OP Absorption
Chapter 67: success

Chapter 67: success

Mara stared at the shattered plate, then back at Fin’s unnervingly calm face. "Hana tried to kill you? Fin, this... this is insane."

"Is it?" His voice remained flat. "Or is it just Tuesday in the life of a Hunter?"

She took another shaky step back. "Okay. Okay, let’s say... let’s say I believe you. The team is dead. Hana betrayed you. You somehow survived. Now what? You can’t just walk into the Guild like this."

"Exactly," he confirmed. "They’d lock me up. Dissect me. Or worse."

"So what do you want?" she asked, dread pooling in her stomach.

"A cover story," he said simply. "One that fits. One they’ll accept."

His plan unfolded with chilling precision. He wouldn’t report back immediately. Instead, he needed to be found. Near the dungeon site. Critically injured. Barely alive. Suffering from trauma-induced amnesia. The sole, miraculous survivor of a mission gone horribly wrong.

"Amnesia?" she whispered, horrified. "Injured? Fin, you’re talking about—"

"Injuring myself," he finished for him, the words holding no weight. "Severely. It needs to look convincing. Broken bones, internal bleeding, near-death trauma. Enough that amnesia is plausible. Enough that they won’t question how a D-rank survived when A-ranks didn’t."

"No." she shook her head vehemently. "Absolutely not. That’s crazy, Fin! You could kill yourself!"

"No, I won’t." The certainty in his voice was absolute, unsettling. "Pain is... manageable now. My recovery is accelerated." He didn’t elaborate on what he meant. He didn’t need to. The implication was clear enough.

"This is the only way, Mara," he insisted, stepping closer again. His eyes, though normal-looking now, held that same flat intensity. "Help me with the logistics. A plausible location to be ’found’. Maybe ’stumbled’ out before collapsing. You can make the anonymous tip once I’m in place."

She looked at him, truly looked at the stranger wearing Fin’s face. The stubborn kid was gone, replaced by something cold, calculating, powerful. And scared, maybe, deep down? Or was that just wishful thinking?

"They’ll suspect," she argued weakly.

"Let them suspect," he countered. "Without proof, suspicion is just noise. An injured, amnesiac D-rank survivor is a tragedy. A healthy D-rank survivor telling impossible stories is a threat." He paused. "Help me, Mara. Please. You’re the only one I can trust with this."

The plea, combined with the chilling logic, broke her resistance. She saw the corner he was backed into. Saw the abyss waiting if the truth came out.

She closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath. "Fine," she whispered, hating herself for agreeing. "Fine. Tell me what you need."

---

The rain had stopped, leaving the ground near the abandoned dungeon site slick with mud and decay. Fin stood in a shadowed ravine, hidden from the distant lights of the Guild encampment.

’Okay. Time to work.’ The thought was detached.

He assessed his body like a mechanic checking a machine. Needs damage here. Impact trauma here. Significant blood loss simulation needed.

He took a deep breath, focusing inward. The Mana Cell pulsed faintly beneath the Mark of Dominance. He drew on its power, not the chaotic surge of combat, but a controlled, focused burst.

He slammed his own fist into his side with calculated, inhuman force.

CRACK.

Ribs snapped. The sound was loud in the quiet ravine. Agony should have followed. White hot, blinding pain.

Nothing.

Just a dull pressure. A notification of damage received, logged by his core, already being assessed for repair. Interesting.

He needed more. Broken arm. Leg. Internal damage simulation. He gathered power again, striking himself with precise, brutal efficiency. Bones broke with wet snaps. He used the sharp edge of a rock to create deep, bleeding lacerations across his arms and chest.

He didn’t feel the pain. He watched, dispassionately, as his body sustained injuries that would kill a normal person, or leave them screaming in agony. His cores hummed quietly, managing the trauma, beginning the slow, hidden process of regeneration beneath the surface damage.

He collapsed realistically onto the muddy ground, arranging his limbs at unnatural angles. He smeared mud and his own blood across his face and clothes. Perfect.

He closed his eyes, regulating his breathing to be shallow, erratic. He slowed his pulse, a trick learned from the Mana Cell’s intricate control.

He waited. A broken doll lying in the mud.

---

"Over here! Found one!"

The shout cut through the night. Flashlight beams stabbed through the darkness, landing on Fin’s still form.

