Morning came quietly, too quietly for an apartment that was usually full of noise, arguing, and someone burning instant noodles. The convenience store opened on time, the doors sliding apart with their usual chime, but something felt wrong from the very first hour.
Nyx didn't show up.
At first, no one panicked. She was known to oversleep, to vanish on her days off, to get distracted by something ridiculous like anime marathons or card packs. Vario even muttered that she was probably hiding somewhere, avoiding work on purpose.
But then the hours passed.
Her phone lay on the apartment table, screen dark. Her jacket was still hanging by the door. The seat she always took during breaks remained empty, untouched.
That was when the unease settled in.
Vario stood behind the counter longer than usual, eyes drifting to the door every time it opened. Each customer who walked in made his chest tighten for just a second—until it wasn't her. His jokes stopped. His teasing vanished. Even the Blue Bull cans remained unopened.
Bella noticed first. She stared at Nyx's abandoned locker, fingers tightening around the handle. "She wouldn't just leave," she said quietly. "Not without saying something."
The store manager tried to keep order, telling everyone to focus, to work, to stop letting fantasy-world instincts take over. No one listened. The demon generals searched the nearby streets. Feria checked stock rooms that had already been checked twice. Vario stepped outside and looked up and down the road like he could will Nyx into existence.
Nothing.
As night fell, a strange feeling crept in—one that felt too familiar to those who had survived wars and curses. This wasn't an accident. This wasn't laziness or coincidence.
Something had taken her.
Vario's hand slowly clenched, shadows flickering at his feet without his noticing. For the first time since coming to this world, the convenience store felt small, fragile, and unsafe.
And somewhere far from the fluorescent lights and ringing doors, Nyx was gone.
Cold concrete pressed against Nyx's back as she slowly came to her senses. The air was stale, thick with rust, dust, and old oil—nothing like the bright, artificial cleanliness of the convenience store. Her head throbbed. When she tried to move, chains rattled softly around her wrists, the sound echoing through the vast, empty space.
"A warehouse…?" she whispered.
Dim industrial lights hung from the ceiling, flickering as if they might die at any moment. Crates were stacked high around her, some sealed, some broken, many marked with symbols that made her stomach tighten. Magic seals. Old-world magic. The kind they hadn't seen since before they were dragged into this world.
This wasn't random.
Heavy footsteps echoed from somewhere deeper in the warehouse.
One step. Then another.
Slow. Deliberate. Confident.
Nyx held her breath as a short, broad silhouette emerged from between two towering stacks of crates. He wore a worn coat stretched tight across massive shoulders. His arms were thick, scarred, wrapped in leather and metal bands dulled by time. A heavy beard hung from his face, braided loosely, and his eyes—sharp, burning—were unmistakable.
"…Gallo?" Nyx said, her voice barely steady.
The dwarf stopped. For a moment, he just stared at her, as if trying to decide whether she was real. Then he exhaled through his nose.
"So it's true," he rumbled. "Heroes, demon kings… all crammed into one strange little world."
Relief and fear tangled in Nyx's chest. "You're alive. You never came through with the rest of us."
"I didn't get dragged in," Gallo said as he stepped closer, boots thudding against the concrete. "I followed."
He crouched in front of her, eyes scanning the chains and the runes etched into them. A faint heat shimmered around him, restrained but ever-present. Berserker magic—compressed, waiting.
"Someone's been fishing," he continued. "Using old-world seals to see who'd bite."
Nyx swallowed. "Then you know who did this."
Gallo's jaw tightened. "I've got a guess. And I don't like it."
He stood and placed one thick hand around the chain binding her wrist. The metal resisted, runes flaring as if offended by his touch. Gallo frowned.
"Annoying."
He pulled his hand back, rolled his shoulders, and inhaled slowly. The air seemed to vibrate. Not rage—yet—but pressure, dense and heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks.
Then he squeezed.
The chain screamed as metal warped and cracked. The runes flickered wildly, then shattered with a sharp snap, magic dying out like embers crushed underfoot. The broken links clattered to the floor.
Nyx gasped as the tension vanished from her arms.
Gallo broke the other chain just as easily and stepped back, giving her space. "Can you stand?"
She nodded, pushing herself upright, legs shaky but steady enough.
Somewhere beyond the warehouse walls, Nyx could feel it—a faint pull, familiar and warm. The others were looking for her.
Gallo turned toward the shadows between the crates, his eyes hard, his aura slowly rising. "Whoever set this up," he said quietly, "picked the wrong hero."
And in the depths of the warehouse, something old and violent began to stir.