The golden morning light filtered through the thin curtains, bathing the room in an almost ethereal glow that contrasted with the darkness that would soon fall over the day. Zack sat at the breakfast table, watching Mira devour her third jam roll. There was something hypnotic in the way she ate—carefree, almost childlike in her pleasure, yet with occasional glances that were anything but innocent.
"You're staring at me," she said without looking up, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"I'm trying to understand how someone so small eats so much," Zack replied, taking a sip of his bitter coffee.
Mira laughed, a crystalline sound that seemed out of place coming from someone who carried two lethal guns at her waist and a purple deck of cards engraved with eye and clown symbols in her jacket pocket.
"I make good money at 'cross' games," she remarked casually, deliberately licking jam from her thumb. "It's a good gig, you know? Drunk Hunters are so easy to fool. They'll do anything to spend a night with me."
Her eyes met Zack's, a silent provocation hanging between them. There was a delicacy to her voice that contrasted with Lyra's hardness—a softness that masked the lethality Zack knew lay beneath the surface.
"Want to see a trick?" she asked, producing her deck with a fluid motion.
Before Zack could answer, the cards danced between Mira's fingers like living things, spinning, shuffling, vanishing and reappearing in impossible places. One card appeared behind Zack's ear, another in his coffee cup.
"Where's the Ace of Spades?" she asked, her eyes shining with mischievous delight.
Zack raised an eyebrow. "No idea."
Mira's smile widened. "Maybe we should look… here?" Her hand slid into Zack's lap, nimble fingers finding their way beneath the fabric of his trousers.
"Mira…" Zack began, his voice deeper than intended.
"I found it," she whispered, but she didn't withdraw her hand. Instead, her fingers closed around something very different from a playing card.
Zack leaned forward and captured her lips in a hungry kiss. From the doorway came a soft sound—Lyra watching them, her heterochromatic eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and desire.
Zack pulled away reluctantly. "I need the Black Moon," he said, his voice suddenly serious.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Mira withdrew her hand; the playful expression vanished from her face. Lyra stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind her.
"No," Lyra said simply.
"I have a job to do," Zack insisted. "I need my sword."
Mira and Lyra exchanged a look, a silent communication passing between them. Mira spoke first.
"We sealed it and hid it. And we won't give it back."
Zack stood up abruptly; his chair toppled with a crash. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Mira and Lyra tensed, bracing for the worst—both knew well the fury of the Hunter of the Black Eyes.
"You don't understand," Zack said, his voice dangerously low. "I need it."
"We heard," Lyra said, stepping forward. "All the nights you spent with it. The screams. The swearing. The crying." Her voice trembled slightly. "We've never seen you as alive and as happy as you were last night—without it."
Zack opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. His face, usually an impenetrable mask, showed a flash of something rarely seen—doubt. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, something had changed. The tension in his shoulders eased almost imperceptibly.
"Maybe… maybe you're right," he admitted, the words feeling strange in his mouth.
Mira and Lyra exchanged surprised looks. This was not the reaction they'd expected.
"I felt… different last night," Zack continued, his voice nearly a whisper. "Alive. Like I haven't felt in… a long time."
He spread his arms in an unexpected gesture that left both women momentarily stunned.
"Come here," he said.
Hesitant, Mira and Lyra moved closer, allowing Zack to wrap them in an embrace. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and neither dared break it with words.
"You can come with me," Zack said finally. "But don't do anything until I ask. Understood?"
Both nodded against his chest.
"We want to meet Orpheus," Mira said, stepping back to look Zack in the eye. "The kid who did what no one else could."
"What would that be?" Zack asked.
Lyra smiled, touching his face gently. "Make you human again."
The Holey Mug Bar was nearly empty at that hour, only a few sleepy patrons scattered about the tables. To Zack's surprise, K and Tobi sat at the counter, drinking juice and laughing like old friends.
"Look at that," Mira nudged Zack in the ribs. "Looks like we've got a couple of lovebirds."
Tobi was mid-story, gesturing wildly while K laughed, her face more relaxed than Zack had ever seen it.
"Good morning," Zack said as he approached the pair.
K straightened immediately, as if caught doing something forbidden. Tobi merely smiled, his eyes appraising Mira and Lyra with professional interest.
"Rough night?" he asked, his grin widening as he noticed a mark on Zack's neck.
Zack ignored the provocation and reached into the inner pocket of his coat. He withdrew a small scroll sealed with red wax and handed it to Tobi.
