Chapter 3: The Mark That Hunts
Jason didn't feel different.
He was different.
It wasn't the strength—though something in his body moved with less resistance now. It wasn't the pain—though the bruises on his ribs had faded faster than normal.
It was the silence.
The world felt quieter.
As if it were listening to him.
---
That night, Jason stood in his bedroom, shirt off, heart pounding.
The symbol on his chest—it only appeared when he focused. A faint ring of inked black, like an eclipse caught mid-birth. He ran his fingers over it, and the mark pulsed in response.
Not pain. Not warmth.
Something deeper.
Recognition.
---
> "You're awakening," came a voice.
"But you are not the only one."
Jason froze.
He turned toward the mirror—but it wasn't his reflection.
It was Black, standing behind him in the glass. No face, no eyes, just the suggestion of a figure—shifting like ink in water.
> "You carry my seed now," Black said.
"And others will feel it. Smell it. Hunt it."
Jason clenched his fists. "I'm not yours."
> "Not yet," Black replied.
"But the Abyss remembers its chosen."
Then, the mirror cracked.
And Jason's room went cold.
---
Elsewhere in the City…
A man with no eyes and too many teeth walked through a hospital corridor unseen. Lights flickered behind him. Machines flatlined. Nurses screamed.
He stopped at Room 108.
Inside, a girl no older than Jason lay comatose—burn scars lining her arms, veins pulsing with black light.
The man tilted his head.
> "Another Echo spark," he rasped.
"Too early to bloom. But the flame is lit."
He reached toward her—but his hand burned as it neared her chest.
A mark was glowing there, too.
Not Black's.
Something older.
He smiled. "Looks like the Abyss has more than one gamble this time."
---
Back to Jason…
The next morning, Jason found a letter on his windowsill.
It hadn't been there when he went to bed.
The envelope was sealed with wax, black as pitch, and marked with the same symbol on his chest.
He opened it.
Inside was a note written in handwriting that seemed to move when he looked at it too long:
> "There are others like you.
You are not cursed.
You are being tested.
Come to the Whispering Lot by midnight.
Survive the first Trial, and your path begins.
Fail, and you are unmade."
At the bottom: a symbol Jason didn't recognize.
A different Echo.
A chill ran down his spine.
Not from fear.
From something deeper.
Anticipation.