"You shouldn't be here."
The comment - steely, clipped, and to the point - came from Sérgio Gonçalves.
At forty-two, he was paradoxically both a veteran and on the younger side of the members of their order. He'd joined the Caçadores at twenty-one, just four years after graduating from Castelobruxo and completing his training - a full year ahead of the average.
His face, framed by braided locks of black hair threaded with silver bands, was set in a serious frown. The expression stretched the scar tissue that marked his dark skin - three clawed lines that cut from above his right brow, down across a blinded eye, past his lips, and into the collar of the black uniform he wore.
The one he was addressing knelt on the cavern floor before a small, flickering candle. In front of him stood a worn portrait of a dark-haired woman with brown eyes and, beside it, a statue of the Holy Mary. Hands clasped in prayer, eyes closed, the boy ignored Sérgio's words. His lips moved quietly through the final lines of a prayer before he made the sign of the cross and kissed the small crucifix around his neck. He tucked it back beneath his uniform - identical to Sérgio's - and only then looked up with a small, easy smile.
"I'm not sure what you mean by that, sir," he said, his tone polite, though anyone who knew him would catch the hint of cheek behind the words.
Sérgio scoffed. His arms - thick with corded muscle and crossed with scars both large and small - folded across his chest as his glare deepened.
"Drop the 'sir' bullshit. We're almost the same rank already."
He let out a long breath, tension easing from his shoulders. "Look, Orion, don't get me wrong. None of us doubt you because of your age - we can't, not with the results you've had since you joined. And all of us-" he gestured toward the dozen or so figures scattered around the cavern, each dressed in the same black uniform, "-we're grateful to have you here."
"I sense a 'but' coming," Orion said, blue eyes glinting with mirth.
"But you need to take a breath," Sérgio went on, ignoring the jab except for the twitch of a smile. "Today marks your third year as a Caçador. Three years without a single proper break - just mission after mission."
"I do take the mandated leaves, you know?" Orion replied lightly, blowing out the candle. He began packing away the little altar into a nondescript suitcase - clearly enchanted, since his entire arm disappeared inside it.
A laugh, low and rasped, came from nearby. A woman with dark skin and hair like a living flame approached, smirking in a way that deepened the lines of her aged-yet-youthful face.
"You mean the ones where you spend all day buried in the archives, and the Archivist has to drag you out by the collar?" she said dryly.
Orion only shrugged with a carefree smile as he rose from the ground. With a flick of his fingers, his suitcase lifted from the floor and floated toward a section of the cavern wall pocked with square recesses - each one occupied by other suitcases, satchels, and bags.
The woman snorted and gave him a teasing look. "She sent the Senhorita a missive demanding the revocation of your access, you know?"
That pierced straight through his composure. His head snapped toward her, eyes wide in alarm.
"She wouldn't," he said - though it sounded more like a plea than a statement.
The woman laughed, and Sérgio groaned, dragging a hand down his scarred face before fixing Orion with a weary look.
"Look, kid, if you don't care about working yourself to death, you should at least care about this date. It's your birthday, for God's sake. You're only eighteen - you should be out getting drunk and making mistakes, not wasting the day in a damp hole with a bunch of lunatics and old bitches." He waved vaguely toward the red-haired woman.
"Yeah, boy, listen to the old bitch," she said with a grin. "He knows plenty about mistakes."
Sérgio shot her a glare, which she answered with a lazy middle finger.
Orion laughed, scratching the back of his buzzcut head.
"Don't be mean, Maria. You know how he gets about his age," he said jokingly to Maria Sabrina - the red-haired woman. Sérgio turned an incredulous look on him, which only made Orion and Maria laugh harder.
"Look," Orion said once his laughter died down, "thanks for worrying about me, really. But I promise that I do rest properly - mind and body."
"Only because doing otherwise would hurt your field performance," came a dry voice from nearby.
The speaker was a blond man just a few years older than Orion, sitting on a stone chair seemingly fused to the floor before a matching stone table. A chessboard sat in front of him, the pieces moving of their own accord.
"Thanks, Júlio. You're really helping," Orion said wryly.
Júlio only shrugged, eyes still on the board, and Orion chuckled, shaking his head before turning back to Sérgio.
"And about it being my birthday," he added more seriously, "trust me - there's nowhere I'd rather be than here."
"Ownn~, isn't he the cutest little murder machine?" Maria teased, looping an arm around his neck and dragging him into a playful headlock. Orion didn't resist - perhaps because his face was now firmly buried against her chest, his grin widening.
Sérgio groaned, throwing up his hands. "Alright, I give up. Waste your youth. See if I care."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box wrapped in golden ribbon.
"Here," he said, pressing it into Orion's hands. "Happy birthday."
Orion looked up at him gratefully, still half-pinned under Maria's arm. "You didn't have to-"
"Just open the damn box," Sérgio cut in, earning a chuckle from Maria as she released Orion and stepped back to watch.
Orion gave Sérgio another grateful look before lowering his gaze to the small box in his hands. He turned it over a few times, inspecting the golden ribbon that gleamed faintly in the dim, shifting light. With a careful thumb, he tugged at one end of the tape, undoing the knot. Before it could fall, he caught the ribbon between his fingers, folded it neatly, and tucked it into his pocket.
Inside the box rested a crystal vial, no longer than his palm. The liquid within shimmered gold and glowed faintly, thick and luminous like molten sunlight. As he lifted it closer to his wide eyes, the light danced across his face and reflected in his irises.
