..
Hannah stood there, overwhelmed. Her lips parted, unsure of what to say.
But then—
*SCREEEEEECHHH!!*
A sharp, metallic wail echoed through the building.
Both their heads snapped in the direction of the noise.
Hannah Lee "What was that?" she whispered, heart pounding.
Suddenly, the others burst into the shop from the side entrance, weapons drawn and eyes wild.
..
--
Location: Johannesburg - Terrace Road - Clothes Shop.
Year: 2026.
Date: April 1st.
POV: Third Person.
Time: 12:49 PM.
--
Marcus Hale "Guys, what's going on?!" Marcus demanded as he and Hannah descended the stairs, their boots thudding against cracked tiles, their expressions sharp with dread.
Amy Williams "It's a group of Necrogryphs," Amy answered without missing a beat, her voice tight.
Just then, Hustin lobbed their weapons over. Marcus caught his sheathed dual short swords mid-air, while Hannah's fingers closed around the familiar smooth shaft of her blue-etched staff.
No sooner had Amy spoken than a hulking shape smashed through the ruined entrance. The doors, already hanging on rusty hinges, exploded inward as the first Necrogryph barreled through—a grotesque beast, all bone and sinew and wings that tore the air like knives. It landed with a seismic crash, its talons digging into the tiled floor and cracking it under its monstrous weight.
Before the group could fully react, another swooped in. Then another. And another.
Within seconds, Six Necrogryphs stood on the ground floor, their hunched, skeletal, puss filled forms twitching unnaturally as if animated by something eldritch and wrong. Three more hovered ominously above, wings beating like war drums, circling the second floor like death's heralds.
Nine in total.
The six defenders instinctively tightened formation, backs towards the wall, forming a tight, trembling circle like line of survival.
Then the first wave hit.
With a collective, otherworldly SCREEEEEEECH, three Necrogryphs surged forward—wings wide, claws extended, their blood-black beaks gaping open like jaws of death.
Amy Williams "[Moonvine Snare]!"
In response, ethereal vines burst from the floor, glowing with moonlight, coiling around the incoming monsters. They shrieked in fury as the vines coiled tighter, burning them with celestial energy.
Lana didn't wait.
Her golden eyes shimmered like fireflies as she raised her sword.
With a swift motion, she unleashed three arcing golden slashes of raw energy. The blades of light cut through the air, crashing into the restrained Necrogryphs.
They didn't bleed, not visibly—but their agonized howls cut deep, as if their very souls were being torn apart. The screeches shook dust from the ceilings.
But mercy was never part of the equation.
The rest of the Necrogryphs took the pain as a signal.
They all charged.
Hustin Bright "Shit—they're coming! Marcus, we need a barrier—NOW!" he roared, sprinting forward.
With a yell, Hustin slammed his fist into the floor. The tiles erupted in a shockwave that sent a few of the Necrogryphs staggering—but didn't stop them. Not even close.
Behind him, a shimmering runic barrier encased the rest of the team like a translucent dome. Hustin turned and ran—just as a gap opened to let him in.
Inside the barrier, Marcus stood still, arms raised and glowing with coiled streams of blue energy, face drenched in sweat as he maintained the spell's integrity.
Hustin Bright "We can't stay here! We need to move!"
Amy Williams "No—we're safer here. Outside, we'll be surrounded on all sides. Here, at least, we control the choke point."
She began gathering Aetherium, her palms glowing with silvery light, ready to use another ability.
Behind Marcus stood Hannah and Riko, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer or incantation.
Hannah Lee "[Tidal Lance]"
Her voice echoed like a note in a cathedral, with her staff raised above her head.
Six spinning lances of water, each over two meters long, formed in the air above the barrier, spinning like turbines. With a flick of her staff, they launched at the nearest Necrogryphs.
Lana Williams "Aim for the chest—that's where their cores are!" She said with her shimmering eyes focused on the incoming Necrogryphs.
