The Price Of Hatred

Chapter 23 - The Sins of the Flesh

​Inside the dark, heavy silence of the adjacent bedroom, Tidder stood frozen. Her skin was prickling with a sudden, sharp instinct of survival. The muffled, unnatural vibration of James’s voice echoing from the sitting room sent a shudder straight down her spine. He was slipping away, mutating into something unrecognizable under the thrall of the crystal.

​She turned her head slowly, her eyes tracking the thin shafts of moonlight cutting through the grime of the windowpane. Outside, parked in the overgrown weeds of the alleyway, sat the sleek, skeletal frame of a matte-black sport bike.

​Tidder did not hesitate. Every millisecond wasted was a step closer to a cage.

​Moving with the silent, fluid grace of a shadow trained by the Pitch, she unlatched the heavy wooden window frame. It slid upward with a faint, almost imperceptible scrape. She caught her breath, slipping her slender, leather-clad frame through the narrow opening, her platform boots hitting the damp, muddy earth outside with a dull, hollow thud.

​She exhaled a long, shaky breath, her fingers reaching back up to pull the window shut to mask her escape.

​Click.

​The latch snapped against the wood. The sharp, mechanical sound tore through the quiet of the midnight air.

​Inside the sitting room, James didn't move an inch from his position by the glass, but his head tilted with a sickening, predatory stiffness. His heightened senses caught the vibration of the latch instantly.

​Outside, Tidder turned on her heel, her fingers reaching for the ignition key hidden in her tactical vest. But as she spun around, the air pressure in the alleyway dropped to an absolute, freezing zero.

​She froze. The breath caught violently in her throat, her chest locking as she slowly let it out in a thin, pale plume of mist.

​James was standing directly in front of her.

​He hadn't run. He hadn't burst through the door. He was simply there, emerging from the absolute blackness of the alley like a specter conjured by the rain. The violet shard against his chest pulsed with a hungry, rhythmic cadence, casting long, monstrous shadows across the brick walls.

​“Where do you think you're going?” James asked. His voice was no longer a human instrument; it was a layered, concussive rumble that vibrated inside Tidder’s skull. “We haven't finished our conversation yet.”

​Tidder took a sharp, defensive step forward, her jaw tightening as she forced herself to meet his hollow, glowing stare. “What conversation, James? What conversation do you honestly think we have left to share together in this world?”

​“Tell me,” James commanded. The word hit the alleyway like a physical blow, heavy and unyielding, leaving no room for defiance. “Where is Mother?”

​Tidder’s eyes flickered, a deep, ancient pain fracturing her composure. “She's dead. She died, James.”

​“Tell me the truth,” James growled, his massive shoulders tensing beneath his heavy black leather coat, his skin tightening over his jaw. “Is she still alive?”

​“She died when I was nineteen,” Tidder whispered, the words coming out fractured, unsteady, and clouded with a desperate omission.

​“She died… she just suddenly died,” James repeated slowly, his tone dropping into an icy, mechanical cadence. He took a heavy, looming step forward, his massive, leather-gloved hand rising through the air like a executioner's blade, reaching toward her face.

​“Don't you dare touch me!” Tidder screamed, her voice cracking with a sudden, wild panic as she braced her weight to strike.

​“It won't hurt, and it won't take long,” James murmured, his voice completely hollow, devoid of any empathy. “I just want to know exactly what you know about her death.”

​“No—you won't—”

​Tidder didn't finish the sentence. Before her reflexes could register the distance, James’s arm blurred through the moonlight. His massive hand clamped around her throat with a crushing, vice-like grip, lifting her platform boots completely off the muddy ground.

​Tidder choked, her hands instantly flying up to claw at his leather-gloved wrist, but it was like trying to move solid iron.

​James raised his left hand, his fingers spreading wide as he pressed his palm directly against her forehead.

​BOOM.

​Instantly, James’s head snapped back, his chin tilting toward the night sky as his eyes rolled back, turning completely pitch-black before snapping shut. The world around them vanished. The alleyway, the rain, and the rust vanished as the crystal template violently forced his consciousness through the barrier of her mind, dragging him deep into the labyrinth of Tidder’s suppressed memories.

​The dark void exploded into a blinding flash of silver light. Visions began rushing past James's conscious mind with terrifying, concussive speed—a blurred kaleidoscope of blood, rain, and hidden rooms. Suddenly, a memory solidified, pinning James inside his sister's eighteen-year-old perspective.

​It was a sterile, white-walled medical sanctuary hidden deep beneath a coastal estate. Tidder was standing by a bedside, her chest heaving with a violent, agonizing sob as she looked down at the woman resting against the pillows.

​It was Clara. Her face was pale, lined with age and grief, but she was breathing.

​“Mother… you're still alive,” Tidder’s younger voice wept inside the memory, her hands trembling as she reached out.

​Clara turned her head slowly, a faint, deeply tragic smile touching her lips as she reached up to touch her daughter's cheek. “I never died, my beautiful girl.”

​Tidder collapsed against her chest, wrapping her arms around her in a desperate, clinging embrace.

“Where is your brother? Where is James?”

​Tidder eyes clouded with a sudden, terrifying emptiness. “I haven't seen James since the night Dad died.”

