The Priests Warning

{TW: Violence}

The church stood solemnly atop the hill, its white stone walls glowing faintly under the evening sky. A long flight of uneven stone steps stretched from the base to the entrance, worn down by decades of footsteps. Even from a distance, I could hear the murmuring of voices inside.

If I showed up now, I'd definitely be noticed.

What should I even ask first? Why did you betray me? Was I really that bad of a boss? Will my mom or dad be there? Would they even mourn me? What the fuck should I even do?

I clenched my fists, lost in my thoughts, until—

"My child, why are you here?"

I snapped my head up and nearly jumped out of my skin.

An old priest stood in front of me.

His face was wrinkled, his expression calm but unreadable. I recognized him—Father Bob or Paul or something. I remembered being scared shitless of him as a kid, his cold eyes seeming to pierce right through me.

"Excuse me, Father?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay even.

"Why are you here?" His voice was firm. "This place only caters to the dead."

My eye twitched. "Father, respectfully, do you know who the fuck I am?" I snapped. "Shouldn't you be telling me what the fuck is going on if you do know something?"

"I also do not know."

Bullshit.

I stepped around him, but he swiftly blocked my path.

"If you try to enter, you will die," he warned. "Isn't it a funeral for a gang boss? If a young man like you walks in and makes a fuss, you will die."

I bit my lip, frustration bubbling up in my chest.

"Get the fuck out of my way," I growled. "I just need a peek."

"Do you think you can take all of them from the underworld in the state you're in now?" His gaze was sharp. "You've sworn to try to live with human decency, haven't you?"

I gritted my teeth. "Still—"

"Isn't this the opportunity you begged for in your dying breath?"

I inhaled sharply.

That's right.

I had prayed—prayed hard.

"Please, God, if i could just have one more chance, I'd make the best out of it. I might still do bad things, but I'd live differently than I lived this terrible life! I won't make the same mistakes twice! I'll be the best version of myself this world has ever seen!"

The priest's gaze didn't waver as he repeated my dying thoughts to my face.

"You were granted a second chance," he said simply. "So don't lead a life that goes wrong in a borrowed body."

I clenched my fists. "All I want to do is see who's inside. I've got emotional ties to this, and it needs to be solved now!"

"My child, I know your mind," the priest said, voice softer now, "but it's not just your life you'd be ruining. No matter how hard you try to wash away blood, the stains will remain. Think carefully."

I scowled. "Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"It's your choice." He patted my head, and for some reason, that pissed me off even more. "Go up and die. Or go down and live."

Then, just like that, he turned and walked away.

I stood there, fists trembling.

Fuck!

That wasn't fair!

I turned on my heel and stormed back down the hill, feeling the sting of defeat settle in my chest.

I couldn't go inside.

Because if I did—if I saw my parents—I knew I wouldn't be able to keep my ego in check. I'd demand answers. I'd need to know. And if I saw Eli?

...I'd beat the shit out of him.

But what the hell could I even do right now? I was only seventeen. I wasn't powerful. I wasn't feared. I had no money, no gang, nothing.

This was stupid.

***

I slid into Damien's car and slammed the door shut.

"You alright?" he asked, raising a brow. "You look upset."

"I'm pissed," I muttered.

Damien frowned. "Why? All you did was walk halfway up, then suddenly come back down. What happened?"

"The damn priest!"

Damien blinked. "What priest?"

I turned to him, confused. "What?!"

"It was just you on the steps," he said.

...What?

I frowned.

I felt the priest pat my head. I talked to him. I could still hear his words in my mind.

Or... could that have been the system itself?

I sighed heavily. Come on, God. There has to be a less complicated way to communicate.

At least I got the warning, though.

"...Never mind," I muttered. "I think I'm just incredibly tired."

Damien started the engine. "I'll drive you home then."

"Sounds good to me."

As we pulled away, Damien glanced at me. "Was this other Jack Spencer someone you knew?"

I exhaled. "No."

It was me, idiot.

I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes.

"I was looking for someone," I admitted. "But then... I kinda got hit by reality a bit. What do you know about that guy?"

"I just heard about him on the news here and there," he said. "His gang caused trouble in the city or something. I remember he corrupted a few politicians, too. Sounded like a pretty cool guy—and not to sound callous or anything, but wasn't this kind of ending expected?"

