Hunt In Reverse

I pondered for a moment, then shifted my focus.

Body tempering techniques were undeniably crucial. But before embarking on the ambitious path of creation, it was prudent to expand my repertoire of similar martial arts, to accumulate the necessary experience.

H.A.R.M., as a bastion of power, surely possessed a wealth of such techniques. With a bit of merit earned, I could trade for access to their secrets. The more knowledge I acquired, the more efficiently I could forge my own path when the time came.

The truth was, my refusal of Noa Atzmon's offer wasn't solely about avoiding entanglement. It was about preserving my autonomy, refusing to gamble my life and future on the whims of an unfamiliar family.

No matter how alluring her promises seemed, I knew that once I was truly bound to them, I might gain access to resources and training manuals, but at a steep cost. When the Atzmon family faced danger, I would be expected to fight and die for them, a pawn in their grand game.

The Atzmons weren't the sheriff of Pinewood County. They undoubtedly had their own methods of controlling their retainers, their own hidden strings to pull.

Both options risked my life for a brighter future, but H.A.R.M. offered a clearer path.

The hierarchy within H.A.R.M. was straightforward, based on merit earned through slaying vampires. It suited me perfectly. As long as I was willing to fight, to accumulate enough merit, I could earn anything I desired through my own blood and sweat. That was a power I could trust.

Furthermore, the Atzmon family might not possess what I truly sought, or they might be unwilling to impart it to me.

When it came to amassing a collection of martial arts, who could compare to H.A.R.M., the self-proclaimed guardians of humanity?

The once-mighty Everwatch Securities in Seattle had been decimated for their collusion with vampires, their prized possession, the Dew of the Boundless, repurposed into a Vein-Opening elixir. When the Admiral's disciple led troops to crush the three major schools in Sacramento, their martial arts techniques no doubt were swiftly absorbed into H.A.R.M.'s ever-growing arsenal.

On the other hand, unless it was a Crystalization technique, ordinary training manuals held little value for me.

Even if the Atzmon family possessed a Crystalization method, would they entrust it to an outsider? And at what cost? My loyalty, my freedom, perhaps even my very soul?

No, my path lay within H.A.R.M. I would serve them faithfully, slaying vampires and amassing merit until I could claim a Crystalization technique as my own.

The equation was simple: blood for power. As long as I was willing to spill it, to prove my worth on the battlefield, I could earn anything I desired. And that was a transaction I could live with.

If surplus vampire lifespan allowed, I might even consider acquiring a few precious Mind Shards, their knowledge and experience a valuable asset in my relentless pursuit of power.

[Remaining absorbed lifespan: 891 years]

I was just a yellow jackal's lifespan away from being able to exchange for a Mind Shard.

"That Butcher Garcia, I wonder if he's still indulging himself." The memory of his hasty departure from the bus, eager to reunite with his old flame, brought a wry smile to my lips. It had been nearly half a month, and still no word.

Wasn't he afraid of being apprehended by the Jushoku of the Kongo Shintai, with the portraits of unseemly ladies taken down and himself hung up in their place?

If he were here, he could also enlighten me on various body tempering methods. I shook my head, pushing the thought aside as I stepped out into the community park.

The moon cast an ethereal glow over the scene as I began to familiarize myself with this transformed body, its power and agility a stark contrast to my previous self. I practiced a basic set of Tempest Strikes, each movement imbued with newfound grace and precision.

With the foundation of perfected Wave Realm, it might only take two or three days to completely master the Leviasaur Power.

I continued until the sun reached its zenith, casting a brilliant light that bathed the world in a warm, midday glow.

Slowly, I retracted my fists, my energy reserves still brimming. The First Realm had diminished my need for sleep, and the Wave Realm had further reduced my need for sustenance.

Confident in my control, I returned to my room, gathered my old uniform, and tossed it into the washing machine. As the cycle ended, I channeled the energy from the Melting Sun Furnace into my palm, drying the fabric in a couple of minutes.

