"You really want to know? It's not a pretty sight to see," I warn them, my voice carrying the weight of a thousand nightmares. But Loki's crimson eyes gleam with predatory hunger, and she insists I show them—even as Lefiya's face drains of color, her emerald eyes wide with primal fear.
The Wraith pendant crumbles to dust between my fingers like brittle bone. I've mastered the art of summoning it cloaked in invisibility, and now I weave my distressing skill into the very air, turning the atmosphere thick and suffocating. The room transforms into a theater of terror. Faces contort with concern and alarm—all except Loki, who watches with the fascination of a child pulling wings from flies.
"Where is it?" Loki's voice cuts through the tension like a blade, impatience bleeding through her usual composure.
"It's already here," I reply, watching as their expressions crumble into unease.
"Is this some kind of sick joke you're playing?" Bete snarls, his golden eyes burning with fury as he glares at me with the intensity of a cornered wolf.
"It isn't, I assure you, Bete. Why don't you ask the person to your left?" My voice remains calm, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing in the room.
Silence crashes over them like a tidal wave. Every muscle in their bodies coils tight as steel cables—they all know there's no one on Bete's left. But the wolf's arrogance is his downfall. He turns his head with the slow, deliberate motion of a man walking to his execution.
That's when he sees it.
Two pinpricks of unholy white light burning in an abyss of shadow, materializing inches from his face like death itself taking form. The color bleeds from Bete's skin as if his very soul is being drained. His eyes roll back, and he collapses like a felled tree, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
The silence shatters as laughter erupts from my throat—wild, uncontrolled, intoxicating.
"Hahahaha! I told you it's not a pretty sight to see!" I gasp between fits of laughter, my voice cracking with manic glee.
Reality tears open beside me as the Nurse materializes from the void, her ethereal form rippling like smoke given substance. The Loki Familia members shriek in unison, their voices raw with terror as another nightmare steps into their world.
"I-is that another o-one?" Lefiya's voice fractures like glass, each word trembling with the weight of her terror. She's the most shattered of them all—aside from the unconscious Bete—her youth and inexperience making her vulnerable to the crawling horror that fills the room.
"How many do you have?" Loki breathes, her voice thick with desire and admiration, like a collector coveting a rare masterpiece.
The Nurse's whispered report reaches my ears—Hestia and Bell have awakened. I rise from my chair, each movement deliberate and final, and approach the door.
"Twenty," I say, the word hanging in the air like a death sentence before I vanish into the corridor.
[Still With Loki]
"Twenty!" The word explodes from Loki's lips, her voice cracking with the sheer impossibility of the power I wield.
"H-he said he takes souls to make those creatures. Just how many people has he killed?" Finn's voice wavers with disbelief, his usually steady composure crumbling like ancient parchment.
"I'm pretty sure one soul creates one of those... right?" Riveria's attempt at rationality sounds hollow, desperate—a woman grasping at straws in a hurricane.
"And each one possesses different powers! That's an army of nightmares!" Gareth's voice booms, but even his warrior's bravado can't mask the tremor of fear.
The room erupts into a cacophony of voices, each member trying to process the magnitude of what they've witnessed. Even Aiz, usually silent as the grave, joins the frantic discussion—all while Bete remains sprawled unconscious, forgotten in their panic.
"STOP TALKING!" Loki's roar cuts through the chaos like a executioner's axe, her voice transformed from its usual playful lilt into something commanding and terrible.
The silence that follows is deafening. Every eye turns to their goddess, awaiting judgment.
"Yes! He is strong! But I have learned something through our experience..." Her voice drops to a whisper that carries the weight of revelation. "I need to stop bullying Hestia!"
[With Me]
I press myself against the door, my ear to the wood, drinking in their terror-stricken conversation. Beyond this barrier, Bell's sobs echo through the corridor—a sound that tears at something deep within my chest. I won't shatter this moment between him and Hestia; I can see the way her heart bleeds for him, the way her love radiates like warmth from a dying fire.
When the emotional storm finally passes, I enter like a ghost returning to the living world.
"How are you guys doing?" I ask, forcing brightness into my voice like sunlight through storm clouds. Bell's face transforms at the sight of me, tears still glistening on his cheeks as he holds up his new weapon like a sacred relic.
"Look, Tristan! Hestia bought me a knife specially made by Hephaestus!" His voice bubbles with childlike wonder, innocent joy cutting through the darkness that clings to my soul.
"Woah! Cool!" I mirror his enthusiasm, letting myself be his older brother for just a moment.
"Tristan? Where are we?" Hestia's voice carries a note of growing dread.
"The Twilight Manor. Why?" I ask, though ice is already forming in my veins.
"THE TWILIGHT MANOR!" Her scream could shatter glass. "We need to leave NOW!"
She's on her feet in an instant, her small hands gripping us with desperate strength as she drags us toward the door like a mother protecting her cubs from a predator.
"What's the problem, Goddess?" Confusion bleeds through my voice—I'm blind to the ancient rivalry that burns between two immortal hearts.
"Tristan! How could you seek help from another Familia? And with Loki Familia!?" Her words hit me like physical blows, each syllable dripping with betrayal and disbelief.
The door swings open to reveal Loki standing there, her smile different—softer, missing its usual cruel edge.
"What's with that smile?" Hestia growls, her voice low and dangerous.
"This is how I always smile. Why?" Loki's response is almost... innocent.
"It doesn't have that smug look in it. So why are you here? Came to brag about how rich you are?" Venom drips from every word.
"N-no! I'm here to check up on you," Loki stammers, but Hestia's trust has been shattered too many times.
"Well... okay? We'll get going now. Thank you for letting us stay." The words taste bitter in Hestia's mouth as she drags us away from the manor like refugees fleeing a burning city.
The walk to the Church stretches before us like a funeral march. Silence wraps around us like a burial shroud, and I can't bring myself to break it. Each step feels heavier than the last.
Maybe I should just leave the Familia.
The thought slithers through my mind like poison. I'm a curse upon them—first bringing unwanted attention with my unnatural level, now this betrayal of seeking help from their enemy. I act without considering others' feelings, a lifetime of solitude having stripped away my ability to read the hearts of those I care about.
We reach the Church, and Bell and Hestia disappear into the basement while I remain above, staring at the crumbling walls that somehow feel more like home than anywhere else.
"Should I?" I whisper to the empty air.
The box of 30 million Valis feels like lead in my hands. Four minutes of agony pass as I wrestle with my decision. Finally, inevitably, I descend into the basement.
"Goddess? May I have a word?" My voice cracks like breaking ice.
Hestia's entire body goes rigid. She hesitates, fear and confusion warring in her eyes, before following me upstairs. When she arrives, she finds me kneeling like a penitent, the box of money placed before me like an offering to appease an angry god.
"W-What's this?" Her voice is barely a whisper.
"I... know about the weapon. The box has 30 million Valis. Please take it." Each word feels like I'm swallowing glass, my voice hollow with self-loathing.
"What—No! That was my decision. You don't have to be the one to pay for it. Besides, you've already done enough for the Familia." She recoils as if the money might burn her.
Her words hit me like a sword through the heart. She means I've contributed enough—but through the lens of my guilt and grief, I hear something else entirely. I hear that I've caused enough damage, that I should stop before I destroy everything I've come to love.
"I know, that's why I decided... t-to leave the Familia." The words tear from my throat like pieces of my soul, each syllable a small death.
"L-Leave!?" Her scream echoes through the Church like the cry of a wounded animal, and I realize I've just shattered the heart of the one person who believed in me when no one else would.
And so the shadows of my past choices begin to consume the light I've found. This is chapter 13. Until next time.