I leaned forward in the rickety chair, my boot pressing into Dr. Elijah Hess's thigh—right where I'd stabbed him earlier. The bastard winced, but somehow, he still kept that slimy little smile plastered on his face.
"Let's try this again," I said, my voice the kind of calm that comes right before a thunderstorm. "What exactly does Kharon want with me?"
Hess licked his cracked lips. Eyes wild. Devoted. The kind of stare that belonged to a man who'd drunk his own Kool-Aid.
"My lord sees you for what you truly are—"
I twisted the knife still lodged in his leg.
He screamed louder.
"Yeah, yeah, 'chosen one' crap," I muttered, over the noise. "Skip the cult speech. Why me?"
Behind me, Bobby stood in the corner with his arms crossed, jaw set tight. Sam and Dean flanked the panic room door, both tense, both watching like this was a powder keg about to blow. Probably because it was.
We'd dragged Hess back here kicking and chanting after Sam and Dean crashed his little blood-soaked science lab. Bobby's panic room—etched with every warding sigil from half the world's religions and a few that probably didn't even have names—was the only place we trusted to hold him.
Now I just needed answers before I lost what little patience I had left.
Hess panted, sweat dripping down his face in beads. "Y-you're special, Marcus. My lord has watched you for weeks. Given you names."
I arched an eyebrow. "Names?"
"The Hollow Vessel," Hess whispered. "The Key of Blood. The—"
I punched him in the mouth.
He gurgled something unintelligible, blood bubbling at his lips. I shook out my fist.
"Cut the poetic bullshit," I snapped. "I don't care what creepy nicknames your blood god gave me. Why is he obsessed with my powers?"
His split lip curled into a grin. "Because you consume monsters. You steal their strength. When my lord descends, he will slaughter every human, every beast—and you, Marcus Hale, will be the perfect weapon to do it."
Silence.
A long one.
Then—
I laughed.
Not a nervous laugh. Not a polite chuckle. A full-on, deep-bellied, movie-villain-going-unhinged laugh.
Dean blinked. "Uh, Marcus? You good?"
I wiped my eyes. "Oh, I'm great. Kharon's a moron."
Hess's smile faltered, just a flicker.
I leaned in closer. "Your 'lord' thinks I'm gonna roll over and be his attack dog? Buddy, I've killed gods dumber than him."
In video games, anyway, I thought. But hey, those count if you die for real when you lose.
Hess's eye twitched.
I twisted the knife again, because honestly? I was tired of hearing him breathe.
He howled like a dying wolf.
I moved on. "Next question. That girl in your lab—the one you cut open and stuffed a glowing rock into. What the hell was that?"
Hess coughed, eyes gleaming again. Like he enjoyed remembering it.
"Ah, her. The second-most compatible vessel."
Sam stiffened beside the door. "Vessel?"
"Of course," Hess said, like it was obvious. "If Marcus proved… uncooperative, she would serve as my lord's temporary host."
Dean cursed under his breath. Bobby's fist clenched like he was holding back a punch—or maybe a bullet.
Me? I just felt cold.
"You turned a kid into a backup plan," I said softly.
Hess shrugged, like it was just another Tuesday. "Sacrifices must be made for divinity."
I stood up slowly. Then kicked his chair over.
Hess crashed to the floor with a fresh scream as the knife jerked in his thigh. I stepped on his chest, pinning him with my boot.
"Here's the thing, doc," I said, voice low and sharp. "I don't care how 'divine' your boss thinks he is. I'm gonna kill him. And you're gonna tell me how."
Hess laughed—a wet, broken sound. "Fool. Kharon cannot be killed. He is immortal."
I smirked. "Yeah? Then why's he hiding?"
His face twitched—like I'd touched a nerve.
Then his chest started to glow.
"Shit!" Bobby barked. "MOVE!"
We dove back as Hess's body detonated—not in blood or bone, but in a burst of black energy that slammed into the reinforced walls. The sigils flared, burning bright white for a second, then dimmed.
Smoke coiled up into the rafters.
When it cleared, all that remained of Elijah Hess was a charred outline on the floor.
Silence.
Dean coughed. "Well. That sucked."
I didn't answer.
Later, I lay sprawled on Bobby's couch, staring at the ceiling like it had answers carved in the wood grain.
Hess was gone. But his words weren't.
Hollow Vessel. Key of Blood. Perfect Weapon.
Perfect target, more like. I wasn't a vessel—I was a person. A reincarnated freak with a monster power buffet, yeah, but still me. My gifts didn't come from some ancient blood god—they were a glitch in the system. A one-time offer. And Kharon?
He wanted to exploit that.
I rubbed my face, the day's grime mixing with sweat. Every muscle in my body felt like concrete. And the worst part?
Kharon wasn't just watching.
He was preparing.
If he had backup vessels, that meant he was close. Real close. Close enough to be sending prophets and cultists to soften me up.
And I was running out of time.
Because if he descended and I didn't have a way to kill him?
We were all screwed.
And as if things weren't complicated enough—Yellow-Eyes was still out there, too. Crawling around in the shadows, whispering poison in people's ears. Probably laughing his demonic ass off watching this play out.
Fantastic.
No pressure.
I sat up, elbows on my knees, staring into the middle distance.
Everything dies. Everything. Even gods.
You just have to figure out where to stab.
But that was the trick, wasn't it?
This wasn't a Wendigo in the woods. It wasn't a ghost with a tragic backstory. This was something older. Something patient. Something hungry.
And it wanted me.
I closed my eyes for a second. Thought about the girl in the next room where Winchesters brother brought her in. Thought about her hollowed-out chest and the glowing stone crammed inside. Thought about how easily Hess had dismissed her life.
That wasn't going to happen again.
I'd seen too many people sacrificed for "greater" things. I wasn't going to be another cog in someone else's endgame. I wasn't going to be a vessel, or a puppet, or a damn weapon.
Kharon thought I was his.
He was wrong.
I was mine.
And if I had to bleed every monster between here and the gates of hell to make that clear, so be it.
Because life—afterlife—had taught me one thing:
Gods could bleed.
And I was really, really good at making that happen.