The Price Of Hatred

Chapter 22 - The Seventh Year Cursed

​Two hours past midnight, the subterranean basement of the abandoned oil station remained wrapped in a damp, suffocating gloom. The halogen bulbs overhead flickered weakly, casting long, fractured shadows across the rows of unconscious men.

​Slowly, Lin’s eyelids fluttered. His chest heaved as he dragged a ragged breath into his lungs, his vision blurred by a thick, disorienting haze. He forced himself up onto his hands and knees, his head throbbing violently. He closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head side to side until the static in his mind finally cleared.

​Opening his eyes, his clinical perception snapped back into focus. He looked to his left and right, finding Kia and Din sprawled out on the cold concrete beside him. Without a word, Lin dragged his heavy frame over to Kia, striking his shoulder firmly.

​“Kia. Kia, wake up,” Lin hissed, his voice raw. “Wake up.”

​Kia let out a low, agonizing groan, his limbs twitching as consciousness reclaimed him. His vision swam in dizzying circles. He pressed a leather-gloved hand against his forehead, closing his eyes to combat the sudden wave of nausea. When he opened them, the darkness of the bunker solidified.

​“I thought… I thought we died,” Kia whispered, his breath shallow.

​“We're still alive,” Lin said, his tone entirely level as he began to stand.

​“Wait,” Kia rasped, reaching out to catch Lin’s sleeve as he saw him preparing to rouse Din. “Stop. Don't shake him like that. The transition back… it hurts. Let me do it.”

​Kia crawled over to Din’s limp form, carefully measuring his rhythm before striking Din's shoulder three times in rapid, calculated successions.

​Din gasped violently, his eyes snapping open as he bolted into a sitting position. A sharp, guttural shout tore from his throat, his hands flying to his temples as if his skull were about to split apart.

​“Close your eyes and breathe in,” Kia commanded smoothly, placing a grounding hand on Din’s back. “Just breathe. Now open them.”

​Din obeyed, closing his eyes tightly, inhaling the damp, copper-scented air before exhaling a long, shuddering breath. He looked around the room, his chest rising and falling frantically. “I died… I swear to God I was in hell.”

​“It was just a dream,” Kia murmured, his voice laced with an unsettling familiarity. “The things you saw… they weren't real.”

​Lin stood at his full height, his long black trench coat hanging rigidly around his frame. His expression was a mask of cold, professional failure. “We already failed to secure the crystal stone and the key through Roman.”

​“The key is still out there in the wind with James,” Kia said, his teeth gritting as he stood up beside Lin. “We can't get it from him. Not like this.”

​“No,” Lin corrected coldly, his sharp eyes scanning the unconscious bodies of Roman and the other guards. “Our mandate was to retrieve the key through Roman, using his greed as our cover. Not by engaging James directly.”

​Din wiped a layer of cold sweat from his brow, his voice tight. “So what do we do now? Are we just going to sit here in the dirt, wait for Roman to wake up, and keep working his contracts, or what—?”

​“No,” Lin interrupted flatly. “We go home.”

​Din blinked, the word hanging strangely in the damp air. “Home?”

​“Okay,” Din muttered, a dark, vengeful glint appearing in his eyes as he looked over at the slumped, pathetic form of Roman. “But we should kill Roman before we step foot out of this basement.”

​“No, don't touch him,” Lin commanded, his voice clipping the air like scissors. “He still has a purpose to fulfill within the syndicate's framework. Let him live to see it through.”

​Kia glanced toward the concrete stairwell. “We should get going.”

​Hours later, the dark skyline of the city began to fracture under the weight of the pre-dawn gray. The black sedan navigated the empty, rain-slicked streets with a quiet, geometric precision. Kia was at the wheel, his eyes fixed on the asphalt while Lin and Din remained silently brooding in the passenger seats.

​The car slowed to a crawl, turning into a secluded, ancient quarter of the city where modern architecture gave way to towering, weathered stone pillars. Kia parked the vehicle gently along the curb in front of a sprawling, traditional compound.

​The three operatives stepped out into the biting morning air. They didn't enter immediately. Instead, they stood on the stone pavement, their eyes lifting toward the weathered, hand-carved wooden sign hanging above the iron-reinforced archway: HUDSON TEMPLE.

​Satisfied, they moved through the threshold. The interior of the temple was a stark contrast to the sterile bunkers of the Pitch—smelling heavily of burning incense, aged cedar, and old parchment. As they navigated the dim, polished wooden corridor, the sound of rhythmic footsteps approached. Two men dressed in immaculate, tailored black suits materialized from the shadows.

