Pain came before anything else.
Not sharp, not sudden, but overwhelming in a way that spread through every inch of his body at once. It felt as if every bone had been shattered and forced back together without care, leaving something misaligned beneath the surface. Every breath made it worse.
Klint tried to move, but his body resisted immediately, heavy and unresponsive, like it no longer belonged to him the way it once had. Even opening his eyes felt difficult, as if the simple act required effort he didn't have.
For a moment, all he could do was exist within the pain.
Voices came next.
Distant at first, blurred and unclear, but slowly growing sharper as his awareness returned. They weren't calm voices, nor were they loud. They carried confusion, disbelief, and something else beneath that.
Fear.
Klint's eyes opened slowly, the world forming in fragments before settling into something recognizable.
The battlefield remained.
Broken streets stretched in every direction, stone cracked apart from the force of the earlier fight. Bodies lay scattered, some unmoving, others barely breathing, while hunters moved carefully through the aftermath.
But they weren't focused on the battlefield.
They were focused on him.
Arthur was the closest.
He sat only a short distance away, one arm resting over his knee, his posture steady despite the exhaustion written across his face. Blood stained parts of his clothing, but he hadn't moved far from where Klint had fallen.
The moment Klint's eyes opened, Arthur stood immediately and stepped closer.
"You're awake," he said.
Klint tried to push himself up.
Pain surged instantly through his body, forcing him to stop halfway, his muscles tightening as if resisting the motion entirely. It felt like his entire structure had been compromised, rebuilt without precision.
Arthur crouched beside him, his expression tightening slightly.
"Don't," he said. "You're barely holding together."
Klint ignored him.
Slowly, deliberately, he forced himself upright, his body shaking under the strain but not collapsing. His vision blurred briefly before stabilizing again, his breath uneven but controlled enough to continue.
When he looked at his hands, something felt wrong.
Not physically.
"You died," Arthur said quietly.
The words were simple, direct, spoken without exaggeration or hesitation. There was no need to dramatize something they had both witnessed with their own eyes.
Klint didn't react immediately.
He already knew.
"I know," Klint said.
The answer came too easily, settling into place without resistance. There was no confusion in his voice, no denial, no attempt to question it. Somewhere inside him, the truth had already been accepted.
Arthur noticed that immediately.
And it unsettled him more than anything else.
Lena stood several feet away.
She hadn't moved since Klint opened his eyes, her attention fixed entirely on him. Unlike the others, her gaze didn't carry fear or relief. It carried focus, sharp and deliberate.
She wasn't looking at him as a survivor.
She was studying him.
"What are you," Lena asked.
The question wasn't loud, but it cut through the silence immediately. Several nearby hunters turned toward her, their attention shifting, their thoughts aligning with the same question.
Klint looked at her for a moment.
Then he frowned slightly.
"I don't know," he said.
The answer was honest, but it didn't resolve anything. If anything, it made the situation worse. Because if he didn't know, then no one else did either.
Lena didn't respond right away.
She believed him.
Footsteps approached.
Measured, steady, controlled in a way that didn't match the chaos of the battlefield. The hunters shifted slightly, making space without being told, their attention turning toward the source.
Alex walked forward without hesitation.
The atmosphere changed the moment he arrived.
He stepped over broken stone and bodies without looking down once.
His gaze was fixed on Klint from the moment he entered the space, his expression unreadable but focused. There was no visible fear, no confusion, no hesitation.
Only evaluation.
He stopped in front of Klint.
"David Joseph," Alex said.
The name settled into the moment with weight, grounding something that had begun to drift. Unlike before, this time it felt stable, real, something that belonged.
Klint looked up at him.
"I know my name," he replied.
Arthur exhaled slightly at that.
It was small, but it mattered. The fact that Klint still recognized himself meant something hadn't been completely lost. Whatever had changed during the fight, it hadn't erased everything.
Alex didn't acknowledge it.
He had something else in mind.
"You're going to use your ability," Alex said.
