LXVII

Sebastian stepped out of his sleek black limousine, his polished shoes clicking against the pavement. His bodyguards formed a protective circle around him, their presence a testament to the growing hostility he faced. Three ambushes today alone. Each attack underscored the chaos that Reynard's reckless actions had unleashed—a chaos that was now threatening to topple Sebastian’s carefully constructed empire.

Not to mention, very thoroughly ruining his day.

One of the guards returned from scouting the distant warehouse, his voice clipped. “It’s safe. He’s alone.”

Sebastian nodded, exhaling softly. He reached inward, tapping into his prophetic gifts. The vision was clear—he would not die today. Reassured, he walked confidently toward the warehouse, his bodyguards flanking him in a well-rehearsed formation.

Inside, Robert "Bob" Arkwright, President of the Hunter’s Association, waited. The years had not been kind to him for someone so young. His bald head gleamed under the harsh warehouse lights, and his left arm was conspicuously absent.

The vibrant, gaudy outfits Sebastian remembered from their past meetings were gone, replaced by a plain white tee and faded jeans. Bob looked less like a leader of one of the most powerful organizations in the world and more like a man who had seen too much.

Sebastian smirked faintly. The sight was not unexpected. Injuring Bob had been a calculated move, part of his strategy when he maneuvered two of the Seven Extremes into play. Still, this wasn’t about gloating. There were bigger stakes at hand.

“I heard you wanted to talk,” Sebastian said, his tone sharp and to the point. “So, talk.”

Bob laughed, a dry, hollow sound that echoed in the empty space. “Arrogance that knows no bounds! Is it the privilege of the all-knowing?”

Sebastian’s smirk deepened. He wasn’t foolish enough to call himself all-knowing, but he wouldn’t shy away from letting others believe it. Perception was power.

Bob leaned back against a metal table, his eyes boring into Sebastian. “Let me guess... your ultimate goal was to delay the Hunt Order, wasn’t it? If you could truly see the future, then you should have seen this coming.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch. Instead, he replied smoothly, “I like talking with smart people.”

That was a lie, of course. Sebastian much preferred dealing with the uninformed and easily manipulated. Bob’s intelligence was a liability, not an asset. But he wasn’t about to show his hand.

Bob chuckled knowingly. “You’re not denying it. You are trying to delay the Hunt Order—or stop it entirely. Makes sense. If a Hunt Order were issued on your head, even your precious prophetic abilities wouldn’t save you in the long term. Am I right?”

Sebastian’s expression remained inscrutable, but the truth of Bob’s words stung. A Hunt Order against him would unravel everything, pushing even his foresight to its breaking point.

Bob stepped closer, his voice tinged with mockery. “Since you’re so omniscient, humor me. What do you think I want? Why did I push for this meeting?”

Sebastian’s mind raced, though his reply was calm and measured. “The dissemination of aura knowledge. It’s your dream, isn’t it? You want my cooperation to mitigate the pushback you’re getting from the World Order. My connections in the Old Nobility could ease the transition. On top of that, you’re interested in the techniques my Cult has amassed over the years.”

Bob’s grin widened. “Of course I am. Techniques and Special Abilities are worlds apart. The latter is unique, tied to the individual. But techniques? Those can be learned, shared, and perfected by anyone. Even the ‘immortality’ you so generously sell to your precious clientele is just another technique, isn’t it?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s discuss details.”

The two men sat across from each other, the weight of their respective ambitions filling the space between them. Each knew the other was a dangerous player, and neither trusted the other further than they could throw him. But for now, their interests aligned.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him as he fixed Bob with a cold stare. The hum of the warehouse lights buzzed faintly in the background, a reminder of how isolated they were.

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“I want Reynard’s head,” Sebastian said flatly, his voice cutting through the stillness.

Bob snorted, shaking his head. “That’s impossible, even for me. He’s built a faction of his own. You should know—you’ve been watching him.”

Sebastian’s expression didn’t change, but the words stung. Of course, he’d been watching Reynard. That was precisely the problem. No matter how much effort he poured into surveillance or how many resources he burned, Reynard remained a blindspot—a gaping void in Sebastian’s otherwise seamless prophetic vision.

That blindspot had been the catalyst for his panic, forcing him to act rashly. Moving two of the Seven Extremes had been a desperate gamble, one that had cost him dearly. Extreme Fighter Ranas, who had been inches away from joining Sebastian’s organization, was now exiled—a loss Sebastian had been forced to rationalize as “acceptable.”

He exhaled quietly, pushing the memory aside. The past was the past, and he couldn’t afford to dwell on his mistakes.