​As the distance closed, Lin, Kia, and Din halted in unison. One of the suited men paused, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips.

​“Lin,” the man murmured.

​“Brother Koen,” Lin replied, his posture softening by a fraction.

​Koen’s smile widened slightly, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “It is good to see you all back alive. You are welcome.”

​“Always,” Lin said flatly.

​The three operatives bypassed the guards, continuing down the winding corridor until they reached the threshold of a secluded, shoji-screened chamber. Inside, the room was completely silent. An old man sat cross-legged on a raised woven mat, his eyes closed, his breathing so slow and measured it seemed non-existent. He was deep within a state of absolute meditation.

​After a long, unyielding minute of silence, the old man slowly opened his eyes and stood up, his movements fluid and defying his advanced years.

​Instantly, Lin, Kia, and Din dropped to their knees, bowing their heads in complete, absolute submission. “Master Zhang,” Lin spoke into the floorboards. “We failed.”

​“Rise,” Master Zhang replied, his voice a low, resonant bell that seemed to vibrate through the walls.

​The three men stood up, their postures rigid.

​“We couldn’t get the Crystal Stone or the key through Roman,” Lin reported, keeping his eyes level. “He no longer possesses either artifact. They are gone from his vault.”

​Lin paused, his voice dropping into a quiet, heavy register. “Only James… the son of John Vale, has them now.”

​Master Zhang’s eyelids widened slightly, his serene expression fracturing for a split second. He turned his torso slowly, taking a measured step toward the open wooden doorway that looked out into a dark, inner courtyard.

​“John Vale had a son…” Master Zhang murmured, his voice trailing into the silence.

​The chamber fell into an intense, suffocating quiet. The smoke from the incense burner curled lazily through the air as the old master stared into the dark.

​“Twenty years ago,” Master Zhang began, his voice growing heavier with the weight of ancient history, “John Vale, Arthur, Kane Ryder, and I went searching for answers regarding the Six Crystal Stones. For five long, grueling years, we searched forbidden mountains, forgotten ruins, and cursed lands until we finally uncovered them.”

​He turned back to face the operatives, his eyes dark with memory. “The stones were hidden deep within the Mountain of Life and Death. It was a desolation where even the wind felt alive with a curse. We knew the catastrophic risks, but we foolishly believed that true power required a worthy sacrifice.”

​He shook his head slowly. “No risk… no success.”

​“The first five stones each demanded a brutal, terrifying price from whoever dared to wield them,” Zhang explained, counting them on his weathered fingers. “One demanded wealth. Another pain. Another memories, humanity, or years taken directly from one's life. But the Sixth Stone…”

​Master Zhang paused, a cold dread settling over his features. “The Sixth Stone was different.”

​“It was an anomaly—more powerful than all the other five combined. It did not require an intricate key template to awaken its frequencies, but it fed directly on darkness itself. Hatred. Rage. Grief. The stronger those black emotions became inside the wielder’s soul, the stronger the stone grew.”

​A cold, physical silence spread across the room, making the operatives' breath visible in the air.

​“We feared the Sixth Stone,” Zhang whispered. “None of us wanted to touch it. None of us dared to dream of its control. But among men, there is always one foolish enough to challenge death itself.”

​“Kane Ryder feared nothing.”

​“He took the stone into his bare hands and tried to force its power to bend to his will. For one brief, terrifying moment, he became completely unstoppable… and then the stone consumed him entirely. The crystal matrix entered his body like a volatile poison, spreading through his veins, his mind, and his soul until it literally slaughtered him from the inside out.”

​Din frowned, his brow furrowing beneath his hood. “If the stone kills anyone who touches it… then how can James use one of them now?”

​“Because the stone never truly leaves a bloodline,” Master Zhang replied, his sharp eyes locking onto Din. “After Kane died in agony, none of us could touch that stone again. It violently rejected everyone who approached it… except his biological descendants.”

​“Did Kane have a child before he died?” Din interrupted gently, trying to piece the lineage together.

​Master Zhang raised a single, commanding hand, silencing him instantly. “I haven't finished.”

​“Arthur possessed the Wealth Stone and the Fourth Stone. John possessed the Immortality Stone. And I alone kept the Fifth Stone hidden away from the syndicate’s reaching hands. But there was only ever one key capable of unlocking the stones’ true, combined potential.”

