The man ran.
Staggering.
Dragging what remained of his mutilated legs while screaming for help, leaving a grotesque trail on the cobblestones of the square. People began to notice something wrong—screams, blood, the metallic smell spreading in the air.
Elizabeth didn't move immediately.
She stood still.
Breathing.
The elegant smile had already disappeared.
In its place was something more unstable.
The crimson mist still floated around her in thin threads, like residual smoke that didn't want to dissipate.
She closed her eyes.
She inhaled.
She exhaled slowly.
And then she looked at the ground.
The first killer was no longer recognizable as human—scattered fragments, partially dissolved tissues, exposed bones. The second had left pieces behind during his escape.
The square was beginning to panic.
But no one approached her. No one dared.
Elizabeth reached out her hand.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
The mist responded.