The lances hit—but only grazed the monsters, yet exploding on impact in a blast of pressurized water and rotten gore. Sreeches erupted—high-pitched, ear-splitting, filled with hate and pain.
Amy Williams "[Twilight Comet]!"
Ten spheres of lunar energy appeared in the air above the barrier, glowing like silver stars. They shot out in all directions, slamming into the Necrogryphs. Some exploded on contact—others tore through limbs, launching rotted wings and bone shards across the battlefield.
Hustin was already moving. He surged forward like a missile, sword glowing a dull-green. He stabbed clean through a Necrogryph's chest—there was a wet crack—and it let out a final, desperate screech before its glowing green eyes dimmed.
Hustin Bright "One."
He turned to strike again—too late.
A Necrogryph from above dove, claws aimed at his skull—but a water lance intercepted it mid-flight, exploding in a mist of rotten entrails.
Blood sprayed over Hustin, but he didn't flinch.
He charged the next injured target—but this one struck first.
Its massive claw came out of nowhere, swatting him mid-swing and sending him crashing into a half-destroyed clothes rack and towards the stairs. Bone cracked. Hustin gasped—and then three red-glowing arrows slammed into his side, vanishing on impact.
Amy Williams "HUSTIN!"
She rushed forward, but a Necrogryph slammed against the barrier, teeth gnashing. The entire dome shuddered. Marcus's face went pale, his arms trembling as the runes around the barrier flickered.
Marcus Hale "Hold—grrhh—HOLD!"
[Tidal Lance!]
A single lance shot out, striking the attacking Necrogryph dead center. It reeled, chest split open. A glowing green orb—the core—pulsed within.
An arrow fired.
Hanabira Riko "Two."
The core shattered, the Necrogryph collapsed.
Riko turned her bow to Amy, who was still trying to get to Hustin.
"Haste. Defense."
She fired two glowing arrows—they struck Amy mid-sprint and vanished. Instantly, Amy's speed increased, her body glowing faintly with defensive energy.
Lana spun like a whirlwind, her sword sending wave after wave of golden arcs slicing through the air.
Each strike found a mark—necks, limbs, torsos. Necrogryphs screamed and flailed.
Behind her, Hannah's water lances drilled through their targets like pressurized drills, exploding with each impact. Blood and ichor sprayed in a dance of chaos and magic.
Riko, panting, ripped two red-glowing arrows from her quiver.
"Recovery."
She stabbed both into Marcus's back. His body jolted—color surged back into his face, the flickering runes around the barrier stabilized.
Marcus Hale "Thanks, Riko." he muttered, breathless but steady.
Hanabira Riko "No problem." Her voice was faint, her knees buckling slightly. Her smile was tired but genuine.
Marcus tightened his grip on his swords, eyes focused through the barrier at the nightmare outside. The monsters were regenerating again, pulling their broken limbs back into place like something out of a fever dream, as his grip tighten around his strapped sword, he found it hard to pull them out, in a confrontation of this scale, there was little a guy with his title could do.
And Marcus thought to himself, his voice silent in the chaos:
'Damian… where the hell are you?'
---
| With Amy |
| POV: First Person - Amy Williams |
--
I darted between shattered mannequins and half-buried clothes racks, boots thudding against the cracked tiles of what used to be a boutique. Glass crunched underfoot. The smell of scorched fabric and death hung heavy in the air.
I didn't have time to process the destruction. My eyes were locked on the stairs ahead—parts-collapsed, smoke curling around them like serpents. Somewhere beneath that rubble, Hustin had fallen.
"[Twilight Comet]," I muttered under my breath.
Silver-blue light surged in my palms. The twin orbs shimmered like miniature moons as I hurled them at the hulking beast ahead. The Necrogryph—already back on its claws—was caught off guard. The impact slammed into its side with a sound like thunder snapping ribs. Its skeletal frame twisted mid-roar before crashing down again, half its ribcage disintegrated from the blast.
