Spirit Hunting Union

But in that instance, the world before Quinn faded.

Nothing like light anymore. Nothing like the blood-covered alley. Just complete darkness.

For a second, he thought he was back in the Cursed Realm. Or worse, already dead.

But that changed when a faint light set on a mean space before him. Right from above. Like a spotlight.

Everywhere else was dark.

In the next second, a figure appeared within that illuminated spot. Quinn gulped down his saliva the moment he processed who it was.

An exact copy of himself!

They had almost everything in common. Except for that the copy had a wolf hairstyle. With some kind of impudent aura.

This got Quinn asking himself silently,

'What is this place?'

With hands pocketed, the clone strode easily towards Quinn. His shoe steps echoed so much that Quinn assumed there was probably no end to this void.

The spotlight followed the clone with every movement. And while pacing around Quinn, he said,

"Long time no see, Quinn Vale."

Quinn gasped quietly.

This thing knows his name?

Questions swirled around his head. And without thinking much, he spun round and asked,

"What in the world are you?"

The clone stopped. He turned to Quinn, hands now crossed at his back. Eyes focused in a way that boasts strength and authority.

"Hm. That's how you greet yourself? No wonder you keep losing."

His voice was calm and composed. Too much.

Quinn's lips parted to speak. But nothing came out. He had instantly forgotten what he was going to say.

Then the clone chuckled.

"Tch… are you ever going to change?"

Quinn's brows knitted.

"What?"

The clone clarified himself, shoulders relaxed,

"I said, are you ever going to learn from your mistakes? Even if I sit you down here for all eternity and try to kick sense into you… You're still going to lose that fight, aren't you? Hm, Quinn Vale?"

Quinn gasped as realisation kicked in.

He spun and looked around. That's right. It changed all of a sudden. The Spirit's weapon was just inches away from his neck. Before he found himself in this void.

Then could it be the weapon hadn't yet cut his neck? The fight was still going on?

Quinn raised his voice,

"Does that mean time is moving very slowly out there? Tell me!"

For a second, the clone stared at him. Then smirked.

"If so, what can you do after all? The moment this void closes… Phew, your neck is gone. You'll be dead before you even realise it…"

Quinn yelled,

"Then why am I still here? Why waste my chance with your goddamn chatter?!"

But right away, the clone widened his palm.

Heaven be his witness, Quinn had no idea how his neck got into this fucker's grasp. It was so quick he couldn't register.

His legs danced high above the ground.

The clone strangled him a little.

Quinn grunted. He stammered,

"What… what are you doing?"

What met his eyes was a jesting smirk. A smirk that looked carved to mock and comfort at the same time.

"Try to have some manners, Quinn Vale. You can't be a loser in two worlds."

Despite how much that statement stung, Quinn couldn't do anything.

But the clone later dropped him.

His body clobbered hard against the surface.

Quinn yelped.

Most importantly, he was surprised that all earlier injuries on him had vanished.

While Quinn gasped for breath, his replica drew closer. And crouched beside him.

The words slipped from the clone's tongue like a gentle breeze,

"When you were paralysed, the centre of your chest still scorched. Not from pain. But from rage. They told you it's what you need to perform awesomely. Excellent. But…"

He rose from his crouch. And paced here and there.

"... that's still not enough. Not for someone like you. A weakling. Another random kid just lucky to be reborn. To be gifted the ultimate weapon that turns humans into gods. Geez, you're such a waste."

Quinn's blood boiled.

Seconds ticked by.

Fists clenched, he suddenly jerked off the ground. And stormed towards the clone…

"Hey, you! What did you just say?"

But the replica grinned.

Right as Quinn was about to grab him, he snapped his fingers.

The void disappeared. Quinn cried as he suddenly drowned deep in a river of multi-colored lights.

Blue. Yellow. Orange – he saw a lot.

In the end, his body dropped into a heap of fine sand. Its smooth texture rubbed against his skin.