​“We made a sacred promise to one another never to use that key.”

​“Three years later, Arthur betrayed us.”

​The air in the room grew instantly tense, the operatives shifting their weight.

​“He wanted all five stones for himself,” Master Zhang continued, his voice darkening with an ancient fury. “He used the key in absolute secret, awakening cosmic powers that no human frame was ever meant to control. Then, to cover his tracks, he staged John’s death to make it appear as a suicide, and stole the Immortality Stone right from John's cold hands.”

​Lin’s fists clenched tightly at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain.

​“But Arthur’s greed didn’t stop at murder,” Master Zhang said, his eyes narrowing into twin slits of disgust. “He assaulted John’s grieving wife, Clara, and used the stones' displacement power to completely erase her memories. To James and his sister Tidder, their mother appeared dead and buried for an entire week.”

​“Afterward, Arthur revived Clara using the stones’ advanced healing abilities, keeping her hidden away as his captive prize. Eventually, she gave birth to a son for him… a boy named Gage.”

​“Clara never told Gage the truth about his lineage, or about the existence of James and Tidder. But years later, I found the boy. And I showed him everything.”

​Master Zhang’s expression hardened into carved stone. “The raw anger and hatred inside Gage consumed him instantly. At only seven years old, he stole the Fourth Stone directly from Arthur’s vaults and vanished into the underworld.”

​“Arthur believed Clara had revealed the secret to the boy, so he ruthlessly erased her memories a second time and abandoned her in the streets with absolutely nothing.”

​“Gage still possesses the Fourth Stone,” Zhang said, his voice dropping into a grim warning. “And if he ever obtains the key that James holds… he will slaughter James, he will slaughter Tidder… and finally, he will kill Arthur himself.”

​Lin looked up slowly, his brow knitted in calculation. “Is Gage really the ultimate threat to the order… or is it James?”

​“Arthur murdered James’s father and completely destroyed his mother’s life,” Din added quietly, his voice hollow. “Do you really think James doesn’t dream about killing him every single second?”

​“He won’t stop at mere revenge,” Kia cut in, his arms crossing over his chest. “He’ll want the high seat of the Pitch for himself.”

​Lin nodded slowly in agreement. “I’ve seen the blinding hatred in his eyes, Master. James doesn’t only want Arthur dead. He wants everything—immortality, healing, wealth, chaos… darkness.”

​Master Zhang turned his back to the doorway, facing the three operatives entirely, his face filled with an ominous, profound warning. “Listen to me carefully. The Crystal Stones are not simply a source of power. They are an engine of absolute destruction.”

​“They feed on hatred. Pain. Guilt. Rage.”

​“The darker and more twisted the emotions become inside the wielder, the more alive and sentient the stones become. At first, they merely whisper dark thoughts into the back of the mind. Then, they corrupt the heart. Eventually… they take control of the host completely.”

​Master Zhang stepped forward, looking directly into Lin’s eyes. “And James is the perfect vessel.”

​The temperature in the chamber seemed to drop instantly, a cold draft whistling through the screens.

​“The hatred inside that boy is growing too fast, fueled by twenty years of lies. If James loses control for even a fraction of a second, the stones will possess him completely. They will turn his flesh into something far worse than Arthur… something far worse than Kane Ryder ever became.”

​Master Zhang’s voice lowered into a chilling, barely audible whisper. “And once the Stone fully awakens inside his blood… not even death itself will be able to stop him.”

​At that exact same moment, miles away, absolute darkness hung over the city.

​Inside the small, shadow-drenched apartment where James and Todd were staying, the air was thick and unmoving. James stood rigidly in the center of the sitting room, positioned beside a tall, rain-streaked window.

​Beneath his dark clothes, a low, rhythmic violet light pulsed against his skin. Inside his skull, a chorus of dark, overlapping voices was clawing at his consciousness, whispering in a violent, seductive loop: Let them bleed… let them fall… destroy them all… take the throne…

​Nearby, Todd lay motionless on the worn fabric of the couch. Suddenly, his eyes snapped wide open, his vision a blurred, chaotic mess of shapes and colors. He let out a sharp, agonizing groan, his muscles locking in immense pain.

​Hearing the sound, James instantly broke his stance and stepped forward, his heavy boots making no sound against the floor. “Hey… you're up,” James said.

​His voice didn't sound like his own anymore—it was lower, layered with a strange, resonant echo that vibrated in the small room. James reached down, pressing his large, leather-gloved hand firmly against Todd’s heavily bandaged leg.

