Rain pelted the streets like a drumroll of fate. The city, unaware of the storm brewing in one man's mind, carried on—traffic lights flickered, pedestrians rushed beneath umbrellas, and the hum of neon signs filled the night.
High above the downtown district, Kane crouched on a rooftop. His charred hat shadowed the skull mask, the angelic-demonic hybrid glinting under the rain. In his hands, a tablet displayed every target, every movement, every criminal flagged in Arata's police reports.
"Tonight… they all pay," Kane whispered, fingers moving across the screen with surgical precision.
Meanwhile, Lucian wandered the city streets, a playful grin plastered on his face as if nothing had changed. Yet inside, the whispers were growing louder. Kane's sharp, cold voice demanded action. Arata's stern, commanding tone scolded him.
His golden eyes flickered unnaturally, shadows dancing across his expression. His playful laughter began to sound hollow, forced. Every joke, every wink at a passerby, was an attempt to maintain control—but control was slipping.
Sera followed at a distance, increasingly concerned. She had begun connecting dots—the sudden disappearances, the hollow tone in his laugh, the way his eyes seemed to shift color in fleeting moments.
Her voice called softly across the rain-slicked street: "Lucian… stop running. Who are you?"
Lucian's smile faltered. Not now… not yet… he muttered under his breath, gripping his coat tighter as a shiver ran down his spine.
In the precinct, Arata's face was tense. Multiple live feeds and cross-checked surveillance footage filled his screens.
"This isn't random," he muttered, tracing patterns with a pen. "Someone is orchestrating these deaths with knowledge of my reports… someone inside the city… someone precise."
A sudden notification made him jump. A live feed, showing a figure in the city square—a charred hat, a skull mask, and precise, controlled movements.
Arata's eyes widened. He leaned in, whispering, "Impossible… it can't be…"
The city, unaware, continued to move below. But Arata knew, in some deep, instinctive way, that this was the Ribbon Reaper—closer than ever, and terrifyingly aware of him.
Kane moved through the shadows with the ease of a predator. Every criminal in his plan was accounted for; every ribbon tied with precision. Tonight, he would not just punish—he would send a message.
Lucian, struggling to maintain his facade, felt the pressure build to an unbearable level. His playful, romantic mask was cracking. His golden eyes flickered black. His heartbeat raced as Kane's voice pressed: "Finish what you started."
Sera's voice cut through like a lifeline: "Lucian… don't do it!"
But it was too late.
Kane's personality surged forward, seizing control. The golden eyes became cold, calculating black. The playful smile vanished, replaced by a mask of terror and awe.
The first high-profile, public operation of the Ribbon Reaper was underway. And Lucian… helplessly trapped within his own mind, could only watch.