The room was cold, sterile, and silent except for the soft hum of the ventilation. Tristan Bao sat on the chair across from me, hands resting on his knees, shoulders hunched slightly, as if bracing himself. I suppose I can't judge him for being weary, after all, I would also be rather annoyed in his situation.
He has bruises along his hands, some more peeking from under his sleeves. The smell of blood enveloped him. I could see the crimson stains all over his dark coat. I assume the tower raid had been… unpleasant for someone of his rank. His black chain earrings clinked faintly as he shifted, and his blood-red eyes met mine warily.
I studied him for a few moments more before speaking. He's so… strange. I know that he has an electric element spark, but his dramatic features suggest he is a transformation-type spark. Normal people don't have such ears or eyes. It must be the unknown part of his DNA… With this in mind, there are two possibilities: he either is being possessed by an intelligent boss monster, or he has been transformed into this. For now, I am leaning toward the idea that he was transformed into this, since there is absolutely no way that an E-rank tower would have an intelligent boss monster. That does, however, beg the question: How did he get transformed? Was he transformed by the cult?
"Tristan Bao," I started, opening my notebook, "...you were apprehended after leaving the tower a few hours ago. I need to ask you some questions regarding recent… events… particularly about a certain rogue monster and other strange activities in Tenshiro."
He blinked, pale skin paling slightly further under the fluorescent light. "Rogue… monster?" he echoed, frowning. "I don't… I mean, I don't think there were any outside the tower. Monsters usually—" He hesitated, shaking his head. "They turn to dust when they leave. I've never seen otherwise…. I guess I also never saw them even try to leave…"
I nodded, pen poised. "That's consistent with what we've believed." I glanced down at my notebook before focusing on his eyes, "However, we found a man named Axel Gi-oen. He looked as if he'd been mauled… It was strange, fang marks and the other wounds suggest a mix between a spider monster and a hellhound. Though, a monster would've eaten the whole body, which makes me. Curious."
I took a deep breath before explaining further. "We've been tracking this for weeks. Did you encounter anything like that?"
Tristan's jaw tightened. His fingers twitched slightly, brushing the chains at his ears. "Axel?" His voice was cautious. "No… nothing like that. I didn't… I didn't see any monsters or anything."
I leaned slightly forward. "Tristan, I need you to be completely honest." I emphasized, watching for any flicker of guilt—"but if you have any information about unusual monsters or perhaps cult activity, it's important. Lives may depend on it."
He exhaled, running a hand through his dark red hair. "I—look, I don't know about cults, and I definitely don't know about any rogue monster. Other than the tower raid, I've been at home for the past week or so."
I scribbled in my notebook, observing him closely. "Are you sure you haven't seen a rogue monster? We did find your old defender ID in a pool of blood at the crime scene."
His knuckles whitened around the edge of the chair. For a heartbeat, his eyes flicked to the far corner of the room — not at me — and then back. "Wh-what…" His voice cracked.
I paused, noting the tension in his posture. His shoulders had gone rigid, knuckles pale where his hands gripped his knees. A faint tremor ran through him, gone as quickly as it appeared.
"Tristan." My voice stayed level, but a hint of warning slipped through. "If you know something, you need to tell me now. This isn't about blame — it's about stopping whatever is out there before more people die."
He swallowed hard, eyes flicking briefly to the far corner of the room as if he'd heard something I couldn't. When his gaze snapped back to mine, it was guarded again. "I told you," he said hoarsely, "I don't know anything about a rogue monster or cult. I'm not lying."
The chains at his ears clinked as he shifted, one hand drifting unconsciously toward his mouth before curling into a fist. The silence between us stretched, heavy and brittle.
I set my pen down. "All right," I said quietly. "Then I have nothing else to ask for now." I slid a small card across the table — my personal number scrawled across it in neat black ink. "If anything comes back to you, even something that feels irrelevant, call me. Day or night."
For a heartbeat, he just stared at it, as though the slip of paper weighed as much as the file between us. Then, without looking up, he reached out and tucked it into his pocket.
