Chapter 5:The Rift Between Us
Azazel woke to the soft rhythm of Ruyi's breathing, her warmth curled against him. The unfamiliar comfort of it kept him still for a long moment. He slipped out of bed quietly and made breakfast—a simple gesture that felt oddly domestic. They ate in a comfortable silence, the events of the night before hanging in the air not as awkwardness, but as a new, fragile understanding.
As Ruyi was getting ready to leave, her eyes fell on the stack of papers on his kitchen counter—the handler's latest batch of "homework." She picked up the top sheet, her brow furrowing as she scanned the dense columns of personal data: addresses, financial records, aliases.
"This looks like a bunch of private information on people," she said, her voice casual but her eyes sharp. "Why do you have this?"
Azazel's gut tightened, but he kept his tone light. "Oh, that's just work for my guardian. She makes me help with paperwork. Says I'm good at keeping secrets." He offered a half-smile, hoping it was enough.
"Cool," Ruyi said, setting the paper down. But the look she gave him wasn't one of belief; it was one of filing the information away.
She was just opening the door to leave when the handler appeared in the doorway, her hand raised to knock. The two women stared at each other for a frozen second in the threshold.
"Hello there, miss," the handler said, her voice professionally neutral.
"Hi," Ruyi replied, her own poise impeccable. "You must be his guardian. I was just leaving. It was nice to meet you." She glanced back at Azazel, her smile softening. "Bye, Azazel. I'll see you at school."
The handler watched her go, then stepped inside, closing the door with a soft, final click. "I see you've brought a girl to your house," she said, her voice devoid of warmth. She moved to the table and began gathering the papers. "Anyways, where is my paperwork?"
"On the table," Azazel said, his guard slamming back into place.
She checked the stack, her movements precise. "What is she? Your girlfriend or something?"
"Yes. She is."
The handler stopped and looked at him, a flicker of something almost like pity in her eyes. "I think you should break up with her. To spare her the pain."
A hot surge of anger shot through Azazel. "Why the hell should I do that?"
"Why?" The handler's voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Did you forget what you are? Your criminal record is a shallow grave. The people after you, the people you worked for—they can dig. And they will dig through anyone close to you to get to you. Do you think her father's money is a shield? It's a target."
Azazel's mind snagged on her words. Her father. The handler knew about Ragnar. Of course she did. The surveillance was deeper than he'd thought.
"And what do you think will happen," the handler continued, her words like ice picks, "when she finds out you once emptied a gun into a man's head with no remorse? Do you think your 'cool transfer student' act will survive that?"
"He fucking deserved it!" Azazel snapped, the memory flaring, raw and violent. "You weren't there! You didn't see the shit I saw! He got exactly what was coming to him!"
"Azazel," the handler cut in, her voice overriding his. "I am warning you. A fresh start doesn't mean you get to drag innocent people into the wreckage of your past. Get dressed. I'll be waiting in the car to take you to school."
She left, the door clicking shut behind her. Azazel stood in the center of his apartment, trembling with a fury so potent it was silent. He gripped the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white, the cold porcelain the only thing tethering him. His mind raced, but every path led back to the same, stubborn conclusion: it didn't matter what the next step was. He wasn't going to stop. He couldn't.
---
The car ride to school was a tomb. Azazel stared out the window, the handler's words etching themselves into his mind. He arrived at school feeling hollow, a dark cloud of depression settling over him where Ruyi's warmth had been just hours before.
He kept checking the door, waiting for her to walk in, late as usual with a playful excuse. But first period passed. Then second. By lunch, her seat was conspicuously, painfully empty.
I guess she's just late today,he tried to tell himself, but the dread in his stomach was a cold, heavy stone.
The whole day dragged on without her. There was no club to distract him. The final bell rang, releasing him into an afternoon that felt emptier than his apartment.
He went straight home, the silence louder than any engine. He collapsed onto the couch, mechanically rolled a thick joint, and smoked it down to the filter, trying to burn away the handler's voice. He ordered an absurd amount of pizza—five boxes—not out of hunger, but out of a need to fill the void with something, anything. He ate until he felt sick, the greasy cardboard littering the floor, and then, as the numbness from the weed and the food finally overwhelmed the anger and fear, he passed out on the couch, the TV flickering static over a room that felt more like a cage than a home.
---
A few moments later, the empty pizza boxes on the floor rustled. A pen rolled off the coffee table. Azazel, in his drugged stupor, felt a deep, unnatural vibration humming in his bones. He pried his eyes open.
"What the fuck...?"
He looked up.Directly above him, the ceiling was gone. In its place was a giant, silent tear in reality itself, edges shimmering with impossible colors. Through it, he could see swirling nebulae and foreign stars.
Beneath his shirt,the gemstone necklace from Ruyi began to pulse with a warm, urgent light.
The rift pulsed.A soundless, gravitational pull yanked him off the couch.
"No.No, no, no, NO!"
