The dome of black energy Zack had conjured pulsed, but not with stability. It groaned under the pressure, a fragile shield against the malevolence that surrounded him. The already heavy air turned icy, cutting Zack's lungs with every breath, which came out in dense clouds of vapor. The grass beneath his feet hardened, frozen, and he felt the overwhelming disadvantage without the Black Moon, without his knives, without anything but his own flesh and bone. Two S+ Level opponents against him, and with every second, the environment became more hostile.
"The order was not to harm you, dear Zack," the old woman hissed, her voice a distorted echo that seemed to come from an abyss. But, before the sentence ended, a viscous red goo spurted from her hands, hitting the ground and spreading like a sticky web. Zack tried to dodge, but the substance solidified instantly on contact, trapping his left foot. He pulled hard, feeling his skin tear, but the goo stretched, elastic, before hardening again, trapping him further. It was a living trap, and the old woman laughed, a shrill sound that echoed in the night.
Meanwhile, the old man advanced, his steps causing the rocky ground beneath Zack to turn into quicksand. Zack sank, the sand pulling him down, while the air around him condensed into sharp ice blades that cut his skin. He felt warm blood run down his face, mixing with cold sweat. With each movement of the old man, the environment metamorphosed: the air turned into a wall of ice, the ground became a swamp of mud, or hardened into solid rock, all to trap him, to immobilize him. Zack growled, fury bubbling in his chest. "Who gave that order?!" he shouted, but the only answer was the menacing silence and the relentless advance of the two. He was the hunter, but now, he was the prey, and intelligence was his only weapon. He needed a plan, and fast. The black dome, which he hoped would delay the ritual, was becoming a prison. He noticed, with a pang of dread, that the ritual had not been finalized. This deeply bothered him. If it wasn't to increase their power, then what was it for? The answer, he knew, would be even more terrifying.
---
With a primal roar, Zack forced his foot free from the red goo. His skin tore, blood gushed, but he did not yield. His black aura exploded, concentrating on his foot, and with a swift and brutal movement, he broke free, leaving a piece of flesh behind. The pain was excruciating, but fury supplanted it. He was the Hunter, and he would not be cornered so easily.
Taking advantage of the distraction, the old man solidified the quicksand beneath Zack, turning it into a sharp rock that tried to impale him. But Zack was already in motion. His black aura pulsed, and he activated **Breath**. A shadowy figure, identical to him, materialized beside him, a blur of dark energy. The clone lunged at the old man, dodging an ice attack that would have cut Zack in half. While the clone kept the old man busy, Zack focused on the old woman.
She launched more jets of red goo, trying to trap him again. But Zack was a whirlwind of agility. He leaped, spun, using the rubble as a springboard, his speed increased by the concentration of his aura. He delivered a spinning kick that hit the old woman's head with a dull thud. She staggered, but the goo on her body absorbed part of the impact. Zack gave no quarter. He activated **Stench**. For an instant, the world slowed down. His black eyes, now glowing with a supernatural intensity, visualized the old woman's internal organs, every heartbeat, every lung, every vital point. His speed and strength doubled. He became a ghost, delivering a series of precise and brutal blows: a punch to the liver, a kick to the spleen, an elbow strike to the kidney. Each attack was a hammer, aiming to destroy, to annihilate. The old woman screamed, a pain he had not heard before, and fell to her knees, the red goo on her body pulsing uncontrollably.
Zack's clone, meanwhile, fought fiercely against the old man. The old man turned the ground into ice, into mud, into rock, trying to trap the clone, but the shadowy figure moved with the same fluidity as the original. The clone, however, was beginning to falter, its energy diminishing. Zack knew he had to act fast. He activated **Baron**, trading speed for overwhelming attack power. His movements became a blur, his fists and feet delivering blows with the force of a meteor. He was no longer just fighting; he was annihilating. The clone, feeling its limit, exploded in a wave of black energy, throwing the old man against an ice wall he himself had created. The wall shattered, and the old man fell, stunned.
Zack gave no quarter. He lunged at the old man, his blows now charged with the force of the Baron. The old man tried to defend himself, transforming his arms into ice blades, but Zack was relentless. He delivered a punch that broke the ice arm, followed by a kick that sent him flying. The old woman, recovering, tried to envelop Zack with her goo, but he was too fast. He leaped, spun, and with a heel strike, slammed the old woman's head into the ground. The elders, once confident, were now in despair. Their blows, once precise, became more frantic, their S+ auras faltering under Zack's relentless pressure. They humiliated him, hurt him, but Zack refused to fall. He was an aberration, a being who defied logic, and with every blow he received, his fury increased, his determination solidified.
---
Amidst the chaos of battle, a chilling realization struck Zack. The ritual. He had assumed the elders were using the blood moon to amplify their own powers, to kill him. But the energy emanating from them, though powerful, was not for personal fortification. It was for channeling. They were not absorbing the power; they were directing it. And the ritual had not been finalized. This meant that the objective was not the battle itself, but something much larger. He looked at the elders' faces, and the truth was revealed in their eyes. It was not fury, nor hatred, but a desperate, almost sacrificial determination. They were not fighting to win; they were fighting for time. To hold him. To keep him busy.