I sprinted past it without hesitation.
"Hustin!" I called out, heart hammering.
He was already pushing himself up from the debris, coated in dust. Blood painted the ground where he'd been—deep crimson against the ash-colored floor. His white shirt was ripped and stained with blood, his left hand clutched his side, and his greatsword dragged behind him like it weighed a thousand pounds.
"You okay?" I asked, voice tight.
He glanced down at the blood, then met my eyes with a faint grin.
"I'll live. Riko's arrows softened the blow. Saved my ass."
Even in pain, he was still trying to play it cool.
I followed his gaze behind me. The Necrogryph was rising—again. Its cracked skull shifted, bones knitting together with sickening pops. Rotten flesh slithered back into place like worms swarming over meat. It wouldn't stay down for long.
"We end this freak and catch up with the others," Hustin said through gritted teeth.
And just like that, he charged.
No hesitation.
I chased after him, my hands pulsing with silver light. I wasn't worried about his wounds—our group had more than enough healers on standby. He just needed to stay upright until this thing stopped breathing.
"[Moonshine Snare]!" I shouted, thrusting my glowing arms forward.
A burst of lunar energy shot into the cracked tiles. Silver vines exploded from the ground like whips, wrapping around the creature's limbs and wings. It shrieked, thrashing violently—but the vines multiplied, tightening, constricting, dragging it down like prey being offered to the moon.
That was Hustin's cue.
He lunged without pause, sword raised high—then drove it into the monster's chest with all the fury he had left.
The blade sank deep, right into the creature's core. The light in its bones flickered. It gave one last wail—long, broken, hollow—and then collapsed. Silent.
"Three," he muttered, almost to himself.
We locked eyes. He gave a curt nod. I nodded back.
And without another word, we turned and ran.
The others were waiting—and we needed to make sure they were knew were alright and had their backs.
---
| Back With The Others |
| POV: Third Person |
---
Lana Williams 'Three,' Lana thought, her voice silent beneath her mask as she withdrew her sword from the torn chest of the downed Necrogryph. It collapsed at her feet, a heap of jagged bone and rancid decay. Ahead, five more Necrogryphs limped toward them, grotesque and incomplete—chunks of flesh and bone missing from prior engagements.
She glanced to the side and caught sight of Amy and Hustin closing the distance, their weapons ready and expressions grim. Lana smirked faintly beneath her mask. "Well, four," she muttered.
To her left stood Hannah—panting, drenched in sweat, her breaths ragged. Her summoned water lances still hovered in the air like poised daggers, steam curling off the shimmering tips. The damage done to the five approaching beasts had been her doing. Pure, relentless force.
On Lana's right was Riko, as steady as ever. She adjusted her stance, calm and calculating, another arrow already nocked and glowing faintly with latent energy, waiting for the right moment.
Behind them stood Marcus, the final pillar of their formation. His protective runic barrier had faded, and in front of him floated a single glowing sky-blue glyph—intricate and swirling like a celestial sigil. At its center shimmered the symbol of a seven-pointed eye surrounded by rotating arcs.
With both arms outstretched, the glyph quivered. A pulse surged through it—and it split into five. The copies spun, shimmered, then shot forward, embedding themselves in the backs of each of his five allies. The second they made contact, their auras flared.
Marcus dropped to his knees. His skin turned pale, almost translucent, and a slow trickle of blood slipped down from his nose. He gritted his teeth.
Marcus Hale 'Better than last time,' he thought as the ringing in his ears intensified. 'Looks like five's still the limit- for now'
Even standing was a battle. But he forced himself upright.
And as for the others—the moment those glyphs hit, everything changed.
"[Abyssal Surge!]" Hannah cried.
