The silence that followed was like the vacuum before an explosion.
Milos and Ygon stared at the figure that had once been Zack. His eyes completely black, his white hair bristling like needles, his teeth sharpened into an inhuman smile. The Black Moon vibrated in his hand, eager, hungry, like an animal about to be unleashed after long confinement.
Milos was the first to attack, launching a series of enchanted needles that distorted the space around him. In any other circumstance, against any other opponent, they would have been lethal. But before they could reach their target, Zack simply... vanished.
It wasn't a quick movement. It was as if he had ceased to exist in one place and appeared in another. Suddenly, he was behind Milos, so close he could feel his breath on his neck.
"Too slow," Zack whispered, his voice a dissonant chorus of multiple overlapping tones.
Milos froze, terror paralyzing his muscles. He waited for the fatal blow, for the cut that would separate his head from his body.
Instead, he felt only a light touch on his shoulder – like a friend calling his attention, or a predator warning its prey that the hunt had begun.
When Milos finally managed to turn around, Zack was already several meters away, observing him with a cold, dispassionate curiosity. It was then that understanding hit him like a physical blow: Zack could have killed him instantly. But he had chosen not to.
He was playing with him.
Ygon, seeing the opportunity, launched into a savage attack. His massive body moved with surprising speed, his serrated blade cutting through the air towards Zack's neck. It was a blow powerful enough to decapitate an ordinary man.
Zack didn't even deign to look in his direction. With a casual flick of his index finger, he deflected the blade as if it were made of paper. The force of the reverse impact sent Ygon flying across the square, crashing through the wall of a nearby building in an explosion of stone and dust.
And then, Zack began to laugh.
It wasn't a human laugh. It was a sound that seemed to come from multiple throats simultaneously, in different tones and timbres, as if a choir of entities were using his mouth as an instrument. The sound echoed through the empty square, reverberating off the walls, making the very air tremble with its unnatural dissonance.
"Is that all?" he asked, tilting his head like a curious bird. "Is that all you have to offer?"
Milos recoiled, his eyes frantically calculating escape routes, possibilities, any chance of survival. But before he could act, Zack began to move.
It was like a macabre dance. His movements were fluid, almost graceful, but completely alien to any human choreography. Each step left trails of darkness in the air, like ink spilled in water, forming patterns that hurt the eyes to try and comprehend.
Desperate, Milos resorted to his most powerful artifacts. Forbidden containment circles formed on the ground, glowing with ancient runes that should have been able to trap even demons of the Void. Corrosive liquids that could dissolve any known matter flew from small vials towards Zack.
Nothing worked.
Zack passed through the containment circles as if they were childish chalk drawings. The corrosive liquids evaporated before even touching him, transforming into black smoke that he inhaled with apparent pleasure.
"Fascinating," he commented, his voice echoing strangely. "Do you really believe you can contain me with these toys?"
Despair began to grow within Milos like a black wave. His initial confidence, his belief that the Void favored him, that he was chosen to complete the ritual, all crumbled before the overwhelming reality of the power he faced.
"Void!" he cried to the sky, his voice breaking. "Help me! You spoke to me once! Please!"
Only silence answered.
At that moment, Ygon emerged from the rubble of the building. Blood streamed from a deep cut on his forehead, but his eyes gleamed with a fierce, almost maniacal determination. He attacked again, this time with increasingly savage and desperate techniques – blows that sacrificed defense for raw power, movements that would put all his weight and strength into each attack.
Zack observed the approach with a smile that widened beyond the limits of what a human face should allow. This time, he didn't dodge. He allowed Ygon's blade to strike his shoulder, cutting deeply.
There was no blood. Only darkness leaking from the wound, like solidified black smoke.
Zack's smile widened even further.
"Is that all you can do?" he asked, his voice carrying a cruel amusement. "Come on, Ygon. You wanted so badly to face me without restraint. Here I am. Show me your power."
Ygon attacked again and again, each blow more desperate than the last. Zack allowed some to hit him, only to demonstrate that they caused no harm. The darkness momentarily leaked from the wounds before solidifying again, as if his body were made of shadows instead of flesh and blood.
It was then that Zack finally fully unsheathed the Black Moon.
The blade seemed to absorb all light around it, creating a vacuum of darkness that distorted perception itself. It wasn't just black – it was the absence of color, the negation of light, a piece of the Void materialized in the physical world.
With a casual, almost bored movement, Zack made a single cut in the air. The blade left a black trail that remained, like a wound in reality itself. The cut hovered in the air for a moment before slowly beginning to expand, like a crack in glass.
