Ethan evaded the chain whips with practiced ease.
"What do you say—aren't we getting bored?" he muttered, not expecting an answer. The only responses for the last ten minutes were groans, choked gasps, and dying breaths.
"You're boring."
With a flash, Ethan stepped behind one of the cultists, severed both of his arms cleanly, and slashed his throat in a single swift motion.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted movement—another hooded figure lunging toward him. Before Ethan needed to react, the attacker's skull burst open from a single, precise shot by Ralf.
Their eyes met for a moment. A nod was exchanged—no words necessary.
Only one cultist remained.
"So," Ralf said, casually pointing his revolver, "are you ready to answer our questions? We promise not to hurt you... too much."
The hooded figure didn't flinch. Without hesitation, he placed his hands around his own head—and snapped his neck.
A sickening crack echoed in the street. His body crumpled. A moment later, as if responding to a hidden command, all the corpses were dragged violently into their own shadows, swallowed by the darkness like they never existed.
Ethan's face twisted with disgust as he looked up into the gray, lifeless sky.
"What a twisted world this is…"
---
Somewhere in the alley…
Konstantin stood silently, surrounded by a heap of dismembered cultists. Blood ran in narrow rivulets along the stone floor.
He calmly wiped his straight-edged sword, the air still flickering with fire from its last swing. He sheathed it with a sharp click.
Lucy rolled her shoulders, her gauntlets slick with blood. Frieda, unbothered, flipped a page of her book, stepping over a corpse with a casual stride.
"Their attack was sudden," Konstantin muttered. "Inform the facility immediately."
Lucy and Frieda gave sharp nods and disappeared down the alleyway.
Konstantin lingered, his gaze lifted toward the clouded sky.
I wonder what comes next…
---
Near Exit No. 3
Seven exits. Only seven ways out of a dying city.
Hundreds were already fleeing, confusion etched deep into their faces. Screams echoed from the crowd as people trampled each other—some trying to re-enter the city, desperately searching for family, unaware they were already lost.
Of all the districts, only a sliver of Noble Heights, a few schools, and sparse Thousand Crafts homes managed to evacuate.
Harley sobbed, trembling, clutching Lauren's hand. Chu-Chu was on her shoulder looking equally anxious.
"What's happening? Where's Mom? Big bro? The kind lady?"
Lauren knelt before her, heart clenching, voice barely holding.
"They're… okay. You'll see them soon. I promise. But right now, you need to go with the others, alright? Be brave for me, little Har."
Harley wiped her tears and nodded, even as her legs shook. A soldier guided her away, gently but firmly, Chu-Chu kept looking back expecting someone. Lauren watched her go, standing there in the dust and dread.
She hated this.
She hated comforting kids. Hated the promises she might not keep. Hated remembering the day she fled her own family and the life they forced on her.
Her gaze shifted. Kora and Lora were helping the elderly and injured, whispering reassurances with haunted eyes.
Lauren stood, her fists clenched.
"Please," she whispered to the sky, "let them all come back…"
---
Ashenreach District — STF Facility
The sun had sunk. Dusk crawled like rot.
The surviving STF members returned to the facility. Ethan led them through the charred streets, blood and rubble everywhere. The silence was unnatural.
Then they saw him.
Harry Mather.
Sitting calmly on a bench just outside the facility. Too calmly.
His eyes were open—but empty. No breath. No movement.
Ethan stepped forward, sensing something wrong.
"Oi… old man…" he said, softly shaking his shoulder.
Harry's head slid off.
Cleanly. Silently.
Then his body followed—limbs detaching, joints snapping, torso caving in like a rotten husk. Flesh sloughed off in pieces. The air filled with the stench of decomposition, sharp and unbearable.
Lora screamed and collapsed against Kora. Lauren froze, mouth covered, bile creeping up her throat. No one spoke. No one moved.
Only horror.
And then, like a ghost walking through hellfire, Kite appeared—his clothes were slightly torn, his arms bloodied, and Audrey limp in his grasp. Her body didn't stir. Her breathing was faint, if there at all.
"Kite!" Ethan rushed forward—but—
Boom.
The facility exploded.
Fire engulfed the street. The shockwave tore through their bodies like a battering ram, sending them flying.
Through the smoke and blood… only one truth remained:
They had lost.
And they could only watch it all burn.