He was sucked upward into the silent chaos,the world dissolving into a streak of light and void.
---
The next sensation was falling.
Wind ripped at his clothes.
Above him, a massive, beautiful moon and twin rings dominated a star-dusted sky. Below him, the peaked roof of a medieval-style building rushed up to meet him.
CRASH.
Wood splintered,plaster dust exploded, and he slammed into a cold stone floor. Pain lanced through his shoulder—the old bullet wound screamed in protest. He lay there, gasping, the air thick with unfamiliar smells: ozone, smoke, and something metallic and foul.
This wasn't a dream.The pain was too specific, too real.
He staggered to his feet and out into a narrow alley.The scene was one of utter carnage.
Buildings burned, casting hellish shadows. The air rang with the clash of steel, screams, and roaring flames. The coppery stench of blood and burning flesh was overwhelming.
"What is going on?" he whispered, his mind struggling to bootstrap into survival mode.
He ducked deeper into the shadows, but a small figure barreled into him from a side passage, sending them both sprawling. Before he could react, two armored soldiers rounded the corner. Their armor was a brutal mix of red-stained leather and brown steel, their faces hidden behind grotesque steel masks.
"Hand over the girl,"one growled, his voice muffled, "or die here."
Azazel's mind,still reeling, clicked into its oldest, most reliable gear: threat assessment. I don't know where I am. I don't know what this is. But these guys want to kill me. My priority is surviving. Survival of the fittest.
His movements were pure,adrenalized instinct. He surged forward, not at the weapon, but at the body. A savage drop-kick to the lead soldier's knee yielded a sickening crack and a howl of pain. The second soldier fumbled for his sword. Azazel closed the distance, grabbed him in a clinch, and used his momentum to slam him into the cobblestones with a brutal suplex. He turned back to the first, who was writhing on the ground, and delivered a crushing stomp to his masked face, silencing him.
The second soldier tried to rise.Azazel pounced, executing a perfect RKO that drove the man's head into the stone with final force.
Breathing heavily,he turned to the girl. "Alright, what the hell is—"
He stopped.The girl, small and fierce-eyed, had already sprung up. In a flash of steel, she slit the throats of both unconscious soldiers with a efficiency that was chilling. The acts were clean, merciless, and without hesitation.
Damn,Azazel thought, a flicker of respect cutting through his shock. She's hardcore.
"Are you a slave?" the girl asked, wiping her blade on a soldier's tabard, her eyes scanning him.
"No,"Azazel spat, irritation flaring. "What the fuck? 'Slave' just because I'm Black? That's racist."
"Sorry.You look like someone from the Sun-Cursed tribes to the south. My mistake." Her apology was blunt, utilitarian.
"Where am I?"
"You are in the Kingdom of Mornareth,"she said, already moving to drag the bodies into shadows. "And right now, it is under siege by the Brotherhood." Kingdom of Mornareth.
Siege. Swords. Armor.The pieces connected with a dreadful, sinking finality in Azazel's gut. No. This can't be happening. But it all adds up. The rift. The sky. This... this is what Yuto called an isekai. A whole other world. Why me? Of all people, why fucking me?
He pushed the existential dread down. It was a luxury he couldn't afford. "Hey," he said, voice steady now with forced calm. "I kinda saved your life back there. You owe me one. I need help."
The girl nodded,all business. "Fine. Plus, I was already planning on escaping. My name is Reginleif. No surname."
"Azazel.Nice to meet you, Reginleif."
"Follow me."
She led him through a maze of burning back streets toward the southern gate, but a pitched battle raged there, blocking their exit. "Damn. Too many," Reginleif muttered. "Secret passage it is."
They doubled back to an old, dry well. Without a word, she swung her legs over the edge and dropped into the darkness. Azazel followed, landing in a crouch on soft earth. They navigated a cramped, earthy tunnel that emerged behind the massive roots of an ancient tree outside the city walls. From their hiding place, they watched Mornareth burn, the sounds of battle now a distant roar.
"Come on,"Reginleif urged. "We keep moving."
Deep in the surrounding forest, they made a sparse camp. Azazel gathered firewood. He fumbled with the flint and steel Reginleif offered, his hands used to lighters. Frustrated, he checked his pockets. A half-empty bag of weed, a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and a cheap plastic lighter. Japanese yen—useless here.
He flicked the lighter,a tiny, anachronistic flame springing to life. But before he could touch it to the kindling, Reginleif leaned over. She struck the stones together not to spark, but to channel. A small, focused gust of wind shot from her hands, swirling into the tinder and igniting it with a whoosh of magical flame.
Azazel stared,the lighter's flame dying in his hand. Wind power. Magic. Right.
She shared hardtack and dried meat from her pack.They ate in silence, the weight of the day and the vast, terrifying unknown of this new world settling over them. Azazel leaned against a tree, the gemstone necklace cool against his chest—his only tether to a life that already felt like a distant dream.
End of Chapter 5