"Is this-" he began.
"Sorte Líquida," Maria cut in with a knowing grin. "That's right, boyo - you're holding about a year's salary in your hands. Don't let it slip."
Orion's mouth opened to protest, but another voice interrupted him.
"Don't even start," Júlio drawled from his seat, grimacing at the chessboard as one of his last pieces fell. "We all pitched in. It wasn't much worse than if everyone had bought you something small."
Sérgio stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on Orion's shoulder. The weight was solid, grounding. His expression softened into a rare, genuine smile.
"You've earned it, kid."
Orion sighed, exasperated but smiling despite himself. He looked around at the gathered Caçadores, each watching him with easy grins and quiet pride.
"Thank you - all of you," he said sincerely, bowing his head.
Sérgio's grin returned, sharp and amused. "Where the hell did you get that habit?"
"He's spent a lot of time with those Asian folks down south last year, keeps bowing all the damn time. Makes me wonder how many slaps to the back of the head I have to give him before he gets out of it," Maria teased before Orion could answer.
Sérgio grunted. "Better the Buddhists than the Gaúchos."
From a shadowed corner, a man reclining against the wall lifted the wide brim of his hat to glare at him.
"Oi, what the hell's that supposed to mean?" Joaquim drawled, his accent thick.
Orion laughed, slipping the vial back into its box before securing it inside one of the pouches on his belt.
Sérgio sniffed derisively and gave Joaquim a shit-eating grin. "What I mean is-"
"Target found."
The voice cut through the air like a blade. It came from the woman seated cross-legged in the center of the chamber, her head wrapped entirely in black cloth. Pale blue eyes were drawn over the fabric, shifting and blinking independently of one another. Only her mouth was visible, her dark skin just visible around the edges of the wrap.
Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Conversation died. The warmth drained from the cavern like air leaving a sealed room.
Without hesitation, every Caçador rose to their feet, movements precise and soundless as their training took over.
"Location," Sérgio demanded.
The painted eyes on the woman's wrappings flared with light. The same eerie glow filled the eyes of every hunter in the chamber - including Sérgio's. Their pupils thinned to slits like a cat's, their sclera darkening to black.
The floating motes of light seemed to pause midair, as if the cavern itself were holding its breath.
The cavern fell utterly silent as the blue light in their eyes pulsed in unison.
Then - visions.
A setting sun bled across the horizon, the world flickering through their minds like a reel of moving photographs. From above, a small rural city came into view, nestled between stretches of red earth and crooked forest.
The vision shifted lower - past a yellow-and-white church crowned by a bell and an iron cross; past a park teeming with life, where children laughed around a vendor cart and the smell of roasted corn drifted through the air; past narrow streets lined with one-story homes behind iron gates, stray dogs weaving through the shadows.
On every wall and corner, a faint shimmer of blue flickered - eyes painted in light, invisible to the passersby but watching, each one serving as a new point of view. The vision leapt from one glowing eye to the next, the city shifting angle by angle like a living mosaic.
Finally, it was fixed on a modest blue house with a wooden door standing half-open.
A boy stepped through the threshold - a round-faced, fair-skinned child with curly light-brown hair, his clothes splattered with mud and a football tucked under his arm. He was smiling, his voice faintly echoing through the connection.
Then his smile twisted into a scream.
He dropped the ball as his knees hit the floorboards, his right arm jerking unnaturally backward. Bone cracked with a sickening snap as dark veins spidered across his skin, black and pulsing.
"Move." Sérgio's command shattered the trance.
The Caçadores moved as one.
Boots thudded in rhythm as they marched toward the wall of gear, retrieving black overcoats and weapons - pistols, revolvers, rifles - each crafted from dark wood and silvery metal engraved with runes. Silver dirks glinted as they slid into sheaths. In seconds, every hunter was armed and in line, standing at attention.
"Adriano, Délia, Elias, Manuel - contain the area, protect the Muggles. Keep them out."
The four nodded sharply.
"Mara, Sandra - obliviation support. Make sure no one sees or remembers seeing what they shouldn't."
Crack. Crack.
They vanished instantly, Apparating out.
"Santana, Erasmos - you'll secure the house. Take anyone inside under protection. Felix, Iolanda - assist and extract every memory of who the Subject interacted with today. Check for family members not present."
Another pair of cracks. The air rippled and they were gone.
Sérgio turned toward the remaining hunters. "Maria, Júlio, Amélia, and I-"
"Guiding duty," Maria cut in, her voice rasping low and lethal, eyes now empty and cold.
Sérgio met her gaze and nodded once. Then his eyes shifted to Orion.
"You know what to do."
Orion's expression hardened, the last trace of humor gone.
"Hunt."
-~=~-
Orion emerged from Apparition in a lurch, his boots scraping against the dirt road as he took a heartbeat to steady his balance. The air around him crackled faintly, the residual hum of magic still clinging to his clothes. Ahead stood the blue-painted house with the wooden door left slightly ajar - the same one from the vision.
All around him came the muted pops of Disapparition - one after another, in quick rhythm. His comrades were already at work, evacuating civilians from nearby homes. The soft rumble of frightened voices, the rustle of hurried footsteps, then silence again.
He drew in a breath, pushing the door open with the barrel of his gun. The hinges creaked faintly, and he stepped inside.
