A deep, guttural growl rippled through the silence of Nebula's mind, rousing him from slumber like a storm rolling through the heavens.
"Wake up, my lord… We're being hunted."
Oni's voice was low, dangerous—an urgent whisper beneath the morning hush.
Nebula's eyes snapped open.
Before conscious thought could fully register, his body moved on instinct. His muscles tensed, his breathing steadied, and with a swift, practiced motion, he pushed himself off the mattress—rolling into a crouch against the wooden wall. His hands were already wrapped around his twin revolvers, the cold metal a familiar comfort. He didn't need to ask. He knew. The hunt had begun.
A flicker of daylight seeped through the gaps in the wooden shutters, casting eerie slashes of gold and shadow across the room. Beyond the thin walls, the world was deceptively still—too still.
Then—
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Heavy footfalls. Slow. Measured. Approaching.
"They made their move earlier than expected," he muttered under his breath, voice edged with disbelief.
On the bed, Oni's massive form shifted with restless energy, the wooden frame groaning under the weight of his muscular feline bulk. The saber-toothed beast's fur bristled like bronze steel, its razor-sharp claws raking against the floorboards. The beast's eyes gleamed with a primal, bloodthirsty fire, its enormous fangs exposed in a menacing snarl.
It was ready to kill.
"What's your command, my lord?" Oni's deep, bestial voice trembled with anticipation.
Nebula's grip tightened around his revolvers. He exhaled slowly, forcing his pulse to steady, then fixed his gaze on the wooden door.
"We regroup with the others... and we fight."
Then, he briefly shifted his gaze toward Oni, his lips curling into a grin. "Lead the charge."
"Your wish is my command, my lord." The smilodon's eyes gleamed with feral excitement.
With a charged, animalistic roar, it lunged forward with terrifying speed, its massive frame blurring with muscle and destruction. The beast collided into the door like a battering ram, splintering the wood into a thousand shards.
Beyond the threshold, chaos erupted.
A gunshot rang out, but Oni was faster. With a snarl, it leapt, dodging the bullet by a breath, its saber fangs sinking into the nearest attacker's throat. A wet, choked scream gurgled in the air as blood sprayed across the corridor walls.
Another bounty hunter charged from the left, blade raised. Oni pivoted mid-air, whipping its massive claws across the man's chest. The sound of ripping flesh and shattering ribs echoed as the man's body was sent crashing through the wooden railing, plummeting to the tavern floor below.
A third attacker attempted to flee, but Oni pounced, tackling him with bone-crushing force. The man's scream barely had time to escape before Oni's massive jaws clamped down, silencing him permanently.
And then…
Silence.
Nebula stepped out into the corridor, his revolvers spinning smoothly in his grip, their barrels gleaming under the dim lantern light. He scanned the aftermath, eyes trailing over the fresh bodies, the blood-slicked floorboards, the lingering scent of gunpowder and gore.
The hunt had turned.
Oni stood among the bodies, its maw stained crimson, its emerald eyes meeting Nebula's with silent satisfaction.
Nebula clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. "Should've saved some for me, Oni."
The smilodon bowed slightly, unbothered by the carnage.
"Apologies, my lord," it rumbled, its voice thick with amusement. "They were simply too weak to put up a fight."
Nebula chuckled, shaking his head.
But then—
"Nebula!"
Jasmin's voice—sharp and urgent—cut through the smoky air like an arrow through mist.
His silhouette emerged from the dim corridor, his white-dyed braids swaying as he strode forward, his bow already drawn, an arrow nocked and ready to fly. His sharp eyes flicked between the bodies littering the hallway, assessing the carnage with tense precision.
Behind him, Laria moved like a shadow, daggers glinting in the low light, while Daryl clung close to her side, his small frame trembling but his gaze fiercely determined. And at the rear, Naritsa followed, her breath unsteady, a yellow parrot perched elegantly upon her shoulder—watchful, alert.
As soon as she locked eyes with Nebula, the weight of the past night's tension melted away in an instant. Without thinking, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, clinging tightly.
"I'm so sorry about my reaction yesterday," she whispered against his chest, her voice fragile, heavy with both relief and regret. She tilted her chin up, her ruby eyes searching his gaze for absolution.
Nebula simply chuckled, a quiet, knowing sound as he returned the embrace.
