The television in the corner of the public coffee shop rattled out the latest tragedy, the grainy images flickering across the screen: collapsed buildings, overturned cars, pools of dark water, and blurred, injured civilians.
*"News reports show that the damage was massive! Many casualties have occurred in this area. This is a sad day for Japan."*
The hum of the machines, the clatter of cups, the murmur of small talk, all faded for three men sitting at the bar, their eyes locked on the screen.
"Category 2 spirit?" Man One leaned forward, his knuckles white against the edge of the counter. "Why was the damage this... catastrophic?" His words hung heavy in the air, a tremor of disbelief in his tone.
Man Two slammed his mug down, splashing lukewarm coffee over the counter. "That son of a bitch was late to his assignment in Kyoto. It tore loose, killed sixty-two, hospitalizing thirty-seven more. They should count themselves lucky that the rest survived." His eyes narrowed, as if the horror on the news was both a wound and a thrill.
Man Three swirled the coffee in his cup absentmindedly, watching the liquid ripple like a storm-tossed sea. "It's not like we're heroes. We're contractors, nothing more. No grand reason to chase this death circus."
A silence followed, thick and oppressive.
"On the money there," Man Two muttered, doubt lacing his voice. "At the end of the day, just contractors. Not saviors."
Man Three's gaze drifted over his mug. He traced the rim with a calloused finger, thinking to himself: *Just contractors, huh... No point risking my life unless there's some music. Some chaos worth dancing to.*
He sipped the coffee, grimacing. "Ah." Relief, brief and fleeting, spread across his ragged features. His hands, rough from work, curled loosely around the cup like they had weathered lifetimes of violence.
"I'll cover the rest," he said abruptly, sliding bills across the counter. "I'm out."
He exited into the streets, the city's neon glow reflecting off wet asphalt. His boots echoed against the puddles as he wandered aimlessly, his mind replaying the reports from Kyoto.
"A vampire, huh..." he muttered under his breath.
*There are only ten Shinigami in this world. Where did that bloodsucking abomination come from?* His fists clenched instinctively. Anger, cold and precise, burned in his chest.
Just as he opened his mouth to curse Lamia, his phone buzzed.
*Click.*
"Mr. Bero, the vampire has been detained. Confirmed. It is the eleventh Shinigami," said a distorted voice, calm and clinical.
"Eleventh?" Bero's laugh cut sharp, mocking. "Are you insane?"
"Bringing such an abomination into our hands... as expected. She will be sealed," the voice intoned, the words dripping with authority.
Bero paused, letting the rain soak him further, running off his soaked sleeves. "Sealing something that doesn't even understand what it is?"
"You're aware of the stakes. The Court eliminates all variables that could endanger humanity. We are the last line before chaos," the voice said.
Bero chuckled low, a sound like gravel scraping steel. "Take your job more seriously," the voice warned.
"Fuck off, bi—"
*Click.*
The line went dead. Bero exhaled slowly, wet hair plastered across his forehead. "Guess it's time to start smoking again."
He turned down a shadowed alley. Every step echoed, puddles splashing under his boots. A chill crawled up his spine. He was being followed.
"Who the fu—" His words cut short as a demon emerged, pale and lean, eyes glinting with malice.
"I've no words for you, human," it hissed, lunging with unnatural speed. A kick slammed against Bero's guard, sending him staggering back.
"Already pissed off, huh?" Bero muttered, orange Seishin aura coiling around his fists like molten lava.
The demon smirked, goo-like strands forming between its fingers. It shot the sticky web at Bero, attempting to ensnare him mid-charge. Rain pelted the alley, soaking Bero's crisp white shirt, hair slicked back but now falling into his eyes.
They collided with a sound like thunder, fists striking, blocks perfect, precise. Sparks of energy leapt into the air with every blow, leaving shallow gouges in the wet asphalt.
The demon spat goo in the alley, creating sticky pillars, a trap to slow Bero. But Bero leapt, flipping over the slick columns, his aura surging. Energy flared in delayed bursts of fire, incinerating puddles and leaving the demon coughing on acrid smoke.
"Devour it all!" Bero's voice rang like a war cry.
A colossal bear materialized from his Seishin, jaws snapping and glowing with raw, sanguine energy. It lunged at the demon, ripping chunks of meat with gory, wet sounds. Each bite fed Bero's potential energy, keeping him at peak strength.
The demon, cornered, summoned goo pillars again, acid steaming from contact with the ground. His awakening began, molten energy searing his form, but his transformation failed—he coughed up blood, writhing as Seishin backlash burned through him.
"Failed transformation?" Bero hissed, a manic grin splitting his face. Tongue lolling, he struck a rockstar pose in the rain. "Perfect timing."
The bear lunged once more, teeth clamping down. Blood sprayed in arcs, sizzling where it hit energized flames. The demon's limbs thrashed, restrained by the sticky webbing, writhing in futile agony.
Bero fixed his shirt, slicking back his hair, victorious. "Devour it all..." His voice lingered in the night air like a promise.
Meanwhile, in a darkened chamber far away, Lamia's eyelids fluttered open. Consciousness returned with a hiss, a growl, and the first streaks of dawn light slicing through cracked windows.
To be continued...