Chapter 54: Hit Me

Jorg Descended the stairs that led underground to the dungeons of their Base in Naija city. Every step of his carried with it a dangerous Aura that pressed hard on the floor. As if he could break it if he wanted to.

The stairs that led down to the dungeons were dimly lit with candles flickering on and off. The more he descended, the less oxygen he felt, but to an expert of his level that was not enough to make him uncomfortable.

This base was were they kept criminals caught by the Veil Enforcement Bureau.

The Veil Enforcement Bureau was one of the eight branches of the Supression Bureau, and almost every state in the current USA has at least 3 of those. Their job was easy: Respond to mystical incidents that threaten Veil stability.

Their main task were, Contain entity breaches, Suppress large-scale mystical phenomena and Neutralize or contain Tier 1-3 threats from possessed mystics to rogue initiations and unstable practitioners.

These dungeons were built to keep the threats they captured contained.

When Jorg finally reached the bottom of the stairs, in front of him stretched a large, long corridor lit by dim bulbs hanging at intervals along the walls. On each side of the corridor were metal doors, some large, others small, each one sealed tight. He advanced slowly, his boots echoing against the concrete.

BANG. BANG.

Banging noises sounded from time to time, rattling the doors in their frames. Muffled voices, some human, some not, bled through the cracks. A low hum vibrated through the air, the kind that pressed against your chest and made your teeth ache. Jorg walked in a calm manner, his face blank, as if he had walked this path a thousand times before.

Jorg slowed his steps as he neared the door at the end of the corridor. His hand reached for the handle, cold metal beneath his palm. He paused for a breath, then turned it.

SCRRR.

The noise of the door screeched as light from the corridor slowly blessed the room, illuminating it enough for Jorg to look inside.

He was greeted by the sight of a man full of bandages seated in a lotus position, deep in meditation.

Assiduous, Jorg noted.

He had spent thirty minutes on the phone with Yime, who had briefed him on what she could and proceeded to ask for his help. Makun, who had just finished forming his Route Core, would not be able to figure things out on his own. He needed guidance, and Jorg would act as that.

Makun slowly opened his eyes.

Ever since he woke up, he had been deep in meditation, trying to understand what changed in his body, what he gained, if he could feel the dissolution Yime had mentioned before.

He did gain some insights while observing his body. He could tell that someone had healed him, but there were sequels. However, Ashe, the spiritual energy he felt earlier, boosted his recovery rate. It was very slow, but he could feel it acting.

It’s just going to get better the more I advance, he concluded.

Makun lifted his head his teeth gritting from the remaining pain, he looked at Jorg.

A mastodon of a man stood in the doorway, blonde dreads hanging past his shoulders. His veins popped on his muscles as if snakes were scrolling across his skin, thick cords of tension beneath the surface. He was the true image of a Viking, broad and brutal, built like something that should be holding an axe instead of a phone and a vial.

Makun could feel power,

Now that his Route Core had formed, Makun could really feel the spiritual pressure radiating from him. With Yime, he had not felt much, blind to the weight she carried because his Core had not formed yet.

This is not someone I can face. Yet. Makun thought as determination flickered in his eyes.

FWOOP.

Jorg threw the vial he held in his hand to Makun.

“Swallow that. Then follow me,” he ordered.

Makun had no choice but to follow his instructions. He slowly opened the vial only to be attacked by what seemed to be a sweet aroma emanating from a green potion. It smelt like eucalyptus.

Gulp.

Makun gulped it, not even questioning why he did that.

Not that he was not skeptical. But if Jorg decided to force that big thing down his throat, could he really stop him? He had to accept his situation for what it was and let Jorg have his way.

As soon as Makun drank it, he could feel it going through his veins, then it deviated and entered what he now knew were called Ashe Pathways. It had not entered his Route Core, he could tell it was not supposed to go there.

Makun closed his eyes as he felt the the effects of the energy in his body. The burns on his wrists began to cool, the charred skin softening as the potion worked its way deeper.

The rope marks on his throat, still tender and raw, began to fade, the tissue knitting together in slow pulses. His ribs, bruised and aching from the entities’ pressure, eased with each breath.

Even the deeper wounds, the ones Celine had acted on but could not fully heal, the torn muscle in his side, the fractured bone in his forearm, began to mend.

The pain did not vanish completely, but most of it was gone, and Makun could feel his body being at 85%. Funny enough 85% of him now was way stronger than the him of before.

“Follow me.” Jorg said a second time.

Then he turned and walked back into the corridor. Makun followed behind, his steps unsteady at first, then steadier as the potion continued its work.

They moved through the dim corridor, past the smaller metal doors that rattled and hummed with muffled sounds from within.

Jorg’s boots echoed against the concrete, calm and measured, as if nothing in this place could touch him. Makun kept his distance, eyes flicking to the doors as they passed, wondering what was locked behind each one.

Then Jorg stopped.

In front of them was a door different from the others. Larger. Wider. Made of a metal that seemed like it was not from Earth, dark and smooth, with faint engravings etched across its surface that pulsed with a dull, rhythmic glow. Jorg placed his hand on it and pushed.

The door opened without a sound.

Makun followed behind, stepping through the threshold, and the moment he crossed it, he felt it.

The air had shifted. The energy had shifted. It was similar to the time the barrier used by Mark and his team was used, that golden translucent dome that separated the mystic world from the mundane. Here, it was the same. A boundary. A different layer of reality pressing against his skin.

Then, when he walked through the door, an arena appeared in front of him. Huge. He could not believe a small door could contain such a big arena. The floor stretched out wide and far, smooth stone that felt hard beneath his feet, as if no one could put a dent on it.

The ceiling arched high above, lost in shadow, and the walls extended in every direction, impossibly large for the space the door had occupied.

Makun stood rooted on the spot.

Jorg slowly walked to the other side of the very large arena, his boots echoing across the empty expanse. Then he turned to look at Makun.

His aura erupted. Pressure descended in the room, heavier than before, crushing, suffocating. The air thickened. Makun’s knees buckled slightly, his breath catching in his throat. The weight of Jorg’s spiritual presence pressed down on him like a mountain, and every instinct in his body screamed at him to run.

“Hit me,“

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