Back at the antique shop, the quiet tick of clocks filled the space like the heartbeat of time itself. Asuma sat alone near the worn wooden counter, arms crossed, fingers tapping restlessly on the surface. The warm scent of old oak and rusted brass hung in the air, and the occasional creak of the shop's floorboards echoed his growing unease.
He had returned with too many unanswered questions—about the church, the poisonous garden, and the strange way the city officials danced around the truth. His gut told him something darker lurked beneath Talagra's polished stone streets.
The door burst open.
Amira stumbled inside, her face pale, her breath ragged.
"Asuma!" she gasped, rushing to him.
He stood up instantly. "What happened?"
She didn't respond at first. Her eyes darted around the room, haunted, wild with shock. She finally collapsed into a chair across from him, gripping the edges of the table as if she needed it to keep from falling apart.
"This city... something is wrong with it," she whispered, her voice shaking.
"Hey, hey—calm down." He reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Talk to me. What happened?"
She inhaled deeply, steeling herself, and then the words came tumbling out. She told him everything—about the masked men in the hospital, about following them, about Julie's sudden and brutal death.
"She was pinned to the wall... like some kind of warning," Amira said, her voice tight. "I pulled the sword out of her myself. And whoever killed her—they were gone like smoke."
Asuma's fists clenched. He'd already suspected the church was hiding something, but this—this was an execution. Not a coincidence. Not a political dispute. A murder, carried out in the shadows.
His thoughts immediately flashed to Santanios—the head priest who had shown signs of guilt, yet cloaked it in stubborn piety and cryptic prayers.
"Could the church really be the one behind this?" Asuma asked, trying to reason it out loud. "Or... is there something—someone—inside it, pulling the strings?"
"We can't prove anything yet," Amira said, still trembling. "But Julie knew something. She almost told me before... before they silenced her."
Asuma exhaled slowly, his mind racing.
"Let's wait for Leon," he said. "He was looking into the city officials. If they're as involved as we suspect, he might've found something we can piece together with what we have."
They sat in silence, the seconds crawling by with excruciating slowness. The steady ticking of the clocks no longer felt comforting—it felt like a countdown.
One hour passed. Then two. Then three.
The sun outside faded into dusk, then dusk into night. Amira paced back and forth, her boots thudding against the floor. Asuma kept glancing at the door, his stomach churning.
"Where is he?" she finally asked, her voice edged with panic.
Asuma didn't answer.
But deep down, they both knew—
Something had happened to Leon.
As the light inside the antique shop flickered, Amira's gaze wandered to the window—her eyes catching on something that made her pulse stutter.
Two men stood on the other side of the cobbled street, completely still. Masked. Armed. Staring directly at her. Their faces were hidden behind grotesque iron masks, twisted into grim mockeries of human expressions. In their hands, they gripped long, jagged swords that looked as if they were forged in nightmares—cracked, rust-colored, and pulsing with a faint, eerie glow.
"...Isn't that...?" Amira began, but her words were swallowed by the sudden tearing of reality.
A ripple formed in the air—like a mirror cracking—and a swirling dimensional gate opened behind them. The masked figures stepped backward, vanishing into it.
Before Amira and Asuma could react, the portal pulled them forward, wrapping around them like a coil of invisible hands. With a sharp wrench, the world spun, fragmented—
—and broke.
⸻
They landed hard in a place that defied natural law.
Everything around them was warped, shattered, suspended in the air like fragments of a broken world. Pieces of buildings floated in crimson space, twisting slowly in gravity-less silence. Cracks of white light glowed in the sky, cutting across an atmosphere soaked in red—as if they were trapped inside the belly of a dying sun.
The wind here screamed.
The earth crumbled and reformed beneath their feet, trembling with the echoes of something monstrous.
"What is this place...?" Asuma muttered, staring up at the sky that bled like an open wound. It reminded him, too vividly, of the void Camellia had dragged him into—the red haze, the oppressive weight of corrupted magic.
A massive ripple surged through the air.
A hulking man appeared, stepping through a crack in the sky as if the rules of this world bent around him. He was a tower of muscle and menace, covered in ragged, black robes that looked scorched and frayed. Behind him, the same masked figures that had watched them outside now stood like sentinels.
"These two..." the large man rumbled, his voice deep enough to vibrate the ground. He sniffed the air like a predator. "They smell like the sage."
"Sage?" Asuma said, his voice cautious, his eyes narrowing. "Who are you people?"
The large man tilted his head, his mask splitting open slightly to reveal burning eyes. "I could ask the same. Why do you reek of her magic?"
"Her... scent?" Asuma echoed, confused. "What are you talking about?"
Amira leaned in close, keeping her eyes on the masked attackers. "Asuma," she whispered, "those are the same ones I saw at the hospital. The ones who murdered Nurse Julie."
He nodded grimly. "I figured. That mask design... it's too specific to be coincidence."
The brute's eyes locked onto them again, brighter now, seething with frustration. "You whisper secrets instead of answering," he growled. "Where is the sage, boy?"
The air around him thickened with menace. Every breath felt heavier.
Asuma could feel it—the weight of bloodlust and forbidden magic pressing down like a storm ready to break.
"I don't know what you want with her," Asuma said slowly, "but if you're hunting the sage... you've made a mistake coming after us."
A crooked smile spread beneath the brute's mask.
"I see... so you're unwilling," the massive man growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Fine. You'll just end up like your friend."
Amira's eyes narrowed. "Friend?"
The brute tilted his head, his burning eyes gleaming behind the slits of his iron mask. "Yes. Another who refused to answer. Stubborn like you."
Asuma stepped forward, fury flashing in his gaze. "You bastard... What did you do to Leon?!"
The masked giant let out a dry chuckle that echoed through the fractured realm like the toll of a funeral bell. "So his name was Leon. He wouldn't even tell me that much. But I admired his grit—so I'll do him one courtesy. I'll give you my name."
He pounded a massive fist to his chest, sending a ripple through the warped ground. "I am Balak, the Berserker. And these two beside me—" he gestured to the silent, blade-wielding twins flanking him "—are the Twin Blade Berserkers. We are storm and slaughter."
"I've heard of him," Amira said, her voice low but urgent. "Asuma, this guy... he's a known war criminal. During the Siege of Cendras, he leveled an entire village in a fit of rage. No survivors. Not even the animals."
Asuma's breath turned cold. "What's a monster like him doing in Talagra? And why is he after the Sage?"
"I don't know," Amira answered, her eyes fixed on Balak's every movement, "but this is more than a coincidence. He's listed as a 4-Star threat, and the twins—3-Star each. But... his power grows when he's enraged. They say he can spike into 5-Star range if he loses control."
"Just like that Dryad back in Bagon..." Asuma muttered, remembering the barely-won battle, the scent of burning wood, and the screams that haunted his sleep.
"Exactly. He's on that level," Amira confirmed, tightening her grip on her weapon.
Balak cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, a sick grin forming under his helm. "I smell fear. That's good. It means this won't be boring. You children like to play hero, but I wonder... how will your courage taste when your bones snap?"
Asuma steadied his breath, placing one foot forward.
"Tch... another nightmare to survive," he muttered under his breath.