The Sinner Hunting System

With that sorted, Raphael turned his attention to the First Hunting Ground, moving his awareness through the channel and into the wasteland.

He needed to sign the werewolf contract.

The more time passed since losing the Flesh Bishop’s abilities, the more he missed them.

The unkillable quality of Corporeal Reformation.

The thousand uses of Tendril Branches. The quiet devastation of Inertia applied at the right moment.

You only understand what you had after it’s gone.

There wasn’t much he could have done about it. At the time, the only soul in any of his hunting grounds that qualified as a soul was Jason in the Third.

The Demons in the First were mostly instinct and appetite with no real consciousness behind them, nothing the Scapegoat ability could use.

"...Next time I should hunt another Flesh Bishop."

His awareness landed on the barren ground of the First Hunting Ground.

Crows called somewhere overhead, adding to the general atmosphere of desolation. He walked past the vampire’s execution stake, past Rick’s small grave, and stopped at the werewolf’s body.

Manson lay where he’d fallen, eyes closed, face peaceful, fully human in feature except for the grey-black fur covering his skin. Lyndon’s sword, or its projection here, still pinned him through the abdomen.

[Demon Contract: Alpha Werewolf.]

[Demon Level: 5.]

[Cardinal Sin: Ira.]

[Low sin compatibility. Partial mutation abilities extracted.]

[Moonlight Brand: A latent mark appears on the forehead. Lunar energy accumulates under moonlight and can be converted to arcane power, or used in ritual and rune construction.

Can also be charged into a bladed weapon to release a crescent of light, this blade of light deals damage only to the first thing it contacts, with effectiveness determined by current Physical Function level.]

Raphael’s eyes sharpened.

He’d expected the low Ira affinity to be a problem, a real limitation on what could be extracted. Instead: a ranged attack option, which was exactly what he’d been missing.

He worked through the rest of what the werewolf offered.

Werewolf’s Constitution? redundant overlap with Vampire’s Constitution. Useful, but not a priority, especially since he’d just pushed Physical Resistance to Lv3.

Wolf Toxin? based on his direct experience fighting Manson, the effect was modest. More of an addendum than a centerpiece, and against opponents with regeneration it barely registered.

Every significant enemy he’d faced so far, the vampire, the Flesh Bishop, the werewolf itself, the Inquisitor, had some form of self-healing.

Wolf Awakening? absolutely not. The raw power output at full moon was tempting, but surrendering cognitive function was non-negotiable.

He’d lived through one near-loss of self thanks to the Liberation Draught. He wasn’t interested in building that into his baseline.

The raw physical output of the Alpha form was a function of the werewolf’s Body Functions level, not a transferable skill.

The smaller utilities, partial transformation, pack call, thrall creation, were for someone who wanted a team. He worked alone, or at most alongside one or two partners.

"Good. And the cost?"

[Contract Cost: Servant of the Moon.]

[Effect: Under a full moon, anger and feral instinct become difficult to suppress. Desires and killing intent are amplified significantly.

Will experience mutual resonance with other Moon-blessed beings, and will be suppressed by Moon-blessed entities of higher standing.]

Raphael looked at this for a longer time than he’d looked at any previous contract cost.

The prior ones had been manageable. Blood thirst, carry blood bags. Emotional suppression, monitor himself, stay grounded. Both controllable with preparation.

This was different. Losing partial control on full moon nights was a variable he couldn’t engineer around, and being suppressed by higher-ranked Moon-blessed entities introduced a dependency that could become critical at exactly the wrong moment.

He’d felt what it was like to have the rational self pushed aside, the Liberation Draught had done it once, and the memory of it was unpleasant.

He stood in front of Manson’s body and turned it over for a long time.

The ground began to shake in the distance. The massive presence that patrolled the far reaches of the First Hunting Ground was moving toward him, slow and purposeful.

He bit his fingertip. Signed.

[Contract established.]

He needed power. For revenge, for finding Evelyn, for locating whoever had been running the operation against his team from inside the organization, all of it required more than he currently had.

Against high-level opponents, he was still too brittle.

Thunder rolled at the horizon. Before leaving, he looked at Rick’s grave once more.

He hadn’t forgotten the promise. The time just hadn’t come yet, and he didn’t have a replacement wraith to offer.

He opened his eyes back to the real world.

"The Malevolent Spirit. David. Maybe I can use him, settle the revenge and let Rick rest at the same time."

He glanced at the window. The moon wasn’t full. Not even close. That particular problem could wait.

Raphael exhaled slowly. A few days ago he’d imagined the Red Gloves becoming something long-term, a place to settle into. Life had other ideas, as it tended to.

"Meditation."

He shook his head, folded his legs, and let his awareness sink.

---

The sun came up and pushed warm light through the window and across Elena’s face. Birds complained about something on the street outside.

Below, the morning commuters had started moving, the low hum of traffic building.

The comforter had collected the sunlight and turned into something extremely comfortable, warm in all the right places, very reluctant to be left.

Then a smell reached her.

Eggs cooking. Other things alongside it. The layered warmth of an actual breakfast.

"...Mmh... something smells good... did the housekeeper make... wait. Wait?"

Elena sat bolt upright and stared at the bedroom door.

She was in a rental room in a city she was visiting. The Silva family housekeeper was several districts away.

There was only one other person in this apartment, and she had handcuffed him to the couch.

"The naked man. Raphael Alanster. He’s cooking? But he’s supposed to be cuffed."

A knock at the bedroom door.

"You’re awake." Raphael’s voice, easy and unhurried. "Breakfast is ready. Eat first, then we deal with your stalker. Let’s get this done quickly."

"...What."

Elena stared at the door for a moment, then unlocked it and opened it a crack.

Raphael held up his right wrist. The handcuff was broken, the link between the two rings cleanly snapped, the fluffy pink lining dangling loosely.

"Rolled over in my sleep and broke it. The quality is genuinely terrible."

He sounded mildly offended on behalf of handcuffs everywhere.

"Next time, borrow a real pair from the police."