Tower of Hell: Sineville of the Seas, Book 2, Chapter 136

*** If you haven't heard, I'm rereleasing Tower of Hell on Royal Road and Scribblehub. I want to try and give it a fresh start, and I've been editing and rewriting chapters while making the story fresh and containing new information. My Patreons will still get the latest release each week of Book Two, but I may take a short hiatus to edit the earlier chapters. Once the rerelease occurs, I'll change my weekly format from one long chapter to multiple short chapters. I hope I have enough time for two-three chapters each week that are 2k words or more. With that said, please enjoy! ***

There was no point in overthinking the situation, so Jonas continued down the street, waiting for inspiration. Ten minutes later, he stopped at a bar and began drinking, smoking, and watching a sporting event on the television. A fight between two professional mixed martial artists had just entered the third round, and the commentators were discussing the match.

“Regarding OFC heavy-weight champion Gregory House, his opponents have only taken him to the final round three times in his long career. On those three occasions, the champ lost the fight. Morris, did you think Jai Khatri would do this well?”

“We knew that Indian Jones had the physicality to go blow-to-blow with Brick House, but I’m surprised at the sheer difference in speed. Simply put, Jai used his quickness to his advantage, and you can see the results in the hit numbers from the previous two rounds. Mr. Khatri with an astounding three-to-one attack ratio when compared to Greg.”

“Who cares how often you get hit when they don’t do any real damage? Gregory House didn’t earn a nickname after bricks for no reason. That man is indestructible, and once Jai wears out in the third round, Greg will finish him off,” the two commentators continued their discussion while Jonas shook his head.

“You think Jai will win?” A bartender filled Jonas’ drink. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s had the advantage the whole fight. Greg can’t catch him, doesn’t have the same stamina, and he’s starting to get frustrated. On the other hand, Jai’s been waiting for his opponent to let down his guard, then he can go for the submission.”

“Not a knock-out?” The bartender looked surprised. “In the past, Jai has always gone for the KO.”

“Not this time,” said Jonas, and even the gentleman sitting next to him turned his head to hear the explanation. “Jai won’t have enough power to put the champ to sleep with a punch, but he’ll probably go for a choke-hold.”

“How do you figure?” The man beside Jonas flicked his cigarette and looked confused. He wore scrubs and looked the part of a typical Commoner grabbing a beer after work.

“Jai has a shorter wingspan which will help him get a tight grip around the neck. First, shorter arms have less distance to travel. Second, he knows Greg is out of breath, and a chokehold will quickly incapacitate him. Third, other submission tactics will be less viable because of their size differences,” Jonas lit a new cigarette and perused the bar’s menu. “Let me try this drink, the Bloody Dragon. Extra spicy.”

“Yes, Sir,” the bartender began preparing Jonas’ drink, and the man seated by Jonas looked like he had something to say.

“Greg House will win by knock-out. I’ll put a beer on it,” he tapped the counter and eyed Jonas.

“One beer. I’ve got Jai Khatri winning by submission,” they continued to listen to the commentating, and by the time the bartender put Jonas’ massive Bloody Dragon drink on the counter, the fight began once more.

The three watched Khatri and House begin round three. The third round looked identical to the first and second: Greg threw punches while looking for a knock-out, but his opponent dodged them, and suddenly, Jai ducked underneath a sluggish right hook, spun behind his opponent, and wrapped his bicep around Greg’s neck.

For a moment, the Champ desperately struggled to shake off Indian Jones, who was trying to finish the chokehold.

“Shit, shit,” the man beside Jonas was cringing and slapping the counter. “Throw him off!” Greg was gassed, out of stamina, and after a last desperate struggle, he fell over and allowed Jai to finish the chokehold. The commentators went wild, and the referee ended the match when Greg was unresponsive.

“Jai Khatri takes down the Champ! Indian Jones extends his record to twenty wins and two losses!”

“Great call, kid,” said the bartender, while the man who proposed the bet sighed and nodded toward Jonas.

“Get him his beer. How the Hell did you guess that?” The bartender chuckled and put a Killer Lite down on the counter.

“Thanks, partner. I know a little about fighting bigger opponents. If Jai’s as good as everyone says he is, he’d use a similar strategy to me.”

“Oh, you’re a fighter?” The bartender examined Jonas and noticed he was deceptively muscular for someone his age and size.