There was no buildup, no hesitation, no attempt to soften the demand. The words were direct, immediate, leaving no room for delay or refusal.
Arthur frowned immediately.
Lena remained silent, watching.
"I don't know how," Klint said.
That wasn't resistance. It was truth. He could feel something inside him, something alive, something waiting, but he didn't understand it. Not yet.
Alex didn't care.
"Then learn," he said.
The moment the word left Alex's mouth, something changed.
It wasn't visible, not in a way that could be seen clearly, but Klint felt it immediately. Something wrapped around him, not physically, but completely, restricting his ability to choose.
Authority.
Klint's body moved.
His hand lifted slowly in front of him without conscious decision, his fingers tightening slightly as the thing inside him responded. It didn't hesitate. It didn't resist.
It answered.
The air around his hand began to shift.
At first, it was subtle.
A small distortion, barely noticeable, like heat bending the air above stone. Then it grew stronger, more defined, the space around him twisting unnaturally as if something was trying to break through.
The hunters stepped back instinctively.
Arthur's expression hardened.
"Alex," Arthur said. "That's enough."
Alex didn't respond.
His eyes remained fixed on Klint, watching every detail, every reaction, every shift in control or lack of it. He wasn't concerned with safety.
He was measuring risk.
The distortion spread.
The ground beneath Klint cracked slightly, small fragments of stone lifting briefly before dropping again. The air grew heavier, sharper, carrying something unstable that didn't belong.
Klint clenched his teeth.
The pain returned stronger.
The thing inside him wasn't listening.
It wasn't stabilizing. It was expanding, reacting without direction, pulling at something deeper within him that he couldn't control. The distortion surged suddenly, breaking past its initial limits.
Then it snapped outward.
The ground erupted.
A wave of force spread across the battlefield, cracking stone and throwing debris outward. Several hunters were forced back, raising their weapons instinctively as panic spread through the group.
Arthur stepped forward immediately.
Lena didn't move.
"Stop," Alex said.
The command carried weight beyond sound.
It wasn't a request.
It wasn't a suggestion.
Klint froze.
Completely.
The distortion vanished instantly, cut off as if it had never existed. His body locked in place, every movement halted, not by weakness, but by something greater overriding it.
Arthur stared at him.
Understanding settled in.
Not gradually.
Immediately.
Authority.
Not influence.
Not pressure.
Command.
Alex stepped closer.
"You don't control it," he said.
Klint tried to move again.
He couldn't.
"And until you do," Alex continued, "you are a threat."
Arthur stepped forward immediately, his frustration clear now.
"He just woke up," he said. "You're pushing him too far."
Alex didn't look at him.
"He survived death," Alex replied.
"I think he can handle it."
The calmness in his voice made it worse, not better. There was no emotion behind it, only decision.
Lena watched both of them.
"He's changing," Lena said quietly.
"Every time he uses it, something changes."
No one asked what she meant.
Because they already felt it.
Alex turned toward the guards.
"Contain him," he said.
The order was simple.
Final.
This time, no one hesitated.
The guards moved forward immediately, surrounding Klint carefully, even though he couldn't move. They didn't take risks, didn't lower their guard, treating him as something unpredictable.
Klint didn't resist.
He couldn't.
As they led him away, Arthur remained where he stood.
He didn't follow immediately.
Didn't speak.
Didn't interfere.
Because deep down, he understood something he didn't want to accept.
This wasn't just about control.
It was about what Klint might become without it.
And that uncertainty was worse than any enemy they had faced so far.
The cell felt smaller the longer he stayed inside it.
Not because the walls moved, but because the silence pressed inward, tightening around him with every passing moment.
Klint sat still, his back resting against the cold stone, his gaze unfocused yet sharp beneath the surface.
Something inside him had changed, and the quiet only made it louder.
Arthur stood across from him, arms folded, watching in a way he hadn't before.
There was no casual tone left in him, no trace of the man who joked or argued freely just days ago.
Now, every movement Klint made was measured, analyzed, questioned without words.
"Say something," Arthur finally said, his voice low but firm.