Taking a steadying breath, I rose from my chair. "This won't be the last time we speak. I still have more questions, but I can tell you need rest." I said, before grabbing the file from the desk.
As I moved toward the door, the thought pressed at the back of my mind: there's more to ask—he knows something- he has to. But I know pushing harder now could drive him deeper into silence and cost me the lead entirely. And until we understand what he really is or if he is involved with the cult or not, a misstep could be dangerous. I'm not afraid of a fight, but if he's tied to the cult, the last thing I want is for them to realize we're onto them.
"I expect a call from you within a week," I said, turning back to Tristan for a final time. I studied his gaze on me, a few beads of sweat dripping from his forehead.
Finally, I left Tristan to the other officers. While I didn't get much damning info, on the bright side, I'll be able to track his mana now and see if he's truly connected to any of this.
As the door clicked shut behind me, the sterile quiet of the room was replaced by the low murmur of the precinct hallway. My heels echoed against the tile. As I walked to the exit, I nodded to Kel as they walked in. I'm not in the mood to talk, but I thought a gentle nod would be polite and it would let him know that his friend is done with questioning.
A few days later, I found myself enjoying my break in one of Tenshiro's less remarkable grocery stores: "Kelm's Fresh Produce". Not my usual choice, but the lack of people is nice. I am dressed down in a hoodie, ripped jeans, and a baseball cap pulled low. I hid my long hair tucked underneath the hood.
The cool hum of the fridges was almost comforting as I reached for the last carton of chocolate milk. My favorite. Feeling my stomach grumble, I glanced over at the pastry and snack section not far off. There were several sweet treats that I was craving, but a certain red bean bun caught my eye.
I set my items down at the cash register, a slight smile on my face.
"Rewards card?" The cashier asked with a tired look in their eyes.
"Oh, no. But, how can I set up one?" I replied; however, I suddenly felt a buzz against my thigh.
"Actually-!" I blurted out, "Maybe later. I'm in a bit of a hurry."
The cashier nodded, typing along the register. "Then just three credits, please."
Quickly, I swiped my card, not even requesting a receipt or bag. I just put the milk and bun in my purse. "Thank you!" I hurried out the door and answered the phone at its last buzz.
The other side spoke, the line a bit unfocused with the low service. "Hello, Miss Ji-Chon. There's been a sighting of an abnormal mana surge downtown. It could be another tower sprouting. We need you to investigate it since you're the closest A rank or higher. We have sent you the coordinates."
Of course, I was the closest... I sighed, and the other side hung up. These things always happen when I'm trying to relax…
With another- even longer- sigh, I started to head off. Using my spark, I ran as quickly as possible. Well, as quickly as I could run and have my drink and snack at the same time.
By the time I reached where the coordinates led, the stench of blood hit me fast. Without hesitation, I slipped behind a brick wall that had collapsed, its jagged edges scratching at my palms as I crouched. The whole area looked like it had been chewed up and spat out. Houses were torn apart, their roofs caved in, windows shattered into shards across the pavement. Weeds poked through cracks in the empty parking lot ahead, patches of asphalt peeled up like dead skin.
Well, It's not exactly empty. Bodies—at least a dozen of them—were scattered around the cracked pavement, limbs twisted in unnatural angles. I had to hold in my disgust with mana.
My eyes tracked to the center, where a cultist stood hunched over something that pulsed faintly, a glow fighting against the shadows of the evening. It was no bigger than a human heart, yet it radiated a presence that made my own chest ache. Its shape resembles a Labradorite gem, with sharp edges, while its core looks alive—veins of crimson tiger eye swirl with flashes of red opal light. It sat there on an altar, but a shape in the middle of it almost made it feel like it was staring at me.
Suddenly, the cultist began to announce what sounded like a prayer, their voice breaking. "O fragment of the heavens… Fragment of the Star itself… guide me, guide us all to the Almighty Star… Guide us to the truth…" Then, without hesitation, they drove a knife into their arm. Blood spilled out in a thick stream, turning a bright purple as it touched the fragment.
