Anji narrowed his eyes at the lazy scoundrel sprawled out in front of him. His patience had already worn thin. In his mind, he was silently making a decision: if this guy refused to move, then from this moment forward, he'd find a rope, tie him up, and drag him the rest of the journey. And just to make it worse for him, he'd keep a whip in hand for extra motivation.
"Doesn't want to move? Fine," Anji thought, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. "That's what the whip is for."
He chuckled darkly to himself, already imagining the scene.
On the other side, Nina was lounging lazily atop Cosmo's furry body, enjoying the comfort as if she were royalty lying on her throne. Out of nowhere, she sneezed, her little nose twitching. Her ears flicked upright. A strange feeling rippled through her. It wasn't the chill of the room or dust in her nose—no, this was different.
She sat up slightly, scanning the space with suspicious eyes. Something felt… wrong. An invisible pressure brushed against her instincts. Danger.
But after carefully surveying the area, she found nothing unusual. No shadowy figures, no movement out of place. Just silence.
"Hmph!" Nina huffed, curling her paw into the air like a tiny fist. "If this little princess finds out who's plotting against me, they'll get a paw strike to the face! No mercy!"
Her tail flicked with determination, even though she looked like a spoiled child still lounging on her guardian's back.
While Anji and Nina were locked in their private little battles of wit and suspicion, the story shifted far away—thousands of miles across the world.
---
In Russia: The Capital of Nizhny Novgorod
The snow-dusted cityscape of Nizhny Novgorod stretched across the horizon. Its old architecture and modern towers clashed in strange harmony, standing as a testament to centuries of history and power. But in the heart of the city, inside a Russian-style building that rose above the capital's skyline, a very different kind of history was being written.
On the top floor of a lavishly decorated building, behind layers of security and guarded corridors, sat a man who controlled shadows rather than armies.
The room was decadent. Antique rugs lined the floor, their patterns intricate and old-world. An ancient sandalwood table, polished until it gleamed, sat at the center of the chamber. The smell of coffee and faint cigar smoke lingered in the air.
At this table sat a middle-aged man in a gray sweater, his frame massive, his face square and scarred from old battles. At first glance, he looked like the perfect image of a Russian strongman—broad shoulders, heavy jawline, and muscles built not in a gym but in the cruel school of survival.
Yet behind the golden-rimmed glasses perched neatly on his face, his brown eyes gleamed with cunning. Cold. Calculated. Sharp.
He sat with perfect posture in his black leather chair, watching the nervous men lined up before him. Their bodies were tense, their eyes darting, their words hesitant. They knew the cost of failure here wasn't just unemployment—it was disappearance.
The man slowly set down the tablet computer he had been studying. On the glowing screen was a photograph—blurred, distorted, but haunting nonetheless. It showed a girl in a red aura of light, her small frame standing defiantly against a shattered altar. Beside her lay the faint, ghostly image of a golden retriever.
The man removed his glasses with deliberate precision, pulling a fresh lens tissue from a silver case. He cleaned the frames carefully, wiped them spotless, then slid them into their case and clicked it shut.
Next, he arranged the items on his desk in perfect order—tablet, pen, glass case, coffee cup. Everything had to be neat, symmetrical, aligned. His subordinates didn't flinch. They knew this ritual well. Their boss had a streak of obsessive cleanliness and order, and to him, disorder was almost as offensive as betrayal.
Only when everything was in place did he pick up his porcelain coffee cup and take a slow sip. He set it down gently, then finally lifted his gaze to his waiting men. His voice, deep and commanding, cut through the silence like a blade.
"So… it was this little girl who destroyed our entire plan?"
The men exchanged nervous glances before one finally stepped forward, bowing his head. "Yes, sir. According to our reports, Experimental Base Thirteen has been completely destroyed. The mountain housing the altar collapsed, swallowed by a landslide. The surveillance photo was captured by Mark's team, but it disappeared after only three seconds. Then… everything was gone. Wiped out by some force we still don't understand."
The man paused, gathering his courage before continuing. "Based on all available evidence, the destruction… was caused by this girl."
The boss leaned back slightly, his face calm, his eyes cold. His subordinates avoided his gaze, their fear evident. They knew that one wrong word could mean their lives.
But the man didn't lash out. He didn't rage. He didn't even look disappointed. Instead, a faint, amused smile tugged at his lips.
Power. Control. Life and death in his hands. These were the things he savored, and the fear radiating from his subordinates only deepened his sense of dominance.
He tapped the photograph on the tablet with one thick finger.
"A little girl…" he murmured. "And yet she killed what even gods could not protect."
The men shifted uneasily.
The boss leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "It must have been a weakened god, of course. One who had not yet consumed enough sacrifices to regain full strength. Even so… for a mere girl to destroy such a being? That is not ordinary."
His mind began to spin with possibilities.
The ancient gods were dangerous—moody, greedy, endlessly hungry for worship. They were allies only when it served them, and enemies the moment it didn't. But a girl with such power… now that was different.
"Compared to the whims of the Old Gods, a girl like this… she is easier to control." His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful. "Easier to bend. And if she already holds the strength to slay an ancient one at this age…"
He trailed off, his imagination filling in the rest. What would happen if she grew older? Stronger? What kind of weapon could she become in his hands?
He smiled faintly, savoring the thought.
"Have you uncovered her identity?" he finally asked.
The lead subordinate swallowed hard. "Not yet, sir. Her data… it seems to have been encrypted by someone with incredible skill. When we tried to access her records, we were almost traced. We had to pull back before we were discovered."
The boss's eyes flickered with interest. "Oh?"
The subordinate's voice shook slightly. "Yes, sir. Someone out there is protecting her. Whoever it is… they're good. Very good."
The room fell silent again, the tension coiling like a snake ready to strike. The men waited for his verdict, hearts hammering in their chests.
The middle-aged man reached for his coffee again, sipping slowly. His expression betrayed nothing, but inside, his mind was already calculating.
A mysterious girl strong enough to kill a god. An encrypted identity guarded by someone powerful. A red glow that marked her as something more than human.
This was no longer just a complication.
This was an opportunity.
And he never let opportunities slip through his fingers.
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