"A Ra scroll," he explained. "To keep in touch."
Tobi accepted it with a solemn nod, understanding the gesture's meaning. It wasn't just a communication tool—it was an offer of ongoing trust.
"Let's go," Zack told Mira and Lyra. "We have to find Orpheus."
As they stepped out into the bright morning, Zack felt the stares follow them. It wasn't unusual—his black eyes always drew attention—but here in the Red City it felt different. What he saw on people's faces wasn't fear so much as reverence.
"You should wear a hood," Mira suggested, noticing his discomfort. "Would avoid all that attention."
Zack shook his head. "This is the only place where I don't have to hide."
Lyra studied his profile, noticing something different in his expression. "You changed," she said softly. "Since Orpheus showed up."
"For the better, I hope," Zack replied, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
"Definitely for the better," Mira agreed, linking her arm through his. "I can't wait to meet that miraculous boy."
The hotel where Orpheus stayed with Matheus, Loren, and the elders was one of the city's oldest—a stately red-stone building with tall windows and ornate balconies. Zack felt a prick of unease as they approached—something was wrong, though he couldn't pinpoint what.
Orpheus stood at the reception desk when they entered, his youthful face lighting up at the sight of Zack. Then his eyes fell on Mira and Lyra, and his expression shifted to something between admiration and shock.
"Master!" he exclaimed, stepping forward. His gaze never left the two women. "You… brought company."
"Orpheus," Zack said formally, "this is Mira and Lyra."
"Your master has good taste, huh?" Orpheus joked, a cheeky smile on his face.
Mira and Lyra exchanged glances, their expressions hardening. Orpheus immediately realized his mistake.
"Sorry," he blurted, blushing. "I didn't mean—"
To his surprise, both women began to laugh.
"He's adorable," Mira said, stepping forward to kiss Orpheus's cheek. "You took good care of our Zack. I owe you one."
Orpheus's face flushed deeper. Lyra stepped closer and removed something from around her neck—a silver necklace with a lightning symbol.
"This was the first gift Zack gave me, five years ago," she said, placing it around Orpheus's neck. "I think it should be yours now."
"I remember Zack wearing that," Mira said, smiling as the pendant settled on Orpheus's chest.
The light moment ended when Zack stepped forward, his face suddenly serious.
"We need to talk about the baby," he said.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Loren and Matheus, who had just entered the lobby, froze as if struck by lightning. The elders seated nearby exchanged alarmed looks.
"Baby?" Orpheus repeated, confused. "What baby?"
The elders rose, their expressions a mixture of fear and indignation. "We don't know what you're talking about," the older woman said, her voice trembling.
"No use lying," Matheus said, stepping forward. "You must know everything." Turning to Zack he added, "Can we speak in private?"
"No," Zack replied firmly. "Orpheus, Mira, and Lyra stay. You have no choice."
A heavy silence fell over the group. Orpheus looked from Zack to the family, clearly bewildered.
"The charade is over," Zack said, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. "You have more money than you're letting on. This story of poor, homeless peasants doesn't fool me."
The elders began to beg, tears streaming down their wrinkled faces. "Please," the old man pleaded. "Have mercy."
But Zack showed no emotion. His face hardened into a cold, murderous mask; his black eyes seemed to absorb every light around them. A metallic scent, like fresh blood, seemed to emanate from him, filling the air with an almost tangible presence of death.
Orpheus involuntarily stepped back, feeling for the first time a real fear of his master. Mira and Lyra reacted instantly, pulling Orpheus close in a protective gesture.
Loren and Matheus retreated, terror showing in their faces. The elders trembled, their pleas growing more frantic.
Orpheus tried to speak, but Mira clapped a hand over his mouth, shaking her head in a silent warning. Lyra squeezed his arm, her eyes delivering a clear message: do not interfere.
Zack stepped forward, his body taut like a predator about to strike. The air around him seemed to warp with the intensity of his presence.
Then everything changed.
The old woman moved with impossible speed. One moment she trembled with fear; the next, her foot connected with Zack's abdomen with enough force to send him through the hotel wall.
The impact was deafening. Zack tore through not just the reception wall but several rooms beyond, before being hurled out of the building and falling ten stories.
Orpheus watched in absolute horror as the elder—the man who had seemed too frail to climb stairs unassisted—leapt through the shattered window, pursuing Zack in his descent.
The old woman began to laugh, a sound that made everyone's skin crawl. Her smile widened grotesquely, stretching to her ears in a distortion of her face. Then she, too, jumped from the window, following her companion.
