Blood of The Sinner

Mason stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the curls in his hair for what felt like the hundredth time. His reflection stared back at him, a mix of nerves and excitement buzzing under his skin. He flexed his arm subtly, admiring the way his physique had shaped up over the months. Not bad. His curly blonde hair framed his face just right, and his build—he wasn't huge, but well-toned. 

Good enough for tonight, right?

The corners of his mouth tugged upward, a grin breaking through his usually indifferent expression. 

Yeah, tonight... girls would be all over me.

His confidence, though, was short-lived. His face immediately flushed as his mother, Gabrielle Heartson, peeked her head into the room without warning, her voice warm and teasing.

Gabrielle: You look amazing, sweetheart. 

Mason's cheeks burned red, caught between embarrassment and a reluctant smile. He turned quickly, waving her off with a huff.

Mason: Mom, seriously, get out!

But there was no real bite to his words, just the awkwardness of being a teenager caught between wanting his mother's approval and not wanting her to say it out loud. He smiled after she left, her support lingering in the room.

After slipping on the tuxedo jacket, Mason stomped down the stairs, his dress shoes making more noise than they should've. The black tux felt good on him, though—like he was stepping into a role. 

At the bottom of the stairs, his father, Samuel Heartson, was waiting. Samuel, a man who rarely took time off work, had actually cleared his schedule to send his son off. The sight of his father standing there, smiling, caught Mason off guard.

Samuel: You look good, son. Real good.

Mason chuckled awkwardly, shifting under the praise. Then his eyes fell on Claire, standing at the edge of the room, her usual composed expression plastered across her face. It bothered him—how she didn't react at all, not a single flicker of emotion. He stepped closer, a frown pulling at his lips.

Mason: Come on, Claire. Not even a reaction? You can't be serious.

For a moment, nothing. Then, finally, she blinked, her expression shifting just slightly, a rare sign of acknowledgement.

Claire: You've overdone it with the cologne.

Her voice was calm, unbothered, but the comment was enough to send Gabrielle and Samuel into fits of rich, genuine laughter. The maids, standing nearby, exchanged amused glances and began to laugh softly too.

Mason felt his face burn again, this time in frustration, his temper bubbling up before he could stop it. But before he could snap, the absurdity of it all hit him. He let out a sigh, and then, a smile broke free. The laughter that followed wasn't forced—it flowed naturally, filling the manor.

For a moment, everything was perfect. He could hardly remember what was so funny anymore, just the feeling of warmth and lightheartedness that surrounded him. The sounds of laughter echoed, bouncing off the walls of the home he had always known. The laughter, the comfort of home—it felt like a lifetime ago. 

So why... why am I thinking about this now?

Mason's vision blurred slightly as he came to, the ache in his limbs throbbing with each pulse of his heartbeat. He felt the cold, hard floor beneath him and pushed himself up slowly, blinking to clear his vision. 

As he became more aware, he saw Rachel seated across from him, her face calm as she sharpened her knife, the sound of metal against stone filling the small room. She barely spared him a glance, but her eyes flicked up lazily when she noticed he was struggling to sit up.

Rachel: Careful. You haven't quite recovered from our last… encounter.

Mason winced, but the spark of determination lit up in his eyes as he straightened himself, locking his gaze on Rachel. He struggled to his feet, snarling through the pain, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.

Mason: I'll won't lose to you, not again.

But Rachel's expression remained impassive. With a small smirk, she snapped her fingers.

Rachel: Idiot. Try to remember our last conversation.

Mason paused, the words sinking in like ice. Fragments of memory floated to the surface: the sound of metal clashing, stars in the night sky, Rachel's words as she cornered him in the armory, her chilling revelation about her defection.

He remembered… everything. His mind reeled as the memories washed over him, his fists clenching as he recalled her claim. 

Rachel had come to help him? She said she had defected from the organization that had abducted him. Obsidian? She'd done all this to prevent…

The end of the world? That's what she had said. But that didn't really make much sense at all to him. And besides that, this apparent plot, it was a direct result of…

His parents.