Klint lifted his head slightly, meeting Arthur's gaze without hesitation.
"There's nothing to say," he replied, his tone calm, almost detached from the weight of the situation.
"That's the problem," Arthur answered, stepping closer, his expression tightening just enough to show concern.
"You died, came back, and now you're sitting here like it didn't mean anything."
Lena remained near the entrance, her posture relaxed but her eyes locked onto Klint.
She didn't interrupt, didn't rush the moment, allowing the tension to stretch naturally between them.
"What do you feel," she asked, her voice quieter, more precise than Arthur's.
"Not what you think. What you actually feel right now."
Klint paused before answering, not because he didn't understand, but because the answer wasn't simple.
"There's something missing," he said slowly, choosing each word with care as if testing their weight.
"It's not pain, not weakness, it's something else that should be there but isn't anymore."
Lena's eyes narrowed slightly, recognizing the implication before he finished speaking.
The door opened before anyone could respond, breaking the moment without warning.
Karter stepped inside, his presence different from the others, heavier in a way that didn't rely on power.
He didn't hesitate, didn't wait for permission, walking straight toward Klint with a familiarity no one else had.
"Kid," he said, his voice carrying something closer to relief than anything else.
Klint looked at him without reaction, his gaze steady, unchanging, unreadable.
There was no flicker of recognition, no subtle shift that hinted at memory returning.
Just silence, clean and complete, as if the connection had never existed in the first place.
That was when Karter stopped.
"You're going to tell me this is some kind of joke," Karter said, forcing a faint smile that didn't hold.
"You've done worse, so I wouldn't even be surprised if this is just another one of your moments."
Arthur looked away slightly, already knowing how this would end before the words were spoken.
Klint tilted his head, studying Karter like he was seeing him for the first time.
"Who are you," Klint asked, his voice calm, not cruel, not mocking, just honest.
The question didn't echo, didn't need to, because it hit harder in the silence that followed.
Karter's expression didn't break immediately, but something behind it shifted, something quieter.
"Don't do that," he said, softer now, as if lowering his voice would fix it.
"I don't know you," Klint said, the words simple, direct, and impossible to misunderstand.
There was no hesitation in them, no doubt, no hidden recognition trying to surface.
Just absence, complete and final, like something had been erased cleanly.
Karter took a step back, not forced, not pushed, just… unable to stay where he was.
Lena spoke into the silence, her tone steady, analytical as always.
"It's selective," she said, her gaze shifting between them, piecing together what remained and what didn't.
"Not everything is gone, only specific connections tied to emotional weight or relevance."
Karter didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge the explanation at all.
"Convenient," he muttered, though there was no anger behind it, only something heavier.
He looked at Klint one last time, searching for something that wasn't there anymore.
Then he turned without another word and walked out, the door closing behind him quietly.
That silence lingered longer than anything else in the room.
Klint shifted slightly, his attention returning inward as the pressure built again beneath the surface.
"I'm leaving," he said, not loudly, not forcefully, but with certainty that didn't invite argument.
Arthur reacted instantly, stepping forward, his expression tightening.
"That's not your choice right now," he replied, sharper than before.
Klint looked at him, calm as ever, but something deeper moved beneath that calm.
"You can't hold something you don't understand," he said, his tone unchanged, almost observational.
Lena watched closely, noticing the shift before the others did, the subtle change in the air.
"Wait," she said, but it was already too late.
The space around Klint bent inward, not violently, but unnaturally, like it was folding over itself.
The walls didn't break, didn't crack, but for a brief second, they stopped behaving like walls.
Arthur stepped forward instinctively, reaching out, but his hand never made contact.
Klint disappeared, the distortion snapping shut as if nothing had ever happened.
The world reformed around him with less resistance this time, the transition smoother, cleaner.
Klint landed on solid ground, his body adjusting almost instantly to the new environment.
The air felt different here, lighter yet unstable, like it carried something unseen beneath it.
He stood up slowly, scanning his surroundings without urgency.