“Something like that,” said Jonas smiling into his drink but didn’t elaborate. He chatted with the bartender and continued watching television while smoking, drinking, and pretending to be a Commoner on his day off. Occasionally, he’d ask questions about what he saw on TV, but more often, he’d stay quiet and listen to the surrounding sounds. Commoners mostly spoke about their jobs and ongoing events.

“Stay away from Arisen Street,” Jonas heard a woman talking on the phone at a table behind him. “Didn’t you hear about the new gang? They’ve been jumping, robbing, and harassing anyone dumb enough to walk that way. Babe, just take a different way home.”

‘Gang activity, huh?’ Jonas tapped on the bar counter. “Hey, I’m heading out. What do I owe?” He paid his tab, thanked the bartender, and said goodbye to the man beside him.

Jonas returned to the streets while holding his hell phone because he needed to use the maps application to find Arisen street. The red sky was starting to darken and turn murky like dirty blood, and Jonas knew it was almost time for the Commoners to pack up and head inside. Anyone wandering the streets after dark was either dangerous or stupid.

After an hour of walking, the streets had cleared, and a chilling breeze brushed across Jonas’ face as the sky turned black and stars and moon began to glow. Arisen street was a long back road with ghetto duplex houses, a few run-down shops, and inconspicuous, unlabeled buildings with shadowy figures huddled in front of them.

“Hi!” Jonas approached a group of five men drinking in front of a house. “I’m a little lost right now, and I was wondering if you could point me to the nearest convenience store?” He used his politest, weakest voice and wore a subservient smile.

“Oh, shit,” said a gruff voice, and a large man wearing red stepped out from the group, and the moonlight illuminated his terrifying face. “You’re way off the beaten path. You’ve got to turn back and make a right at the lights,” his dangerous eyes roamed downward and examined the backs of Jonas’ hands, but he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary because of the darkness obscuring them. It was an amateur mistake not to recognize even the faintest Sin Scars.

“Thanks, man,” Jonas put his hands in his pockets and grabbed his pack of smokes. “Mind if I hang out and have a smoke with you?” The group was shocked at how dumb he was for wandering around at night, approaching a random group of dangerous strangers, and asking to hang out with them. It was almost too easy not to try and take advantage of him.

“Uh, sure. Here,” the leader pulled a lighter from his pocket and held it out. Jonas put a cigarette in his mouth, leaned forward, and the man lit the tip. He glanced at his friend, winked, and stepped back.

Suddenly, a fist swung from the darkness and cold-clocked Jonas across the jaw. His cigarette flew from his mouth, and he stumbled over the curb and onto the street.

“Get him!” One of the men shouted, and they swarmed like hyenas onto prey. It happened so quickly. All the men were swearing while kicking, punching, pulling, and gang-beating Jonas. One of the men continued stomping Jonas’ head and caused the teen to see stars and feel tremendous pain, all while his fellows attacked every inch of their victim they could get their hands or feet on.

Jonas knew it was one of the dumbest, hardest things he’d ever done. While they curb-stomped him until blood leaked from every orifice, the young Crusader fought his Pride with everything he had—something he’d learned not to do. His Sin screamed for him to fight back, it begged to let loose and rampage against the regular Commoner gangsters, and it protested at such a shameful act. By some miracle, Jonas reigned in his Pride and forced it to sit through the humiliation.

“Check his pockets,” they stopped beating him only for one of the men to begin rummaging, but he only found a few spare Dream Dollars—which he kept; he didn’t even consider stealing the hell phone. One grabbed his pack of smokes, and after that, they gave a few more kicks for good measure.

“Nice shoes, bitch,” another pulled off Jonas’ sneakers. “Now get him the fuck off our street,” the gangster barked orders at his comrades, and two grabbed Jonas by the foot and began dragging his bleeding body across the concrete road and down onto the dark corner.

Jonas squinted at the beautiful night sky for a few long minutes while embracing the pain he was experiencing. They might have been Commoner gangsters, but against his defenseless body with no Sin in his system, they still managed to do a great deal of damage externally and internally. He was gushing blood from his split skull, nose, and multiple spots on his ligaments, and he could tell they’d fractured numerous ribs.