Her eyes shimmered like twin oceans. She slammed her staff against the fractured tile with a sharp crack. In response, a wave of water erupted from nowhere, churning and roaring forward like a summoned storm. It surged down the corridor, sweeping the five weakened Necrogryphs backward—straight toward the entrance of the ruined clothing store.
That was all the others needed.
Lana. Amy. Hustin. Riko. All of them moved as one—silent, fluid, deadly.
Amy took the lead. She rushed ahead, silver light burning in her palms. With a graceful cross of her arms, she invoked:
"[Moonshine Snare!]"
From the cracked floor, thick silver vines burst forth, snaking around three of the flailing Necrogryphs and locking them in place. As they writhed and howled, Amy kept running, stopping just three meters away and dropping to her knees. Her glowing hands touched the floor.
"[Lunar Bloom!]"
A silver shimmer traced the ground, and suddenly, moon-infused flowers bloomed in a perfect line. The moment they touched the Necrogryphs—two ensnared, two free—they ignited in pale, ethereal flames. The screeches of the burning undead filled the room. Two thrashed wildly, smashing through the last remnants of clothing racks and shattered displays.
"[Essence Slash!]"
Lana's voice rang out. Her sword, overcharged with golden Aetherium, gleamed as she slashed in a wide arc. A luminous crescent of energy tore through the air, striking the lone snared Necrogryph that hadn't been touched by Amy's fire.
It didn't scream.
It didn't twitch.
It simply collapsed.
Dead.
"[Resolute Charge.]"
Hustin was already moving, a blur of power and purpose. He sprinted across the glowing floral trail—untouched by the blooming silver fire—and reached the nearest burning Necrogryph. His greatsword sang through the air and buried itself into the beast's chest. Bone cracked. Rotten flesh tore. The glowing green core split in two.
One down.
He pivoted, struck again. The second fell.
The third thrashed wildly, resisting, snapping. Timing was key. But he saw the opening—just a flicker—and took it. His blade cleaved through its neck, severing the spine.
That made four.
The final one—burned and enraged—took flight, wings unfurling like a demon's banner.
But Riko was already in motion.
"[Blessed Binding Shot!]"
Her arrow flew, a streak of crimson light, and struck the creature midair. In a flash, it unraveled into glowing red rope—snaking tightly around its limbs, wings, and neck. The Necrogryph plummeted, slamming into the floor with a crunch that split the tiles.
Hustin was on it in an instant.
He ducked, rolled, dodged the wild lashes of its claws and drove his sword deep into its chest. Straight towards the core.
It screamed—a terrible, high-pitched wail that echoed like a banshee's death cry—and then... silence.
Hustin withdrew his blade, exhaling heavily. Sweat dripped from his chin.
He turned to the others.
"Is everyone okay?" he asked, voice hoarse.
The others didn't answer immediately. The glyphs from Marcus had worn off. They all looked ready to collapse.
"Define okay," Marcus said with a weak grin, wiping the blood from under his nose.
Laughter, brief and exhausted, passed between them. Even Hustin cracked a smile—then stumbled.
He barely caught himself with his sword. A sharp pain flared at his side. His hand came away soaked in blood.
Amy's voice caught in panic. "Hustin, are you—"
But her words cut off in a scream.
"Look out!!"
She reached for him, eyes locked on something behind.
Hustin turned.
The last Necrogryph—somehow still alive, beak wide open—was inches from his face. When he struck it earlier, he'd only grazed and chipped off a small part of it's core. Its regeneration had done the rest.
He had no time.
No strength to react.
But just before its beak could claim his life—whoosh.
A silver arc of light flew from nowhere and cleaved the beast's head clean off.
The head hit the ground. The body collapsed after.
Silence followed. A long, stunned silence.
Then came footsteps.
Slow. Calm. Unshaken.
Everyone turned.
Damian walked into view—his expression unreadable behind his mask, his blade Lunar Fang in hand. He stepped past the bodies of the dead with barely a glance.
Two meters away from the thrashing corpse, he stopped.
