Darkness. That's all Nate knew. It wasn't peaceful—more like a restless abyss, shifting and pulling at him. He felt weightless, lost in a void where flashes of memories flickered like broken television signals. The alley fight. The fire-wielding villain. The Hunter's burning eyes. Pain. So much pain.
Then, a voice. Deep, resonant, and familiar.
"Get up, boy."
Antrasite.
Nate wanted to respond, but his body wouldn't move. He could barely think.
"You're not dead. Yet." The voice was dry, almost amused, but there was a sliver of something else beneath it. Concern? No. That wasn't Antrasite's style.
Something changed in the darkness. A vision formed, hazy at first but sharpening into something more. He saw The Hunter standing over him, eyes blazing with unnatural fire.
"You are weak," The Hunter's voice echoed through the vision. "You are unworthy of power."
Then, the pain surged again. The memory of being struck down, of feeling his body crumple under the force of a power beyond anything he had ever faced.
A gasp tore through his throat as Nate's eyes snapped open. He was back in the hideout.
The Recovery
His breathing was ragged, his muscles screaming in protest as he tried to move. Cool metal pressed against his back—Henry's medical table. The overhead light flickered, and he could hear the hum of machines nearby.
"You're awake," a familiar voice said.
Henry.
Nate turned his head slightly, wincing. His uncle looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his usually steady hands trembling slightly as he adjusted something on a monitor.
"You almost didn't make it," Henry continued, his voice tight. "I had to patch you up fast. Your suit absorbed most of the damage, but The Hunter—" He exhaled sharply. "He nearly killed you."
Nate's mind was still foggy, but one thing was clear—The Hunter wasn't just another villain. He was something else entirely.
"Who… is he?" Nate rasped.
Henry hesitated before tapping on his tablet. A screen nearby lit up with data, grainy images, and cryptic symbols.
"He's not just some jinn-possessed human," Henry said, scrolling through pages of information. "The Hunter is a jinn. A mythical one. The records call him Azariel, a being that escaped from Catraz—the gates of hell."
Nate's stomach twisted. He'd fought some pretty terrifying things before, but this… this was something else.
"Why is he after me?"
Henry turned to face him, jaw tight. "He's not after you. He's after Antrasite."
Nate's pulse pounded in his ears.
"He wants to kill Antrasite?"
Henry nodded. "The Hunter wants control over the human realm. He doesn't want another jinn—especially one as powerful as Antrasite—standing in his way."
A slow, eerie chuckle echoed in Nate's mind.
"And he will fail," Antrasite said.
But even as he said it, Nate could sense something different in the jinn's voice. Was it… uncertainty?
The Hunter's Next Move
Meanwhile, across the city, The Hunter stood atop a burning rooftop, his cloak billowing in the night wind.
His first strike had been a warning. Next time, there would be no mercy.
"Enjoy your last days, Antrasite," he murmured, his eyes glowing.
Then, he vanished into the darkness.