SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery-Chapter 316: The End of the Line

The tunnels felt alive. ƒгeewebnovёl_com

Every drip of water, every echo of our boots on the wet concrete, every shifting shadow on the walls felt like a breath, a whisper, a heartbeat.

I kept moving, my flashlight sweeping the darkness ahead, illuminating the streaks of rust and the faded graffiti that crawled along the curved walls like veins. Anthony was beside me, silent, his eyes narrowed, his hand hovering near his sidearm.

We reached a split in the tunnel, the path forking left and right into two identical corridors of dark, dripping stone.

We stopped.

Anthony looked at me, and I could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw.

"We split?" he asked quietly.

I hesitated for a moment before responding.

"He’s here somewhere," I said, my voice low. "And without his tech, he’s nothing but a rat in a cage."

Anthony nodded once, hard. "We can handle him one-on-one if we need to. We’ll signal if we find him."

I reached out, gripping his shoulder, meeting his eyes for a heartbeat. "Stay sharp. He’s cornered, and cornered animals bite."

A small, grim smile crossed Anthony’s face. "You too, Boss."

Then we parted, the darkness swallowing him to the left as I turned right, stepping deeper into the tunnel alone.

The silence grew heavier as I moved.

Every drip echoed louder, the cold stinging my skin through the fabric of my coat, the wet concrete soaking into the soles of my boots.

Instinct pulsed under my skin, crawling along my spine like cold electricity. Every shadow felt like it could hold Hyena’s thin frame, every corner felt like the moment before the trap sprung.

I kept moving.

Step.

Breathe.

Step.

Breathe.

The tunnel twisted left, then right, opening into a slightly wider corridor with old maintenance doors sealed shut with rust and age. I moved past them, my light cutting through the darkness, searching for any sign of them.

My mind flickered with images I didn’t want to see—Charlie’s small, terrified face, Hyena’s pale hands, the way his laughter used to echo over comms like static.

Then came the doubts.

What if I picked the wrong tunnel? What if Anthony found them first, but couldn’t handle it alone? What if—

A scream.

High.

Broken.

It was Charlie.

It ripped through the silence like a gunshot, slamming into me and shaking everything else loose.

I ran.

The tunnel blurred around me, shadows and water and rust flashing past as my boots pounded on the wet concrete, the sound of Charlie’s sobs pulling me forward like a rope around my chest.

I rounded a corner, nearly slipping on the slick floor, my light catching on two shapes at the end of the tunnel.

Hyena.

Charlie.

They were at a dead end, the rusted grate looming over them like the bars of a cage.

Charlie’s small body was hunched, his arms around his knees, tears streaming down his dirty, bruised face. Nothing too serious. Not yet.

Hyena stood over him, thin and pale, clothes clinging to his damp frame, his eyes wide and wild, flicking between the walls like he could tear them down with just a look.

He hadn’t noticed me yet.

I reached up, pulling the mask Camille had made for me from around my neck and sliding it over my face, feeling the familiar weight settle into place.

The mask was more than just a tool. It was a presence, a symbol. It could invoke authority, fear, confidence. It could make people talk.

And I needed him to talk.

"Hyena."

My voice cut through the tunnel, steady, cold, distorted by the mask into something that felt like it belonged in the darkness.

Hyena’s head snapped up, and for a moment, just a moment, I saw him break.

The madness flickered, replaced by something like fear, like regret, like the ghost of a man he might have been.

Then it was gone.

His eyes widened, his mouth twisting into that off-putting, too-wide smile, teeth bared like an animal, his shoulders shaking with a breathless, high-pitched laugh that scraped against the walls.

"Ah, Mr. Dust, Reynard Vale himself," he crooned, his voice cracking as it shifted into a manic giggle. "Here to play hero? Here to save the little brat?"

Charlie sobbed, pressing himself back against the wall, his small hands clutching at the wet concrete.

Hyena’s hand shot down, pulling a knife from his coat, the blade catching the weak light of my flashlight.

And he pressed it against Charlie’s neck.

"Don’t!" I snapped, stepping forward, every muscle in my body coiled and ready.

Hyena’s laugh turned into a shriek, his eyes bulging, the knife trembling against Charlie’s skin.

"It’s the end of the line, Hyena," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm, cold, in control. "There’s nowhere left to run."

Hyena’s breathing was ragged, wheezing, his eyes flicking back and forth.

"Run?" he repeated, his voice too high, too light, as if the word was funny to him. "RUN?!"

His laugh was sharp, cutting, a broken thing that echoed off the walls.

"There’s no running," he hissed, pressing the blade closer, a single drop of blood welling at Charlie’s throat.

Charlie whimpered, tears mixing with the grime on his cheeks.

Instinct screamed at me.

Charlie is going to get hurt.

But Psychological Insight whispered beneath it, cold and precise.

He doesn’t want to hurt the kid.

Not yet.

Not if he still thought he could use him.

Regardless it was clear he was going crazy and I was doubting if negotiations were even possible anymore.

I slowly reached for my phone in my coat pocket, never breaking eye contact with Hyena.

Anthony. Found them. Need backup. Now.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Hyena’s eyes darted, his face twisting into that unnatural, too-wide grin again, a hiss of laughter bubbling from his lips.

"Look at you," he breathed, tilting his head, the mask’s reflection in his wide eyes. "The great Mr. Dust, the savior, the hero."

He spat the word like poison.

"You think you can fix this?" His voice rose, shrill, cracking on the last word. "You think you can fix me?!"

"I don’t care about fixing you," I said, my voice low, steady. "I’m here for the kid."

Charlie’s eyes met mine, wide, terrified, hopeful.

Hyena’s grin twitched.

Then it fell away.

The madness boiled over, rage burning in his eyes, his breath coming in sharp, animalistic pants.

"You can’t have him!" he screamed, his voice tearing through the tunnel, echoing off the walls. "You can’t have any of it! You can’t—"

And then he moved.

The knife flashed.

Charlie screamed.

And the world went red.

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