The city stretched endlessly, built in angles that didn't always align, structures leaning slightly off balance.
Streets twisted in ways that made navigation uncertain, as if the layout itself resisted logic.
This place wasn't broken, but it wasn't stable either, existing somewhere in between.
A name surfaced in his mind, unprompted, as if the place carried its own identity.
Aetherion.
Klint knew he couldn't go around freely so he made a suit for himself for he knew walking around freely would cause him trouble specially that he escaped from Alex he knew he is not strong enough to face His "Authority" so he started making a suit that would cover his identity...
The suit felt less like something worn and more like something that adapted to him.
A deep crimson wrapped around his body, darker than usual, almost absorbing light instead of reflecting it. Thin black lines ran across it, uneven and subtle, like faint fractures rather than clean design.
It fit tightly, allowing smooth movement, but the material had a slight responsiveness to it, adjusting in small ways after each motion as if it remembered how he fought.
The mask was simple but unsettling.
Smooth, covering everything except the eyes, which were completely darkened, hiding any sense of direction or emotion behind them. The slight ridges along the top weren't sharp, just enough to give it a distinct silhouette.
There was no symbol.
Just a figure in red and black that didn't quite feel like it belonged.
The sound of distant movement broke his focus, sharp, panicked, human.
Klint turned toward it immediately, his body moving before the thought fully formed.
Something in him responded to it instinctively, not out of obligation, but something else.
He didn't question it. He moved.
A group of people stumbled through the street ahead, their movements frantic, uncoordinated.
One of them fell, another tried to pull him up, but something behind them closed the distance too quickly.
The creature didn't move like a normal entity, its form shifting slightly with each step.
It wasn't chasing their bodies. It was following something deeper.
Klint slowed as he approached, his gaze narrowing as he studied it carefully.
The creature's head tilted unnaturally, its movements precise but wrong in a way that felt deliberate.
Its presence carried a faint pressure, not physical, but mental, like something brushing against thought itself.
This wasn't a normal monster.
A Soulster.
The name came to him the same way the city had, not learned, not remembered, just understood.
It fed on memory, tearing into the mind itself, consuming thoughts, experiences, identity.
Its victims didn't just die, they disappeared in pieces long before their bodies gave out.
That made it more dangerous than anything that relied on strength alone.
The creature lunged.
Klint moved at the same moment, stepping into its path with precision that didn't come from experience.
The attack brushed past him, missing by inches, its movement just slightly misaligned.
Klint adjusted instantly, his hand striking forward without hesitation.
The impact landed.
The creature recoiled, not destroyed, but disrupted, its form flickering more violently now.
It let out a sound that wasn't a scream, more like something tearing apart from the inside.
Klint stepped back once, analyzing, understanding the difference immediately.
This wasn't like the Reaper.
But it wasn't simple either.
The Soulster shifted again, faster this time, targeting him directly now.
Its presence pressed harder against his mind, something trying to pull at his thoughts.
Klint felt it, the slight tug, the attempt to reach into something deeper.
There was less to take.
That realization came quickly, almost instinctively, and for a brief moment, it changed everything.
The creature hesitated, just slightly, as if it couldn't find what it expected.
That hesitation was enough.
Klint stepped forward again.
This time, his movement was sharper, more controlled, less resistance in his body.
His hand struck again, not with force alone, but with something that disrupted the creature's structure.
The Soulster fractured, its form collapsing inward before breaking apart completely.
Silence followed.
The people he saved stared at him, their expressions caught between fear and relief.
One of them stepped forward slowly, still trying to process what had just happened.
"Who are you," he asked, his voice unsteady but clear.
Klint paused.
The question didn't feel distant this time.
It didn't feel like something he could ignore or push aside.
It felt real.
"I'm a man who lost everything," he said.
His voice was calm, but there was weight behind it now, something grounded in truth.
"I suppose I'm a man searching for who he is."
He held their gaze for a moment longer before turning away slightly.
"You can call me Edgar Silver."
The name settled into place.
Not as who he was.
But as who he would become.