed to a small smirk and he gave him a thumbs-up.
“Good job out there, kid,” said Uncle Jeremy, “The hangover feeling alright?”
Sean was finally downstairs and he stood right next to him. The stairs led straight to the door and Uncle Jeremy was standing there.
“Yeah,” said Sean quietly and gave him a smile as well —another fake one.
His father had told him to come down when he was ready. He was, but he didn’t want to do anything yet.
He just wanted to study, as ironic as that was. Maybe, just maybe, learning without a teacher was his thing. Or maybe school just managed to make you hate just about anything. Without it, you felt like it was the best pastime. Sean remembered back when he liked reading. Not anymore, not after taking literature for three years.
To him, Magic was like a new toy, and he wanted to play with it after not bothering to play with it for a long time. That, and it’d help him take his mind off all the voices.
His shoes were at the entrance, thrown to the side. He slipped them on without socks, one leg at a time. His balance was wobbly so he held himself up with one hand. His eyes were slightly heavy and his head still ached, but it wasn’t something some fresh air wouldn’t fix.
At least he thought so.
There were trees around and he could sit in the shade. Then he could just read the Spellbook in peace.
That sounded like the best idea.
He needed to fill the hole, with whatever he could think of and the thing he thought of was Magic, the one thing that could be with him wherever he was. The System was always with him and in extension, so was the Spellbook.
He’d get used to them, she said.
Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t.
No one followed him out and that was good. He wanted to be alone now.
Ironic, really. He wanted company, and when he got a little bit of it, he wanted to be alone. But this time, he wanted to be truly alone, away from the voices.
Sean summoned the status screen of the Heart Factor and looked at it.
Heart Factor
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. Those who have hunted monsters for generations have discovered the secrets of Metabiology and have learned that devouring the hearts of those who could passively recover their wounds at immense speeds grant them a great amount of Vitality. The Heart Factor is passed down from mother to child.
Skill Rank: C
Current Count: 4
Stat Formula: Current Count * 20
Extra Vitality: 80
It hadn’t updated with his newfound knowledge. Maybe it always remained like it first started out and he had to remember it himself. Or maybe the voices weren’t due to the Heart Factor but he didn’t know anything about that.
Now, with some time to himself, Sean could actually think.
He was safe now and he could now be alone, safely. Away from the ghosts, right near his family without a Clara to run toward. It was boring, quite frankly. He could have rushed there faster. It was his greed to grow stronger that had caused it but it’d be that very greed that would let him have his revenge.
Sean took a seat under a tree, leaning back on it. For a moment, Brandon’s face flashed in front of his eyes. He shook his head and closed them. Even closed, though, he could see it. It was his mind playing tricks on him. He could almost hear the rain and feel that his clothes were wet. They weren’t, but it felt like it.
It was peculiar to think that the Heart Factor was the only thing that made him special —truly different from others. But now, he was somewhere where everyone had it, or at least just about everyone. Aunt Charlie had killed over a hundred!
He could learn a lot from them, yet Sean turned away from everything. He instead turned to Magic.
Why was that?
Even he didn’t understand that.
It just felt so distant and so… far from him. Maybe that appealed to him. Maybe the fact that he hadn’t seen another mage that could do what he did added to that. Maybe it was his vain pride that caused him to turn to that and the book instead of his family. Or maybe, just maybe, it was his hate for his father and his all-knowing attitude that made him.
But the situation was simple —he sat under a tree, the Hunter Encyclopedia on his legs and the Elsworth Configuration Theorem, the Spellbook he’d gotten from the Calibration Stage, in front of him, integrated by the System.
Research kicked in after far too long of him ignoring it and the grayscale filter rested upon the world. With the filter came absolute silence —a silence that nothing could penetrate.
Perhaps he looked lonely and perhaps he looked sad but he didn’t care. Rather, he cared, but not now. With every inch of his entire existence, Sean started to read it. Far away from any distraction that could stop him.
Everything seemed so… close to him now. Reading about Mana and Circuits… That was his life now —his new life.
A life where death and killing were nothing new. It was a cruel life where you could lose your loved ones, yet it was a simple life in which you could kill your worries, literally. It was a grim reality in which corpses lying at the side of the road was normal but it was a noble reality where people fought against the things that went bump in the night.
He liked it this way.
Sean was almost happy that Clara had died at the hands of a vampire. He wouldn’t admit it, though. Never would, even to himself. Rather, especially to himself.
But he knew, deep inside, that he was relieved that it was monsters that killed her —tangible things. It wasn’t a car accident, a natural disaster, or an illness that had taken her.
It was a monster.
Monsters could be killed, they could be tortured, they could feel pain and they could certainly be seen and touched. He could channel his anger into himself and release it upon them. He could direct the anger at real threats instead of the injustices of the world. It wasn’t a moral dilemma. No, far from it. It was a just cause.
It wasn’t a solution, merely a distraction. But he needed that distraction. It’d keep the pain away from him for some time. And any amount of time was welcome.