When it hit the ground, the entire square trembled. A fissure opened in the pavement, extending for several meters, deep enough to swallow an entire man.
"The Black Moon is hungry," Zack explained casually, his distorted voice echoing strangely. "And each blow feeds it. Each cut is stronger than the last."
To demonstrate, he made a second movement, apparently with the same force as the first. This time, the blade cut a nearby statue in half, the massive stone yielding as if it were butter.
"On the third cut, it could split a building," he continued, doing exactly that – an entire building dozens of meters away was cut in half, its halves slowly collapsing in a cloud of dust and rubble.
"On the seventh cut, it could split this neighborhood in half." His black eyes fixed on Milos, then on Ygon. "On the tenth, the entire city."
It was at this moment that true understanding hit both of them. They weren't fighting a powerful man. Not even a monster. They were facing something that should not exist on this plane of reality – a manifestation of the Void itself, using Zack's body as a temporary vessel.
Milos began to frantically calculate an escape route. His scientific mind, even in panic, still sought a solution, a way out, any chance of survival.
Ygon, on the other hand, felt a contradictory emotion growing within him. Terror, yes – a primordial fear that made his bones tremble. But also a morbid excitement, almost sexual in its intensity. He was finally seeing Zack's true power, without restraint, without mercy. It was everything he had ever desired, even if it meant his own destruction.
"Yes," he whispered, a maniacal smile spreading across his scarred face. "Yes. Show me everything."
Zack tilted his head, as if intrigued by the reaction. Then, with a movement too fast for the eyes to follow, he touched Milos's arm with the tip of the Black Moon – just a superficial scratch, almost a caress.
Initially, it seemed insignificant. Milos looked at the small cut, almost relieved that it was so minimal.
Then, a black stain appeared at the point of the cut – not blood, but something like living ink or petroleum. The stain began to slowly spread across Milos's arm, consuming his skin centimeter by centimeter.
"It's called Leprosy," Zack explained with a disturbing calm. "One of the Black Moon's special abilities. It will consume your arm first. Then your torso. Finally, your brain." He paused, his inhuman smile widening. "Unless you cut off the infected part."
Milos looked in horror at his arm, where the black stain continued to spread, now reaching his elbow. He tried several spells and potions, hastily pulled from hidden pockets in his robes. Nothing worked. The stain continued to advance, relentless as the tide.
Panic completely overtook him. With frantic movements, Milos pulled out one of his own artifacts – a small circular blade that vibrated with arcane energy. Without hesitation, he positioned it above his shoulder, where the stain had not yet reached.
The scream that followed was one of pure, primitive agony. The blade cut through flesh, bone, and tendon, separating the infected arm from the rest of his body. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking his robes, forming a puddle at his feet.
Milos fell to his knees, his face pale as paper, trembling with shock and blood loss. But the black stain had been contained – the amputated arm lay on the ground, completely consumed by darkness, as if it had been dipped in the purest black ink.
Zack observed everything with a clinical curiosity, like a scientist observing a particularly interesting reaction in an experiment.
---
In the third house on Blacksmith Street, K struggled to follow the instructions on the parchment Orpheus had given her. The Boy was still unconscious, lying on a dusty sofa. Talia remained by his side, her wide eyes fixed on the windows, as if expecting something terrible to enter at any moment.
It was then that K began to feel it. First, like a distant hum, almost imperceptible. Like the sound of a very small insect flying near her ear. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the sensation.
The hum grew, transforming into whispers – multiple voices speaking simultaneously in a language she didn't understand, but which somehow seemed familiar, as if they were words she had known before birth and then forgotten.
"Are you okay?" Talia asked, noticing K's disturbed expression.
K didn't answer. She couldn't. The voices were getting louder, more insistent. And now there were images too – flashes of things that shouldn't exist, creatures that couldn't be described in any human language, impossible geometries that made her brain ache trying to comprehend them.
Her body began to tremble. It wasn't a common tremor, from cold or fear. It was as if every cell in her body was vibrating at a different frequency, trying to separate from the whole.
"K?" Talia's voice seemed to come from very far away.
K fell to the floor, her body convulsing violently. Foam began to form at her mouth as her eyes rolled back, showing only white. The visions in her mind intensified – bottomless abysses, eyes watching from dimensions beyond comprehension, mouths devouring entire galaxies.
Talia recoiled, horrified. But then, she too began to hear. They weren't voices for her, but a single command, repeated incessantly, growing in volume until it was all she could hear:
*End it. End it. END IT.*
As if in a trance, Talia stood up. Her movements were mechanical, as if her body was no longer her own. She walked towards the kitchen, her eyes glazed and distant.