As the purple blood was absorbed into the fragment, purple light erupted, tearing the air apart. The whole air became tinted purple. The ground splintered beneath me, and from the cracks bloomed a glowing red pentagram, its center marked by a vast, unblinking eye.
And then—it came.
A figure surged from the burning seal, towering over the shattered district. It towered over everything, maybe thirteen or fourteen feet? It resembles something vaguely human, yet is wrong in every possible way. Red skin stretched over a frame that seemed more bone than flesh. Two pairs of goat legs crushed the concrete, claws black as obsidian curling at the ends of their furry arms. Its maw gaped wide with yellow-stained fangs, and a line of small, tattered bat wings studded its exposed spine like grotesque ornaments. Three sets of horns sprouted from its skull, twisting wildly until they converged above its head. Long, black hair spilled down its back, dragging across the ruins. And its eyes, while the main sockets were dark and hollow, the other five glowed red with sickly yellow sclera.
The cultist collapsed to their knees, gasping. "Lord… we summoned you…!"
The creature tilted its head, voice deep and a rasp that rattled the broken glass around us. "Summoned…?" Its smile was nothing but knives. "Good. Then know my name, mortal. I am Capella, Devil of the Tempest."
The purple sky bled deeper, rain beginning to fall—not water, but crimson drops that steamed when they hit the ground.
I reach into my purse, fingers locking on the smooth, cold hilt of my blade. However, as I prepared myself, the cultist raised his head toward the towering devil. His body still trembling, he spoke fervently. "My lord Capella… where is the Star?"
Capella's many eyes flicked at him, their glow flaring. "What star?"
"The one," the cultist said breathlessly, "that is neither mortal nor beast, nor monster, nor human…"
Capella tilted his horned head, hair dragging over the ground like ink spilling from a broken jar. For a moment, the rain of crimson slowed. "Ah… you dare speak of that?" His voice rolled like distant thunder. "How do you, a speck of a mortal, know of the almighty prophecy of the Star of the Underworld—the treasure and total calamity by storm?" Then his tone dropped, and the words were like a key turning in some ancient lock: "The Ngôi sao Bảo."
The name hit me like a hammer. My knees buckled without warning; the world spun in a sick, violet haze. Beside me, the cultist collapsed fully, palms pressed to the cracked pavement, lips trembling. Just hearing the name felt like being pressed under a tide of claws and whispers. I could even tell that the cultist's ears started to leak blood.
The cultist's voice cracked. "We—we received a sign from the Star itself! We're trying to contact it, to bring its blessing—"
Capella's laugh rumbled through the ruins, sharp and joyous and terrible. "A mere mortal, contact the almighty Star?" His seven eyes narrowed to slits. "You cannot even comprehend its shadow. But I…" His grin widened, fangs gleaming. "I will do more than contact. I will take your soul, and the souls of every mortal in this city, and I will become a fiendish deity to serve the Star itself."
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself upright against the weight of his presence. "That," I muttered under my breath, "sounds like a hard pass."
The cultist whimpered. "My lord—wait—!"
Capella's claw shot forward faster than my eyes could track. It punched clean through the cultist's chest with a wet, tearing sound. The man gasped once, then sagged lifeless as Capella withdrew the heart, still beating, its blood already turning purple in the rain.
He raised it to his jagged mouth and bit down. Veins of light crawled up his arms, and his form shuddered with dark delight. His horns cracked the air as his body stretched upward, adding another two feet in an instant. Fifteenish feet of nightmare now towered over the street, blotting out what little sky remained.
The red rain hissed on the pavement, and I steadied my grip on the handle, my heart racing. The world narrowed to a single, thudding rhythm: wind, rain, the beast's breath, and the beating of my heart. Capella moved with the terrible deliberation of something that knew its power— slow enough to savor, fast enough to kill. He had the reach of a tree and the hunger of a storm. He towered above ruined concrete and shattered glass, crimson rain sluicing over his skin like acid; when he stepped, the ground shivered.