"It's nothing," he assured her. "Besides, you're human. You feel things. You're not some machine." His words held an unspoken warmth despite the chaos unfolding around them.
After a lingering moment, he slowly stepped back, his gaze shifting to the vibrant yellow parrot nestled on her shoulder. Its small, black eyes gleamed with intelligence, feathers slightly ruffled as it scanned its surroundings.
"…One of your guardians?" Nebula asked, cocking a curious brow.
Naritsa giggled, brushing a finger along the bird's delicate frame. "Yeah, meet Tina. My common-level companion."
Nebula tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment, giving the parrot a small nod before shifting his focus back to the matter at hand. His eyes found Jasmin's, sharp and demanding.
"What's the current situation?" he asked, his revolvers already spinning smoothly in his grip as he headed toward the staircase. Oni padded beside him, its fangs bared, its emerald eyes glowing with predatory anticipation.
Jasmin fell into step behind him, bow raised. "Daryl was right," he said grimly, his voice barely audible over the distant clash of weapons and gunfire. "We were being watched this whole time—"
Nebula's grip on his revolvers tightened.
"—But thanks to your suggestion, Nebula, we had our guardians keep watch while we slept," Naritsa chimed in, her voice steadier now, emboldened by the rush of battle.
They stepped into the main tavern hall—and stepped into hell itself.
The once-lively tavern had become a warzone.
Tables lay in ruin, shattered into splintered debris. Corpses—both bounty hunters and unfortunate fugitive patrons who had once sought the tavern as a safe haven—littered the floor, blood pooling beneath them like spilled wine. Smoke from fired gunpowder thickened the air, choking the senses.
At the far end, guardian creatures tore into each other in primal combat—fangs snapping, claws raking through flesh. A tiger pinned a black wolf to the ground, its jaws clamped around the struggling beast's throat. Nearby, a serpent coiled around a man's torso, its fangs sinking into his flesh, imbuing his veins with fatal venom.
In the center of the chaos, a bearded hunter with a mechanical prosthetic arm wielded twin pistols, cutting down anything that moved.
Despite the carnage, Nebula and his companions paid no mind.
They had no intention of staying.
They needed to get out—silently and swiftly.
Nebula's eyes darted toward the tavern's far end, where a side entrance was barely visible through the haze of battle.
"This way," he murmured, leading them forward, his revolvers aimed and ready for any stray threats.
Oni stalked at his flank, a low, primal growl rumbling from its throat, promising violence to any who dared stand in their path.
Nebula and his companions burst through the tavern doors, their lungs burning with the stench of blood and gunpowder. However, they were met with a gruesome sight that made the chaos behind them seem almost merciful.
A chain hook—rusted and barbed—whistled through the air, cutting through the morning mist like a reaper's scythe.
With a sickening crunch, the hook impaled a fleeing fugitive's skull from behind, piercing bone and brain matter in a single, merciless strike. The poor soul barely had time to scream before his body went limp, his lifeless form twitching grotesquely as the chain yanked back with brutal efficiency, dragging him back across the dirt-strewn ground in a slow, scraping horror.
The group tracked the path of the chain's bloodied trail, their eyes locking onto the figure who stood at the source.
There, bathed in eerie tranquility, was a man garbed in an immaculate white priest's attire, his robes pristine and untouched despite the death surrounding him. His hands held a neat stack of yellowed parchment, and beside him stood a massive, black-furred minotaur, the beast's powerful muscles flexing as it recoiled the chain into its hulking grip.
But they were not alone. Around them, a pack of bounty hunters and their guardian beasts stood poised for slaughter, their weapons glinting under the first rays of dawn. The scent of fresh blood tainted the cold morning air.
Nebula's gaze hardened. His hands instinctively spun the chambers of his revolvers, a familiar warmth spreading through his fingertips as he aimed directly at the priest's face. Beside him, Oni crouched low, its muscular frame coiled like a drawn bowstring, ready to pounce at a moment's notice.
But it was Daryl's reaction that sent a true shiver through them all.
His face had gone pale, his pupils shrinking in terror as he pointed a trembling finger.
"... I-It's Gregor… The Bounty Priest..." he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
A ripple of unease passed through the group. Even Oni, usually unfazed by battle, growled lowly, muscles tensed.
Yet Gregor remained disturbingly composed.