"[Entropy Surge]," he said quietly.
His left hand turned ashen gray. He reached down, touched the tail of the beast.
*Hissss—*
The sound was immediate. The effect, devastating.
Before their eyes, the massive Necrogryph—wings, bone, talons and all—crumbled into fine gray dust. In seven seconds.
No scream.
No resistance.
It was simply... gone.
Damian winced, feeling a slight throb behind his eyes, then straightened. He sheathed his sword and looked around.
Everyone was still staring.
"Great," he muttered under his breath, and turned toward the exit.
Hustin stood motionless, still trying to process what had just happened. One moment he was staring death in the face, the next—something else- the very thing that almost sent him to the afterlife- had taken his place there.
Marcus broke the silence.
"Knew he'd show up. Always with the dramatic entrance."
They all turned as footsteps echoed again. Damian walked back in, duffle bag slung casually over his shoulder, sidestepping corpses like broken furniture.
Marcus stepped up. "Dude. What took you so long? For a second there I thought you'd abandoned us."
Damian stopped, frowning slightly.
Damian Derulo 'Abandoned?' he thought. 'It's not like we came here together.'
"I did," he replied, plainly.
Marcus blinked, caught off guard. He had no comeback.
Damian tilted his head toward the group. "Shouldn't you check on your friends?"
Then he turned away.
"Uh... yeah," Marcus muttered, retreating back toward the others.
Damian walked past the rotting carcass of a Necrogryph, its massive form now still and lifeless, a testament to the brutal encounter that had just transpired. His sneakers echoed against the cracked floor as he ascended the battered staircase, each step a careful negotiation around shattered tiles and jagged rubble. The ground floor of the boutique had been ravaged—scorched walls bore the marks of recent fire, and blood stained the floor in streaks and splatters. Torn garments hung like spectral flags from toppled racks, and not a single shirt had escaped the chaos in one piece.
But as he reached the top floor, the scene shifted.
Though dust coated the surfaces and the silence was almost unnerving, the upper level had retained much of its original elegance. Mannequins still stood tall in glassy-eyed silence, draped in stylish attire. Display tables and hangers, though slightly askew, remained largely untouched. Compared to the war zone below, this floor felt like a time capsule—preserved, albeit aged.
Damian let out a tired breath and placed his old duffle bag on a mostly intact velvet-upholstered chair. The fabric groaned under the weight but held. He turned to face the rows of clothing and accessories before him.
"Where do I begin?" he murmured to himself, rubbing his masked chin in thought.
Priority one: a new bag.
His current duffle was in a good shape but was wearing thin, seams stretched to their limits, and with each passing day it will become more of a burden than a utility. If he didn't upgrade now, he knew it would soon tear completely—and that was a disaster waiting to happen.
He navigated to the bags section, eyes scanning over dozens of options. Designer backpacks, branded travel cases, fashionable totes—many were large enough, a few stylish enough—but they all lacked one crucial feature: a shoulder strap.
He wasn't about to lug a bag around by hand like some wandering fashionista. He needed something utilitarian. Functional. Enduring.
Minutes passed as he moved deeper into the section, hope dwindling… until he saw it.
Tucked away at the far end, half-concealed beneath a toppled display, was the perfect find. Damian's eyes lit up as he made a beeline for it. His fingers brushed away a film of dust to reveal black leather—matte and rugged, but smooth to the touch. The bag was larger than his current one—twice the volume, by his estimation—but not so bulky that it would weigh him down unnecessarily. Its design was minimalist yet tactical: a combat-style build with multiple attachment points and reinforced zippers. It looked like it belonged to someone who'd survived a dozen missions and was ready for more.
"Perfect," he said aloud, a small grin forming as he admired it.
He slung it over his shoulder to test the weight. It fit snugly, almost as if it had been waiting just for him.