I tightened my grip on the hilt — a matte-black alloy wrapped in dark, rubber-textured cords that bit faintly into my palm, the trigger rune glowing under my thumb like a tiny pulse of static. Klik-tchk! One flick and the blade sprang to life, segments of tempered steel shunting out with a rapid shhk-shhk-shhk, locking into a seamless katana. My mana surged through its spine, and thin veins of amethyst light raced along the edge with a crackling hiss, like lightning caught in metal.
I didn't hesitate. Weightless, I flicked my ankle, pushed off a broken street sign, and let my spark kick in: the world lengthened, the milliseconds widening into runnable arcs. My first spin was thrown at one of the devil's back legs. Capella snorted; the wound barely even cut through his thick skin. He twisted—a few hundred pounds of horn and muscle—and a gust threw me off balance. Already, the weightlessness my spark gave me was a problem…
I sucked in a sharp breath and immediately launched again. Mana surged through my legs, vaulting me higher than a normal leap. The crooked streetlight groaned under my landing, its bulb flickering weakly above. I spun—one, two pirouettes—building momentum, then kicked off the streetlight with a clang and dropped. My katana carved a bright ribbon through the air, slashing where Capella's ribs met his spine.
The blade hit with a harsh skrrang, more like rock grinding steel than flesh. Black ooze hissed from the wound. Capella snarled, one of his five peripheral eyes flaring a sickly yellow, and his claw swept out in a slow, circular arc. The strike shredded the air with a violent hiss. I hit the pavement, committing to a grand plié to dodge the devil's claws. It went right over me, smashing into a rusted billboard behind me.
Capella snickered at me, "Oh, so this mortal's feisty… I like it!" Before I could fully get up from the pavement, he raised his front pair of goat legs and stomped them down, the force of his weight making the earth below me split, and shards of rocks cut me like thousands of papercuts as I flew backward.
I skidded across the cracked asphalt, shards of rock biting into my palms and forearms, my breath sharp in my throat. Rolling onto my side, I let the momentum carry me forward, springing onto all fours. In one fluid motion, I pressed my palms into the pavement and launched upward, twisting midair to land on the balls of my feet. My legs bent, absorbing the impact, and I came upright in a low, dancer-like stance, katana already raised and humming faintly as mana coursed along its edge. Dust and tiny shards clung to my hoodie as I took a deep breath.
I sprang from the jagged pavement, a chassé carrying me around Capella's bulk, flowing like water around a boulder. Mid-step, I launched into a grand jeté en tournant, twisting in the air as my katana traced a crescent of purple light. The blade glimmered, veins of amethyst mana pulsing like liquid fire along its edge.
I arced over his shoulder, letting momentum carry me behind his blind side. Landing in a deep plié, I absorbed the impact smoothly, knees bending like springs ready to launch again. My katana lashed out in a flurry of elegant cuts: a diagonal slash that scored across the curve of his ribs, leaving a glowing black streak that hissed as it seared his leathery skin; a quick reverse horizontal slash across his spine, the amethyst edge etching a line of dark ichor that shimmered in the crimson rain; and a tiny vertical thrust aimed at the gap where his bat-wing met the shoulder joint, sparks of mana flickering as the blade connected. The katana bit deep enough once; dark, oily ichor sprayed, and one of his bat-wings spasmed. Capella howled a deep growl as I felt a smirk tinge on my face.
However, my mouth curved upside down as I watched his grotesque maw twist into a smile. Capella slammed a clawed hand into the pavement beside me, the shockwave ripping through the cracked asphalt and hurling me backward. I twisted, attempting a grand jeté to clear the distance—a soaring, arching leap meant to carry me out of reach—but I misjudged the angle.
His massive hooved leg swung with the weight of a collapsing building, connecting with my side midair. The force drove me down hard, smashing me into a crumpled taxi hood. Pain flared like fire along my ribs; the impact was enough to make me scream, and blood sprayed across the warped metal where I landed. My katana skittered across the pavement, a thin trail of amethyst sparks flickering as I tried to snatch it back.
