Stone lay on the cold floor, chest heaving, lungs burning, sweat glistening like wet obsidian across his skin. The room smelled faintly of iron and damp stone. His eyes traced the cracks in the ceiling, slow and deliberate, yet his mind raced faster than any thought should.
Alora. Gone. Left after the exams. Her laughter, her teasing, the brush of her hand, the way she'd always pushed him just a little too far—and he never felt it...
"Who was she really,I really wonder"
"How much did Grayson know about her", His eyes narrowed, pupils slicing the dim light. Has my presence changed the his former ways of life? He inhaled sharply, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, forcing control over the chaos inside. If so… things may escalate faster than I anticipated.
Stone rose, muscles taut, sinews singing under skin. Fingers brushed across a table, wrapping around a phone. Not his. The screen cracked, edges darkened with dried blood. A message blinked. He narrowed his eyes, reading, processing. No reply. He left the room without a word.
********
Minutes later, warm water drummed against his skin. Head rested against glass, eyes distant, shoulders trembling slightly. Steam and thought coiled together like snakes, soft hissing.
"Who killed them,and why…? "Words escaped in a whisper, too quiet to even echo. The morning's message, the subtle warning, the sense of intent—the unknown hand that had swept through twenty demon hunters. He replayed every second of the images in his mind, analyzing, calculating.
He stepped out, towel around his shoulders, another around his waist. He retrieved the phone again, fingers brushing the cracks, the dried stains of blood.
"Eight twenty"
he had spent two days in the training room. No maid, no visitor, no interruption,all taken care of in advance.
A surge stirred within him. Not the exhaustion,but power, power hed obtained in thise last two days,it was no whete near his goal,but enough to feel the pulse of his own potential,a sigh as the ohone landed on the bed,
He dressed in black trousers, crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, hands steady.
And then, the air shifted.
Not wind. Not shadow. Presence.
Death.
Stone didn't flinch, didn't turn. "What are you doing here?" His voice was flat, measured.
Death's smirk cut through the room. He lay on Stone's bed, casual, human, yet every movement screamed otherworldly. Black hair messy, sharp eyes tinged with crimson, black clothes that melded into the shadows of the room. Hands behind his head, legs crossed, completely at ease in someone else's space.
Stone finished buttoning his shirt, calm, precise. Death spoke again.
"You've changed a lot these past weeks I've been gone"
Stone's eyes flicked, unblinking. "I asked why you're here. Answer me, or leave."
Death's smirk sharpened, crimson eyes glinting. "Fine, fine, Mr. Attitude. Really, it's nothing serious…"
Stone moved to leave, and then Death said, casually, almost too calm:
"You're going to die today."
The words echoed in the room, soft yet lethal, curling into the corners of Stone's mind like a blade tracing bone. You're going to die today.
Stone didn't move at first. No flinch, no tremor. His eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, unblinking, as if staring hard enough could burn the words out of existence. He exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling in measured silence. Finally, voice low, almost disinterested, he asked:
"What do you mean I'm going to die?"
Death tilted his head, the faint crimson at the edge of his eyes catching the dim lamplight, glinting like a shard of fire. "Ah," he said lightly, almost teasing, "I could tell you, but… you'd just cheat me more than you already have, you know? And anyway—where's the fun in that? Typing is an art,Stone. You wouldn't want to ruin the art."
Stone let a sigh escape, almost inaudible. A weight settled on him, not panic, not fear—but the slow press of inevitability, like gravity pressing his chest down. He said nothing more. He never did. Not when je gained nothing that mattered.
Instead, he moved. Feet bare on the cold marble, walking toward the bed with deliberate slowness. He picked up the phone lying there. It wasn't his own—screen cracked, a few streaks of dried blood at the edge. He studied it, dark eyes narrowing.
"What do you know about the twenty demon hunters killed last night?" he asked, voice quiet, steady.
Death shrugged, rising from the bed, stretching his limbs with casual grace. The black sleeves of his shirt fell back, revealing forearms pale yet sharp under the lamplight.
"What can I say?" he said, tone like amusement mixed with calculation. "Seems someone… wanted them dead. A little like you… or maybe more…
.....exactly like you." He let the words hang, the subtext heavy, unspoken. Stone didn't react, but he remembered. He would not forget.
Death stepped closer, arm slipping over Stone's shoulders with unnatural ease. The aura around them pulsed—red, black, a tinge of purple shimmering in the corners of the room.
A gust of wind moved the curtains, faint but insistent, like a warning. "Come with me for a second," Death said, voice soft but confident.
Before Stone could understand his words,the room collapsed around them as shadows and aura swallowed the space.
Moments later—or perhaps no time at all—they were elsewhere.
Varnguard Academy. Nurses' ward.
Stone scanned the sterile, white-tiled space, the faint scent of antiseptic mixing with the faint trace of something darker—fear, despair, uncertainty. The sunlight fell through the high windows, harsh and unfiltered, illuminating the edges of the beds, the pale sheets, the sterile silence.
Stone's gaze found Death, and the irritation and threat was clear. "Don't ever do that again"
"Why are we at a hospital "he asked
Death's grin widened, carefree, devilish. "No, we're in the nurses' ward.at a school,not a hospital,so try to keep up you slow learner "
Not minding Deaths' words,Stones' eyes flicked to the patient on the nearest bed. A girl. Younger, barely two years his junior. Long dark hair cascading over pale shoulders. Eyes dark, staring past him—or through him. Lifeless. Hollow.
"You see that girl," Death said, leaning slightly, voice almost conspiratorial, "she saw the person you're looking for."
Stone spared a glance, voice calm but taut, "You mean the one that killed the demon hunters?"
Death's silence was his answer, deliberate, mocking.
Stone stepped closer, slow, measured. His eyes studied her—long dark hair falling like a curtain of night, eyes empty pools of something lost. Something fragile. Something broken. The world had left her raw and trembling behind a wall of void where humanity should have been.
She said nothing. Did nothing. Not even a blink.
Death materialized at his side, arm brushing against him casually, a smirk painted across his pale sharp face…
Stone's, gaze on the girl. "So… how did she end up seeing them? Is that why she's like this?"
"Yeah… and no," Death replied, voice lilting with amusement. "Seeing didn't do this to her."
Stone's eyes narrowed, silence heavy in the space between words. "Then what?"
Death paused, as if considering whether to amuse him with the answer. "You could call it… memory loss."
Stone didn't respond. His gaze never left hers.
Death continued, voice calm, but the tone carried the weight of dangerous amusement. "Whoever it was… erased her memory. She doesn't even remember last night. Nothing. Just… gone."
Stone's lips pressed into a thin line, expression unreadable. He let the revelation settle. Let it simmer. Let the weight of the world outside the sterile walls seep into him.
"I'm betting you know who they are," Stone said finally, voice low, deliberate, cutting through the quiet like Steel.
Death chuckled softly, the sound a dark wind. "Of course I know. But I'm surprised—of all people—you didn't."
His gaze locked with Stone's. Crimson burning at the edges, smirk sharp, almost predatory. "After all… you were the one who killed them."