The realization hit him like a blow, and he stumbled, falling back onto the ground. His jaw tightened as he struggled to process it, biting down so hard he tasted blood. He could feel his mind spiraling, fighting against the truth that seemed to tear apart everything he thought he knew.

It was too much. 

But just as the despair threatened to consume him, he clenched his fists and took a deep breath. The chaos inside his mind stilled, replaced by a stubborn fire. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself back up, his legs shaking but steady.

Rachel raised an eyebrow, surprised at his resolve.

Rachel: After all that, I expected a little more… moping.

Mason: I don't have time to despair. I'll deal with all this… later. Right now, I have things to do.

He looked at Rachel, his eyes resolute. 

Mason: I made a promise, didn't I? I help you escape Obsidian, we both get out of here, and in return, you tell me everything.

Rachel studied him, her smirk softening into something almost approving.

Rachel: I'm glad I didn't have to listen to your whining. But pushing all that off for later? 

She crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing as she studied him.

Rachel: If you keep ignoring those doubts, those memories, they're only going to pile up until they block you off completely. And if your will isn't strong enough… The Astral isn't just an ability. It's an extension of your mind. 

Mason met her gaze, unflinching, though he didn't fully understand what she meant. 

He'd come this far, hadn't he?

Mason: Then I'll just have to make sure my will is strong enough. You don't need to worry about me, alright? Just tell me the plan.

Rachel sighed, running a hand through her hair. 

Rachel: Fine, then. Here's what we're dealing with. Since our… scuffle, things have escalated. I managed to get you to a lower level, somewhere off the surveillance grid. Unfortunately, that also means we're now on Obsidian's surveillance list. They'll be hunting both of us.

She gestured to the cramped, dimly lit room they were hiding in, lined with thick walls and a few scattered supplies. 

Mason frowned, his mind racing with questions. He couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice.

Mason: What about your position here? Wouldn't that make it easier to get around?

Rachel let out a bitter laugh.

Rachel: I'm not just a regular grunt, that's the problem—I'm a vice-captain. I answer directly to one of the squad captains, Victor Popescu. He's not someone we want to bump into. If he finds us, we're dead. Simple as that.

Mason swallowed.

Mason: Victor Popescu… What makes him so dangerous?

Rachel's expression tightened, her gaze hardening.

Rachel: Victor isn't like the worthless soldiers that lounge around this place. He's not even like me. He's a monster, through and through. If we cross paths with a guy like that we're done for.

Mason: What about Edward?

Rachel: He's not our concern. Edward's out of the facility for the time being. It's rare for Obsidian to station two captains in one place. You're lucky—you don't want to face him either, trust me.

Mason let out a sigh of relief but forced himself to stay alert.

Rachel: Our goal is to get down to the first floor, but we can't take the main route. We're on the fifth floor now, and Obsidian has already tightened security. We'll have to sneak through each level, floor by floor, using back corridors and maintenance routes. Once we reach the third floor, we'll hit the Labyrinth. It's a maze of storage rooms and tunnels where surveillance is weaker. If we make it through that, we should be able to slip past their systems undetected.

Mason struggled to keep up with the plan, the details blurring together in his mind. But he nodded, determined to see it through.

Mason: Just tell me what you need and I'll do what I can.

Rachel rolled her eyes, her smirk returning.

Rachel: Please. I don't need you for your brains. Just try to keep up. All I need is for you to act as a shield if things go south.

Mason bristled, glaring at her.

Mason: A human shield? If you're going to treat me like that, maybe I'll just take you out here.

Rachel turned her back, unfazed by his threat, but Mason caught a faint flicker of amusement as her lips curled into a faint smile.

Without another word, Rachel slipped out of the room, her footsteps quick and silent. Mason cursed under his breath, but the fire of determination burned brighter in his chest. He gritted his teeth, stumbling as he rushed to follow her, whispering to himself.

Mason: Alright… level 2.

The door swung shut behind him as he took his first step into the shadows.

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Mason: What exactly is Obsidian trying to do with my ability?

Rachel shot him an irritated look, placing a finger to her lips in a universal "shut up" gesture as they slipped around a corner. But he wasn't going to let it go so easily.