Jonas didn’t feel like a talented Sinner, and he didn’t feel like he had super fast regenerative abilities, acid blood, or the martial prowess to go head-to-head with Sinner psychopaths. Instead, he felt like a dumbass teenager who’d turned down the wrong neighborhood, got jumped by bored criminals, robbed, and tossed away like trash. His Pride was suspiciously quiet, like a brooding caged lion, and Jonas gingerly lifted his arm to peek at his hand. There were no Sin Scars; he’d completed Sin Suppression for the first time.

Jonas closed his eyes, smiled, and sighed. He focused on the feelings he was experiencing physically and mentally—weakness, defenselessness, pain, and unable to feel or use Sin.

Jonas wanted badly to channel his Pride and begin the healing process but knew that he’d only master Sin Suppression if he remembered what it was like to perform it. So, instead of taking the easy way, he just laid there on the sidewalk, bleeding out and trying to absorb the experience.

Then, he was reminded of his youth when Frank, one of his adoptive fathers, would beat him, and he couldn’t fight back at all, and any thought of self-defense would’ve made the beating worse. The feeling he was experiencing in the present day must’ve been how his younger self felt to deal with such a terrible situation.

The seconds ticked by, and the blood dripped off his body and onto the cement sidewalk. He was going to give in and channel his Pride but had a sudden inspiration. Why not take it one step further?

It was a mark of his mental toughness and the strength of his body's core that Jonas could pull himself to his feet without collapsing. His next plan was even more humiliating than the first. Slowly, he limped toward the main road, barefooted and bleeding. Then, he began the long walk home.

Few people walked the sidewalks that late, so Jonas dealt with less gawking than he might’ve during the day. However, he knew it was doubtful anyone would stop to help him and ask if he was okay. Hell’s Commoners would’ve turned around and stayed away from any potential danger that Jonas was walking from, while the thugs would’ve left him alone because he’d probably already been robbed and was worthless. The worst part wasn’t the humiliation but the pain of walking almost two hours back to Grandview hotel with no special healing powers or shoes.

However, that night Jonas wasn’t a Sinner; he was just a normal Commoner who failed to assimilate, received punishment, and was on his way home. Perhaps this occurrence was something that he eventually would’ve experienced had he not been kidnapped and drugged by the three human traffickers: Michael, Amber, and Patrick. Then again, being tricked, transported to an auction house, and thrown in a cage was also humiliating, and Jonas wasn’t a Sinner then, nor when Rick beat him up and pissed on him, which was even worse.

The long walk home quickened as Jonas got lost in his memories before becoming a Sinner, and he unintentionally recalled many humiliating moments his Pride had overlooked. Why did his Sin insist on influencing his memories to make him less inclined to remember humiliating moments before he acquired his Sin Scars? Jonas knew that Sin could take a life of its own, let alone influence the Sinner. He felt a connection between his difficulty using Sin Suppression and his Cardinal Sin’s response to humiliation.

Jonas had an epiphany: to be a Commoner was to suffer. It was a state of vulnerability that Sinners hid from by constantly chasing, obsessing, and fueling themselves with Sin. His Pride hated suppression almost as much as it hated being humiliated.

To completely hide his Cardinal Sin, Jonas knew he had to accept the feelings associated with Commoners and the issues they faced. It was a simple truth that made his heart skip a beat, making him want to test his findings.

Like a dead engine coming to life, his Sin Scars glowed as he channeled his abilities. The feeling of Sin entering his veins, muscle fibers, and brain was intoxicating as power flooded him. There was a feeling that his potential was unlimited and he could do anything as long as he kept channeling the Sin. Instantly, he felt relief from the pain as his wounds began to close, and the fractures tried to heal. He stepped forward with less limp, and his entire body rejuvenated within a few minutes. Deep cuts, bruises, scrapes, fractures, and muscle tears had healed entirely, leaving Jonas dirty and covered in dried blood but whole and painless.

Jonas took a deep breath, and because the feeling of not using Sin was so fresh in his mind, it was much easier to concentrate on bringing himself to that state again. He tried convincing his Pride that being suppressed wasn’t a big deal. It was okay to be vulnerable, and Hell’s Commoners were used to experiencing that feeling. Sin Suppression wasn’t a weakness: it brought Jonas back to his roots and mentally strengthened him. It allowed him to take time away from Sin and be himself.

