A couple of hours after the encounter with the thugs, Alice returned to the diner—or rather, to what remained of it. The building had burned to the ground, nothing spared but charred beams and drifting embers. She made her way to the third floor of the nearby inn where the staff had been taken. Some were numb, others shaken, but the owner, sixty‑five‑year‑old Hal Rodgers, looked completely disconnected, muttering to himself as if trapped in a loop. "Hey, old man, you physically alright? No burns, right?" Alice asked in her usual deadpan tone. Hal's eyes snapped toward her, glowing faintly red. "W‑where were you? You said you'd smash anyone who messed with the diner. So where were you?" Alice answered plainly, "I was at school. When I heard what happened, I rushed over and dealt with the thugs. I don't see the problem." Hal slammed his fist into the table, splintering it. "The problem is you abandoned us. I fed you, helped you, trusted you—and you let this happen." His muscles twitched violently, and when a staffer tried to calm him, the situation escalated in an instant, leaving the room in stunned silence when the poor girl's head rolled slowly across the floor.
Alice froze for a heartbeat before demanding, "What have you done? What are you?" Hal responded with a feral scream and charged, swinging a punch at her ribs. She deflected it, but he spun into a backfist that forced her to dodge. Good grief, how is this bugger so fast? she thought as he closed the gap again with a kick that sent her crashing through the inn wall and into the street. Coughing, she pushed herself up just as Hal dropped down through the hole above, trying to crush her under his weight. She narrowly rolled aside, regained distance, and steadied her breathing. Hal roared, horns sprouting from his skull as he lunged with another kick aimed at her head. Alice ducked and countered with an uppercut that staggered him, then followed with a roundhouse kick that sent him crashing back through the inn. "Now we're even, prick."
Hal rose almost immediately and howled again. Alice refused to give him space, driving a jab into his ribs, but he absorbed it and countered with a brutal uppercut that launched her upward. Before she could land, he struck again, sending her crashing through another wall and back onto the street. He stalked toward her, raising both fists for a finishing blow—only for a black aura to erupt from Alice, halting him mid‑strike. Blood ran down her face as she stood, eyes locked on him. "I don't know what happened to you, Hal, but I won't let you leave here alive." Hal stepped forward, but Alice was already on him, gripping his head and slamming him into the ground hard enough to shake nearby buildings. She lifted him again, struck him in the gut and neck, then unleashed a roundhouse kick that sent him flying through several abandoned structures before he disappeared into the distant landfill.
A moment passed before Alice's aura faded, and she collapsed, her blood pooling beneath her. The remaining diner staff fled without looking back. Another moment dragged by before a thunderous roar echoed from the landfill—Hal rising once more, charging toward her with murderous intent. He loomed over her, ready to strike, when he suddenly froze, realizing too late that something was missing. A cry tore from his throat as he searched wildly, his gaze locking onto a man clad in black, face half‑covered, baby‑blue eyes gleaming above a matching glove. "So you're Hal Rodgers, eh? Oh, how the mighty fall," the stranger said as he approached. Hal lunged desperately, but the man intercepted him with effortless precision, ending the fight in a swift, decisive motion. "Silence. Men who surrender to the demon plague don't get to cry or scream. Trash like you only get to die in anguish." He set Hal's remains alight, then turned to Alice, lifting her onto his shoulders. "You have great promise, girl. Can't have you dying just yet."