Capella didn't pause. He lifted his other hoof, bringing it down in a crushing arc that obliterated a nearby patch of asphalt, dust and debris spraying into the air like a storm. The pentagram at his feet shuddered violently, pulsing like a wounded heart as he advanced, his seven red eyes fixed on me with a predator's focus. I staggered to my knees, gasping for air.
Taking a deep breath through the pain, I rolled over my shoulder, my face eyeing the ground. I pushed down my palms, them scraping the pavement as I pushed myself upward, leaving thin streaks of blood. I sprang to my feet, landing in a deep plié. I absorbed the impact like a spring, muscles coiling under the strain, ready to launch again.
Using my mana, I connected it with my katana and threw it toward me. I caught it with a single hand as I took another breath. My katana, still tingling with residual mana, was back in hand; the amethyst edge hummed faintly, eager. I let my gaze sweep over Capella, taking in his towering frame, his claws glinting wetly in the crimson rain.
The world tilted around me, shards of rain and rubble scattering like glitter in the storm. My lungs burned as I twisted midair, letting my momentum pull me into a tight aerial pirouette, katana extended, ready to strike even as my hair whipped in the crimson downpour. Every muscle screamed from the previous impact, but the surge of mana through my legs and core steadied me, coiling like a spring. My fingers brushed the grip, feeling the familiar hum of the amethyst edge pulse in sync with my heartbeat. Time narrowed; I became a blur of silver and purple, slicing the air with precision, a fleeting shadow dancing around the towering horror before me.
In the air, as I arced down with my katana slicing toward him, Capella's clawed hand shot out like a whip, swiping at me with terrifying speed. I twisted mid-spin, trying to evade with a graceful fouetté, but his reach was monstrous. The tip of his claw snagged the long length of my hair, yanking it violently as I tumbled past. My silky, dark hair—something that had always felt like part of me—was ripped free, strands whipping in the crimson rain, clinging briefly to my face before drifting away. Anger ignited in my chest, hotter and fiercer than fear, and I let it fuel me.
I exploded upward, launching a torrent of precise cuts, each stroke a streak of silver and amethyst light. My katana bit into the edge of his ear with a screech of flesh against steel, eliciting a high, ear-piercing shriek from him. He twisted violently, roaring with an earth-shaking blast of red rain that pelted me with tiny, sizzling droplets of acid. I tucked and rolled, huddling beneath the shield of my spark, feeling it wrap around me like liquid metal, absorbing the worst of the impact while keeping my movements fluid. Every sense sharpened—the hiss of rain on broken concrete, the sickly smell of his black blood, the pulse of mana along my katana—all synchronized in a violent, lethal rhythm.
I surged forward, the rhythm of my spins and lunges carrying me like a storm. Every step, every pirouette, every flick of my katana was precise—lightning-fast arcs tracing across Capella's hide. I landed a diagonal strike along his forearm, the amethyst edge carving a shallow but sizzling line of ichor. A quick reverse slash grazed his shoulder joint, sparks of mana dancing along the blade as I felt the first real taste of control. For a heartbeat, it seemed I had the upper hand.
Capella's roar split the air, but my blade met it with fluid grace, spinning and vaulting off broken debris to avoid his sweeping claws. I landed another spin, following through with a strike that should have staggered him—but instead, the devil surged. In a heartbeat, he lunged, his immense frame bridging the gap between us with horrifying speed.
I barely had time to twist my body into a grand jeté, trying to spring over his reach, but he anticipated it. His clawed hand shot forward like a snapping vice, catching me mid-air. I slammed into the side of a crumbling building with a gut-wrenching thud, the force knocking the wind from my lungs. My katana skidded along the cracked concrete beneath us, sparks flying as his other claw pinned me flat against the wall, fingers digging through my coat, pressing me into the rough bricks.
Red rain drizzled across my face as I struggled, every movement constrained by the sheer weight of his grip. My breath came in ragged gasps, and my eyes burned with the sting of shattered control. For the first time in the fight, Capella had me exactly where he wanted, and the towering devil's smirk gleamed above me like a predator surveying prey.
"Little wind-dancer," he said, his voice a mocking whisper, "You dance pretty, but prettiness is not strength. Though I will say, you're the first mortal to harm me. Your soul will be a great sacrifice to The Ngôi sao Bảo."