"What's happening?" Orpheus whispered, his body trembling.
His question was answered by a sound that chilled his blood—Loren and Matheus were laughing. It wasn't normal laughter but something frantic, almost manic, as if possessed.
"Look at him," Matheus jeered, pointing at Orpheus. "The little hero, so eager to help the helpless old peasants."
"So noble," Loren added, her voice dripping with scorn. "So pathetic."
"Who are you?" Orpheus demanded, his hand instinctively moving to the Coyote Katana at his waist.
"We are exactly who we always were," Matheus replied, his smile now as wide as the old woman's had been. "We just got tired of pretending to be kind for the sake of a stupid kid."
The air around Loren began to ripple, as if space itself were folding. In the blink of an eye she vanished from where she stood and reappeared beside Lyra.
"Level S," Lyra murmured, recognizing the classification immediately. "She can swap places with objects and people."
Matheus extended his hand and a blade of red energy materialized between his fingers, its pulsing glow illuminating his face with a demonic light.
"Also Level S," Mira warned, pushing Orpheus behind her. "He can create any object from his energy."
"Where's Zack?" Lyra asked, frantically scanning the broken window.
Mira didn't answer. Instead, a disturbing smile spread across her face, her eyes shining with a feverish light. "Finally," she whispered, "a real fight."
Orpheus felt a chill run down his spine. There was something deeply wrong in the way Mira smiled—a smile of someone who hungered for violence, who delighted in the prospect of bloodshed.
Before he could process it, the hotel shook with a distant explosion. Pieces of ceiling began to fall, and cracks raced across the walls.
"We have to get out of here!" Lyra shouted, pulling Orpheus toward the exit.
Loren moved again, disappearing and reappearing directly in their path. A curved dagger appeared in her hand that hadn't been there a second before.
"No one is going anywhere," she said, her voice strangely distorted.
Mira stepped forward; her purple deck already in hand. The cards began to float around her, each glowing with violet energy.
"Orpheus," she said without taking her eyes off Loren, "draw your weapon."
Orpheus drew the Coyote Katana; the blade caught and reflected the light of Mira's energized cards. He saw Loren's eyes widen slightly as she recognized the weapon.
"A Coyote," she murmured. "Interesting."
Matheus lunged, his energy blade slicing the air with a threatening buzz. "Enough talk," he snarled.
Lyra leapt, her feet finding purchase on the ceiling as if gravity had inverted for her. She drew several daggers, her heterochromatic eyes methodically tracking each opponent's movement.
"This fight will affect at least five hundred meters around," she warned. "We need to take this outside."
As if answering her words, another explosion rocked the building, this one much closer. A whole section of the outer wall collapsed, revealing the street ten floors below.
Loren smiled, that smile never reaching her cold eyes. "Let's go outside, then," she said, and vanished again.
Orpheus barely had time to react before a sharp pain tore through his back—Loren had reappeared behind him, her dagger slicing through his shirt and grazing his flesh.
Mira reacted instantly, launching an energized card that cut the air like a blade. Loren vanished again; the card struck only the empty space where she had been.
Matheus screamed, a primal sound of fury, and hurled three spears of red energy at Mira. She dodged with supernatural grace; the spears detonated against the wall behind her, disintegrating the structure.
The hotel began to collapse around them. Lyra, still on the ceiling, made an urgent gesture to Orpheus, signaling a wordless plan. Orpheus understood immediately—he'd be the bait.
"Dog's Blood," he whispered, activating his Level 1 technique.
A red aura enveloped his body, and suddenly the world around him seemed to slow down. Or rather, he had accelerated. Moving with superhuman speed, Orpheus darted around Matheus, the Coyote Katana trailing streaks of light through the air.
Matheus tried to follow, spinning wildly, his energy sword cutting only at empty air. He didn't notice Lyra positioning herself directly above him, six daggers ready between her fingers.
With deadly precision, Lyra launched the daggers. Five were deflected by Matheus's sword, but the sixth found its mark, plunging deep into his shoulder.
Matheus's scream was animalistic. Blood gushed from the wound, staining his shirt a dark crimson. His eyes widened in rage and pain as he raised his free hand.
The air around him pulsed with red energy, and a vast blade materialized—not so much a sword as a floating guillotine. With a motion of his wounded arm, he swung it—not at his enemies but at the building itself.
The blade sliced through support beams as if they were butter, and half the floor began to collapse. Screams of panic rose from other rooms—innocent guests trapped in the crossfire.