The knife was there, on the table. Long, sharp, perfect for the purpose. Her fingers closed around the handle.
*End it. End it. END IT.*
Slowly, she brought the blade towards her own neck. The tip touched her skin, a small drop of blood forming where pressure was applied.
It was then that the door burst open violently. Orpheus entered like a hurricane, his eyes immediately assessing the situation. Without hesitation, he moved – faster than should be possible – and struck a specific point on Talia's neck.
The knife fell to the floor with a metallic clatter. Talia collapsed immediately after, unconscious before even hitting the floor.
Orpheus caught her before she fell completely, gently placing her beside the Boy on the sofa. Then he turned his attention to K, still convulsing on the floor.
"Resist," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Just a little longer."
With frantic movements, Orpheus returned to the parchment, his fingers trembling as he traced complex symbols in the air. Words in an ancient language flowed from his lips – they weren't incantations, but something more primitive, as if he were speaking directly to the fabric of reality.
As he worked, memories assaulted him – flashes of a past he had tried to bury. The same scene, years ago. The same terror. The same black eyes of Zack, the same aura of death and destruction.
An entire kingdom falling. People dying instantly, like candles being extinguished by a sudden wind. And Zack in the center of it all, his eyes black, the Black Moon in his hand, cutting through reality as if it were paper.
"He never attacked me," Orpheus murmured to himself as he continued to draw symbols. "For some reason, he spared me. But the price of saving me was the fall of an entire kingdom."
His gaze briefly shifted to the unconscious Boy. He remembered strange moments he had observed – the Boy talking to the Black Moon when he thought no one was looking, the sword vibrating in response, as if they were having a conversation no one else could hear.
Finally, Orpheus completed the last symbol. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a pale blue light began to emanate from the drawings, growing in intensity until it formed a protective dome around the house.
The effect was immediate. The hum and pressure instantly diminished. K's convulsions began to subside, her breathing gradually normalizing.
Orpheus fell to his knees, exhausted. He had succeeded. For now, they were protected.
---
In the central square, Zack suddenly shifted his focus. Ignoring Milos, who was still on his knees holding the bloody stump of his arm, and Ygon, who watched with a mixture of terror and morbid fascination, he turned to the ritual's victims.
Hundreds of bodies were still arranged in geometric patterns on the square's ground. Some clearly dead, others still breathing faintly, trapped in a state between life and death.
Zack walked among them, his movements now more deliberate, less fluid. He seemed to be looking for something – or someone.
Finally, he stopped beside a familiar body. Alf lay motionless, his skin pale as wax, his eyes open but empty, fixed on the sky. His breathing was so faint it was almost imperceptible.
Something subtly changed in Zack's posture – a moment of hesitation, a flicker of recognition. For an instant, his completely black eyes seemed to lighten slightly, revealing a trace of the human iris beneath the darkness.
Zack knelt beside Alf and placed his hand on his chest. Black energy began to flow from his fingers into Alf's body – not to harm, but to heal. Alf's breathing visibly strengthened, color slowly returning to his face.
Without a word, Zack stood up and moved to the next victim. He repeated the process – a touch, black energy flowing, signs of life strengthening. He continued, moving from person to person, identifying those who could still be saved.
With each person he healed, something subtle changed in him. The darkness in his eyes receded slightly. His movements became a little more human, less like those of a puppet controlled by invisible strings.
Ygon watched everything with growing contempt. "Even now," he said, his voice laden with disdain. "Even so, you still try to save everyone. Pathetic."
Zack didn't respond, continuing his silent work of healing.
Milos, seeing that Zack's attention was diverted, began to drag himself away from the square. Every movement was agony, but the instinct for survival propelled him. He needed to escape, he needed to survive.
"Void," he murmured as he crawled, leaving a trail of blood behind him. "You spoke to me once. Please, speak again. Guide me. Save me."
He managed to reach a side street, dark and narrow. The pain was almost unbearable now, the shock and blood loss taking their toll. But he continued, determined to live, to escape.
It was when he turned into an even darker alley that Milos encountered a figure. It was completely hidden in the shadows – all he could see were eyes. Violet eyes glowing in the darkness like evil jewels.
Recognition hit Milos like a physical blow. He knew those eyes. He knew what they meant.
"No," he whispered, trying to back away. "Please, no."
The figure advanced a single step, still hidden in the shadows. A hand emerged from the darkness – pale, aristocratic, with perfectly manicured nails.
Milos's screams echoed through the empty streets of the Lower Quarter – screams of pain and despair that gradually turned into wet gurgles before ceasing completely.