Mason: Look, I just... I need to know. They want the Astral of Death. Why? What does that even mean?

Rachel sighed, her gaze flickering as she checked for any nearby guards. When the coast seemed clear, she signaled for him to follow, reluctantly beginning to answer as they crept further down the corridor.

Rachel: Obsidian's goal isn't simple. It's... ambitious. 

Mason frowned at the way Rachel said the word, as if the word belonged to someone else, but Rachel wasn't finished.

Rachel: What they're after... is the elimination of a fundamental force of the universe.

Mason blinked, caught off-guard by the words. She paused, meeting his confused gaze.

Rachel: Think about it this way: Astrals aren't just powerful beings; they're entities tied to reality itself. Each Astral corresponds to a principle of the universe. They don't just exist—they make up existence.

The enormity of her words hit him like a wave, and he stumbled over his thoughts, trying to keep up.

Mason: Wait, so... the Astral in me... it's...?

Rachel nodded, her voice barely a whisper.

Rachel: The Astral of Death. Your Astral doesn't just command death—it is death, the principle itsel. What Obsidian wants is to make a contract with it. If they succeed…

Rachel: If they succeed they'd be able to control said principle. They'd be able to eliminate death itself.

She trailed off, a faint hint of dread in her expression. Mason's mind lagged, struggling to grasp the scale of what she was saying. He managed to keep his voice steady.

Mason: What's so bad about that? If they're eliminating death, isn't that... good?

Rachel's gaze darkened, and she looked at him with a mix of pity and frustration.

Rachel: A contract works both ways. The Astral of Death doesn't just hand over its power for free. If humanity gets a way to escape death, the Astral of Death will demand something in return. 

He stared at her, barely able to whisper.

Mason: What... what does it want?

Rachel's voice turned sharp, her words quick as if she wanted to get them over with.

Rachel: If the contract goes through, the Astral of Death will bypass humanity's free will entirely. It'll be able to experience the world by seizing control of any human at any time. Think about it—any moment, any sensation, any experience it craves, it can have it, without restriction. And for the rest of time, humanity would be its slaves.

A life without free will, bound to the whim of a creature beyond comprehension... it was horrifying. He clenched his fists, trying to banish the thought, but it stuck, haunting him.

In the silence of his mind, he directed his frustration to the Astral of Death.

What's the point of enslaving humanity? What could you possibly want with that?

To his surprise, the Astral's voice responded, distant and disinterested.

Astral of Death: I've already told you. The part of me bound to you has no memory of making any contract with Obsidian.

Mason felt a pang of unease. He didn't fully understand the Astral, but there was a lethargic honesty to its words.

Astral of Death: Most likely, the part of me that wishes to form this contract seeks to cure its endless boredom. Astrals exist in a realm separate from yours. Unless bound to a human, we cannot interact with the world. A contract like this would allow me— or, rather, another part of me—to experience the world through countless lives. To an Astral, that kind of freedom is... enticing.

The casual tone sent a chill down Mason's spine. It seemed almost apathetic, like it didn't care if it enslaved an entire species for eternity as long as it cured its boredom. Mason clenched his fists, muttering internally.

Don't get any twisted ideas.

The Astral merely sighed.

Astral of Death: We have our own contract, remember? 

The threat lingered unspoken, and Mason shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. For now, the Astral was contained. He'd keep it that way.

Rachel glanced back, her sharp gaze catching his distracted expression, but she didn't comment. Instead, she paused at the corner, listening intently before signaling for him to continue.

Mason hesitated, then ventured another question, his voice barely audible.

Mason: Why'd you join Obsidian in the first place then? I mean, knowing all this—knowing what they plan to do... why?

Rachel's face clouded over, her expression hardening into a distant coldness. She didn't look at him, her tone dropping to a harsh whisper.

Rachel: You should know better than anyone by now, fate isn't a kind thing.

Mason opened his mouth, wanting to ask more, to understand, but the sharpness in her eyes silenced him. Her voice dropped to an icy murmur.

Rachel: One more word out of you, and I swear I'll leave you here to fend for yourself. Now shut up, or you'll get us both killed.

Swallowing his questions, he nodded and fell in line behind her, the quiet settling over them.