The first thing he noticed were the gashes on the floorboards - deep, splintered grooves left by clawed feet. The scent of iron and sweat lingered in the air. His sharp eyes caught the faint traces of recent spellwork, invisible to ordinary sight but glowing faintly to his - thin streaks of smoking red where Stunning Spells had been cast, and twisting, crack-like distortions where others had Apparated. The family had already been taken away.
From deeper inside the house came the sounds - pained grunts turning into guttural bellows, and then a warped, bleating cry that no human throat could make.
His right hand slid behind his coat, closing around the handle of a short, thick stick of twisted black wood. His left hand rested on the cold metal of the revolver holstered at his hip.
He moved forward, step by slow step, through the modest living room - white tile floors and whitewashed walls scribbled over with childish drawings. A brown sofa faced a small tube television, the antenna wrapped with bombril to better catch the signal. On the coffee table sat a forgotten glass of juice, its surface trembling slightly with each heavy thud from the room ahead.
When Orion reached the half-open bathroom door, he stopped just short of crossing the threshold. With a subtle tilt of his head, the wooden door swung open on its own - the hinges whining in protest.
The stench hit him before the sight did.
Sulfur. Piss. The acid burn of bile.
On the brown-tiled floor lay the twisted shape of the boy from the vision. He writhed and screamed under the spray of water pouring from a shattered sink above him, his small body convulsing as it reshaped itself into something no longer human.
One arm had already elongated grotesquely, the skin stretched taut over sinew and rope-like muscle, ending in a grey hand tipped with claws that had forced their way out through his fingernails. One leg cracked sharply, bone splintering before reforming into a digitigrade limb like its twin - coarse black fur spreading in uneven patches as his toes fused and hardened into a hoof.
His face was a horror of shifting flesh and breaking bone. The skull pushed forward with sickening crunches, jaw elongating into a snout that was neither goat nor man. His teeth fell one by one, blood running down his chin as new fangs erupted to take their place. Above his head, the skin tore open in jagged lines to make way for curved horns slick with blood.
One eye had already gone wrong - its pupil a sideways slit burning crimson as it glared with hatred. The other still held the frightened green of a child's, staring up at Orion in desperate confusion.
Orion watched it all with a cold, unflinching gaze. When that lone green eye met his, his expression softened - just slightly.
"Be not afraid," he said quietly, the words a gentle echo in the steaming air.
For a heartbeat, the boy seemed to falter. Then the green eye too bled into red, the human gone.
The creature went still - chest heaving, the trickle of water pattering softly against its new fur.
And then, with the speed of lightning, it moved.
The monster lunged, mouth splitting open into a rictus grin that tore its cheeks wide, claws flashing.
Before it could reach him, Orion had already drawn.
The blackened revolver roared like thunder.
The bullet struck the creature's shoulder and exploded, tearing the limb clean off and hurling the monster backward into the tiled wall with a wet, echoing crack.
The creature let out a demoniac bellow that shook the walls, black blood spilling from the gaping wound and hissing as it hit the tiles, evaporating in curls of smoke.
It turned toward Orion with a snarl - hatred twisting its half-goat, half-human face - yet beneath that rage there was a flicker of apprehension. Bone splintered through the injured flesh, sinew knitting itself together as muscle crawled to meet it. The limb was already regenerating.
Orion didn't even blink. He shifted the revolver slightly to the side and fired again.
The other shoulder exploded in a wet burst of gore, and the beast collapsed to the floor shrieking.
The regeneration started anew, faster this time - tendons whipping like snakes beneath the skin. The thing screamed again, this time with a voice almost human, the sound cracking with pain and something that might have been pleading.
Orion tilted his head, studying it like a biologist examining a specimen. He let it scream for several seconds before raising the gun again, the barrel steady and aimed squarely at its skull.
"Go on," he said softly. "Start running."
The creature hesitated - then bolted, smashing through the bathroom wall in a shower of bricks and plaster before vanishing into the night.
Orion lowered his weapon and exhaled slowly. His hand went to the snake-shaped adornment curled around his ear, its silver head pointing inward toward the canal. He tapped it twice.
"Target on the run," he reported calmly. "Heading east, toward Engenho Street."
"Copy," came Laiza's voice from the serpent's mouth - the woman with black wrapping around her head who had stayed behind on the cave. "Team Alpha has already evacuated the neighborhood. Team Beta is on standby for civilian emergencies. Team Gamma is securing the priority targets. Team Delta is in position to guide it north. Apparate to Position Thirty-Eight Bravo and prepare to give chase."
"Understood."
He looked in the direction the monster had fled. His blue, slit-pupiled eyes shimmered - and the distant rooftop overlooking a narrow alley came sharply into focus within his mind's eye. A flex of will, a sidestep through the fold of space, and the world twisted around him.
He appeared atop the roof, crouched against the tiles.
"In position," he said.
"Good hunting," came the final reply before the line went silent.
Orion reached for his belt, fingers brushing through several satchels before finding three vials. He pulled them out - one glowing red, another swirling with green mist, and the last flickering with a bright electric yellow.
One by one, he bit through them. The thin crystal shattered sweetly between his teeth.
The yellow liquid hit first - lightning in his veins, energy flooding his muscles until his blood thrummed with raw speed. The world sharpened; colors grew vivid, sounds crisp.
Then the green mist. It billowed up into his mouth and throat, forcing him to inhale through his nose. His lungs filled until it felt like breathing had become optional - the air itself no longer necessary.
Finally, the red vial. Heat surged through his body. His muscles swelled, veins darkening as if molten iron coursed beneath the skin. A faint smoke rose from his collar. The glow faded after a few heartbeats, leaving his body honed, tight, and coiled with restrained power.