I spat blood as I gasped for air. He laughed, and it echoed like thunder in this disaster-ridden area. He held me on the wall as he plucked a corpse like a fruit from the ground and dropped it like a grape into his maw, jaws tearing in a sound that made me want to throw up.
My lungs burned, my vision swimming with crimson rain, and I knew—I knew—that this might be it. Capella's claws still pinning me against the building, his seven eyes glittering like dying stars as he leaned in closer, his fanged maw widening with predatory intent. Every instinct screamed run, flee, do anything, but where could I go? Thinking frantically, my mind was scraping for any scrap of an opening.
"Oh, little wind-dancer," he hissed, the voice like stone grinding in a canyon, "so brave, yet so… fleeting." He leaned further, his jaw unhinging like some monstrous mechanical trap, teeth gleaming yellow in the streaked rain. "How… delicious…"
Panic gave way to a sliver of clarity. My katana was still within reach if I could get it close enough. Mana surged, weaving through my limbs like liquid fire, and I willed the blade toward me. Time slowed in a heartbeat as it cut through the crimson haze, spinning end over end, the amethyst veins lighting up in furious anticipation.
Capella hissed, feeling the blade's approach. I aimed for his unguarded mouth, swinging it in a perfect arc as he lunged to snap his fangs onto my face. The edge bit into the corner of his jaw with a screech of tearing flesh and grinding bone. His roar shattered the storm around us, and instinctively, his massive hands released me.
I fell, spinning midair into a controlled arabesque, letting my momentum carry me safely to the cracked pavement. But the grazing claws had torn through my hoodie, shredding the fabric and raking deep, white-hot cuts across my ribs and sides. Pain flared, but I numbed it instantly with a surge of mana and adrenaline, coiling myself into another launch. I would not end here.
I shot upward, katana humming like a live thing, and struck again. Steel against flesh, claws against steel, the battle was a deadly dance in perfect rhythm. I spun, lunged, and parried, every move a calculated blend of agility and fury. Capella's strikes were brutal and wild, but my blades found purchase along his chest, arms, and exposed joints. His roars grew ragged, a mixture of rage and disbelief.
And then—I saw it. An opening. He lunged, overextended in his fury. I twisted midair, letting my katana arc through a diagonal strike with precision born of desperation. The amethyst edge cut through his neck like lightning, ichor spraying in a violent arc, covering me in black and crimson. His roar dissolved into a strangled gurgle, limbs twitching in a grotesque rhythm before going still.
The pentagram at his feet shrieked faintly, a final, pained pulse before fading into nothing. Crimson rain melted into a normal gray drizzle, each drop pattering against the rubble like timid applause. The acrid scent of burnt ozone and ichor hung thick in the air, mingling with the damp metallic tang of Capella's blood.
I stood over him, chest heaving, my katana slick and heavy with his dark, viscous ichor. The blade dripped with thick streaks, some spattering onto my gloves and sleeves, others hitting the cracked asphalt with a sickly hiss. I lifted his severed head with trembling hands, the weight of it grotesque yet oddly triumphant. The ichor at the neck wound oozed sluggishly, a gleaming black river tracing along the jagged edges of torn muscle and bone, catching the gray light of the rain.
His empty sockets rolled back, milky and lifeless, yet the peripheral eyes—those five scattered across his skull—fluttered and dimmed like dying embers, each fading with a tiny hiss of heat as if mourning their own loss. The smell was sharp, a mix of iron, burnt sulfur, and something faintly sweet that clung to my nostrils. Some of it ran down my forearms, sticky and slick, leaving trails that glimmered faintly in the rain.
I felt the warmth of his ichor against my skin, a shocking contrast to the chill in the air. Blood dripped from the corners of my mouth, the metallic taste coating my tongue. My chest heaved, lungs trembling, but I allowed myself a brief, almost incredulous smile—gritty, bloody, and triumphant. In that suspended moment, amidst the wet gray drizzle and ruined city, the world seemed to pause, exhaling along with me.