---
In the square, Zack had finished healing all who could still be saved. Many, unfortunately, were already beyond any help. He slowly rose, now much more human in appearance – his eyes still black, but with visible traces of iris; his teeth still sharp, but not as pronounced; his hair still white, but less bristly.
He turned to Ygon, who remained standing, wounded but defiant.
"Come on, Zack," Ygon provoked, a bloody smile on his face. "End it. Show me your true power. It's all I've ever wanted."
Zack watched him for a long moment. Then, to Ygon's surprise and fury, he simply turned his back.
"You're not worth the effort," he said, his voice now more human, though it still carried a strange echo.
The rejection hit Ygon more deeply than any physical wound could. His entire life had been defined by that moment – the chance to face Zack at his maximum power, to experience again the feeling of being truly alive that only that fight could provide.
To be considered unworthy even of a death at Zack's hands was the ultimate humiliation.
With a roar of fury, Ygon gathered his last strength for a final attack. He lunged towards Zack, his blade raised for a mortal blow.
Zack, without even turning, raised his hand. Ygon froze in mid-air, suspended halfway through his attack, unable to move a single inch.
It was then that the truth hit him with crystal clarity. Everything he had done – all the lives he had sacrificed, all the destruction he had caused – had been completely insignificant. He never had the slightest chance against Zack. His search for meaning through confrontation was empty from the start.
He was nothing. Less than nothing.
Zack slowly closed his fist. Ygon's body began to compress, as if being crushed by an invisible force. There was no glorious explosion, no last cry of defiance. Just a pathetic, wet sound – like an insect being crushed under a giant's boot.
What remained of Ygon fell to the ground with a dull thud – an unrecognizable mass of flesh and broken bones.
Zack remained motionless for a moment, contemplating the remains of his old rival. Then, slowly, he began to walk among the bodies scattered across the square.
"Two thousand," he murmured, his voice now almost completely human. "Two thousand dead."
The weight of that reality seemed to crush him. His gaze lingered on specific victims – a mother still embracing her child, both with expressions of terror frozen on their faces; an old couple holding hands, united even in the end; children whose lives had barely begun, now extinguished forever.
Zack continued to use his energy to heal the few who still had a chance, but for most, it was too late. Each healing seemed to drain something from him, making him more human, more vulnerable. The darkness in his eyes receded further and further, revealing the normal irises beneath.
It was then that Orpheus emerged from the shadows. He had left K, Talia, and the Boy safe behind the barrier, returning to assess the situation. His eyes swept over the scene of destruction, a mixture of fear, respect, and sadness in his gaze.
"Zack," he called softly, keeping a safe distance.
Zack slowly turned, acknowledging him with an almost imperceptible nod.
It was then that it happened.
Among the bodies, a movement. A child – no more than six or seven years old, decapitated, its head separated from its body – began to move. The head rolled, turning to face Zack.
---
The dead child's eyes opened, glowing with an unnatural, bluish, cold light. Black liquid began to ooze from its mouth, forming strange patterns on the ground – symbols that seemed to shift and contort when observed directly.
The child's mouth opened, and a song began – a childish melody, sung with a sweet, clear voice that gradually became more disturbing:
*"Skull comes creeping, steps so slow,**In his hands, dry bones he'll show,**Empty eyes, a mouth of night,**Who sees him wakes no more to light.*
*Skull draws near, a shadow long,**Bringing with him endless wrong,**Kings and servants, all will quake,**When the Skull his reign does make."*
The child's voice abruptly changed, becoming deep, guttural, ancient – clearly not belonging to a child or even a human being.
"The Violet King is part of this," the voice said, looking directly at Zack. "Always has been. Always knew."
The child's head fell to the side, inert again, the supernatural glow disappearing from its eyes.
Zack remained motionless for a long moment, absorbing the words. Then, slowly, he turned to look in the direction of the Violet King's castle, visible in the distance, atop the city's highest hill.
His face hardened with determination. Without a word, he sheathed the Black Moon, which seemed to vibrate in anticipation.
"Orpheus," he said finally, his voice again human, though carrying a gravity that wasn't there before. "Take care of them. Take care of all of them."
"Where are you going?" Orpheus asked, though he already knew the answer.
Zack didn't reply verbally. He just looked again at the castle, his eyes momentarily darkening again before clearing.
And so, as the sun began to rise in a sky that seemed stained with blood, Zack walked alone among the rubble of the square, towards the Violet King's castle, the Black Moon silent but vigilant in its sheath.
The hunt had only just begun.