In the distance, he heard the echoes of spellfire and animalistic screams.
Less than a minute later, the screams reached him again - closer this time, echoing through the narrow alleys below.
It took only seconds before the monster came into view.
Its fur was scorched in patches, smoking faintly, and its back was riddled with glowing silver pellets embedded deep in the flesh. Each one hissed where it touched, burning black blood that evaporated into smoke. Snarling, the creature threw itself against a wall, scraping its back against the bricks to tear the projectiles free. They clattered to the ground with wet, metallic sounds, leaving behind a smear of smoking gore. Almost instantly, the flesh began knitting itself together again.
Orion waited.
The beast crouched low - muscles tensing, hooves digging into the asphalt - and leapt.
It shot upward, soaring meters into the air toward the same rooftop where he crouched.
The moment it was airborne, Orion moved.
The twisted rod of black wood in his hand extended with a fluid motion, stretching into a staff nearly two meters long. He swung it down in a sharp arc. The impact cracked through the air - thock - as the staff smashed into the monster's skull. Bone shattered; the creature crashed to the ground, tiles and dust raining down after it.
Orion stepped forward to the edge of the roof, looking down. The monster convulsed, bones snapping back into place, blood running from its eyes and nostrils as it glared up at him with pure hatred.
It screamed again - a sound that made the nearby windows tremble.
Orion rested the staff across his shoulder and raised his revolver, the muzzle gleaming faintly in the moonlight. The creature bolted toward a wall, clearly intending to scale it -
He fired.
The bullet struck its elbow and tore the entire forearm away in a burst of blood and black smoke. The beast stumbled, snarled, and then turned tail, choosing flight over fight.
Orion jumped after it, vaulting effortlessly across the rooftops with inhuman speed and strength. Each landing cracked tiles beneath his boots, and every time the creature veered off-course - toward a home, an alley, or a street with civilians - a single thunderous shot rang out, blowing it back on track.
When the monster tried to climb, he was already there above it, staff descending like a hammer to drive it back to the ground.
Sometimes the creature ignored the pain - arms torn off, ribs shattered - and still tried to flee toward forbidden paths. But every time, before it could get far, gunfire or spellfire from the shadows forced it back.
Other Caçadores were already in position. Blue lights flickered in the dark as they guided it, herding the creature down the intended trail, pushing it further north.
The hunt carried on relentlessly for several long minutes.
Bit by bit, they herded the monster out of the city's edge and into the open fields beyond, where the flicker of streetlights gave way to the endless dark of the countryside. With the cover of trees and the wild tangle of brush, the chase became harder. The creature darted among the foliage, using the darkness to vanish and reappear with startling speed.
But by then, the others had finished their assignments.
Eight more Caçadores Apparated into the field - shadows in black coats, eyes glowing an otherworldly blue. They moved like predators through the grass, spreading out in a wide circle around the beast, cutting off every escape path. The night was moonless, the air heavy and damp, and the only sounds were the soft crunch of boots and the ragged, animal breathing of the cornered creature.
It sensed the trap. Its hackles rose; claws dug furrows into the earth. The air trembled as it let out a bone-rattling scream - rage and hatred given voice.
Then it lunged. It threw itself straight at Orion, a blur of muscle and fur and fangs, every ounce of strength behind the desperate charge.
It was the smartest thing it could have done. If Orion evaded, the creature would be able to escape the trap they had set for it - if he tried to counter-attack, with the ammount of strenght it had put behind it's lunge it's quite possible that even if injured it would still manage to hurt him and mix their blood - and then his group would have two monsters to contend with. A shield charm wouldn't stop it, and blasting it away would throw it outside the bonds of the trap.
The creature couldn't see single move he could make that would ensure its capture.
It didn't expect that Caçador would jump into the trap himself.
In the instant before impact, Orion vanished - twisting through space with a muted crack.
He reappeared behind the creature, gun already raised.
The revolver thundered. The bullet hit the base of the monster's skull and detonated, exploding its head in a shower of black mist and bone. The body crumpled to the ground, twitching.
Before it could move again, the circle of Caçadores closed in.
In perfect unison, they knelt, drawing their silver dirks and driving them into the soil around the body. The blades glowed where they struck, threads of light unfurling across the ground, racing from point to point until they connected in a blazing pattern - an eight-pointed star of pure silver.
A moment later, the earth itself seemed to catch fire. Blue flames erupted along the lines, revealing the sigil beneath - a Lakshmi Star carved into the dirt, half-hidden under a thin layer of ash and leaves.
The monster's corpse was caught in the middle, alongside Orion.
It began to convulse. The stump of its neck bubbled, flesh knitting, bones reforming, nerves sparking to life in writhing filaments. A skull emerged, then sinew, muscle, skin - until an eye rolled open in the half-formed face. It gaped soundlessly, jaw stretching too wide, until a throat grew beneath it and the scream finally came.
It lunged again - this time upward, desperate to escape.
The moment its claws crossed the circle's boundary, a silver barrier flared into being, solid and blazing. The creature hit it with a deafening crash. The light burned its flesh where it touched, the smell of scorched fur filling the air. It dropped back inside, convulsing, smoke rising from its body.
The barrier faded - silent once more, waiting.
Orion watched without moving, revolver still in hand, the cold blue light of the flames flickering across his face.
