OP Absorption
Chapter 82: Meg Is in Trouble

Chapter 82: Meg Is in Trouble

Meg hummed softly, tapping her chin as she compared two ridiculously oversized novelty mugs in the brightly lit gift shop. Fin’s birthday was just around the corner, and finding the perfect gag gift was crucial.

He needed cheering up, especially after that whole dungeon mess and his weird recovery. Maybe the one shaped like a grumpy cat? Yeah, that felt right.

She paid for the mug, tucked the brightly wrapped box under her arm, and pushed open the shop door, stepping out onto the busy afternoon sidewalk. The city hummed around her, a familiar symphony of traffic, chatter, and distant sirens.

Time to head home, maybe try cooking something that wouldn’t set off the smoke alarm tonight.

As she turned towards her usual bus stop, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Across the street, two men in dark, impeccably tailored suits stood watching the shop entrance. Their stillness amidst the surrounding bustle felt... wrong.

Meg frowned, her steps faltering. Probably just waiting for someone, she told herself, shaking off the sudden unease. She started walking again, picking up her pace slightly.

She glanced sideways down a narrow side street. Two more suits, leaning casually against a wall, their eyes tracking her movement.

Okay, not a coincidence. Her stomach tightened. Association? Guild politics? Whatever it was, it involved Fin, which meant it involved her.

She abruptly changed direction, ducking into the flow of pedestrians heading the opposite way, trying to blend in, heart starting to beat fast. She risked a quick look back. The first two suits were moving purposefully through the crowd, closing the distance.

Panic flared. She needed to get away, find somewhere crowded, call Fin—

Another suit stepped out directly in front of her, blocking her path. He wasn’t as bulky as the others, but his eyes were cold, flat. He held up a small device.

A shimmering hologram flickered to life above his hand. Rowena’s face materialized, that same chillingly polite smile fixed in place.

"Hello again, dear," the hologram spoke, Rowena’s smooth voice echoing faintly from the device. "Apologies for the informal approach, but we really must insist you accompany us to the Association headquarters." Her smile didn’t waver. "Please, don’t resist. These boys," she gestured vaguely with her holographic head towards the men now forming a loose, inescapable circle around Meg, "don’t play particularly nice."

What the hell was going on? Association headquarters? Why? Meg’s mind raced. This was about Fin. They couldn’t get him, so they were coming after her.

Fear turned sharp, edged with anger. "Get away from me!" she snapped, clutching the gift box like a shield.

She feinted left, then spun right, trying to break through the cordon. For a split second, she thought she saw an opening—

Agony exploded across her face.

One of the flanking suits moved with brutal speed. A fist slammed into her jaw, sharp and unforgiving. Stars erupted behind her eyes. The force of the blow lifted her off her feet, sending her crashing backward into the hard brick wall of the building behind her.

She hit the wall hard, the wrapped gift box flying from her grasp. Pain flared through her head, sharp and nauseating. Warmth spilled down her face, thick and sticky. She tasted blood, felt the sickening crunch of bone give way. Her nose. Broken.

Through the swimming haze of pain, she saw the suits closing in, impassive, efficient. Darkness encroached, pulling her down.

’Fin...’ The thought was a desperate, fading whisper in the blackness.

Then, nothing.

---

Fin stepped back into the quiet living room, the portal dissolving silently behind him. The house felt emptier than before, the afternoon light fading into long shadows. Still no Meg.

He pulled out his phone, thumbing her contact. It rang. And rang. Straight to voicemail.

Unease prickled at him, cold and sharp. She always answered. Or at least texted back some sarcastic reply within minutes.

He tried again. Voicemail.

"Dammit," he muttered, pacing the room. Where could she be? Maybe she met up with a friend? But she would have been back by now, besides, Meg had no friends.

He rubbed his temples, the cold logic momentarily overridden by a rising tide of anxiety. He should have done something. Left a trace of his mana on her, some kind of passive tracker, a warning system. Anything.

But he hadn’t wanted to intrude, hadn’t wanted to seem controlling after everything... Stupid. Complacent.

"This is my fault," he growled, kicking savagely at the leg of the armchair. If something happened...

He couldn’t stay inside. He bolted out the repaired door, hitting the street at a dead run. He scanned faces, peered into shop windows, his senses stretching out, searching for her familiar energy signature amidst the city’s chaotic hum.

"Meg!" he called out, his voice tight with growing panic, weaving through pedestrians who barely registered his frantic passage. "Meg!"

Nothing. Just indifferent faces, the rumble of traffic, the smell of damp pavement. He ran block after block, a cold dread tightening its grip around his heart. Where was she?

He stopped, leaning against a lamppost, scrubbing his face with trembling hands, trying to force down the rising panic, trying to think clearly. Where else could she be? What could have—

His phone vibrated violently in his pocket. He snatched it out, fumbling slightly. Unknown number.

His thumb hovered over the answer button. A trap? A wrong number? He didn’t care.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice rough.

"Hunter Carver." Rowena’s voice. But the smooth, condescending silk was gone, replaced by flat, cold steel. No pleasantries. No games.

"We have your friend," she stated, the words hitting him like ice shards. "Meg, I believe? Quite spirited, though currently indisposed."

His blood ran cold. "What did you do?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"She is unharmed," she replied curtly. "For now. Her continued well-being depends entirely on your immediate cooperation."

The implication was brutally clear.

"Return to Association headquarters," she commanded. "Alone. Now. Any deviation, any attempt to involve others, any delay... and she suffers the consequences. Painfully."

She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t need one. The line clicked dead.

He stared at the silent phone, the blood roaring in his ears.

Unharmed. For now. Painfully.

Veins pulsed visibly at his temples. The air around him seemed to drop several degrees. His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the phone.

It wasn’t a conscious decision. Raw, incandescent fury erupted from the depths of his being, overriding thought, overriding control. The power within him surged, violent and untamed.

CRUNCH.

The phone crumpled in his grip, plastic shattering, circuits sparking uselessly. Shards dug into his palm, drawing blood he didn’t feel.

The ambient mana around him churned, darkening, coalescing. Shadows seemed to writhe at his feet, twisting into shapes like hungry mouths filled with fangs. The silver light, the green energy – they were consumed by this roiling darkness, raw power fueled by pure, unadulterated rage.

His eyes blazed, no longer brown, silver, or green, but swirling vortexes of shadow and barely contained destructive force.

"I," he snarled, the sound inhuman, echoing strangely in the sudden stillness around him, "will kill them all."

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