​Instantly, a blinding, hot red light erupted from James’s palm. The raw energy surged through the fabric, sinking into Todd’s flesh. Todd’s back arched off the couch, a hoarse, violently painful scream tearing from his throat as his shattered bones, torn ligaments, and ruptured muscles violently knit themselves back together in a matter of seconds.

​“Hey… it's okay. You're fine now,” James said, his altered voice entirely flat, devoid of standard human inflection.

​Todd panted heavily, sweat pouring down his face as the agonizing heat subsided. He slowly lowered his legs to the floor, testing his weight. He stood up, taking three cautious steps across the room, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What the hell… I can fucking walk. Wait, how did you—?”

​Todd abruptly cut himself off. The words froze in his throat the moment his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he saw the heavy silver chain hanging around James’s neck. The violet crystal shard was pulsing with a hungry, unnatural radiance, and James’s face had begun to subtly shift—his features sharpening, his eyes carrying a cold, ancient detachment that looked entirely alien.

​“It's okay. I'm fine,” James muttered, staring at him.

​Todd took an involuntary step backward, his chest heaving as fear spiked in his gut. “No… no, you're not. You're looking completely different, man. Can you… can you take off that crystal stone? Please.”

​James stared at him, his expression static.

​“I would prefer to speak with you without that thing on your neck, James,” Todd pressed, his voice shaking.

​“No. I can't take it off,” James said instantly, an intense, sudden surge of volatile emotion breaking through his rigid tone.

​“Why?” Todd demanded, his eyes darting to the glowing shard. “Why can't you take it off?”

​From the dark doorway of the adjacent bedroom, a shadow shifted. Tidder had quietly awoken from her forced slumber. She stood hidden in the dark, her leather-clad frame rigid as she listened to the confrontation with bated breath.

​“Because I don't want to!” James snapped, his voice booming through the small apartment, vibrating with a terrifying, layered depth. He gripped the crystal with his gloved fingers, his eyes flashing violently with violet light. “It feels like everything I have ever wanted in my miserable life! It feels like everything… eeeeveeerrrrrrythiiiiing!”

​Todd shook his head, tears of terror and confusion welling in his eyes. “Something is seriously wrong with you, man. You're not okay.”

​“No, I am… I am more okay than you could ever comprehend,” James whispered, his breathing ragged as he fought the voices in his head. “I am still in absolute control.”

​“You know what? You're not fucking okay!” Todd shouted, his anger finally breaking through his fear. “Something is terribly wrong with my friend!”

​James froze. He tilted his head slowly, his eyes locking onto Todd with a chilling, detached curiosity as if analyzing a foreign specimen.

​“Friend,” James repeated, the word sounding hollow, empty, and entirely foreign on his tongue—as if the bond they had shared for years had been completely incinerated by the power humming in his veins.

​Todd’s breath caught in his throat, a deep, agonizing hurt breaking through his expression. “What…?”

​James didn't answer. He let out a long, slow, non-human breath, turning his back on Todd. He walked deliberately back to the window side, his long black coat trailing behind him. He pressed his hand against the glass, staring out into the absolute blackness of the city before turning his head slightly to look back over his shoulder.

​“You should get some rest, Todd,” James said, his voice dropping into a flat, unyielding command. “I will be right here.”

                                  Kelly Ex Author 

                              The Lesson of the Crystals

​By Master Zhang

​"You look at the Crystal Stones and you see a crown. You see an end to your weakness, a shield against your enemies, and a weapon to bend destiny to your knees. But hear me, and hear me well: there is no such thing as an unclaimed power in this universe. Every stone is a debt written in blood, and the crystals always come to collect.

​You think you are mastering the stone, but it is merely feeding you enough rope to hang your own humanity. It looks into your soul, finds the darkest corner—your hatred, your grief, your bleeding rage—and it uses those heavy emotions as fuel to grow. The more you give into your anger, the more alive the stone becomes. At first, it will whisper exactly what you want to hear. It will promise you justice. It will promise you safety.

​But absolute control is a phantom. True power does not require you to sacrifice your heart, your memories, or the people who love you. The moment you use a stone to isolate yourself, to crush your enemies without mercy, and to turn your back on your own flesh and blood, you have not become a king. You have simply become a hollow vessel.

​A man who conquers the entire world but loses his own soul in the shadows is not a master. He is just a slave wearing a very bright, very heavy chain."