Despair overwhelmed Zack. The ritual was not for them. It was for Skull. And the objective? The golden-eyed baby. The confirmation hit him like lightning. The baby really existed, and the elders were willing to summon the very entity of the Void to obtain it. The entire fight, the betrayal, the destruction – everything had been an elaborate distraction, a smokescreen for a much more sinister plan. The black dome, which he had created to delay the ritual, now seemed like a cage, trapping him while the true danger unfolded elsewhere. He had to act, and fast. Time was running out, and the fate of Red City, and perhaps the world, was in his hands.
---
With the shocking revelation of the ritual's true purpose, an even colder chill than the old man's ice ran down Zack's spine. The mention of Skull, a name that should only be whispered in legends, was enough to terrify him. The situation was out of control, and he needed help. While dodging a jet of red goo that tried to trap him and leaping over an ice stake that sprouted from the ground, he pulled a Ra scroll from a secret compartment in his boot. With a quick movement, he wrote an urgent message to Tobi, describing the plan to summon Skull and the need to act immediately.
Almost instantly, Tobi's reply appeared on the scroll, in hurried, trembling letters: "My God." The confirmation of the imminent danger, coming from someone as calm and rational as Tobi, only increased Zack's despair. He needed to break the ritual, and the only way was to eliminate the elders. With renewed fury, he lunged at them, his blows more precise, more lethal. He used the **Stench** technique, his black eyes glowing with a supernatural intensity as he visualized his opponents' vital organs. His speed and strength doubled, and he became a blur of motion, delivering blows aimed at the heart, lungs, brain. The old woman, with a cry of pain, tried to defend herself with her goo, but Zack was too fast, his fists tearing through the sticky substance to hit his target. The old man, with a look of terror, tried to freeze the air around Zack, but the hunter was already behind him, delivering a kick that sent him flying.
But, even as he fought with unprecedented ferocity, a new and terrible realization struck him. The elders' death would not stop the ritual. The energy they channeled was just a link, a catalyst. The true ritual was being performed by someone else, elsewhere, within the city itself. The entire fight, the destruction, his friends' pain – everything had been an elaborate distraction, a farce to keep him busy while the true plan unfolded. Anger and frustration burned in his chest, an uncontrollable flame.
He tried to warn Tobi again, writing frantically on the scroll, but there was no reply. The silence of the scroll was deafening, leaving Zack even more worried. What had happened to Tobi? Was he in danger? Before he could process this new concern, the scroll vibrated again, and a new message appeared, this time from Orpheus. The words were short, but laden with despair: "Lyra and Mira... on the verge of death... in a coma... Broken Mug Bar... I... weak... injured... don't know... how long..." The message faded, leaving Zack with a lump in his throat. His friends were dying, and he was trapped in a useless battle, manipulated by enemies who were always one step ahead. Time was running out, and with each passing second, the threat of Skull became more real.
---
Zack's despair turned into a cold, calculating fury. His friends were dying, the city was in danger, and he had been deceived. There was no more time for subtleties. He had to end it. With a roar that tore through the night, Zack activated the **Baron** technique, trading speed for overwhelming attack power. His movements became a blur, his fists and feet delivering blows with the force of a meteor. He was no longer just fighting; he was annihilating.
The elders, sensing the abrupt change in Zack's intensity, tried to retreat, but it was too late. The old woman, with her red goo, tried to envelop him, but Zack tore through it with brute force, his muscles ripping the sticky substance. He delivered a punch that hit her in the stomach, making her double over in pain, while the old man tried to freeze him. But Zack moved through the ice like a ghost, every blow he delivered was a hammer that crushed bones and broke flesh. He used the old man as a shield, throwing him against the old woman, who was still trying to recover. The two collided, groaning in pain.
They pleaded, their voices filled with genuine despair. "Please!" the old woman cried, her eyes full of tears. "We only did this... to save our grandson! Our family!" The old man, his voice choked, added: "We made a pact... to protect them!"
But Zack did not listen. The image of Lyra and Mira on the verge of death, the threat of Skull hanging over the city, the manipulation he had suffered – all this blinded him to any plea. His fury was an uncontrollable fire. With a final, brutal, and merciless blow, Zack smashed the old woman's head against the ground, the sound of bones breaking echoing in the night. Then, he spun, his fist hitting the old man's chest with such devastating force that his body exploded in a shower of blood and viscera. The elders fell, their lifeless bodies embracing in a last gesture of love, a macabre and disturbing scene that Zack barely registered.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Zack's ragged breathing and the distant sound of the city. The black dome dissipated, and the blood moon, still pulsing with the Vision, seemed to mock him. The mention of Skull, a name that was once just a forbidden legend, was now a terrifying reality. He had killed the elders, but he knew this was not the end. The ritual was still underway, and the true enemy was in the city. With black eyes gleaming with indomitable fury, Zack turned and ran. He ran towards the city, a predator in search of his prey, determined to find whoever was trying to summon Skull and stop them, no matter the cost. The greatest hunter in the world was back, and the city would feel his wrath.