In the heart of darkness, among the ruins of the once-luxurious Astarte Club, a woman dressed in black silk embroidered with gold hid behind a bookshelf. Cold sweat ran down her face, and her expression twisted with fear.
Her mind scrambled desperately for an answer: why was her home in ruins?
"Nathanael… you insane bastard." The curse echoed inside her. "You dared to send me a Fragmented?" As she vented her anger toward the cult leader, a chill ran up her spine.
Clink! The doorknob turned, slicing through the silence like a thin blade. The sound pierced deep, and her palms grew slick with sweat.
From the shadows, a slow, deep voice emerged:— It's been a long time… child.
Through the pale moonlight, a silhouette revealed itself. An old man with a thick mustache stood at the doorway — motionless, embraced by darkness.
Illusory tentacles slithered from his body, merging with the shadows. Seeing that figure and hearing the voice, she remembered someone from the past, a man who had always been by her side.
— F… Father? — she whispered, her voice trembling with denial. — N… No… who are you?
The shadow didn't move, stiff as a broken puppet. Silence filled the room, turning the air colder. Then, from the depths of darkness, words came slowly, dragging:— It's me… my little Tulip.
The words left his mouth, but… his lips only moved mechanically, lifelessly — the grotesque tone seemed to come from somewhere far away.
Even without understanding how, her world collapsed in that moment. Her legs, already trembling, buckled under her, and she fell to the floor. The childhood nickname, kept only between her and her father, stabbed her chest like a cold blade.
Then the memory hit like an unbearable weight: the man she once called father was dead. Dead… for a long time. That voice, which had once enveloped her in love and affection, should not have been there. It couldn't be.
— Let me in… — whispered the shadow of the man as his tentacles flexed slightly.
— No… — slowly, the silence gave way to another sound: the sobs of a small child. — N… hic… no… please…
The crying continued for a while, until slowly, the woman who had stumbled over her own tongue began to calm unnaturally. Her gaze grew cold, mechanical, lifeless — like a rag doll.
With mechanical movements, like a puppet, she rose to her feet and crossed the ruined room in the dim light. She reached the door and extended her hand toward the doorknob.
Blackened tentacles, like ink, twisted out of the shadows as if alive, staining the surroundings with void. They began to rise and reach toward the only living being in the room.
One by one, they extended, gradually touching the woman in front of them.
Then, she fully opened the door.
The tentacles climbed her legs and arms, wrapping around her as if she were already one of them.
Little by little, she was swallowed by the darkness without resistance or fear, as if she had been dead for a long time.
When she disappeared into that darkness, the room fell into a deadly silence, as if nothing had happened — as if it had all been an illusion or a dream.
Time passed. The sun began to light the window when the sound of footsteps in the hallway grew clearer.
Someone was coming.
…
In a dark room, lit only by moonlight filtering through the curtains, a child's voice spoke:— … Do you think he's dead?
— Maybe… — replied a second voice.
— I knew he was weak; I just didn't know how much… — a third voice added.
— Should we take him to a doctor?
— We don't have money for that…
The girls, seemingly sharing the same thought, turned in unison to Ray.
— Pfft, only if I spin the bag. — he scoffed.
The two children exchanged curious glances. — Spin the bag? What's that?
Ray froze for a moment, calculating his response. In the end, he simply sighed: — Forget it…
— Tsk. Why are you already killing me? — an irritated voice echoed from the corner of the room.
It was Edward. His body was covered in injuries, his clothes nearly ruined.
— Isn't it obvious? — Ray said with a playful smile.
— Fuck you. — Edward shot back brusquely.
After a brief moment of recovery, he struggled to rise from the chair and walked to a wardrobe on the side of the room.
— What did you find? — he asked, rifling through it for something to wear.
No words came in reply, only a pack of cigarettes tossed toward him.
He caught it with a flick of his wrist; a faint gleam appeared in his eyes. He took a cigarette and placed it between his lips.
Lighting it, he murmured: — Anything else?
— Nothing particularly interesting. — Ray yawned.