The version of Jonas, who people hurt and humiliated, was the same one that killed a Maldread and escaped from Little Wrath City. The version of himself, who predators harmed as a child, was the same who slaughtered Dark Fly Auction and freed all their slaves. Suppressing his power didn’t make him weak: it made him human. The secret to Sin Suppression was accepting his humanity and the vulnerability of being a Commoner in Hell.

Jonas smiled and recalled the humiliating moments he’d been through, including the most recent beatdown, and he focused on the fact that he didn’t need to fuel his body with Sin to be powered constantly. Very slowly, his powers receded, and his Sin Scars faded until nothing was left. Jonas’ hands looked ordinary, and his body felt empty because the Sin had gone, but his mind was strong as ever because he felt more in tune with his true self and knew he didn’t need his Sin at that moment. It was okay to put it away until necessary.

Just before midnight, Jonas was approaching Grandview hotel. It looked amazing at night, and the giant snow globe-shaped skyscraper gently glowed like a dimmed fluorescent light. He entered the front door but didn’t see Julian, Tina, or her other coworker. Instead, new staff members replaced the trio. However, they already knew who Jonas was.

“Mr. Ariel, welcome back,” the security guard looked concerned because of the blood on his skin, clothing, and lack of shoes. “Were you attacked?”

“I’m fine. I was training,” Jonas smiled at the clerk. “I’m just going to head up. Is that okay?” She smiled and nodded.

“Anything you need, just call the front desk, and I’ll try to accommodate you.”

Jonas entered the elevator, pressed the button to his floor, and eventually marched to his room. He used his phone to unlock the door and saw a sight that shocked him. Old Louie lounged on the couch while eating pudding, watching porn, and wearing a bathrobe. The old master had finally washed, and Jonas was surprised to see the results. Since they’d met, Louie Darnell had never looked cleaner, more handsome, and more approachable. He’d brushed back his long grayish-blonde hair, groomed his beard and eyebrows, and cleaned his teeth.

“Look at that,” he cackled, pointing a spoon at his bloody disciple. “I thought I’d be home alone tonight. My student has some talent, after all. One day and two nights to learn Sin Suppression is impressive. Good work.”

“Thanks. What made you wash up?” Jonas looked at the room service cart and saw it was full of empty plates. Since he’d left, Old Louie had been busy.

“You’ve noticed my handsome looks,” Old Louie winked. “My Sinner's name is Hermit for a reason. I’m prone to hibernating among Commoners, apart from Sinner society. Sometimes I get a little carried away with the lousy hygiene associated with a hermit lifestyle. However, everything’s different now I’ve got a disciple, and I’m back among the Sinners. I can’t have people judging you because your old master was too stinky.”

“That’s surprisingly generous of you,” Jonas squinted and gave his smiling master a skeptical glare. “Too generous. What’s going on?”

“Don’t be such a worry wart. I’m doing this for you, believe it or not. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. I need new clothes, and you start your next lesson. Once you’ve accomplished Sin Sense and Sin Shield, I’ll bring you to meet your new teacher.”

“You’re serious?” Jonas was a bit annoyed. “How am I supposed to trust some random person I never met? You’re my teacher because I chose you.”

“I’m flattered, honestly,” Old Louie looked bashful. “However, I’ve already told you I’m not an expert martial artist. My specialty is healing, but I’m also quite adept at teleportation, seals, and other Sin Sorcery tricks.”

“You can teleport?” Jonas’ jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s not omnipotent. Do you remember my ability, Patient Check Up? Not only can I feel when my last patient is in danger, but I can also teleport to their location as long as the range is within a few hundred feet. I used it to heal you after Wolf cracked your melon. It let me get into the infirmary without alerting the gang.”

“That’s incredibly useful. How does something like that work? It’s such a specific ability with rules that govern it,” Jonas didn’t understand advanced Sin Sorcery, but he knew it was incredible.

“One day, I’ll show you,” Old Louie waved off his question. “You know my style, so why even ask? I’m going to teach you the basics first. The advanced stuff comes later.”

“So, who’s this new teacher?” Jonas wasn’t surprised by Old Louie’s refusal to explain, so he moved on to his next question.

