Free Web NovelChapter 39: Sarael Shows Her Independence
The night air in Chinatown was cool and still, the usual humidity of the city dialed back to something almost pleasant.
Ronan crouched on the rooftop of a parking garage across from the hotel, his back against a ventilation unit that hummed low and steady, masking any small sounds he might make.
"The window’s still open."
She murmured, her violet eyes fixed on the hotel’s third floor.
"Same as it was an hour ago."
"Guess he just likes fresh air," Ronan said.
"Fresh air? Is there really a difference between fresh air and room air?"
She mumbled the question more to herself than to him, and Ronan decided to let her figure that one out on her own. He was already scanning the penthouse window through the scope of a cheap pair of binoculars he’d grabbed from a pawn shop on the way over.
Not military-grade, but it didn’t need to be. The hotel was close. Close enough that he could see the target moving around inside.
Sebastian Filgree was exactly where the fixer said he’d be. He was pacing back and forth with a phone pressed to his ear, his free hand gesturing in sharp, angry motions.
An argument.
A negotiation.
Ronan didn’t really care which.
The window was open. That was what mattered.
"Good."
Ronan reached into the duffel bag at his feet and pulled out his projectile. Not a rock this time.
He’d upgraded.
It was a ball bearing the size of his fist, liberated from a construction site on the way over. Smooth, dense, and aerodynamic. With his strength behind it, it would punch through the window, through the target, and probably through the wall behind him before stopping.
And he made sure to wear gloves while doing it, ensuring his DNA would be impossible to trace, assuming, of course, that the ball bearing survived the impact.
"Time to finish this."
He didn’t hesitate. He’d learned in Tartarus-B that hesitation killed. You saw an opening, you took it, or you ended up like the rest of his expedition. Dead in a world that didn’t care.
He drew his arm back and threw.
FWOOSH!
The ball bearing left his hand with a crack that split the air, crossing the distance between the parking garage and the hotel in a fraction of a second. It punched through the open window without touching the frame, struck Sebastian Filgree in the center of his chest, and kept going.
The target didn’t even have time to scream.
CRACK!
His body folded around the impact like paper crumpling in a fist, and then he was on the floor, and the ball bearing was embedded in the far wall, and the phone he’d been holding clattered across the tiles, still connected.
[Soul Absorbed: 1,000 EXP]
[Shadow Stored: Sebastian Filgree (B-Rank)]
[Shadow Storage: 3/3 Slots Occupied]
[Slot 1: Sebastian Filgree (B-Rank)]
[Slot 2: Flesh Golem (B-Rank)]
[Slot 3: Flesh Golem (B-Rank)]
Ronan discarded the extra flesh golem without a second thought, slotting the new shadow into storage. A human shadow. First one he’d ever taken. He’d figure out what that meant later. Right now, he needed to move.
There were no cameras nearby. No hunters close enough to sense anything. But anyone with half a brain could trace the trajectory back to this rooftop, and he wasn’t about to stick around for that.
"Let’s go—"
His phone buzzed before he could finish. A notification from the fixer, popping up the moment the kill was confirmed.
16259: Kill confirmed. Head to the coordinates I linked to the app’s map. You passed, GodBound. Welcome to the big leagues.
Ronan stared at the screen.
GodBound: What are you talking about?
16259: This was a test. You passed. Don’t worry, you’re still getting paid. Don’t be late.
Ronan read the message again. A test? The job, the target, the open window, was all of it a tryout?
"The hell is this bastard talking about?"
The fixer hadn’t been hiring him for a single hit. He’d been evaluating him. Seeing if he could handle something cleaner than a vault break-in. Something with higher stakes.
"What’s wrong?" Sarael asked, her shadows still coiled and ready to teleport.
"Apparently, I just passed an audition."
He pulled up the map. The coordinates sat on the edge of the industrial district, a few miles from their current location. Not a place he knew. Not a place anyone went without a reason.
And definitely not a place someone visited in the middle of the night.
"An audition? Did you... get the role?"
"Yeah, too bad I don’t know what for..."
*** freeωebnovēl.c૦m
Ronan and Sarael moved through the shadows, crossing the city in silence. The industrial district was exactly what he expected. Abandoned warehouses, rusted chain-link fences, and streetlights that had burned out years ago and never been replaced.
The coordinates led them to a building that looked no different from the others. Rusty metal walls, a loading dock with weeds growing through the cracks, and a single door marked with faded lettering that might have once said "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY."
But the lock was new.
Electronic.
The kind of security that didn’t belong on a building this dilapidated.
"Sarael, hide in my shadows for a bit."
But she didn’t obey. Not immediately. Her head tilted, and for a moment, she just stared at him like he’d said something that didn’t quite make sense.
"Ronan... I want people to know you’re mine." freewebnσvel.cѳm
There was a manic edge in her voice, but it wasn’t anger. It was closer to frustration. The kind that came from holding something in for too long.
"I’m your wife, right? Your grandmother always said a wife should be involved in her husband’s business. That’s what she told me, back when she still prayed."
She shook her head, her violet hair swaying with the motion.
"So this counts, right? This is your business. I should be part of it. Not... hiding."
Her fingers curled against her thighs.
"I can’t do that, Ronan. Not after everything."
Ronan stopped mid-step. That was new. She’d never refused a direct request before. Hesitated, yes. Asked for clarification, constantly. But outright said no? This was uncharted territory.
He turned to face her fully. The shadows at her feet were twitching, not with the usual eager curl but with something tenser. Anticipation, maybe. Or nerves. Her fingers were laced together in front of her, knuckles pale from how hard she was squeezing her own hands.
"Okay," he said, keeping his voice even. "Walk me through it."
"I want people to know."
She said the words quickly, like she’d been holding them behind her teeth for hours.
"The mark you gave me, I’ve been waiting for someone to see it. But it’s always dark, or we’re invisible, or we’re running, and nobody ever sees."
Her voice cracked slightly. The heart-shaped pupils were back, but they weren’t excited this time. They were desperate.
"You said I was your wife. You said to act like it. But how can I act like a wife if I have to hide every time you talk to someone?"
Ronan let the question hang in the air. He could see her logic, warped as it was. In her mind, hiding was what she’d done for centuries.
Being invisible was the old life. The lonely one. Now she was supposed to be his partner, his equal, his wife. And wives didn’t vanish into shadows when business started.
And... that was exactly what Ronan had told her not long ago, to be his wife and not ask for permission anymore.
Could he really refuse her now?
[Entity Possessiveness Increased]
