Chapter 11 - A Trip Down Memory Lane

There they stood, in Argent’s weapon room—a shrine to destruction. Every inch of the cold, steel walls was lined with weapons of every kind: raw, infused, enchanted, Core-based. The dim light flickered off the blades and barrels, casting jagged shadows across the room.

Argent emerged from a corner, tossing a gas mask into Hound’s hands. “This cost me a fortune, love. If you waste it, you buy it. Deep breaths—focus,” she instructed, slipping on her own sleek mask.

Hound adjusted the mask, his breath slow and deliberate. As he inhaled, a shimmering purple gas filled the mask, burning his throat and dying his teeth a deep violet. Thin, branching veins surfaced around his eyes, glowing red and purple, stretching down his neck, over his chest, and spreading across his body like creeping vines. His pupils dilated, glowing an unearthly silver. The room dimmed around him, swallowed by darkness, until he could see nothing but void.

Reality one

The world snapped into focus—a scene painted in carnage. River soldiers lay scattered, lifeless, blood pooling on the cracked ground. The sky was a sickening crimson. Slowly, Hound turned, his breath shallow as his eyes locked onto a single horrifying sight: Argent. Her head impaled on a spear-like weapon, her expression frozen in betrayal.

His heart raced. His breathing grew uneven. The darkness reclaimed him.

Reality Two

The blackness broke into a jarring scene: the border between River and Rivermirror. Hound’s chest was gaping open, a hole where his heart should have been. He was dragged across the dirt by Argent, a briefcase clutched tightly in her hands. Blood poured into the empty cavity, seeping into the dirt as pain seared through him. Behind them, shadowy figures closed in, their faces obscured.

Who are they?

The searing pain intensified, his breathing shallow and desperate. The darkness came again.

Now, suffocating from excessive consumption of high concentration ether, his mouth began to foam a black substance. His body trembled. In the present, Argent hovered above him, her face contorted in worry. 

“Take it off!” she yelled, reaching for his mask.

“Take it off, now!”,  Argent got on top of him trying attempting to take the mask off realizing the severity of the situation.

“I’ve… Got… No… Not… Don’t… Yet!”, Hound assured

Reality Three

“Future this, future that,” she spat, tears streaming anew. “Do you ever think about how your choices destroy the lives of everyone around you?!”

Argent’s voice was gone. The Dawson mansion loomed around him, blood pooling beneath the lifeless bodies of Daryl, Mavis, and Ms. Dawson. Emily stood frozen, her hands trembling and coated in blood not her own. Her wide eyes bore into Hound as if begging for forgiveness he could never grant.

And then, a different flash—Hound and Argent, their raid on River’s military headquarters a success. No blood was spilled; it was smooth, surgical. But as they approached the border, Argent was cleaved in two by a Core-infused blade. Hound barely registered the gunshot that followed before the world went black again.

And then it was black again

“Blood magic?” he rasped, his voice faltering as his knees buckled. “Why? If you didn’t like what I was doing, you only had to say so.”

“I couldn’t give less of a fuck what you do to her” he replied with his face remaining impassive, his voice steady.

In that moment, a memory of his closest friend seared through Hound's mind like a blade. Tears began to spill, tracing the jagged lines of the runic tattoos on his face, each drop a painful reminder.

"He loved me," Hound whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his anguish. "He LOVED me! I thought— I thought it would be different. I’m so sorry, Puck. If I could take it back... if I could take it all back..."

The tears came harder now, scattering like shards of broken glass.

"What did I do to deserve this? YOUR BETRAYAL!" he roared, clutching his head as if to drown out the cacophony of voices screaming inside.

"I CARED FOR YOU!" he bellowed, his voice breaking as the storm within him raged on, unstoppable and unrelenting.

Then came reality four, reality five, six, seven, nineteen, two hundred, four hundred and sixty seven, nine hundred and two,

Reality number #!@!%#

And then it was black again

Hound ripped the mask of his face, almost drawing in his own foam. Argent hurried towards him in worry. Hound throwing up, dizzy, his pupils vibrating, bis body still shaking, his hands unable to shop shivering, tears filling his eyes. He cupped his face trying to regain composure

Hound's chest tightened as the memory clawed its way back to the surface, unrelenting and vivid. The image of Puck's lifeless body sprawled before him was seared into his mind, every detail as sharp as the blade he’d used. His hands trembled uncontrollably, his breathing shallow, and the weight of the act threatened to crush him where he stood. The silver of his eyes dulled as tears welled up, spilling over in uneven streaks. The silence in the room seemed to mock him, amplifying the haunting echo of Puck’s final moments. “I didn’t mean to,” he muttered to himself, voice quivering, “I didn’t want to.” But the truth was an unyielding specter—he had, and the shame of it would never let him go.

“Do we both make it out with what we want? Alive and intact?”, Argent questioned eagerly

“Something along those lines”, Hound replied, his voice raspy from his hurting throat.