The creature shook its head, dazed, twitching from the burns that still smoked along its neck. Its gaze swept across the circle - eight pairs of blue eyes glinting in the dark - and it snarled, hackles bristling.
Then its head snapped toward Orion.
He stood within the circle, calm and silent, staff of twisted black wood in one hand, revolver in the other. The silverish flames licked around them, casting flickering light over his features.
The creature hissed - a wet, guttural sound that turned into a bleat, then warped into a chuckle, and finally bloomed into a deep, reverberating laugh.
It rose to its full height, nearly two and a half meters tall, towering over Orion. Its fur glistened darkly under the silver light, its limbs too long, its back hunched and sinewy. Its head was vaguely goat-like, but stretched and misshapen, as if several faces had been forced to share the same skull.
It grinned down at him - lips curling back to reveal rows of crooked fangs. Then, without moving its mouth, without so much as a flicker of its tongue, it spoke.
The voice that came was not one voice but three: one that of a child sobbing through pain, another of a goat trying to sound like a man, and the last the slick, delighted drawl of someone who had long forgotten what sanity was.
"Menino Bruxo… oh, what fun!
They send a child to face what's done!
Tell me, boy, do you not see?
You stepped inside this cage with me!
Are you to be my little meal?
My tender snack, my evening's zeal?
Do you know what this circle means?
It's not my grave - it's yours, it seems!"
It threw its head back and cackled, the sound echoing through the fields like glass grinding on stone. Then, with a sudden, jerking motion, it grabbed its own arm, bit deep into its flesh, and tore.
The hand came free with a wet rip.
It stuffed it into its mouth, chewing greedily as blood gushed down its chin - and even as it devoured the limb, the stump began to grow anew, bone first, then muscle and hide, until a new hand flexed where the old one had been.
"I am hunger! I am blight!
The endless dark, the endless night!
I am the rot in mortal breath,
I am the child born of death!
I cannot die - I never can!
As long as evil dwells in man!"
The monter's laughter rolled out again, a hideous harmony of its three voices blending into one sound that wasn't meant for human ears.
Orion said nothing. He watched it with the stillness of a statue, expression unreadable and eyes cold.
"That was a waste of a perfectly good trap," He said looking down to the ground where the cursed vines they had planted writhed beneath the earth, unable to surface because of his presence. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Cabra Cabriola," he murmured, almost as if reciting from memory. "A cursed creature born from an altered strain of lycanthropy, created by João de Cezimbra in 1666. The curse is transferred by contamination of a victim's blood with that of a transformed Cabra.
The afflicted transforms on the next moonless night - a permanent change, broken only on full moons, when they return to human form. But the mind remains consumed by the curse."
The monster's grin widened - too wide. Its cheeks split open all the way to its ears, revealing gums black as pitch and a mouth full of fangs. Its crimson eyes gleamed with a dark, unholy joy.
"Physically weaker than the usual werewolf," Orion continued evenly, as though lecturing from a textbook, "its danger comes mainly from its accelerated regeneration - which can even dispel the effects of spells such as Stupefy - and the fact that it retains higher cognitive function instead of descending into an animal state. That allows it to plan, deceive, and toy with its prey."
He holstered his revolver with a smooth motion, drawing from his belt a silver dirk identical to those held by the Caçadores kneeling outside the circle. "Oh," he added casually, "and of course there's also the detail that it stays transformed almost permanently, while a werewolf is only truly a danger once a month."
The Cabra Cabriola tilted its head and gave a low, rattling chuckle.
"You know much, Menino Bruxo - too much by half!
You quote my curse as if it's math!
Yet tell me this - you stand so near,
Why can I not smell your fear?
Do you believe you know the way,
To end the night, to end my day?
And will you kill the child within,
The tortured soul, without sin?"
As it spoke, its jaw unhinged wider, impossibly so - revealing at the very back of its throat a small, childlike mouth, pale and trembling, from which its triple voice truly came. The sight was obscene and pitiful all at once.
Orion ignored it entirely.
He lowered his eyes to the weapon in his hands, pressing the handle of his dirk against the tip of the twisted staff. The black wood seemed to wake, its surface unfurling into writhing, root-like tendrils that coiled around the dagger's hilt. The tendrils pulsed, then tightened, fusing the two weapons into one seamless whole. The staff elongated - and in a heartbeat, Orion was holding a spear, its tip gleaming with cold silver light.
"However," he continued, tone unbothered, "recently, in 1982, Rafael de Araújo - a noble and decorated Caçador of the Order - discovered a way to prevent the permanent transformation from taking place."
The beast's grin faltered. Its long neck straightened, eyes narrowing into crimson slits as it studied him in silence. The mocking amusement was gone; what replaced it was wariness.
"It's really a deceptively simple process," Orion went on, rotating the spear lightly in one hand. His glowing blue eyes met the creature's red glare. "All one needs to do is to remove every drop of cursed blood before the sun rises on the first transformation. Of course, that's easier said than done - considering how quickly you heal - but…"
He smiled faintly.
The Cabra Cabriola roared and lunged, claws wide and jaws splitting.
There was a burst of blue light.
Orion moved - a blur, a streak of motion faster than lightning. He stepped past the creature, so swiftly it seemed to pass through him.
"…I've been told I'm quite the stubborn bastard," he finished calmly, straightening as the blue aura faded.
A heavy thud echoed through the night.
The Cabra froze - then looked down. Both of its hands lay on the dirt, twitching where they'd fallen, black blood hissing as it hit the silver-lined earth.