The hot air slapped against the back of his neck.

The wind whizzed.

Quinn rose to his feet. His chest sank as he saw sand hills and jagged slopes across the limitless field.

The surface? It was covered all over with just sand.

Glancing up, he saw the clone.

Quinn had almost said a curse word. Before the replica snapped his fingers again.

Quinn grunted in frustration. He knew what came next.

And so, it came.

The desert slowly morphed into the acrid, chilly depths of a snowy mountain. Not even the leafless trees standing around could help Quinn when he shivered. The air bit deep through his skin.

He shivered profusely.

Why was this thing doing this? Why?!

Soon, different voices screamed in Quinn's head.

His knees met the cold ground immediately. He clasped his head tightly.

The silvery moon above consequently changed into a red one. Setting him into a hellish setting.

Coals cracked loudly. Flames burned high around him. His skin simmered under the heat. Quinn could only whimper. Grunt..

But wouldn't beg.

Even when every breath fried his lungs, Quinn resisted the push to shout. Because, that's what he had always done.

…. A loud smirk echoed in his ears.

Quinn shot his eyes up.

He pant hard.

The void… he was back there.

It's definitely the void! Good God.

Quinn panted harder. Sweat dripped down his body like drops of water.

The clone's voice echoed,

"Exactly. That's what I wanted. You should always stay strong."

In a moment, he vanished. And reappeared beside Quinn, crouching.

He asked in a gentle tone,

"Did you even think about why none of your teammates were there for you? When the creature tore you open?"

The question sank deep into Quinn's chest.

"No. I knew it. That's because you own this mission. It's a test just for you. Of whether you're worthy of wielding the ultimate weapon. The Curse. And if you fail, you die. You become another failure. Another one to not make it through the first year. And no one will mourn you, actually. They will just move on. That's how the system always is. Nobody cares."

Quinn held his fists tight.

The clone does have a way with his words. But there was still truth in those.

Nobody really cares.

Quinn then comforted him in a serious tone,

"You have only been talking about what I'm doing wrong…"

He slowly rose to his feet.

"... But not how I could do it right."

The clone responded,

"Feel the rage. Again."

He continued,

"But now, accept it as a part of you. Because it is. I am."

… Quinn held a close stare.

"Is that my mistake? What rage really is?"

"Part of it."

The clone soon rose from his crouch too.

"The moment you get disciplined, everything else gets better. The Curse acknowledges you more. You get stronger. You get to stand shoulder to shoulder with other hunters. That's just it."

Quinn nodded slowly. He let out a gentle sigh.

"Thank you."

The clone glanced over his shoulder.

"Don't get too hyped up. The blade will still cut you if you don't find a way."

"I will. I will find a way."

For a moment, the clone stared. Then he mumbled,

"That's much like it. Now, go. Don't fail me."

Quinn smiled tightly. And nodded.

"I won't."

… And so, light permeated the void.

The destruction in the alley. The blood. Most importantly, the weapon. Everything set in place.

The beam was there, just a hair's breadth from his throat.

Quinn braced himself.

The wind whizzed.

Every muscle in his body refused to bulge.

His limbs felt too heavy to move.

But what wasn't paralysed? His willpower.

Quinn gritted his teeth as he braced himself to dodge.

He pressed low. Lower. More.

Bones tore through his flesh. Still, he continued.

Finally, Quinn ducked. And the beam cut just above his head.

He took a sharp breath.

Quinn cried. He could feel his ribs snapping beneath his skin.

The Spirit seemed to be shocked, eyes a little wide.

Immediately, Quinn forcefully launched himself upwards. Under 97 per cent fatigue.

Right, his body was far beyond destruction. But still, something—someone—seemed to be helping from deep inside him.

His mana-infused fist sped fast.

And it tore through the Spirit's abdomen with a sickening squelch. Heat and resistance crushing against Quinn's knuckles.

STAB!