​“John is dead,” Clara whispered into her shoulder. “No… he can't just be dead.”

​Clara’s fingers tightened against Tidder's leather jacket, her voice turning frantic, laced with a terrifying truth. “He must have been slaughtered by Arthur. He would never have left us willingly, Tidder. He was killed.”

​“No… the syndicate said Dad killed himself,” Tidder cried.

​“There is so much you do not understand yet, my child,” Clara whispered, her voice fading as the memory began to distort and shake. “Arthur possesses a power that goes far beyond human imagination. That is the only reason I am still breathing… he keeps me here as a ghost.”

​The vision fractured like breaking glass, the white room splintering into a dark, suffocating bedroom. The scent of copper and ash filled the air. A younger version of Gage—only sixteen, his eyes already burning with a ruthless, erratic hatred—was standing over a cold, empty bed.

​“Mother… Mother!” Tidder’s voice screamed through the corridor of the memory.

​Gage turned around slowly, his hands covered in soot and dark stains. His voice was flat, dead, and utterly unbothered. “She's dead, Tidder. Mother is finally dead.”

​“No! How? No, no, it can't be!” Tidder shrieked, falling to her knees as she clawed at the bedsheets. “I don't want to lose her again! Not again!”

​Gage stepped closer, his shadow falling over her small, broken form. “She was slaughtered by Arthur. He took everything from her memory, and then he let her fade.”

​“No, no! Why?” Tidder yelled, her head thrashing as she screamed into the empty room. “Why would he ever do something like that to her?”

​“Arthur must never find out that you know the truth,” Gage hissed, his young face twisting with a lethal promise. “If he finds out you remember her, he will erase you too. He will kill you just like he killed them.”

​The memory dissolved into smoke, drifting away as another, darker vision flashed into existence.

​It was a secluded, dimly lit study inside a hidden syndicate safehouse. The windows were slicked with a heavy downpour. Tidder was standing rigidly by the pane, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression completely hollow, drained of all hope.

​From the shadows behind her, Gage approached. He was older now, his posture carrying the dangerous, predatory weight of the Fourth Stone. He didn't speak. He stepped into her space, wrapping his long arms around her torso from behind, pulling her back tightly against his chest.

​Tidder didn't fight him. She didn't move. She simply closed her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek as Gage leaned down, tilting her chin up, and pressed his lips firmly against hers in a sickening, possessive display of absolute control.

​GASPPPP.

​James’s eyes snapped wide open, the pitch-black void within his irises shattering as a sudden, violent surge of raw power forced him back into reality. He released his grip on Tidder's throat, stumbling back a step.

​Tidder hit the muddy ground heavily, gasping for oxygen as she staggered backward three paces away from him, her hands clutching her bruised neck, her body shaking with an unadulterated terror.

​“I saw it,” James whispered, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, mounting rage. The violet crystal against his chest flared with a blinding, concussive brilliance, feeding greedily on the black storm erupting in his gut. “I saw everything. He killed her. He killed Mother… and he slaughtered Dad too.”

​“I told you… I told you not to touch me!” Tidder sobbed, her voice a ragged, broken strip of raw emotion.

​“His son, Gage… your own blood,” James growled, his vision turning completely crimson as the hatred consumed his thoughts. He took a long, heavy step toward her, his boots fracturing the stones beneath him. “He has been forcing himself on you. The exact same way Arthur did to our mother. He took everything from her, and he killed her twice!”

​“No, James! Stop! It’s not what you think!” Tidder yelled desperately, her hands extended to keep him away as she backed up against the rusted frame of the sport bike. “He didn't force himself on me! You don't understand the bond of the stones!”

​“Yes, he did!” James roared, the sound shattering the windows of the alleyway, the concussive force rattling the brickwork. He took another step, his skin color beginning to visibly shift—the natural flesh tones fading into a pale, ash-gray, veins of dark violet light branching out from his neck and mapping across his cheekbones. The stone was taking over, rewriting his cellular structure. “He slept with his own blood! He defiled what was left of this family!”

​“I will slaughter Arthur,” James hissed, his fingers curling into massive, rock-solid claws inside his gloves. The dark power hummed through his veins like boiling oil. “And I will make Gage suffer every single ounce of the agony I endured in those cells!”

“And what was it”.

“Death”.

​“No… James, please, listen to me,” Tidder wept, staring in absolute horror at the mutating monster before her. “This isn't you. This isn't who you are!”

​“This is me! It has always been meeeeeeeeee!” James screamed, his jaw unhinging slightly as the layered, monstrous echo of the crystal took complete volume of his throat. “It has been me all this damn time!”

​“I will make them bleed. I will make them all suffer,” James whispered, his breathing turning into a rhythmic, terrifying hiss.

​Inside his skull, the chorus of the five stones had unified into a deafening, absolute roar, overriding his thoughts, drowning out the last remnants of the boy who had loved his friend Todd.

​‘Destroy them.’

‘Make them bleed.’

‘Claim the throne.’

​The more hatred James carried in his heart, the brighter and more volatile the violet crystal glowed against his chest. Eventually, the artifact stopped borrowing the host’s human frame.

​It began to claim it.