As they continued forward in silence, Rachel suddenly stopped, raising a hand to halt Mason. Her gaze narrowed as she scanned the hallway ahead, assessing something he couldn't see. Mason, frustrated by the lack of explanation, leaned in, trying to get a glimpse of what she was looking at.

Rachel: Up ahead is a passageway that leads to the staircase for the fourth floor. But there are guards. Several, actually. It's clear they don't want us gaining any ground.

Mason: So what's the plan?

Rachel looked at him with a weary expression, her tone even but steely.

Rachel: I can get us through without detection, but you'll need to close your eyes and shut your ears while I do it.

Mason raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

Mason: Close my eyes and shut my ears? You can't be serious. That's absurd.

Rachel let out a long, dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes slightly.

Rachel: Then I'll poison you again. Make you sleep right through it.

Mason instinctively jumped back, raising his fists defensively.

Mason: Absolutely not! That's... that's not even remotely an option!

Rachel smirked, almost amused, shaking her head.

Rachel: Fine, fine. I expected this. You're far too stubborn for your own good, you know that? Just... be still and don't make a sound.

Mason felt a sharp retort forming on his lips, but before he could say anything, everything shifted. 

He was back in the manor, no he was in a car, but going where. He had school right? No that wasn't true, it was the summer wasn't it? If that was the case were parents taking him to Summer school? But as the car approached his old High School he smiled as he remembered finally. Staring at the large banner strum across the school building he laughed, turning to his driver to chew him out.

He almost forgot, he was gonna be late for Homecoming.

He blinked, and suddenly he was standing in a completely different room—no, a completely different floor. He could feel it instantly. He had somehow reached the fourth floor without taking a single step. Stunned, he looked around, trying to process what had just happened.

In front of him stood Rachel, looking mostly the same except for the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. She was breathing heavily, hands on her knees as she caught her breath.

Mason opened his mouth to demand answers, confusion giving way to anger.

Mason: What... how... did you just—?

Rachel held up a hand, her other hand still gripping her knee as she took a deep breath.

Rachel: No time for questions. Whatever you're thinking, save it. We need to move. 

But this time, Mason didn't listen. He grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to stop. She glared at him, irritation flashing in her eyes, but he held his ground.

Mason: No. Enough. I need answers. What the hell did you just do?

Rachel sighed, pushing him back with surprising force, her expression somewhere between frustration and exhaustion.

Rachel: I don't have time for your doubts. I don't need you to understand, I need you to be a good boy and listen to instructions.

Mason's patience snapped. He felt his fists clench, his body tense with anger.

Mason: I'm done with the orders. If you won't tell me what's going on, I'll make you. 

But before he could act on his threat, Rachel's eyes widened, a look of genuine fear flashing across her face—a rare sight, enough to make Mason's anger pause. She shouted, her voice sharper than he'd ever heard it.

Rachel: Move! Now!

Instinct took over. In an instant, his black flames ignited, propelling him backward with unnatural speed. And just in time. A pair of gleaming steel hands burst from the wall, narrowly missing him as he darted out of their reach. His heart pounded, confusion and alarm flooding him as he realized that the wall itself had just tried to grab him. He looked back to Rachel, who was staring at the wall with something close to horror.

Mason: What... what the hell was that?

Rachel's breath hitched, her face pale.

Rachel: It's... him. He's here.

Mason's mind reeled, trying to piece together her cryptic reaction, but before he could ask who she meant, the walls slowly returned to their normal state. The hands retracted, the threat seemingly vanishing into thin air. And then, from the shadowed corner of the hallway, a figure emerged.

He stepped forward with the casual, relaxed air of someone who owned the very ground he walked on. Everything about him was pristine, from his perfectly tailored, luxurious coat to the designer beret perched artfully on his head. His face was well-groomed, and he wore an expression that exuded a disturbing sort of calm, as if he were strolling through a garden rather than confronting intruders.

His eyes, a striking and unnatural shade of purple, gleamed with an unsettling sharpness. He regarded Mason and Rachel with a gaze that felt more analytical than hostile, as if he were merely observing curiosities in a controlled environment. His hands were casually tucked into his coat pockets, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he surveyed them both.