As he took it off he noticed a hidden zipper near the bottom of the bag, he unzipped it and saw a separate compartment made specifically for pants.
He was in all smiles as he closed back the compartment. 'I must have lucked out on this one' He thought nodding his head.
As he turned to head back to his old bag, something caught his eye—a display tucked in the corner with brightly colored packaging.
Underwear.
For a moment, Damian's hardened expression broke into genuine, almost childlike delight. The discovery hit him with unexpected joy, like spotting an ice cream truck in the middle of a blazing apocalypse.
"Finally," he whispered with glee.
He strolled over and grabbed several sealed packs, stuffing them carefully into his new bag. Comfort was luxury in this new world, and clean undergarments were a treasure he wouldn't pass up.
Back at the chair, he placed the new duffle on the ground beside the old one. He crouched, unzipping both, and began transferring his gear into the new space.
Next on his mental list: clothes.
He glanced at the surrounding shelves and mannequins, the wardrobe of a forgotten world waiting to be claimed.
And so, with a deep breath and the faintest glimmer of contentment in his eyes, Damian continued his post-apocalyptic shopping spree—one thoughtful choice at a time.
---
| With The Others |
| POV: Third Person |
---
Time: 1:36 PM
---
On the ground floor of the ruined boutique, the group of five huddled together in one of the few corners that still held some structural integrity. The air was thick with dust, scorched fabric, and the faint scent of blood and ozone. They were bruised, battered, and utterly drained. The Aetherium in their veins had long since burned out, and now they simply sat—recovering what little energy they could muster.
Marcus sat slouched with his back against the cracked wall, one leg stretched out, the other drawn close. His usual goofy attitude had dulled to a faint weariness, his eyes shut in focused meditation. His last spell—Magic Sigil—had drained more from him than he expected. Beside him, Amy sat quietly, her breathing shallow but even. Compared to Marcus, she looked to be in slightly better condition, her long black hair clinging to her skin with dried sweat and faint streaks of ash. Just a little further away sat Lana, her posture relaxed but her gaze ever fixed on the staircase leading to the second floor—where Damian was. Whatever she was thinking, she kept it sealed behind a blank yet masked expression.
The three were perched atop makeshift seats—sturdy piles of bricks scavenged from a collapsed wall. A fourth stack stood beside Lana, conspicuously unoccupied.
A few feet ahead, Hannah Lee sat on her knees, the sleeves of her faded denim jacket was rolled up and eyes locked onto her patient. Her voice was a soft murmur as she called forth her magic.
"[Soothing Waters]," she whispered.
Her hands lit up with a gentle, sea-blue glow. Water formed around her palms like living gloves, swirling with a quiet rhythm as though responding to her heartbeat. In front of her, Hustin winced slightly as she applied the healing waters to his side.
He sat shirtless, his white garment stained dark with dried blood and dirt, cast aside on the floor beside him. A deep claw mark carved across his lower left ribs was the source of the crimson mess—a souvenir from the Necrogryph.
But as Hannah's spell settled in, he let out a long, relieved sigh.
Hustin Bright "Ahh… that's the stuff… Thanks, Hannah," Hustin said, the tension in his shoulders melting away as the pain dulled under her touch.
Hannah Lee "Don't mention it," Hannah replied with a soft smile, her focus never wavering from her spellcraft.
Suddenly, a cheerful voice rang out like a bell cutting through fog.
Hanabira Riko "I'm back!" Riko announced, skipping over like a child returning from their first successful errand. She held a small drawstring sack in her hands, which she placed carefully on the ground with theatrical grace.
She seemed far more energized than the others—largely because she had played a support role in the earlier battle, mostly buffing the frontliners and her slight but major assistance.
"I managed to collect all nine cores~!" she declared, puffing out her chest in triumph like a field scout reporting the capture of enemy intelligence.
Marcus's eyes opened slowly, the relaxation draining from his expression as he turned his head toward her.