"We have to get out of here!" Orpheus shouted, sprinting toward the hole in the wall.
Without hesitation he leapt into the void, trusting his active technique to let him land safely. Mira followed immediately, her cards forming a spiral that somehow slowed her descent.
Lyra was the last to jump, but before she could clear the building, Loren appeared in midair beside her, swapping places with a chunk of rubble.
"Surprise," Loren hissed, and struck Lyra hard across the ribs.
The sound of bones breaking rang out even amidst the collapsing structure. Lyra screamed, her body convulsing in the air before she tumbled toward the ground.
Orpheus watched in horror as Lyra hit the pavement with a sickening impact, her body bouncing once before going still; blood poured from her mouth.
"LYRA!" Mira's cry carried a raw emotion Orpheus had never heard before—not just fear or concern, but a primeval rage.
The cards around Mira began to spin faster, their purple glow intensifying until it was almost blinding. Her eyes shone with the same supernatural light, and purple veins began to emerge across her skin as if her own energy were about to tear her apart from within.
"You shouldn't have done that," she said, her voice eerily calm against the storm of power surrounding her.
Loren landed gracefully a few meters away, satisfaction on her face. Matheus joined her moments later, his shoulder still bleeding profusely but his expression showing no pain—only cruel anticipation.
Around them, civilians fled in panic. The hotel continued to crumble; enormous chunks of concrete and metal rained onto the streets. Dust and smoke filled the air, creating an apocalyptic scene.
Orpheus ran to Lyra and knelt beside her. She still breathed, but each inhale was agonizing and bubbles of blood formed at her lips.
"Broken ribs," she murmured, voice barely audible. "Punctured lung."
"Don't talk," Orpheus begged, tears burning his eyes. "We'll get you out of here."
"Take care… of Mira," Lyra rasped, her heterochromatic eyes fixed on something beyond Orpheus.
He turned and saw what she saw—Mira wrapped in a pulsing purple aura, her cards spinning so fast they formed a tornado around her.
"She's going to kill herself," Lyra croaked, coughing blood. "Using… all her power… at once."
Orpheus hesitated, torn between staying with the injured Lyra and trying to stop Mira from self-destruction. Before he could decide, the whirlwind of cards erupted outward.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of energized cards shot in all directions like lethal shrapnel. Each card was as sharp as a razor and carried enough force to pierce metal.
Loren tried to use her ability to escape; there were simply too many cards coming from every angle. Dozens struck her, tearing flesh, piercing muscle; some passed completely through her body.
Blood arced through the air as Loren was turned into something like a human target. She fell to her knees, her body shuddering with each new card that struck.
Matheus tried to create an energy shield, but the cards flowed around it as if they had minds of their own. Several pierced his legs, bringing him down. Others struck his arms, preventing him from forming more objects with his energy.
Orpheus shielded Lyra with his own body, waiting to feel the cards slam into his back at any moment. But the impact never came. Somehow the cards avoided them, as if Mira retained enough control to spare her allies even in her frenzied state.
When the attack finally ceased, Mira collapsed to her knees, exhausted. Blood streamed from her nose and ears—the price of pouring out so much power at once.
Loren, however, was still alive. Her body was covered in wounds, blood streaming from dozens of deep cuts, but she rose unsteadily, her face a mask of pure hatred.
"Is that… all?" she spat, blood flecking her lips. Her body began to regenerate before Orpheus's horrified eyes—the wounds closing slowly.
Matheus also rose, though with more difficulty. His body did not regenerate like Loren's, but his resolve seemed unshaken despite grievous injuries.
"You are not human," Orpheus whispered, the realization hitting him like a blow.
"Finally noticed," Loren sneered, crimson staining her smile.
Orpheus looked from gravely wounded Lyra to Mira, spent beyond endurance. He was alone against two Level S opponents—and there was no sign of Zack anywhere.
A decision formed in his mind—he would have to use his Level 3 technique, the most powerful he possessed, knowing it could only be used once.
Rising slowly, Orpheus gripped the Coyote Katana with both hands. He closed his eyes, focusing as Zack had taught him. Focus. Precision. Intention.
The katana blade began to hum in his hands, and a red water—not ordinary water but something like diluted blood—formed around the steel, wrapping it in a crimson glow.
"What is he doing?" Matheus asked, a note of concern in his voice for the first time.
Loren didn't answer. She vanished again, clearly intending to strike Orpheus before he could complete whatever he was preparing.