Sebastian focused his prophetic powers, a faint ripple of aura enveloping his mind as he sought answers. His questions came sharp and fast, each one designed to cut through Bob’s defenses.

“Was Reynard an Ascended?”

Bob shook his head. “No, he’s definitely not an Ascended.”

“What’s his origin?”

“No one knows. Not me, not the Association, not anyone.”

“Where are the Brights right now?”

“They’ve gone off the grid. For real this time. Even our best trackers haven’t been able to locate them.”

“What’s the Association’s relationship to the Brights?”

Bob hesitated for a fraction of a second, then answered carefully. “Reynard has a license issued by the Association. That technically makes him an employee, but beyond that? I can’t tell you much. We’ve kept things... professional.”

Sebastian’s vision blurred momentarily as he pulled himself out of the alternate timeline he’d been exploring. The lightheadedness hit him immediately—a sharp reminder of the strain his powers took on his body. He massaged his temples, grounding himself in the present moment.

The conversation looped back in his mind to where it had started, his demand for Reynard’s head. The prophetic interrogation had yielded little. Reynard remained an enigma, and the Brights were as elusive as ever.

Sebastian clenched his fists under the table, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. This was no ordinary game. Reynard’s existence was an anomaly, a challenge to the order Sebastian had worked so meticulously to build. And if he couldn’t predict Reynard’s moves, he’d have to find another way to deal with him.

Bob’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re wasting your energy. Reynard isn’t just a man anymore—he’s becoming a symbol. Taking him down won’t be as simple as removing a piece from the board.”

Sebastian stood, smoothing his coat with deliberate precision. “Symbols can be dismantled. Factions can be broken. Everyone has a weakness, Bob. Even the King of Favors.” His fingers drummed rhythmically on the metal table as he recalled the prophetic visions that had plagued him for weeks.

Leora Bright and her son, Leon Bright. The wife and son of Reynard. Their sudden disappearance from his prophetic visions was a glaring void—a sure sign they had rejoined Reynard. That, in itself, was a troubling development.

The boy, Leon, was a growing threat. Sebastian had glimpsed the child’s potential in a distant, fiery vision—an inferno consuming everything in its path, including the foundations of his organization. Yet for now, Sebastian had postponed dealing with the Brights. Reynard, the upstart who had dismantled so much of his carefully laid plans, was the bigger problem.

Forcing the Brights to retreat and go off the grid was a minor victory, one Sebastian took solace in. He had glimpsed enough through his prophetic visions—snippets of Leora’s conversations with Atropos, the Director of Operations—to confirm their retreat was real. But the cost of driving them into hiding had been steep, and Reynard was far from finished.

Sebastian turned his gaze to Bob, who sat across from him. “What is Atropos’s connection to Leora Bright?”

Bob’s reaction was immediate—his eyebrows rose, his expression flickered with surprise, confusion, and then amusement. He chuckled, shaking his head. “It looks like you’re not all-knowing after all.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. He regretted not opening an alternate reality to glean the answer directly.

Bob leaned back, clearly savoring the moment. “It’s simple. They’re a junior and a senior. Both worked for the Hunting Dogs for a time, you know? It’s not exactly a secret.”

Sebastian processed the information, filing it away for later use. “This is my demand,” he said, his tone shifting to one of authority. “You will have my cooperation. In exchange, I want your help spreading the faith.”

Bob’s amusement faded into a frown. “I can’t do that. I’m neither a preacher nor an advocate of any faith. That’s just unfair to something we call freedom of faith.”

Sebastian’s lips curled into a thin smile. “I don’t need you to preach on my behalf. This will benefit your dream of disseminating aura knowledge. Since Reynard ripped the mask off my organization, I intend to raise a public following—a church, if you will. The government won’t like it. Hunter matters have always been too close to the heart of the Elsewhere Cult. Or should I say, the Elsewhere Church.”

Bob raised an eyebrow, his mind clearly racing to grasp the implications. “You plan to use the government and the mundanes as a shield against hunter attacks, don’t you? Smart.”

Sebastian inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the observation without confirming it outright. The hunters weren’t Bob’s subordinates. It wasn’t like Sebastion could request bob to stop the hunters from hunting him… It was plainly unrealistic… The Hunter’s Association facilitate hunters, not control them.

Bob sat in silence for a moment, weighing his options. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. That’s a deal. I’ll help you with the government-side. In return, you help me deal with the World Order. We’ll make it work.”

Sebastian extended his hand, sealing the agreement with a firm shake.

Behind his calm demeanor, his mind raced with calculations and contingencies. The Elsewhere Church was only the beginning, a stepping stone in a larger game.

And Reynard, for all his cleverness, would not see the next move coming.

~067