Orion flicked the spear in a single smooth motion, scattering droplets of dark blood from the blade before meeting the creature's disbelieving eyes with a faint, cold smirk.
-~=~-
The Cabra Cabriola gave one last sign of life - a ragged, trembling bleat that broke into a wet gurgle. Its body convulsed once, twice, and thrice more - and then sagged to its knees inside the glowing ritual star. The sound faded not from peace, but from a lack of strength.
Orion struck the butt of his spear against the ground.
THUM.
Blue fire rushed outward from the point of impact, igniting wood and metal. Every droplet of black, tar-thick blood that had splattered across the earth ignited at once, burning with a hiss like dying embers. The creature's twisted body began to unravel - fur turning to soot, bones fracturing into dark ash, flesh collapsing into drifting motes that dissolved in the night air.
Orion watched, expression unreadable.
The glow dimmed in his eyes, fading from burning azure to their usual shade as the curse's presence weakened.
And at the center of the ritual, where the Cabra Cabriola had stood moments ago, lay only a boy - a now skinny, mud-streaked child with tangled hair and closed eyes, chest rising in faint, shallow breaths.
Orion stepped forward as the last wisps of ash vanished.
He pressed his hand against the spear's tip. The twisted wood shivered, then unfurled like roots waking from sleep. Tendrils loosened, releasing the blade into his grasp. The staff then contracted in his hands, folding back in on itself until it was once again a short stick of gnarled, dark wood - dormant and still.
He knelt beside the boy.
The child's eyes snapped open.
Red.
Sideways pupils.
A mouth blossoming into fangs as he lunged-
Orion's arm moved in a single, practiced motion.
SHNK.
The dirk drove straight into the boy's heart. The black blood that spilled around the blade ignited blue, searing the flesh as a guttural, soul-wrenching gasp tore from the boy's throat. A cloud of oily, dark smoke poured out of his mouth - the dying breath of the curse clinging to his flesh - before the child collapsed backward onto the grass, limp.
Orion withdrew the dirk.
This time, the wound remained. No regeneration. No twitching flesh. No cursed pulse beneath the skin.
Satisfied, he reached for a small vial from the satchel at his waist - a thick green paste that glimmered faintly under the starlight. He smeared it over the wound with steady fingers. The paste flared with a gentle light, then sank into the skin, leaving behind whole, unbroken flesh, as though the injury had never been there in the first place.
Orion exhaled, long and controlled, and rose to his feet.
"Hunt concluded," he declared.
Outside the ritual circle, the Caçadores who had kept the barrier active for hours finally straightened, muscles trembling with exhaustion. One by one, they pulled their silver blades from the earth. As soon as the last one was removed, the star-like pattern of light collapsed, dimming into the soil until only darkness remained - the night suddenly quiet and whole again.
Some of the Caçadores collapsed immediately, groaning as their exhausted limbs finally gave out. Others cheered weakly, clapping each other's backs or slumping onto the grass with relieved laughter. Maria, without missing a beat, fished a cigarette from her coat. Her wand zipped out of its holster on instinct, the tip flaring with a small burst of purple fire that lit the cigarette. She exhaled a plume of lilac smoke, then flicked her wand once more - a wool blanket shimmered into being and floated down to cover the sleeping boy's body.
Sérgio approached with a broad, tired smile, brushing dirt off his coat as he walked. He clapped Orion on the arm - a solid, approving smack.
"Another successful job," he said cheerfully. He turned to the horizon, noting that night still clung stubbornly to the sky. "And still two hours until sunrise. That's great."
Orion chuckled, sliding his collapsed staff and dirk into their holsters.
"Plenty of time to help Team Gamma with the interrogations."
"Yeah, no." Sérgio denied flatly. He gave Orion a dry stare and raised a hand to cut off whatever argument was about to form. "How many vigors did you take?"
Orion shrugged with an easy smile.
"Just a dose each of Fire, Flash, and Fresh."
"And you've been fighting for eight or nine hours with just that?" Sérgio asked, eyebrow arching. Orion's smug nod didn't help. "Uh-huh. And how long until you crash?"
Orion opened his mouth to answer - then stopped, staring at Sérgio in pure disbelief.
"Wait a minute. Are you banning me from helping because I didn't take more drugs?"
Maria snorted loudly as she approached, the unconscious boy drifting beside her wrapped in the conjured blanket. She took another drag, the purple tip glowing, and gave Orion a wicked grin.
"If you wanted a healthy workplace, kid, you shouldn't have joined the people who get paid to fight monsters and nutjobs."
Orion huffed, throwing his arms up. Sérgio rolled his eyes at him in exasperation.
"We'll handle the clean-up. There's no need to go back to base now. Go to a hotel room and take a hot bath. Try to actually sleep. Then get a good breakfast. We reconvene at noon."
Orion let out a long, explosive breath and ran a hand through his short hair. Then he straightened, planting one hand behind his back and thumping a closed fist over his heart in salute.
"Yes, Captain."
Sérgio nodded sharply before turning away to help the others dismantle the trap array. Maria gave Orion a friendly slap to the back of the head, winked, and vanished in a sharp pop, taking the boy with her.
Orion huffed a laugh, touching the silver snake earpiece coiled around his left ear.
"Laiza, can you recommend a good place nearby to sleep? With A/C and a full breakfast, if possible, please."
There was no verbal reply, only silence.
Then, after a few seconds, his eyes glowed faintly as a vision pressed itself into his mind: a simple room, clean sheets, a window with the first light of dawn, and the promise of strong coffee.