Rachel took an involuntary step back, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rachel: Victor... Popescu.

The name hung in the air, cold and heavy. Mason's pulse quickened as he took in the calm, impeccably dressed figure before them. This man, whoever he was, exuded an aura of authority and control that sent a chill down his spine.

Victor's gaze flicked between the two of them, his expression one of mild amusement.

Victor: Ah, Rachel... and you? The chosen one, Mason Heartson! Well, isn't that just delightful. Truly, it's quite an honor for me. But, you know, sneaking through floors that don't exactly have your names on them…, I mean, really, it's just not the politest of behaviors, wouldn't you agree? I always say, a place for everyone, and everyone in their place. And you, Rachel, of all people—my favorite, my trusted vice-captain! Did you think I wouldn't notice? Silly, silly.

Victor's smirk widened, his eyes flashing with something that bordered on delight.

Mason swallowed hard, struggling to keep his composure as Victor stepped closer.

The cold amusement in his sharp, purple eyes made Mason's skin crawl, but he forced himself to hold his ground, fists clenched, his heart pounding. Victor's gaze swept over them both, settling first on Mason, a hint of disdain tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Victor: You know, all this effort you put into dodging me—it's honestly inconsiderate. It would be so much simpler, for both of us really, if you'd just stayed where you were. 

Victor's gaze drifted lazily to Rachel, his smile twisting into something almost pitying, as if he were chiding a child for attempting something far beyond their reach.

Victor: And you. Defecting, really? And to think, you'd do it so haphazardly. Did you even consider that you'd end up here, with me? Surely you must have thought this through—or was this just a bit of… misplaced optimism? Did you believe—truly believe—that you were somehow owed a bit of... leniency? That line of thinking…

Mason bristled, stepping forward, his fists still ablaze with the black flames of the Astral of Death. He wanted to throw Victor's arrogance back in his face, to break that smirk. 

Mason: Who… who do you think you are? 

Victor's expression barely flickered, but a glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes. He continued his speech, his tone dripping with a self-assured superiority.

Victor: So defiant, so... energetic. It's almost as if you believe that with enough spirit, the world will bend to your will. Both of you…

Rachel's face twisted with fury and fear, her voice sharp and desperate as she shouted at Mason.

Rachel: Run! Now! He'll kill you!

But Mason was done with running.

I'll teach you to look down on me.

The black flames around his feet intensified, propelling him at Victor, his fist burning with death's energy. But Victor didn't even flinch. He merely smirked as the walls around them shifted, seeming to come alive.

Steel hands erupted from the walls, reaching to trap Mason, to crush him. He kicked at them, sending bursts of flame against the steel, but they absorbed the impact, pressing him back. 

More hands appeared, surrounding him, while the floor itself seemed to bend and close around his legs, swallowing him whole. Desperation clawed at him as he struggled, realizing he was hopelessly outmatched.

Before the walls could tighten their grip, Rachel hurled herself between Mason and the steel hands, her body moving with a speed and grace that belied her injuries. She grabbed Mason and threw him back, saving him from the steel's grasp, but in doing so, she left herself vulnerable. The hands retaliated, slamming her to the ground with brutal force, pinning her in place.

Mason: Rachel!

He tried to lunge forward, but Victor merely watched with that same maddening smirk, raising a hand to control the writhing walls and forcing Mason back. Confusion twisted through Mason's mind. 

How was he doing this? How could he control everything around them?

Fueled by rage and desperation, Mason launched himself at the steel hands once more. But it still wasn't enough. The steel resisted, unyielding, and more hands began to close in, threatening to pin him down.

Despair clawed at Mason's heart, a weight pressing down on him as he struggled to keep up his flames. But then, he remembered something—the words of the Astral of Death, the entity that powered his flames.

I'm just the conduit, the real power comes from the Astral, but if I push… if I reach deeper and add some of my own energy…

He closed his eyes, focusing on the well of energy within him, pulling every last reserve of strength into the flames. He could feel his own life force seeping into the flames, pushing them to a level he'd never dared before.

Mason: Overdrive!