Edward glanced at his companion, buried in the sheets, motionless. "The bastard didn't even leave the room…"
Then he turned to the two children crouched in a corner, rummaging through an improvised bag made from curtain fabric. The red-eyed girl rose cautiously, a long-barreled revolver in her hands — likely taken from one of the guards.
— This should be worth something, right? — she asked, lifting the weapon with the dangerous innocence of someone who doesn't yet understand the weight of what they carry.
Edward studied the revolver for a moment, spun the cylinder, and loaded it with empty shells to avoid accidents. He secured it at his waist, noticing the other child approaching.
The green-eyed girl stepped closer, extending her hand. In her palm was a deck of 22 cards, the edges lined with some sort of metal.
— … Whose is this? — Edward asked, surprised.
— The monster's… — she replied faintly.
He examined the deck. On one card appeared the figure of a man upside down, bound by a rope.
He scanned the remaining cards for information but found nothing. "…," he thought, returning the deck to the child.
Having seen the essentials, he turned to the improvised bag in the corner and checked the remaining items.
"Chandeliers, plates, cutlery… yeah, that should fetch something," he thought, tying the bag securely.
— There might still be something valuable in that woman's room. Let's take a look. — he said, moving toward the door.
He reached for the doorknob and entered the darkness of night. The children, without hesitation, jumped alongside him, keeping close, wary of another monster appearing.
After some time, the red-eyed girl paused, seeming to remember something. She looked at Edward and asked:
— Where's that uncle?
— In the room — he replied bluntly.
— But… wasn't he coming with us? — the other child asked.
— No. He can handle himself. — Edward said, pushing open the lobby door.
They paused, surveying the remains of the old bar before moving on. The path led them through debris to a hallway shrouded in darkness. At the end, a dimly lit room stood with its door wide open, revealing only a fraction of its contents. Edward approached cautiously, instinctively taking the lead. His eyes fixed on the broken lock:
"Someone's been here…" He quickly drew his revolver, spinning the cylinder, and advanced a step.
He positioned himself at the side of the doorway to better observe the interior. Books littered the floor, broken furniture scattered across the room, but no sign of life.
He lowered his weapon and entered with his free hand raised. Though the main threat had been neutralized, Edward knew that unforeseen dangers could still appear.
A firm step echoed through the ruined room. Edward waited five seconds — nothing happened.
"…." He glanced around, then, without turning to the children, whispered: — Stay close.
The children nodded and hurried to his side. Edward watched them out of the corner of his eye before returning his focus forward.
They proceeded cautiously, examining every inch of the devastated space. Edward stopped by a hanging painting and observed the arrangement of objects on the floor. He quickly pieced together what had happened.
"No signs of a struggle… even with the broken lock. Did someone break in from the inside?" he thought, moving slowly through the room.
They reached the main desk. Papers, books, and pens — nothing of real value. Only a bookshelf in the corner drew their attention, its organization oddly meticulous.
Edward ran his fingers along the dusty spines. History, economics, art… until a yellowed volume stood out, rigid and strange. He pulled it, producing a metallic clank followed by the low groan of hidden gears slowly turning behind the wall.
The secret door began to slide open but stopped halfway; the mechanism had been damaged during the previous fight. With no alternatives, Edward slid his fingers into the narrow gap and forced the door.
It slowly yielded, revealing a lead-colored safe. The children exchanged glances but returned to watching the surroundings.
Edward studied the safe, crouched, and cautiously opened the cold door. His veins darkened as a low roar reverberated in his abdomen. The door unfolded, revealing its contents.
Having used part of his mark without fully absorbing it, the corrosion didn't affect his psyche significantly.
The duo peeked into the safe but found only yellowed papers. Edward sifted through them, his expression soon twisting with disdain.
"Property deeds, registration… this isn't worth much now." He sighed, replaced the papers, and searched the room one last time — nothing else of value remained.
With a touch of disgust, he turned to the children: — Let's go.
They nodded and followed him closely until a familiar voice drifted through the window, dripping with mockery: — Already?
Without looking, Edward spat: — We took everything.