He exhaled softly, his lips curling into a pleasant, almost fatherly smile. "I greet you all in the name of the Lord—"
"—Keep your blasphemous greetings to yourself, bounty priest."
Nebula's voice cut through Gregor's sermon like the crack of a whip, his defiant smirk unwavering as his revolvers remained locked onto the priest's skull.
Behind him, Naritsa, Laria, and Jasmin took their positions, forming a battle stance that spoke of readiness. The air around them thickened with a tension on the edge of eruption.
Oni let out a low, guttural growl, its serrated fangs glistening as it eyed the massive minotaur standing across from it—two apex predators preparing for the ultimate clash.
But surprisingly, Gregor didn't react.
Instead, he shuffled through the fleet of neatly stacked papers in his hands with deliberate slowness, his gloved fingers scanning them as though they contained divine scripture.
The priest's gaze flicked across the pages as if searching for something, the soft rustling of parchment the only sound in the tense silence.
Then, after a long, agonizing pause, he finally looked up from his parchment. His smile widened, stretched with an unsettling coldness as he shifted his gaze back to them.
"The spirit has spoken," he murmured, his voice calm, almost reverent.
"Fugitives of the Gog Empire…" he continued. "You five are currently the most prioritized sinners in the world."
He let the words sink in before his lips curled further into something cruel.
"May the Lord forbid that I ignore such irresistible bounties placed upon each of you."
The minotaur beside him snorted, its heavy hooves scraping against the ground.
Then—Gregor raised a hand, snapping his fingers.
Reality shifted.
A small, spherical device materialized in midair above Nebula and his companions, humming with unnatural energy. Before they could react, it emitted a blinding flash of light—a gravity-laden beam exploding outward upon them.
The impact was immediate.
A crushing force slammed them into the dirt, pinning their bodies as though the weight of the sky had collapsed upon them. Jasmin and Daryl gritted their teeth, Naritsa let out a sharp gasp, and Laria cursed as they all struggled in vain.
Their muscles screamed, their breaths punched from their lungs, and—worst of all—their connection to their guardians was severed in an instant.
Panic flashed in Nebula's eyes. He turned, searching for his guardian—but Oni had already disintegrated into thin air. Across the battlefield, Naritsa's parrot, Laria's previously-emerging bigfoot, and even Jasmin's unsummoned guardian—all of them had been sealed away, banished from the mortal realm.
"The fuck!?" Nebula growled, struggling against the unseen force pressing him down. His breath came in short, strained bursts as he fought to lift his arm—only to find it near impossible. "What did you do to us!?"
From above, Gregor watched them.
His expression was contentment as he admired the effectiveness of his work.
He strode forward with the leisure of a priest delivering a sermon, his white robes still untouched by filth or death. His smile never wavered, a patient and knowing expression that made the moment all the more infuriating.
"This," he gestured toward the floating device with casual reverence, "is called the Guardian Bane—a micro-technology crafted by the divine hands of the Gog Empire themselves."
He stopped just short of Nebula, tilting his head slightly as if amused by their futile resistance.
"While active," he continued, his tone almost patronizing, "it severs the connection between guardian and host, rendering your precious beasts... obsolete." His smile darkened. "And with the Guardian Vessel standing among you—" his eyes flicked to Naritsa, glinting with caution, "—I would be a fool to place blind faith in the Lord's protection alone."
Naritsa's blood ran cold. She had heard of devices like this—prototypes only rumored to exist within the darkest chambers of the Gog Empire's research labs. To see one active and functioning meant they had underestimated their enemy far too much.
"You're not a bounty hunter," she whispered, her voice shaking with fury. "You're a fucking lunatic!"
But Gregor did not react. He did not falter, nor did he take offense.
Instead, he merely sighed—a patient, almost fatherly sigh. Then, with the same eerie calmness, he reached into his sleeve and retrieved a neatly folded bounty paper.
With slow, deliberate care, he unfolded it and held it out toward them, revealing their names inked in bold, black letters.
Their bounties.
Their worth.
Gregor's smile widened ever so slightly.
"If you all wouldn't mind," he said, extending the paper with chilling politeness, "I'd be honored to have you sign your autographs…"
He tapped a finger against the Dead or Alive section.
"…Right here."
The parchment fluttered gently in the breeze, stained at its edges with the blood of those who had signed before them—unwillingly.
And in the distance, the metallic whine of the minotaur's chain hook coiled once more.