CHAPTER 120: OUT FOR BLOOD

The city lights bled across the glass walls of Eron’s penthouse.

He stood at the edge of the room, overlooking the streets far below. His reflection stared back at him from the glass—hard eyes, clenched jaw, shoulders tight with rage.

He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t even sat down. Since the news of Garrick’s death, his mind had been one unbroken storm.

Every second, he replayed it. The reports. The images. The whispers that spread through the Hunter world like wildfire—Lucian and his team had returned alive, stronger than ever, and Garrick was gone.

Gone.

His only son.

Eron’s fist pressed against the glass hard enough to crack it. His chest rose and fell with sharp breaths. The city stretched endlessly below him, but all he could see was Garrick’s face.

"You were supposed to live longer than me," he muttered, voice low and raw. "You were supposed to carry the name higher than I ever could. And they took you from me."

His hand shook. The rage inside him wasn’t fire anymore. Fire could be controlled. This was deeper—like molten stone, flooding every vein, choking him with the weight of it.

The sound of a door sliding open pulled his head around.

Aldric walked in, calm as ever, his suit immaculate, his silver hair neat. Behind him, footsteps followed. Heavy. Controlled.

Eron didn’t look at the figure yet. His eyes stayed on Aldric, sharp as blades. "Tell me you have something."

Aldric inclined his head. "We do."

Eron’s voice cracked out. "Say it plain."

"Your son’s killers are moving. They’re together again—Lucian, Vyn, Evelyn, Silas. Word is they’ve been seen near an Oblivion Gate, heading into deeper zones." Aldric’s tone stayed smooth, but his eyes studied Eron carefully. "They’re not hiding. They’re fighting. Making names for themselves."

The glass finally gave under Eron’s hand, spiderwebbing into cracks that ran across the wall.

"They think they can rise from the ashes," Eron said, voice like gravel. "That they can come back from what I should have ended." His teeth grit. "I’ll tear their hope out by the root."

Aldric didn’t flinch. He stepped aside, just enough for the figure behind him to step closer into the light. A man, tall, his face and body masked, fully suited. Silent.

Eron’s gaze cut toward him for a heartbeat, but he didn’t linger. He didn’t need to. Whatever Aldric had brought, whatever tool this was, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the hunt.

Aldric’s voice carried the weight of his calm. "He’s ready."

The silence stretched. The lights of the city hummed.

Eron turned fully now, stepping away from the glass. His boots rang against the marble floor, echoing sharp in the wide room. He stopped in front of the masked figure, looking him over once.

Then he spoke, cold and final. "Good. Send him out. Track those kids. Bring them to me."

His voice lowered, dark as the cracks in his heart. "I want to kill them with my own hands."

The masked man didn’t move, didn’t speak. Only the faintest shift of his head, like a nod, and then he stepped back into the shadows.

Eron’s eyes followed the space he left behind, then shifted back to Aldric.

"You know what this means," Eron said.

"Yes."

"I’m not stopping. Not until I have each one of their bodies at my feet. Vyn. Evelyn. Silas. And him." His lip curled back slightly, venom on his tongue. "Lucian."

Aldric folded his hands behind his back. "We’ll find them. And when we do, there will be no escape."

Eron’s chest heaved once, a single breath drawn deep to steady the storm inside him. But nothing steadied. The grief was there, buried under the rage, twisting like a knife he couldn’t pull out.

He walked past Aldric, pacing the length of the room. The floor shook faintly under each step—his aura leaking uncontrolled, bending the air, rattling the fixtures in the walls.

He saw Garrick again. The boy’s younger face, when he first lifted a blade. The pride in his eyes when he landed his first kill. The stubborn fire when he said he’d surpass even his father.

That memory split into another—Garrick’s body dragged back. Pale. Silent.

Eron’s head dropped. His voice was a growl that scraped the air. "They’ll pay. They’ll all pay."

Aldric watched him with a gaze like steel, unblinking. Then he said quietly, "I’ll make the arrangements. By tomorrow, every network we control will be searching. There will be no place they can hide."

Eron nodded once, sharp. "Good."

The lights of the city below flickered as a storm rolled over the skyline. Thunder rumbled, far but heavy.

Eron turned back to the cracked glass wall, his reflection fractured into jagged pieces. It suited him.

"They thought they were safe," he whispered, his voice breaking into something between grief and fury. "They thought surviving was victory. But they don’t know what they’ve taken. They don’t know what I’ve lost."

The thunder boomed louder.

Eron’s eyes glowed faint with power as he raised his hand, flexing his fingers as if wrapping them around invisible throats.

"When I’m finished," he said, low and final, "they’ll wish that gate had killed them instead."

Aldric’s steps receded, the door sliding shut behind him. Somewhere deeper in the building, movements stirred—the quiet preparations of hunters, operatives, weapons being gathered. The beginning of a hunt that would not stop.

Eron stood alone again, staring out over the storm as it rolled in. His jaw clenched, his body trembling under the weight of the rage that refused to ease.

He whispered his son’s name once—raw, almost broken. "Garrick."

Then the sound of rain began against the glass, sharp, steady.

Eron didn’t move. He let the storm drown the silence, eyes burning, his heart locked on one truth.

He would not rest.

Not until he had their blood.

A/N

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