His eyes scanned the battlefield, landing on the half-crushed, grotesque remains of the Necrogryphs scattered around the boutique like disassembled mannequins.
Marcus Hale "What about the parts?" he asked, brow already rising in suspicion.
Riko instantly froze. Her hands came together as if in silent prayer, her eyes widening with an overly innocent gleam.
"I… I couldn't," she said dramatically. "They're so gross and disgusting, Marcus Onii-san. I was hoping… well…"
"Hoping what?" Marcus asked, tilting his head, voice flat with mistrust.
"…I was hoping that you would do it for me, Marcus Onii-san," she said with a slight pout, eyes shimmering like a helpless kitten.
Marcus blinked. "Nope. Don't even start. Don't 'Marcus Onii-san' me. I'm done helping you dissect monsters. You always pull this crap. And those eyes? Please. They're not gonna work this time."
"Tsk," Riko clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.
Marcus's head whipped around. "What was that?!"
"Marcus Onii-san~," Riko began again, leaning forward with clasped hands. "You're the only one who ever helps me. Everyone else just ignores me when I ask. And you're the best at cutting the parts cleanly. Like, professional level! I doubt there's anyone in Fort Sentinel that can even hold a candle to you!"
Marcus's posture straightened, his irritation visibly faltering under the unexpected praise.
"Well… I did work part-time as a butcher's assistant once… But calling me the best is a stretch," he mumbled, scratching his head, clearly enjoying the flattery.
The others exchanged silent glances. Even Hannah cracked a small smile. Riko, seeing her ploy was working, pressed the advantage.
"Oh? Tell me, what happened during your butcher days?" she asked sweetly.
Marcus sighed with sudden exasperation. "That bloated buffoon fired me because I fed some stray dogs expensive meat. How was I supposed to know it wasn't leftovers?! It was in a trash bag for crying out loud!"
Snickers echoed around the room. Even Amy bit back a laugh.
"If you ask me, he was just jealous," Riko said with faux seriousness. "Jealous that your butchering was better than his."
Marcus's eyes widened—his face caught between sudden clarity and disbelief. "You know what? You might be right… He did always praise me with weird double meanings…"
"Yes! So go and cut up those monsters and show that stupid boss that he was right and you ARE better than him" Riko said with fist clenched as she hyped him up.
He rose to his feet with a dramatic nod, his energy fully restored by Riko's expertly laid trap.
"You're right. Time to prove that I am better than him!"
He unsheathed his twin short swords and marched toward the nearest Necrogryph corpse like a man on a mission. Riko watched with an innocent smile, then turned to the others, who were all silently thinking the same thing.
'Idiot.'
Riko, of course, was thinking something else entirely.
'Gotcha.'
Marcus stood in front of the Necrogryph's carcass, blades raised high. He stared at it with righteous purpose, ready to reclaim his butcher's pride. But then… he hesitated. His hand stopped inches from the rotting flesh.
His eye twitched.
'Wait…'
'…I've been played.'
And then his eyes flared with a fury born not of betrayal—but realization.
"RIIIKOOO!!!"
"Oh no," Riko whispered, whirling around to find Marcus storming toward her—now wielding a stick like a divine instrument of vengeance.
She darted toward Lana.
"Lana, save me!"
"You're on your own," Lana said, not even looking up as she summoned her status screen.
"You little—! Come here!" Marcus barked.
"Kyaaaaaaa!!!" Riko screamed in mock horror and sprinted across the room, Marcus in hot pursuit.
And just like that, the great boutique chase began.
From the second floor, Damian descended silently halfway down the stairs, Lunar Fang drawn—only to pause and assess the situation. He stood still for a long beat, then slowly sheathed the blade and turned back.
He shook his head, muttering something unintelligible before vanishing up the stairs once more. No one had noticed his brief appearance—except Lana, who tracked his every move with those quiet, unreadable eyes.
.
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.
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To Be Continued......