Suddenly, my phone shrilled, cutting through the haze of adrenaline, exhaustion, and the coppery tang of my own blood. I slid my fingers over the hilt of my katana, feeling its familiar grooves bite faintly into my palm. With a sharp click, the segments of tempered steel retracted, the amethyst edge vanishing like lightning swallowed by night. I tucked it carefully into my purse, careful not to let the residual mana cling to my skin—it always felt like carrying a live wire.
The devil's body shuddered, then crumbled into black ash, swirling into the gray drizzle like smoke from a funeral pyre. But the head… the head stayed. Its empty sockets stared at me, jagged and wet with ichor, the viscous black streaks still dripping onto the cracked pavement. A strange part of me wanted to look away, but I couldn't—not yet. The lifeless eyes rolled back, leaving only the sickly, unblinking whites of death, yet the twisted grin remained. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to meet it with steady breaths.
I fumbled with my phone and answered it, the sound of my own rasping, blood-thickened voice making me wince. "Megara Ji-Chon," I croaked, tasting iron and the acrid tang of ichor on my tongue.
"Miss Ji-Chon," the voice on the other end said, crisp and professional. "The mana surge in your area has lessened. Do you have any information to report?"
I let out a wet laugh, half-cough, half-relief, letting my head tilt back for a moment so the rain washed some of the crimson off my face. "Information?" I rasped again, wiping at my mouth with the back of my sleeve. The fabric was ruined—torn and soaked through, with a faint smell of char and blood. My hand came away sticky and red. "Connect me with Mrs. Claw. I'm going to need a medical team ready for when I arrive at the nearest union building."
There was a brief pause on the line, the calm professionalism of the voice now laced with concern. "Understood, Miss Ji-Chon. Medical team on standby."
I ended the call and lowered my phone, letting the rain mingle with my blood, the lingering pulse of mana in the air, and the faint spirals of ash from Capella's remains. The smell of wet metal, rain, and scorched concrete clung to my senses. I let myself glance again at the head, now just lying in the wreckage, its jaw slack but somehow still terrifying. I felt a shiver. That was real—a real devil, even stronger than the highest rank boss monster. And I survived.
My legs burned, my muscles screamed, but I forced myself upright. Each step over the rubble-strewn street was deliberate, testing the fragile balance between fatigue and urgency. I could feel the cold drizzle soaking into my clothes, running down my spine, mingling with the grime of ash and blood. Every step was a reminder: I'd survived the impossible, and yet… I can feel that this wasn't over.
Limping through the rain-soaked streets, the weight of Capella's head heavy in my arms, I couldn't stop my mind from spinning. Each step squelched in the sludge of rain and ash, my boots leaving shallow prints alongside the streaks of ichor that had smeared over the cracked asphalt. I replayed every second of the fight in my head, the whirlwind of pain, fear, and adrenaline still echoing. My wounds pulsed with the fresh pain as with every step, my breath became shakier and shakier.
So, this "Star" figure is real, then… The Star's influence—the prophecy of… I can't even think of the name Capella used…. It all loomed in the back of my mind. That fragment, what was it? Could it be a part of the Star itself? Or is it something else? Is it like a god's tear?
I glanced down at the severed head in my hands. Even lifeless, it felt like a warning. I wondered briefly—what will the world look like now? How many more of these "devils" will the cultists contact? My chest tightened even more at the thought.
Every muscle ached, every nerve screamed, and yet a cold, calculating clarity settled in me. The streets stretched ahead, gray and ruined, but my vision was sharp, focused on the possibilities. The world was changing, and so must I. If the cult was more organized than I realized, if Capella was just a ripple in a much larger tide…
I inhaled the wet, metallic air, tasting it along with the lingering iron on my lips. The drizzle soaked through my hoodie, chilling me to the bone, but I ignored it. My thoughts were already racing toward plans, contingencies, and strategies.
And somewhere, beneath the adrenaline, the exhaustion, and the blood-stained ache of my body, a quiet, honest thought slipped through a whisper, "I might have to ask for some help…"