I opened my eyes, staring at him. "Huh?"

Damien shrugged.

"What I mean is, my uncle always told me that if you go around in the streets, the only endings for you are prison or a graveyard," he said. "That Jack Spencer guy? He died young, not old."

I stared out the window.

His words hit hard.

He made it sound like the old me dying was actually a loss to society. But if anything, wasn't it good that I was gone? Wasn't it better that I wasn't a danger to anyone anymore?

"...He was a menace to society," I muttered.

Damien shook his head. "Still a young life lost."

His simple mindset was kind of refreshing.

I sighed, rubbing my temples.

"When I get home," I muttered, "I'm gonna start working out."

Damien smirked. "Yeah?"

I closed my eyes.

I'll just live.

For now.

***

The next day at school was mercifully quiet. No new missions, no unnecessary drama—just the blissful realization that people were finally starting to stay the hell out of my way.

Except for one.

Jared had taken to trailing after Damien and me between classes, much to Damien's obvious annoyance. I could tell he wanted to say something about it, he didn't dare speak up.

Through our conversations, I learned that Jared came from a regular blue-collar family and lived downtown—coincidentally, not far from where I used to live with my parents. He was his family's pride and joy, the first to make it this far in school.

And yet—

[New Mission: Finish What They Started

Reward: The bullies surrender

Penalty: Jared's suicide]

Is this kid still in danger? I thought justice had already been served!

Before I could dwell on it, the classroom door practically exploded open.

"Hey! Where's Jack Spencer?!"

The force of the slam startled the half-asleep biology teacher awake, but the real attention was on the idiot making a scene.

Who the fuck is yelling this early in the morning?

I stood up immediately, turning to face the newcomer. "Who the fuck's asking?"

"It's me! Let's fight!"

I blinked at the random loudmouth.

The guy was stocky, broad-shouldered, and had a jaw so thick it looked like it could break bricks. I knew I'd never seen him before—definitely not anyone from the streets. Someone like him? With a hard face like that? I'd remember.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"Liam! You fucked up my friends for a bullshit reason yesterday!" he snapped.

I looked over and, sure enough, spotted the two dumbasses I'd beaten up yesterday. Their bruises had gotten uglier overnight.

This guy is their friend?

"That's right! Spencer, you asshole!" One of them yelled. "You like fighting so let's go now!"

I sighed, shaking my head.

"Wasn't the reason for me beating your asses good enough?" I asked. "What are you so upset about that you actually dragged in a third party?"

Liam clenched his fists, his muscles tensing.

Whatever.

I exhaled, already bored. There was no need to beat up a bunch of kids for no reason. "I'll be merciful and let you off with a warning this time. Stop bullshitting so early in the morning and go back to your classroom for self-study."

No need to engage with some wannabe.

Before I could even finish my thought, Liam lunged forward.

BAM!

His fist slammed into my forehead.

Shit!

I had instinctively lowered my head a bit, making the impact land harder than expected. The punch was solid—his form was perfect. A real boxer's punch.

Pain bloomed across my forehead, but overall? Light damage.

He's still just a beginner.

"That's right, asshole!" one of the bruised idiots taunted. "Liam's a real professional boxer! You've met your match today!"

I chuckled, shaking off the hit. "A professional boxer, huh?"

It was absurd, really.

"All I wanted was some fucking peace," I muttered. "But you guys just won't leave me be!"

I stretched my neck, cracking my knuckles.

"Alright then, you fat-jaw fucker. You throw a good punch for a boxer," I admitted, smirking. "So come at me. I'll show you what a real fighter's punch feels like!"

Liam growled and lunged forward again, throwing a flurry of punches.

I dodged the first one.

Then the second.

A third came, and I tilted just out of its reach.

The kid was full of energy, but I could already see it—his opening. At the end of this sequence, he'd leave himself wide open.

Three more punches...

I let him swing.

Two more...

He threw a left hook—I faked right.

One more...

I faked a left—then kicked his knee as hard as I could.

The impact was brutal. A cheap shot.

Exactly as intended.

"You cowardly bitch," Liam hissed, stumbling back. His legs wobbled, his balance shattered.

I laughed. "What, you think this is a boxing ring, idiot?"

Liam's face went red. with a furious snarl, he lunged forward again.