Boots sloshed through mud. Gasps of shock. Urgent voices crackled over radios.

"It’s Carver! The D-rank!"

"God, look at him... is he breathing?"

"Barely! Get medics, now! Priority one evac!"

Hands carefully probed his neck, checked his pulse. He remained limp, unresponsive beyond a faint, simulated flicker of eyelids.

He was lifted onto a stretcher, the movement jarring his deliberately broken bones. Still no real pain. Just... pressure. Data.

He allowed a low groan to escape his lips as they rushed him towards the lights of the encampment.

’step one, done.’

---

The hospital was a blur of bright lights, sterile smells, and urgent, hushed voices. Beeping machines, IV drips, the sting of antiseptic.

Doctors worked over him, faces grim. "Multiple fractures... severe internal trauma... significant blood loss... remarkable he’s even alive..."

He let them work, keeping his eyes closed, feigning unconsciousness.

Hours later, under the watchful eye of a Guild medical officer and Mara (who looked pale and stressed, playing her part perfectly), he "woke up".

His eyes fluttered open. He blinked, looking around with wide, convincingly blank confusion. He focused on Mara.

"Wh... where am I?" His voice was weak, raspy. "What... happened?"

The medical officer stepped forward. "Hunter Carver. You were found near the dungeon collapse site. You’re severely injured. Do you remember anything?"

He looked from the officer to Mara, his brow furrowed in apparent effort. He shook his head slowly, wincing as if in pain. "Dungeon...? I... I remember going in. With... with Hana’s team." He frowned deeper. "Then... nothing. It’s all blank. How did I get out? Where are the others?"

The officer exchanged a look with Mara. "Trauma-induced amnesia," the officer murmured. "Not uncommon in cases this severe." He made a note on his datapad. "Rest, Hunter Carver. Your survival is nothing short of miraculous."

The plan had worked.

---

The news of Fin’s miraculous survival, albeit with critical injuries and total amnesia regarding the event, spread quickly through the city.

Visitors came. Guild officials offered quiet, formal condolences for his lost team and commended his inexplicable resilience. Lower-rank Hunters whispered about his luck, his toughness, or the sheer horror of whatever happened in that dungeon.

His guildmaster visited him personally. She strode into his private room, her usual boisterous energy subdued, concern etched on her face. She pulled up a chair, looking him over carefully.

"Carver," she said, her voice softer than usual. "Heard you were knocking on death’s door." She reached out, patting his uninjured arm gently. "Glad you pulled through. Really glad."

He offered a weak, slightly confused smile. "Thanks, Mrs. Jolly. Good to... see you."

"You gave us all a scare," she continued, shaking her head. "Losing Hana and her whole team... And you, coming back like this." She leaned forward slightly. "Don’t worry about remembering right now. Just focus on getting better. You earned it."

Her genuine warmth was a strange counterpoint to the cold calculations swirling inside him. He held her gaze, letting the feigned confusion mask the abyss within. "I’ll try."

---

Meg arrived like a whirlwind. She burst through the door, ignoring the nurse’s attempt to stop her, her face tear-streaked, eyes red-rimmed and frantic. She saw him lying in the bed, pale and bandaged, and rushed to his side.

"Fin! Oh my god, Fin!" She grabbed his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks. "They told me... they said you were... gone! That everyone..."

She choked on a sob, burying her face against his shoulder. "You idiot! You stupid, reckless idiot! Don’t you ever do that again! Don’t you ever scare me like that!"

He froze for a fraction of a second. Her raw, unrestrained grief, her genuine terror... it bypassed the Mana Cell’s cold logic, the chilling revelations. It hit something deeper. Something fragile and almost forgotten.

He awkwardly raised his good hand, hesitantly placing it on her trembling back.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice catching slightly, his voice cracking for the first time. "It’s okay. I’m... I’m here."

She looked up, searching his face, her eyes filled with frantic relief. "You promise? You’re really okay?"

He met her tear-filled gaze. He couldn’t sustain the blankness. Not with her. He managed a small, tired, but genuine smile.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I promise."

Lying there, holding her hand, listening to her relieved sobs, he felt the immense weight of his secrets, his power, the impossible knowledge he carried.

The plan worked. He was safe, for now.