But Orpheus was ready. The instant Loren reappeared behind him, he spun—not to attack her, but to create space. Then, with a single fluid motion that seemed rehearsed a thousand times, he executed a perfect horizontal cut.
The red water around the blade expanded explosively, forming a wave of energy three meters wide and one meter high that surged forward like a wall of destruction.
Loren escaped in time, but Matheus did not. The wave hit him squarely, and for a horrific moment nothing happened. Then, slowly, as if time itself hesitated to acknowledge it, the upper part of his body began to slide away from the lower.
Matheus looked down in shock at his own torso severed at the waist. There was no time to scream. His eyes widened in final comprehension as the upper half of his body toppled to the side while his legs stood for a few more seconds before collapsing into a pool of blood and entrails.
The energy wave continued on, shredding buildings as if they were paper. Entire blocks collapsed in its path, leaving a straight line of destruction across the city.
Orpheus dropped to his knees, the Coyote Katana trembling in his hands. He had never used that technique before; he had never taken a life. The horror of what he'd just done—the devastation he had unleashed—threatened to engulf him.
A bestial scream jerked him from his stupor. Loren had reappeared, and the sight of Matheus's bisected body had transformed her. Her face contorted into a howl of fury and pain that barely seemed human.
Then something even more disturbing happened. Loren's skin began to crack like shattered porcelain; through the fissures a black, viscous substance started to leak. Her eyes, formerly a common brown, had turned completely black—pools of ink.
"You have no idea what you've done," she said, her voice no longer human but a chorus of voices speaking as one. "He is coming. Skull is coming."
Her ability seemed to intensify with the transformation. Now she teleported so rapidly she appeared in multiple places at once, creating the illusion of several Lorens attacking simultaneously.
Each strike she landed carved craters into the ground, her force multiplied by outrage and by whatever was taking control of her body.
"Orpheus!" Mira yelled, still on her knees but newly resolute. "Protect Lyra! I'll handle her!"
Orpheus wanted to protest—Mira could barely stand—but the look on her face stilled him. There was something there beyond determination or courage. Almost… joy. As if, despite the mortal danger, she was finally in her element.
Mira produced a gun Orpheus hadn't noticed before—an ornate pistol with gilded details and the name "Yellow" engraved on the side. She held it with both hands; purple veins spread across her arms, connecting to the weapon as if channeling her life force into it.
"This will finish us all," she murmured, a savage smile on her lips as the gun began to glow with concentrated thermal energy.
Orpheus no longer hesitated. He scooped Lyra into his arms as gently as he could and searched for cover behind the rubble of a nearby building.
Behind him he heard Mira shout—not in pain or fear but as a cry of defiance, of release. The sound was followed by an ear-splitting roar when the weapon "Yellow" fired.
The explosion that followed was like nothing Orpheus had ever experienced. A wave of intense heat swept the area, melting metal and vaporizing concrete. The light was so blinding that, eyes closed and facing away, Orpheus saw white spots dancing across his vision.
When he dared to look, the dust had settled over a transformed landscape. Where Loren had stood there was only a smoldering crater. Buildings had collapsed, fires burned everywhere, and the air was full of distant screams and sirens.
At the center of it all stood Mira, still upright by sheer will. Blood streamed from her eyes, nose, and ears. The "Yellow" gun slipped from her trembling fingers and clattered to the ground; she staggered forward and fell to her knees.
"Mira!" Orpheus cried, laying Lyra carefully on the ground as he ran toward the wounded woman.
He was halfway there when he heard a laugh—a childish, innocent laugh utterly out of place in the ruined scene.
Orpheus froze, his blood running cold. The laughter came from the crater where Loren should have been obliterated.
Slowly, something began to form in the crater's center—a mass of black, viscous substance that writhed and pulsed as if alive. Gradually the mass took shape, molding itself into a silhouette disturbingly like Loren.
Above them, the sky warped, as if reality itself were being torn. For a fleeting moment Orpheus glimpsed something through the rift—an enormous eye, larger than the city, watching them with ancient, malevolent intelligence.
The black substance reconstructing Loren seemed directly linked to that eye, as if it were an extension of its will manifest in the physical world.
Orpheus looked at Lyra—unconscious and gravely wounded—at Mira—on the brink of death from expended energy—and at the creature that had once been Loren, now reforming before his eyes.
And there was no sign of Zack anywhere.
The true battle, Orpheus realized with mounting despair, had only just begun.