His shout echoed through the room as the flames erupted, burning hotter and fiercer than ever before, consuming the steel hands with a relentless, scorching power. The heat was unbearable, even for Mason, and he felt his body scream with the effort, teetering on the edge of collapse. But he pushed through, launching himself once more at the hands that held Rachel.

The flames shattered the steel, melting through it as Mason broke through, freeing her from the iron grip. He landed beside her, breathing heavily, the pain nearly overwhelming, but his gaze was locked onto Victor, his face twisted in determination.

Mason: I'm not forgiving you for this. 

But before he could act, Rachel grabbed his pant leg, her face pale and bloodied, a desperate plea in her eyes.

Rachel:... Please. Run. You can't win this. 

Mason looked at her, his anger wavering for just a moment as he took in her pleading expression. But then he turned back to Victor, scowling. He'd already made up his mind. 

I'm not leaving until this guy's dead.

Victor slowly took his hands out of his coat pocket. His amused smile faltered, his expression darkening as he looked at Mason with a sudden, chilling disgust. He clasped his hands together, the mockery in his voice sharpening into something cold and unforgiving.

Victor: Ignoring the words of the woman closest to you, all so you can keep that pretty, shiny image of yourself, this savior you've convinced yourself you are. What is it? Does the thought of being the brave knight, standing tall and untouchable, fill you with a little thrill?

He scoffed, the scorn in his eyes intensifying as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

Victor: You're nothing but a pig huh. Greed like yours?. You'd think it'd befit someone worth their weight in the world. But you— you're not worthy of the greed you carry. Not even close.

Victor's gaze bore into Mason, disdain woven into every word as he continued his tirade, his voice dripping with venomous amusement.

Victor: People like you, who overreach with empty hands, thinking they deserve… what? Respect? Admiration? What exactly do you think you've earned? That kind of ambition is reserved for people who stand above, who look down with justification.

He took a step forward, clasping his hands together. 

Victor: What a pathetic ambition…

Rachel's eyes went wide with horror as Victor's hands came together, purple energy radiating from his gaze. She screamed, her voice raw and desperate.

Rachel: Don't let him put his palms together! Move!

But it was too late. Victor's hands came together, and a pulse of energy rippled through the room, pushing Mason back. The force was immense, pressing him down with an intensity that nearly stole his breath. Victor pointed two fingers at Mason, as if they were guns.

Victor: Astral Awakening... Immediate Territory.

In an instant, agony exploded through Mason's chest, a searing, raw pain that tore through him without warning. His entire body convulsed, as though struck by an invisible force, and his mind lagged behind, struggling to make sense of the horror unfolding before him.

Slowly, his gaze traveled downwards, dread pooling in his stomach as he took in the sight—a gaping hole, brutally clean and disturbingly precise, piercing straight through the right side of his chest. It was as though someone had carved a tunnel through his flesh and bone, hollowing him out with clinical efficiency.

Blood poured from the wound, warm and thick, soaking his shirt in deep crimson. He staggered back, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he choked on the hot, metallic taste filling his mouth. The blood seeped out faster than he could comprehend, spilling over his fingers as he clutched at his chest, desperately trying to hold himself together, as if his hands alone could stop the unstoppable.

His knees buckled, and he felt himself swaying, the strength draining from his limbs with each pulsing heartbeat. The edges of his vision blurred, darkening, closing in as his brain scrambled to keep pace with the shock, the agony, the realization that his own body was betraying him, crumbling under the force of the wound. He could feel his breaths becoming shallower, ragged gasps that barely drew any air into his lungs, as if the very ability to breathe was slipping through his fingers.

Victor watched, satisfied, as Mason fought to remain standing, his body trembling from the shock and pain. Then, casually, he summoned more hands, directing them toward Mason with a flick of his wrist. The steel fingers reached for him, closing in, ready to crush him completely.

But before they could reach him, Rachel surged forward again, throwing herself between Mason and the impending steel, shielding him with her own battered body. The hands came crashing down on them both, and with the weight of the steel, the floor beneath them gave way, and they plummeted to the level below.

As they fell, Victor watched from above, a look of mild amusement lingering on his face.