Chapter : Echoes of the Unknown

San's world was heavy with the sterile scent of antiseptic and the distant hum of machinery. His head throbbed, and a sharp ache twisted through his ribs every time he inhaled. The hospital room was dim, pale moonlight casting long shadows across the floor.

Across from him, Leo lay unconscious, his face battered and swollen, his body a mess of bandages and IV lines. The sight was enough to reignite the smoldering rage in San's chest. They had been ambushed hunted like animals. And for what? He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the memory of blood-soaked streets and the chilling calm of his attacker's voice.

San groaned and leaned back, feeling the sting of his injuries. That's when it appeared.

[SYSTEM ACTIVATION: PENALIZED FOR USING HIGHER OUTPUT]

A translucent screen flickered into existence before him. He stared at it, frozen in disbelief. The words glowed faintly, their presence an undeniable proof of something he didn't want to accept. Below the penalty notice, a series of stats and terms began to scroll:

CLASS: ARCHON

STATUS: DEPLETED

ABILITIES LOCKED TEMPORARILY

"Archon?" San whispered. The word felt foreign, alien. He had heard of the common Awakener types: Necromancers who could summon the dead; Pyromancers who bent flames to their will; Cryomancers with their freezing wrath; Elementalists who commanded the forces of nature; and the terrifying powerhouses of the Werebeasts. But Archon? He'd never heard of such a designation.

The screen shifted as if responding to his thoughts.

ARCHON: CLASSIFIED TYPE. SYSTEM-BOUND JUSTICAR. DUTIES: UPHOLD EQUITY, ADMINISTER SANCTION.

The system seemed to resonate with his very thoughts. A low hum filled his ears as fragments of text flashed before him, too fast to read. His head spun. This wasn't just power it was a weight, a burden, a curse.

"San…" Leo's voice broke the silence, weak but steady. San turned to see his friend struggling to sit up, wincing with every movement. His left eye was nearly swollen shut, but his smile was intact. "You look like hell."

"Yeah, well," San rasped, trying to force a chuckle, "you look worse."

They shared a fleeting moment of levity before the grim reality settled back in. Leo leaned against the headboard, his expression darkening. "Black Syndicate. That's who attacked us."

San's jaw tightened. The Black Syndicate was notorious an underground network tied to everything from smuggling to illegal Awakener experiments. Ruthless and powerful, their reach extended beyond cities and borders. "Why would they come after us?" he asked, though part of him already knew the answer.

"The werebeast case," Leo muttered, his voice low. "That bastard we're prosecuting? Drakar Salin? He's got ties to them. Deep ones. My guess? They don't want the trial to go forward."

San felt a chill creep up his spine. It all made sense now the Syndicate wasn't just defending Drakar; they were protecting their empire. The werebeast was likely one of their pawns, and San's pursuit of justice had put a target on his back.

Leo met San's gaze, his eyes somber. "This wasn't random, San. They wanted us dead. And they almost succeeded."

San looked away, the guilt gnawing at him. Leo had nearly died because of him. The thought was unbearable.

The screen reappeared, as if mocking his self-pity.

SYSTEM UPDATE: ARCHON TYPE CONFIRMED. USER RESISTANCE TO AWAKENING DETECTED.

San's breath hitched. He didn't want this. He hadn't asked for it. Becoming an Awakener was everything he despised a power unchecked, a force that corrupted. He was supposed to rectify them, to hold them accountable. And now? Now he was one of them.

"No," he said aloud, his voice firm but trembling. "I'm not... I can't be."

"What are you mumbling about?" Leo asked, raising an eyebrow.

San hesitated, his mind racing. Should he tell Leo about the system? About the power that now coursed through him, unwanted and invasive? He shook his head. "It's nothing."

Leo frowned but didn't press further. Instead, he leaned back and sighed. "We need to figure out our next move. If the Syndicate's involved, this case is bigger than we thought. And you…" He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly. "There's something different about you, San. I don't know what it is, but it's there."

San didn't respond. He couldn't. The system was still there, flickering in his peripheral vision, an unwelcome reminder of what he had become.

TASK GENERATED: EMBRACE YOUR ROLE OR FACE SYSTEM DEGRADATION.

The words cut deep, and San's fists clenched. He didn't want this power. He didn't want to be an Awakener. But the world didn't seem to care about what he wanted. The system loomed over him like a silent judge, waiting for his verdict.