"Thanks," he said gratefully, smiling as the glow faded.
He took one breath of the cool night air -
And vanished with a soft pop.
-~=~-
Orion stepped into the hotel room and paused, letting his eyes sweep across the space. It was far nicer than anywhere he'd slept in the last month - wide, polished floors of dark wood, a king-sized bed smothered in thick white linens, and a wall of glass overlooking the distant city lights. Soft golden lamps glowed from marble nightstands. A plush burgundy armchair sat beside a small table covered in complimentary chocolates. A modern painting - something abstract in blues and golds - hung above the huge Sony Trinitron TV mounted in a carved wooden panel.
It looked almost unreal after hours of mud, blood, and fire.
He moved without hesitation, beginning a silent circuit of the room. He lifted paintings from their hooks, checking behind each frame. He ran fingers under the rims of vases, tapped lightly at corners, brushed along seams in the wall panels. He checked under the mattress, behind the curtains, beneath the desk, inside the lampshades. Then he tilted his head up, examining the ceiling, eyes glowing faintly as he scanned for anything magical or mundane.
Finally, he walked to the tall window. With a soft click, he cracked it open, letting the cold madrugada air rush in. The breeze smelled faintly of wet asphalt and night-blooming flowers.
He leaned forward slightly, peering down at the street far below. Cars moved like lazy fireflies between pools of yellow lamplight. He hummed thoughtfully at whatever calculation he made, then shut the window again and pulled the heavy curtains closed until not a sliver of light remained.
Orion looked at his wristwatch. One press of a small, hidden button sent a ripple of golden light exploding outward from the watch face - silent and invisible to Muggles, but to him it shimmered through every surface of the room, nesting briefly in corners, furniture, and walls before fading.
Only then did his shoulders finally drop. He stretched his arms over his head with a long groan and exhaled.
"Well, I didn't see any cameras," he muttered, "but if there were, they sure didn't survive that."
With that, he began undressing.
First came the coat - a double-breasted black thing, crisp and authoritative, the metallic buttons engraved with watchful eyes, each centered with a tiny blue gemstone. He popped them open one by one, shrugging it off and tossing it onto the bed in a heavy heap.
Next came his belt. He unclipped it, the buckle clinking softly, then undid the buttons and pulled down the zipper of his trousers.
His boots were next - black, steel-toed, reinforced with leather belts. He sat on the edge of the bed, unbuckled them, and tugged them off. White socks appeared beneath them - surprisingly childish ones, stamped with the faces of multicolored cartoon bears. He snorted faintly at the sight of them before pulling them off and stuffing them neatly inside the boots.
Finally, he pushed his trousers down and stepped out of them, walking over to the minibar. He opened the small freezer compartment, retrieved a cold bottle of Coca-Cola, and popped the cap off with his teeth. The tsshhk of carbonation filled the quiet room. He took several long gulps, throat bobbing, then let out a satisfied sigh.
In the warm lamplight, more of him became visible - all the things the fight and the coat had hidden. He was built solidly, more on the powerful side than lean, his frame packed with muscle sculpted by years of physical labor and near-constant combat. His skin sat somewhere between tan and olive, and across it were scattered scars - not many, surprisingly few given his line of work, but present. A faded line over one shoulder. A short, pale slash near his ribs. A cluster of thin marks along one thigh.
He rolled the cold bottle lightly against his neck and let out a breath.
Orion flicked his wrist, and the leather holster concealed beneath a shimmer of magic sprung into view around his forearm. His wand leapt from it into his waiting hand with practiced familiarity.
Carved from a piece of ebon-dark wood polished to a smooth sheen, it was shaped with a gentle, irregular curve that signified the craftsman working alongside the grain rather than against. The handle was sculpted into an ergonomic form, swelling subtly at the top and dipping inward just enough that Orion's fingers fit into place as though they belonged there. The shaft tapered to a slender, slightly asymmetrical line, bending faintly.
He raised it, pointing first to the four walls one by one, then to the corners, then to the cardinal directions. Soft muttering threaded the air as each incantation sent thin waves of magic spilling outwards, crawling over plaster, wood, glass, and fabric. The room absorbed the spells with little shivers and shakes.
When the circuits were complete, Orion moved to the door. He traced its frame slowly, his wand-tip dragging arcs of invisible light that flared neon-red to his sight. Once the glow settled into place, he went over the border again, more meticulous this time - scribbling runes that disappeared as soon as he finished them.
Only after the last sigil sank into the wood did he allow his shoulders to loosen. He took another long drink from his Coca-Cola, draining the bottle before setting it atop the minibar. Without ceremony he reached in and cracked open a second one, the cap popping against his teeth with a soft snap.
He turned toward the bathroom door.
And paused.
Staring.
His eye twitched once. Then again. The bottle in his hand creaked faintly under the tightening of his grip, and he very deliberately angled his wand away from his face.
"Sérgio was right," he muttered in miserable resignation.
He sighed - long, suffering, and dramatic - set the soda down, and marched toward the bathroom, stepping through the doorway like a man heading towards his execution.
The bathroom was half the size of the hotel room itself, and every inch of it screamed luxury. White marble tiled the floors and walls in vast, seamless slabs; the kind polished to a mirror sheen that made the light ripple across it like water. A modern walk-in shower stood in one corner, all glass and brushed steel, with more knobs and settings than any reasonable human needed. But the centerpiece - what snagged Orion's breath - was the bathtub.
