In another shadow-cloaked corner of Hell's Kitchen—
The scene was like a portal to Victorian London. Fog, thick and sentient, slithered through alleyways and swallowed entire streets, veiling the world in a damp and eerie hush.
Streetlamps, dim and flickering, barely pierced the gloom. Beyond their faint glow lay only obscurity and the chilling sense of unseen horrors lurking in the mist.
Panic rippled through the crowd. Residents stumbled through the haze in confusion, gripped by growing fear.
Some bolted, hoping to flee this cursed zone.
Others weren't so lucky.
Lightning, coiling like serpents, slashed through the air, crackling with unnatural hunger. Anyone caught in their path fell instantly, bodies spasming before going limp—unconscious or worse.
These bolts weren't born of weather.
They twisted with intent, hunting, as if controlled by something alive.
The source of this horror?
A rooftop atop a derelict restaurant in Hell's Kitchen. Forgotten, rusted, haunted.
There stood a masked figure cloaked in black, poised at the peak of a fire escape like a conductor of catastrophe. His grotesque mask bore no emotion, yet lightning arced in reverence around him.
He was known to some as Tengu Mist, once called Langdu. A reincarnator from the Six Hanging Flowers under Byakuran's banner. He wielded both Fog and Thunder flames, fused into a monstrous construct—Fog Thunder Sea Serpent—an unholy storm beast tearing through the city.
These serpents, made of pure lightning and illusion, writhed through the mist, attacking everything in their path.
Tengu Mist stood unmoved, his face hidden beneath the mask, his presence melding into the chaos. He neither smiled nor frowned, merely watched coldly as panic bloomed like blood across the city.
But then—
A cry of ravens shattered the air.
Hundreds of dark shapes descended from the sky, slicing through the fog like it didn't exist. The black birds swarmed the serpents with surgical precision, disrupting their hunt and protecting the desperate civilians below.
But they didn't stop there.
The ravens turned on Tengu Mist.
He didn't panic.
He smiled—just barely—and then vanished. The figure struck by the ravens dissolved into vapor.
An illusion.
The real Tengu Mist had already repositioned to another rooftop. Twin chainsaws roared to life in his hands, hungry for battle.
Just as he prepared to strike, a teasing British accent sliced through the air behind him.
"My dear Mr. Mask," came the voice, elegant and mocking, "I presume you're the one I'm scheduled to entertain tonight? Seems we share some rather curious similarities. Delightful. Let's make this fun."
Dangling upside down from a neon sign like a specter, Daemon Spade—the original Mist Guardian of the Vongola—emerged from the mist. His figure flickered between dimensions, a living enigma of illusions.
He tipped his top hat with theatrical flair and bowed deeply. "A pleasure. Daemon Spade, Mist Guardian of the Vongola. Welcome to Hell's Kitchen. A bit chaotic, yes, but today's version, veiled in fog... quite flavorful, wouldn't you say?"
Tengu Mist's eyes, cold as obsidian behind his mask, narrowed.
He didn't reply. He lunged.
The air around him thickened—pale violet fog coiling like snakes, obscuring all in its path. He vanished into the mist and struck at Daemon Spade with feral precision.
But the blade passed clean through. Daemon's form dissolved like smoke.
The real Spade had never been there.
A low, sardonic laugh echoed from the mist. "Not terribly elegant, Mr. Mask."
The voice came from everywhere.
And then—there he was again.
Daemon now lounged on an antique sofa, a porcelain cup of tea in hand, legs crossed, calm as if at high tea with royalty. The lavish furniture sat absurdly atop the rooftop like a dream leaking into reality.
Tengu Mist said nothing.
He scanned the fog again, eyes behind the mask flickering. He knew it wasn't the real Daemon.
After a long pause, Tengu Mist made his move. He spun around and unleashed a brutal chainsaw slash toward a separate section of the mist.
"Found you," came the mechanical voice from under the mask.
The blades connected.
Feathers flew.
He had cut through a cluster of ravens, which burst apart in a storm of shrieks.
Then—too late—he felt it.
A cold, sharp force struck from behind. Tengu Mist staggered. Before him, Daemon Spade now stood, smiling like a serpent in silk.
"Wrong choice," he said. "I told you—I was drinking my tea over there."
Daemon's gaze sharpened. "You do have curious eyes... but that's all."
He had sliced the masked figure cleanly in two.
Or so it seemed.
To his surprise, the severed halves of Tengu Mist began to knit back together, fog pulling the body back into a solid whole. Purple mist swirled like sutures, sealing the wound.
Daemon narrowed his eyes. This wasn't just an illusionist—this was something else.
"Oh? Intriguing…" Daemon chuckled darkly. "Regeneration?"
"But still…"
"The fog is a lie. Can your eyes truly see what's real... and what isn't?"
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Bonus Chapter - 150 Power Stones
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