As the night stretched on, San stared out the window, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger, fear, and confusion. The city lights flickered in the distance, a reminder of the chaos that awaited them. He had always fought for justice, for order. But now, with this power inside him, he wasn't sure if he could still claim the moral high ground.

He was no longer just a lawyer. He was something more something darker.

And that terrified him.

Deep beneath the streets of Meridian, an abandoned subway tunnel had become the beating heart of the Blackscale Syndicate. The chamber was a cold monument to secrecy walls etched with cryptic symbols, faint whispers of unseen machinery filling the silence. In the center of the room stood the obsidian table where the Triumvirate gathered. Their figures were shrouded in shadow, their voices distorted to conceal identity.

The Beastmaster leaned forward, his silhouette imposing, his voice a low, guttural growl. "Vasquez survived. An Archon… After all these years, one finally emerges."

The Broker chuckled softly, the sound cold and humorless. "He's a problem we should have crushed before it started. His parents were the first mistake. This...lawyer is the second."

"The failure lies with the Scaled Hands," The Arbiter interrupted, their calm tone carrying an undercurrent of menace. "Two enforcers sent to dispatch a single man. Not only did they fail, but one is dead, and the other crawls back here with excuses."

On cue, the enforcer in question stumbled into the room. He bore the telltale mark of the Scaled Hands—a black-scaled tattoo on his forearm. His face was pale, slick with sweat, and his arm hung limp in its sling. Behind him, another Scaled Hand walked in a slightly older, his black-scaled tattoo marred by burns. Both avoided meeting the Triumvirate's gaze.

The Arbiter's eyes glinted from the shadows as they gestured for them to step forward. "Explain your failure."

The injured enforcer swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "He...he's not human anymore. He fought with precision, like he knew our moves before we made them. And his power...it wasn't something I've ever seen. He was like..."

"Like what?" The Arbiter's voice was cold as steel, slicing through the air.

"Like the stories," the enforcer stammered. "Like the Archon of the old myths."

The room fell into a suffocating silence. The other enforcer, the older one, shifted uncomfortably. He opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by The Beastmaster's growl.

"Spare us your myths," The Beastmaster snarled, rising from his chair. "You failed. That's all I care about. And failure has consequences."

Before either man could react, The Beastmaster lunged. His hand shot out like a claw, grabbing the older enforcer by the throat. With an unnatural strength that betrayed his own awakened abilities, he lifted the man off the ground effortlessly.

"Please! I did what I....." The enforcer's plea was cut off as The Beastmaster's grip tightened, his claws digging into flesh.

"You did nothing," The Beastmaster hissed. With a sickening crunch, he crushed the man's windpipe. The enforcer's body convulsed violently, his tattooed arm twitching as blood sprayed onto the obsidian table.

The remaining enforcer fell to his knees, shaking uncontrollably. The Arbiter, unmoved, gestured for the body to be dragged away. Two silent figures emerged from the shadows, their faces hidden behind featureless masks, and hauled the corpse out of the chamber, leaving a dark smear of blood on the floor.

The Arbiter turned their gaze to the kneeling survivor. "Do you understand why we do this?"

The man could only nod, tears streaking down his face.

"Because failure," The Arbiter continued, their tone icy, "is contagious. If left unchecked, it spreads. And we do not allow weakness in Blackscale."

The Broker leaned back in his chair, his voice cutting through the tension. "Now that we've made our point, let's focus on Vasquez. If he's truly an Archon, we need more information. His awakening wasn't natural. Someone tampered with it."

"And if we can't control him?" The Beastmaster growled, wiping blood from his hand.

The Arbiter's lips curled into a faint smile. "Then we'll bury him. But not before we make an example of everyone who stands in our way. This is our city. Our system. And no one not an Archon, not even the law itself will change that."

The remaining enforcer was dismissed, his face pale, his hands still trembling. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the Triumvirate in silence once more.

On the wall behind them hung a relic a shattered scale encrusted with blood. Beneath it, the words The Lawkeeper's Fall were etched into the stone. It was a silent reminder of those who had dared challenge Blackscale...and failed.

Far above the city, in the sterile quiet of a hospital room, San Vasquez stirred in his bed. Unaware that, beneath the surface, shadows were already converging to snuff out his light.