The battlefield that once roared with power had fallen into an uneasy silence.
Fragments of the massive gate were scattered across the ground like shattered bones, pieces of metal and wood twisted and broken under a force few could comprehend. Dust still lingered in the air, drifting slowly through the pale sunlight as if the world itself had yet to recover from the shock.
Several guards lay on the ground, some unconscious, others barely able to move. The ruined entrance of Novara looked like the aftermath of a disaster, the shattered remains of the gate standing as silent proof of the terrifying power that had been unleashed there.
Reinforcements had already arrived and began checking on everyone who had taken part in the battle. Medics hurried between the injured, quickly tending to wounds while officers secured the area.
Brane was immediately transported to the medical center due to the severity of his injuries.
Meanwhile, Celestine and Kryne received only light treatment. After the medics finished examining them, Celestine requested that Kryne accompany her somewhere.
Without further explanation, the two of them quietly left the area together.
Beyond the shattered gate, the city streets had begun to fill with onlookers. Citizens stood at a distance, whispering among themselves, their eyes fixed on the destruction with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
In another part of the city, deep within the poorer district, the aftermath of the rooftop battle had already begun to take shape.
All the young men who had participated in the attack were now under police control. Handcuffed, surrounded, and thoroughly defeated, they sat or stood in small clusters, quietly realizing the full extent of their failure.
Officers moved carefully among them, questioning, recording names, and keeping watch. Most of the young men's parents had already arrived, some rushing in frantic anger, others attempting to justify their children's actions. Voices clashed shouts of blame, apologies, and despair filling the narrow streets.
It was clear: the gang, the so-called troublemakers, had been completely defeated. Their rebellion had ended before it even truly began.
In a shadowed corner nearby, a few officers were carrying the most dangerous figure among them. Noir.
His body was battered: blood streamed from a deep wound on his head, his right arm hung useless at his side, clearly broken. His eyes were closed, and unconsciousness claimed him completely.
The police had no idea who he was. No identification, no hint of affiliation nothing. Unlike the other youths, it was immediately obvious that he was not from Novara. He wasn't one of the Numbers either; he was something else entirely, a stranger whose origin remained a complete mystery.
The officers exchanged glances, wary of the silent, damaged figure they were holding. He had survived a battle with Kryne, but at what cost?
In a dark alley of the poorer district, Julian moved slowly, dragging his left arm which had been broken in the fight with Kryne.
His face was a mask of anger, sorrow, and humiliation. Every step seemed heavy, weighed down by the sting of failure. He had not achieved what he came for and, in his eyes, even the Numbers had abandoned him.
He stopped in front of a cracked brick wall. His hand slammed against it with a harsh thud, the sound echoing in the narrow alley.
"Damn it!" he shouted, the words raw with frustration and regret.
He sank briefly against the wall, breathing heavily, his broken arm throbbing painfully. The shadows of the alley seemed to close in around him, yet the fire in his eyes burned fiercely.
Julian slammed his broken left hand repeatedly against the cracked brick wall. Each strike echoed sharply, bouncing off the narrow walls around him.
"I'm so weak… I'm so weak… I'm so weak…" he muttered, voice shaking, each repetition heavier than the last.
Again, he hit the wall. His breath came in ragged gasps, a mix of frustration, anger, and despair. His eyes burned with a strange combination of sorrow and hatred for himself, for his failure, for the world that had turned against him.
Finally, unable to continue, Julian collapsed to the ground beside the wall, his body slumping against the cracked bricks.
Slowly, a figure approached him, stepping carefully but with quiet confidence. Julian looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read the stranger's intentions. The man stopped a few feet away and extended his hand toward Julian, a gesture of both caution and reassurance.
It was Lucas. His presence radiated calm authority, yet there was an edge of impatience in the way he carried himself. His short black hair caught the weak light, slightly tousled, and a faint shadow of a beard traced along his jawline, giving him a slightly rugged appearance. Standing tall, his physique balanced between lean and muscular, he exuded strength without overt intimidation. His dark gray eyes met Julian's, carrying a mix of determination and gentleness, a silent message that he meant no harm.