With the neatly folded uniform in hand, I set off towards Mission Control.

The moment I walked across the community park, I encountered two single-star agents, their faces etched with a somberness that contrasted sharply with the midday light. One of them, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, forced a smile. "Congratulations on your promotion, sir. I was also at Mission Control yesterday."

The other agent looked up, his gaze a mix of envy and weary acceptance.

They had all earned their merits through blood and sacrifice, battling vampires and monsters. The rewards bestowed by H.A.R.M. were hard-won, a constant reminder of the risks faced.

"You were on the mission with Major Atzmon, weren't you?" the shorter agent inquired. "I heard that the major was injured and needs rest. You're quite fortunate... well, that's not exactly what I meant." He offered a rueful smile, waving his hand dismissively. "For us, opportunities to rest are few and far between."

"Rest?" I echoed, clutching my old uniform. I could only nod in response, a trace of doubt clouding my eyes.

"With Major Atzmon recuperating at the medical clinic, Mission Control won't be assigning you any tasks for the time being," the shorter agent explained, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Other majors won't readily poach personnel from Atzmon's command. You can rest easy."

The pieces fell into place.

While Mission Control typically "assigned" tasks to other majors, Ethan Atzmon had the privilege of selecting his own. Even in his absence, his subordinates were shielded from the whims of other majors, safe from being used as cannon fodder.

It was a perk, an evidence to Atzmon's influence. But for me, it was a frustrating delay. The prospect of acquiring a Mind Shard seemed even further out of reach.

"We still have pressing matters to attend to. Farewell."

The two agents took their leave, their resentment simmering beneath the surface. Once out of earshot, their voices rose in a chorus of discontent. "Those pompous fools in the Containment Division! We risk our lives on the front lines while they sit comfortably in their offices. And when we return, we're subjected to their condescending stares. Now that it's their turn to fight vamps, they want to transfer us to their division to fight for them. The nerve!"

"Enough," the taller agent sighed. "Is it anyone's fault that your father isn't named Atzmon, but just a security school instructor? ... If you had the strength of that newcomer, the Atzmon family might welcome you with open arms."

The two agents disappeared into the distance, their voices fading.

Little did they know, my hearing had been sharpened to an almost supernatural degree. Their idle chatter reached my ears with crystal clarity.

"Even before I've made a move, they've already labeled me."

The realization brought a hint of amusement to my lips. Such petty judgments held no power over me. As long as I remained aware of my limitations, resisted temptation, and harbored no ill intentions, even the murkiest depths of this organization couldn't touch me.

With a newfound sense of purpose, I left the garden, returning the old uniform to Mission Control.

"I'll return the manual in a few days, once I've committed it to memory," I informed them, my tone carefully measured. This wasn't Pinewood County; caution was paramount. Any misstep could attract unwanted attention, could paint a target on my back.

"Very well, just ensure its safekeeping," two new Containment Division captains were behind the counter, one of them replied with a cool and professional voice.

Leaving Mission Control, I made my way to one of H.A.R.M.'s dining halls.

The hall was filled with long tables and benches, the air buzzing with the energy of countless agents. The menu was fixed, no a la carte.

As soon as I took a seat, a waiter appeared, bearing a five-course feast.

Soup, chicken wings, halibut, steak, and a decadent dessert. The aroma alone was enough to make my stomach rumble.

"Enjoy, captain. If you require anything further, just call." He added a basket of warm bread to the already overflowing table.

I surveyed the spread, resisting the urge to comment on its extravagance.

H.A.R.M. agents were warriors, risking their lives on the front lines. They deserved sustenance, a feast to fuel their battles.

I devoured the meal with gusto, savoring each bite.

With a satisfied sigh, I made my way back to my quarters.

Near the community park, a tall, muscular figure lurked in the shadows, his movements furtive and cautious.