My grip tightens around Sprocket’s neck, fingers pressing into the wiry fur beneath his jaw. He thrashes, claws scrabbling against my arm, little scratches burning against my skin. His breath comes in short, panicked gasps—sharp, desperate sounds that dig into my chest like tiny daggers.
I need to stop.
But Arthur’s voice slithers through my mind, smooth as oil, thick as rot. It coils around my thoughts, choking reason, feeding the gnawing thing inside me.
No. I won’t. I can’t. I am some puppet for a dead king. I am him.
My teeth grind so hard my skull rattles. A searing heat flares in my chest, a raw, unforgiving fire licking up my ribs, gnawing at my bones. It spreads, creeping through me like molten iron poured into fragile glass—filling the cracks, reshaping, remaking.
And beneath it, I feel something else.
The darkness.
It slinks closer, seeping in at the edges of my mind, curling, twisting, unfurling like ink in water. It stains. It devours. It wants me to let go. Wants me to be something else.
Something worse.
And gods help me—I don’t know if I can stop it.
Memories flicker like dying candle flames—my sister’s children, their faces blurred, their laughter no more than distant echoes swallowed by the void. I reach for them, fingers grasping at smoke, but the harder I hold on, the faster they unravel. Their names hover just out of reach, taunting me, slipping away into nothing.
A hollow ache spreads through my chest. Not just loss. Erasure.
No. I won’t. I I shove back, pushing against the crushing tide of Arthur’s will, the suffocating weight pressing down on me like iron chains. My body trembles, muscles locking up in a battle I barely understand. My mind teeters at the edge of something vast and terrible, a drop-off into oblivion.
Then I see him.
Sprocket’s eyes lock onto mine—wide, terrified, pleading. His chest heaves, whiskers quivering, fur bristling with the raw, primal fear of a creature that knows it’s moments from death.
The fog in my head wavers. A flicker of guilt slices through me, quick and merciless.
What the hell am I doing?
I reach out, calling for Shaq’rai, clinging to the hope of her presence—her strength. I cast my mind outward, grasping for that familiar warmth, that steady anchor to pull me back from the edge.
Nothing.
No answer. No warmth. No steady pull of her soul tethered to mine.
Just silence.
Arthur’s severing the bond. Cutting me off. Locking me inside my own head.
Am I alone?
A blinding flash of light slices through the darkness, searing away the choking fog of Arthur’s influence. A translucent notification materializes before me—a beacon cutting through the suffocating weight pressing down on my mind. The shadows around me recoil, their grip loosening, if only for a moment.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
Congratulations! Your Companions have defeated a Champion-level Monster: Yetu the Head Hunter.
The words pulse with a golden glow, pressing into my thoughts with the system’s usual, matter-of-fact authority. More notifications spill across my vision, scrolling too fast to process all at once.
[SYSTEM UPDATE]
Companions Level Up!
? Chonk (Level 10) – Evolution Pending.
? Rocky (Level 10) – Evolution Pending.
? Nibbler (Level 10) – Evolution Pending.
? Scraps (Level 10) – Evolution Pending.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
? Mr. Spuds (Level 5) – New Class Unlocked: Summoner.
My breath catches.
They’ve hit the threshold. My monsters are on the verge of transformation—ascending into something stronger, something greater. But I’m not there. I’m trapped in this void, shackled in Arthur’s grip.
Then the next notification hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest.
[URGENT SYSTEM UPDATE]
Congratulations! Your daughter, Ember, has successfully avenged your death by slaying one of the two responsible.
A cold shiver snakes down my spine. Ember… She did it. My little Ember.
Pride surges, raw and fierce, clashing against a rising tide of dread.
[WARNING]
Caution: One suspect remains at large.
My fists clench. The job isn’t done. Whoever the second killer is, they’re still out there. Waiting. Hunting.
[BOND UPDATE]
Your Bond Level with Ember has increased to Level 5.
A sudden warmth pulses through me—strong, steady. A heartbeat echoing in the void. The system isn’t just numbers and notifications. It’s a tether. A lifeline.
Arthur presses in again, his will slithering around me like a noose tightening—but I refuse to let go.
My monsters are evolving.
My daughter is fighting.
And I am
I will not be erased.
"Ember…?"
Arthur’s voice slithers through my mind, smug and needling.
I grit my teeth, his presence pressing down like iron chains.
"Amusing… yet, she is also responsible for your death, is she not?"
The words stab deep, but I don’t flinch.
"Proof? Of what, exactly?"
That she, like me… is nothing more than a pawn in someone else’s game.
Arthur chuckles, low and hollow. "How amusing."
Did she screw up? Yeah. But so did I. So do we all. Am I going to hold it against her? Hell no.
Because I am her father. And she is my daughter.
My voice rises, steady, unyielding.
Arthur falters. "How…?"
That’s right. I know all about you, Arthur.
His presence flares, seething with rage. "Do you even know what she became? She was no longer human! She was evil incarnate, a vampire, the bane of all mortal existence!"
Fury ignites in my chest, white-hot and all-consuming, searing through the shadows pressing against my mind.
My breath burns in my throat.
Arthur’s presence thrashes against mine, a storm of fury and denial.
"Monster… she was your daughter, Arthur. Your own flesh and blood. Yet when she needed you the most, you pushed her away!"
"NO!"
Yes.
You are weak.
"Stop it!"
You are a coward.
"Enough!"
A poor excuse of a man.
"Be quiet!"
An even worse excuse of a father.
"I said—"
The words strike like a hammer, cracking the cold weight of Arthur’s influence. The shadows binding me splinter, crumbling like rotted wood.
My companions fought.
They leveled up.
They won.
They’re still out there, fighting for me.
I am not alone.
are not alone.
I force the words out, raw and strained. "Spro…cket. Help… me."
My fingers loosen. Sprocket drops to the ground, gasping, his frame trembling. His paws clutch at his throat, his breaths coming in short, ragged gulps.
"Grant!"
"Gift of the Matriarch: Aurora Cleansing!"
A wave of light explodes outward, golden and warm, shoving back the darkness curling around me. Arthur’s voice hisses in my mind, sharp with frustration, a venomous snarl curling through my thoughts.
"I am not weak!"
No.
My spine straightens. My voice steadies. My chest expands as the weight lifts.
Arthur’s presence recoils as if struck. The last of his influence peels away like dying embers in the wind.
I breathe deep, my heart pounding, blood surging hot and alive.
I am not Arthur.
I am Grant Grayson of fucking Calloway.
And I will not be broken.