“He’s an old friend of mine that owes me a favor. I texted and asked if he’d be willing to teach you martial arts at his school. While he hasn’t agreed to teach you, he agreed to test you and see what you can do. I’ll warn you now that Braun’s a troublesome man. He’s eccentric, has incredibly high standards for his students, and his methods are brutal. Physically it’ll be more challenging than anything you experienced at the Hurts gang. However, if you get accepted and can survive his training, I guarantee you’ll be strong enough to survive and try again someday if you don't pass the Sin Assessment.”

“Shit,” Jonas was impressed. For Old Louie to call someone eccentric, they must’ve been strange. “I’d ask more questions, but I know you won’t answer them.”

“It’s good you don’t waste my time. Anyway, tell me about your little day trip. My ability felt you getting your ass kicked a few hours ago, but I could tell you weren’t in any immediate danger.”

“The secret to Sin Suppression wasn’t easy to find. Pretending to be a Commoner wasn’t enough to make my scars disappear. I’d already tried a salon, multiple restaurants, and various stores, but none of that hid my powers.”

“Of course not. Walking around and shopping might fade the scars, but it wouldn’t do anything to make them disappear. What next?”

“Well, I stopped at a strip club called Club Dream,” Old Louie’s jaw dropped, and he paused his porn to stare at Jonas.

“Club Dream? You went?” His voice raised and contained accusatory tones. “Without your poor old master? You unfilial little bastard!”

“Hang on, don’t get your panties in a twist. I found some good news.”

“You’re going to take me to Club Dream tomorrow?”

“No,” said Jonas. He hated the idea of his nasty Old Master embarrassing him by throwing money at Athena or Jessica and acting like a crude moron. “I learned about a tournament called the Hardcore Hatchet Tournament.”

“Huh?” Old Louie looked unconcerned. “What the fuck do I care about that bozo-ass tournament? I want to see strippers!”

“I suspect they’ve got a golden ticket as a prize for winning. It’s four weeks from now, and joining will cost over a hundred thousand Sin Stones,” Old Louie’s tantrum paused long enough for him to consider the possibility.

“That’s no good, unfortunately,” Louie shook his head.

“What do you mean?” Jonas asked but already knew the answer. He just didn’t want to hear it.

“If a golden ticket is on the line, the event will attract Sinners beyond your current capabilities, even with four weeks of training. Honestly, it’s hopeless. You wouldn’t pass the first round,” Jonas felt his Pride roar in protest, and his Sin Scars began to glow with vigor.

“You don’t think I’d pass the first round? Louie, you’re on drugs. I went undefeated in Little Wrath City. Fighting in a cage is my thing.”

“Okay, Comeback Kid. Little Wrath City is full of talentless punks and posers. Garth McArthur was undefeated, and I don’t think he’d win a match against anyone entering the Hardcore Hatchet tourney,” to which Jonas furrowed his brow.

“Are you being serious, or are you just dissuading me from entering the tournament?”

“Little idiot. I’m your master. It’s my job to ensure I’m preparing you for the Sin Assessment, including helping you find a ticket. If the tournament entry were free, I’d tell you to give it your best shot. The problem is I know you’ll lose and dump a few hundred thousand Sin Stones down the drain. We don’t have the time to raise that kind of money and waste it. The plan stays the same. I’ll train you in the basics, and then you’ll learn martial arts from my friend, Braun. Then I’ll teach some advanced shit and find you a ticket.”

“What if I could raise the money quickly?” Jonas wasn’t giving up without a fight. “It won’t impede my training, and everything will still go as planned. At least this way, I’ll go up against strong True Sinners and possibly win a ticket.”

“There’s no chance in hell you’ll win the tourney. The people who enter will be the best of the best in the Outlands, and you’re not one of them. There’s no miracle way to get strong overnight and no medicine or secret technique to make you an expert. Since we can’t make you an expert in four weeks, it's useless to join. I don’t think you understand that.”

“I don’t think you understand that I want to try. If I fail, so be it, but at least I’ll have given it my best shot. What must I do to convince you to let me do this?” Jonas had undeniable conviction in his eye, and Old Louie felt like slapping him across the face for being so stubborn.

“Goddammit. My fucking dumbass disciple never listens to me. Fine. Do you want me to let you join the tournament? Raise a hundred and fifty thousand Sin Stones before the tourney, get accepted by Braun, and train your Sin Shield until it's strong enough to survive my attack.”