— Ahhh, really?
— Seriously! A bar that's been open for over ten years, with a dozen guards in latent stage, and a cultist about to become a Drifter tailing her — she's going to just put a safe behind a display with all her documents? Really? I expected more. — Ray laughed, walking around the room, inspecting everything.
— These people are usually much more cautious. — He commented, circling the room like a park stroll. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a handmade painting. A crooked smile appeared. — Hehe… found it.
Edward narrowed his eyes, following every step.
— Behind the painting…? — he murmured, suspicion in his frown.
Ray's smile widened.
— Negative, my dear Watson. — he said, rolling up his left sleeve. — That would be too cliché, don't you think?
On his forearm, a black pulsating mark throbbed beneath the skin. It twisted, extending to his hand. Illusory teeth erupted from elbow to thumb, splitting his hand grotesquely.
The children trembled instinctively. Edward stepped diagonally, positioning himself between them and the grotesque sight. He paused for a moment, incredulous: — … On the floor?
Ray laughed: — Bingo!
His mark convulsed, reshaping into grotesque claws and a malformed fist. The floor groaned and cracked beneath him: CRAAACK! Dust rose, cracks spreading in all directions.
His arm smashed through the concrete, making the ruined building shudder once more.
— Kyaaa!! — the children screamed, clutching Edward's legs.
When the tremor ceased, they slowly opened their eyes. A few steps away, Ray stood holding a chest, a satisfied grin on his face. He turned to them playfully: — Voilà.
…
The sun rose over a dark forest nestled between two mountains, about 20 km from a great wall. In the center of the valley, flames lit a small hand-built village.
A colossal tree spread twisted branches and roots, seeming to devour the ground. Carved into its living trunk, a faceless humanoid figure hung upside down, its back opened like wings.
At its feet, a crowd prostrated in silent reverence, each breath a prayer.
At the front, a figure in white stood out. The cultist hid his face behind a rigid mask, rectangular at the base, covering from chin to forehead. Above it, a curved visor arched like an inverted crescent. The mask elongated his silhouette, making him appear less human — a fragment of night resting on mortal shoulders.
— מָרַן דְּחוּרבָּן, רַב כְּדְכוּל קְרִיאָה וּדְמֶלֶךְ עַל כֻּלְהוֹן… עֲבְדָא זְעוּרָא נִשְׁלַם בְּתוּכְנָךְ… אָמֵן.
The prayer echoed muffled beneath the mask. When finished, the cultist struck his own esophagus in five precise points; each impact resonated sharply. Marks formed an invisible pentagram across the flesh, sealing the ritual before the silent crowd.
Another cultist in similar robes approached him.
— Your Eminence… — said the cultist, head bowed.
— Sebastian is dead.
Silence lingered for seconds before He slowly rose from prayer.
A muffled voice resonated in the crowd's ears, shaking their souls: — …Give me the details.
…
— Where are we going now? — asked one of the children, carrying a bag of trinkets.
The sun had been high for some time. After looting the old bar, they spent the day selling their haul in various markets, using different identities to avoid recognition.
— We still have to visit someone. — Edward said, taking the heavy bag from the children.
— Not someone. A dinosaur. — Ray added, backpack slung over his shoulder.
— A dinosaur? — asked the green-eyed child.
— Ignore him. — Edward scoffed.
They walked for hours, returning to Beatrice Alley, passing shop after shop until finally reaching Lilith's building.
Kicking the door, Ray exclaimed: — OLD WOMAN! WE'RE HERE!
A hammer flew at him at high speed, but luckily… or unluckily, he caught it easily.
— How rude… — Ray whined, placing the hammer on the table.
Lilith emerged from behind the counter: — What do you want now? — she grumbled in her usual harsh tone.
The two children shrank behind Edward.
— We have another Drifter. — he replied curtly.
She merely nodded, walking to the table in the center, frowning, before stopping abruptly. She turned to the troublesome duo: — …This time, is the body intact?
— …
— …
— …
An uncomfortable silence followed. Edward looked at the floor and replied weakly: — No… let's not talk about it.