It was enormous. Sunken. Sculpted from a single carved block of marble veined with gold. And around its rim sat an army of vials, bottles, and jars: bath salts, essential oils, soaps with labels in French the he had absolutely no idea what they meant.
Orion stopped in the doorway.
His eyes went wide.
"Oh, hell yes," he breathed, chuckling in delighted disbelief as his hand drifted to the serpent headdress once more, tapping it, "Hey, Laiza? You're a goddamn angel."
He crossed to the tub and turned the water on, cranking the heat until steam curled up in thick clouds. One by one he sampled every bath salt he found, tossing in a pinch of each with a thoughtful hum, watching the water shift colors and fragrances.
As the tub filled, he set about laying wards again - this time throughout the bathroom. Lines of soft magic crawled across the marble like threads of light, clinging to tile and air alike until the whole space hummed with protection. Only when the last charm settled did he shut off the tap.
He stepped back into the bedroom and went straight to his belt, rummaging through the pouches until he found a small metal tin with a narrow metallic tube clipped to its side. He removed the tube's cap, pulling out a thin sheet of white rolling paper and holding it with his lips. Then he flipped open the tin.
Inside lay sprigs of a plant that looked perfectly fresh, as if it had only been cut. Bright green leaves, stems still flexible, and small glowing pink flowers radiating a soft inner light.
With an eager smile he plucked off a small handful, shut the tin, and laid the paper across its lid. With a flick of his wand and a whispered incantation, the plant shredded itself into a fine, fluffy mix. Another wave of the wand blended it perfectly.
He rolled the paper with practiced ease, licking it shut and slipping the blunt between his teeth. A pleased hum vibrated in his chest.
Still humming, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and stripped them off, leaving them on the floor without the slightest shame. Completely nude, he grabbed his bottle of Coca-Cola, took a sip, and sighed like a man stepping into paradise.
A point of his wand at the AC turned the unit on with a soft whirr. Another flick at the TV brought it roaring to life - an action movie mid-car-chase, tires screaming and gunshots popping in a chaotic rhythm.
Perfect.
He strolled back toward the bathroom, leaving the door open, steam already curling into the room as he slipped into the massive tub. The hot water swallowed him up to the chest in a wave of bliss. He set the Coke bottle on the marble edge and tucked his wand behind his ear.
A snap of his fingers ignited a small blue flame above his thumb. He brought it to the tip of the blunt, inhaling deeply. The smoke he exhaled drifted upward in soft pink curls that merged into the shape of a heart before dissolving.
He giggled.
Another sip of Coke. Another long exhale. His body sank deeper into the heat.
Orion finally - finally - relaxed.
-~=~-
"Wake up, kid."
Orion's eyes snapped open instantly. His lungs pulled in a sharp, steady breath as instinct took over. His wand leapt from behind his ear straight into his hand, and a shimmering magical shield erupted around him with a whump that blasted the bathtub water outward in a circular wave. The few empty Coke bottles he'd left on the marble rim clattered to the floor.
Only once he confirmed - through sight, sound, and that sixth sense honed by the sadistical bastards back at the training camp - that he was alone did he touch the small serpent-shaped earpiece on his left ear.
"Captain," he greeted, voice level now that his bearings were back.
"Sorry for interrupting your rest, Orion, but something's come up that requires your presence," Sérgio's voice crackled through the enchanted snake's mouth.
Orion was already rising from the tub before Sérgio finished the sentence. His wand traced rapid, precise movements through the air, repairing the fallen bottles, siphoning the spilled water back into the drain, and drying the floor in one fluid spell sequence.
"Not a problem, sir," he said as he stepped out into the bedroom, tucking his wand into its holster and pulling on his trousers. "Did the investigation turn up something?"
"Ha! I wish," Sérgio grunted. "No. We got a call from headquarters. You're being called back for Judgment."
Orion froze mid-motion, one boot half-laced, fingers paused mid-buckle. He turned his head sharply, expression flickering with confusion.
"Wait, what? Why me?"
"Hell if I know, kid," Sérgio replied. "I mean, you were the one to do the deed, I suppose. But honestly? Feels like an excuse to drag you back to HQ."
"You think I'm in trouble?" Orion asked quietly - surprisingly calm - as he tightened his belt and patted each pouch, double-checking his gear.
Sérgio snorted loud enough for the enchantment to crackle.
"You? As if. Your record's spotless. My guess? You're getting a promotion. With the way this case is going, we'll need a bigger team. And putting them under a newly promoted captain- someone who can train under a more experienced and - heh - distinguished peer - yeah, that'd be the logical move."
"I'm not ready for captaincy," Orion said firmly. He pulled his cloak over his shoulders, checked the gun at his hip, clicked his staff into place across his back, and moved back into the bathroom to begin the tedious task of dismantling the layered protections he'd set up - protections he'd put in place only - he glanced at his wristwatch - three hours ago.
"Tell that to the boss lady, not me," Sérgio laughed. "Anyway, we don't even know if that's the case, so don't go freaking out, yeah? Be awkward as hell if you rejected a promotion that wasn't being offered. And - ah, shit. Sorry, Orion, gotta go. There's a car waiting for you down the street. See ya, boyo."
The connection cut off, the snake charm going still and silent.
Orion looked around at the glowing web of wards - only a fifth undone so far. He mentally calculated how long it would take to dismantle them properly and how much time he'd still have left to grab something from the hotel's breakfast buffet.
He sighed.