Julian, upon seeing him, immediately sprang to his feet, eyes blazing with anger and shame. He grabbed Lucas by the collar and shouted:
"For hell's sake, where were you?! We fought with all our strength, endured humiliation and defeat, and you just come here so coldly, extending your hand to me?!"
Lucas looked at him with calm eyes, forcing himself not to react impulsively, carefully choosing his words. He placed a hand gently on Julian's shoulder and said:
"Calm down. Let's head back home to get you treated… Lisa is very worried about you."
His voice was soft yet firm, an attempt to steady Julian and prevent him from spiraling further into anger.
Julian pushed Lucas away with his uninjured hand, his voice sharp with anger and pain:
"Don't you dare touch me!"
Lucas stepped closer, his eyes flashing with a hint of anger, his patience almost gone. His voice sharpened:
"Stop acting like children… you didn't stand a chance to change anything anyway!"
His words were heavy, loaded with harsh reality and the pressure of the situation, trying to break Julian's defiance without losing complete control.
Julian's anger flared, the tension between them thickening:
"You don't understand anything, Lucas! There's no understanding left between us just get out of my face!"
Lucas took a deep breath, trying to calm the situation, his voice steady but full of worry:
"Why are you so stubborn? Just come back with me to the orphanage, stop this complaining…
Julian froze, his eyes meeting Lucas's, surprised by the depth of sorrow and fear reflected there.
Lucas stood firm, his voice steady and calm despite the tension:
"Toxifar is gone… I don't want to lose anyone else!"
Julian felt the cold burn of jealousy and envy creeping into his heart; he couldn't grasp Lucas's explanation as intended, only the sting of betrayal:
"Did he go with the rest of the Numbers?"
Lucas looked down, his voice calm but heavy with sorrow:
"Yes…"
Suddenly, a blaze of anger and hatred ignited in Julian's eyes, his fists gripping the air around him:
"Damn it… I should have been the one, not him! Curse this!"
Lucas felt a pang of panic, realizing he might have made things worse.
"Hey… calm down…" he said, raising his hands slightly, trying to soothe the situation.
Suddenly, a group of police officers surged forward, grabbing Julian and attempting to restrain him.
Julian exploded in anger, his voice echoing through the narrow alley:
"Let go! My arm is injured… release me!"
He glared at Lucas, eyes burning with fury and disbelief:
"You… do something!"
A police officer stood in front of Lucas, his eyes sharp and tense.
"This person is involved in today's events… we have no choice but to arrest him. Do you have any connection to him? Do you know his guardians?"
Lucas glanced toward the other side of the alley, where Julian was restrained and furious, then sighed and said slowly,
"Follow me…"
The alley fell into a quiet evening hush, the echoes of shouting and struggle fading with the last light. Broken sticks and scattered debris littered the ground, silent witnesses to the chaos that had just unfolded. Julian's furious shouts were replaced by the steady footsteps of police escorting him away, while Lucas stood nearby, tense yet weary, watching the scene with a mix of relief and concern. The dim evening light stretched long shadows across the alley, the air heavy with the aftermath of defeat.
In another corner of the city, within the moderately crowded streets of the middle district, Deton Number Three had been defeated after a long and grueling battle against the Guild members.
The police bound him in the heaviest chains, yet he remained towering, head held high, his silent gaze enough to instill fear in the hearts of every citizen who dared to watch.
His massive frame and calm composure made him seem untouchable, even while restrained. He had no knowledge of where the officers would take him, yet he showed no resistance, no fear, no anxiety. He moved with quiet confidence, steady and unshaken.
Deep inside, he felt a sense of reassurance, knowing that the rest of the Numbers his comrades under Number One's command had successfully escaped and that their mission had not been entirely undone.
Finally, the long day filled with battles and clashes came to an end.
It concluded with another victory for the safety of Novara, yet not all those responsible had been caught. The remaining Numbers had escaped beyond the city's borders, and no one knew where their next destination would be.