A swift metal blade came down, and Nicholas tried to dodge, but the demon's silver blade still grazed his forearm. The fresh cut, exposed to the cool night air, burned like fire. He stifled his cry by gritting his teeth, rolling away, and scrambling to his feet. By the time he looked up, the demon was already gone.
Nicholas scanned his surroundings. Large holes in the walls connected every apartment, turning the entire floor into one massive battleground. The demon could attack from any angle.
'So why hasn't he?'
The only logical explanation was the pitch-black darkness. The demon likely couldn't see—but if that were the case, how had he pinpointed Nicholas so easily?
It was then that Nicholas realized he had been holding his breath. As soon as he exhaled, his instincts screamed at him to move. He twisted his body just in time, raising his dagger to deflect another attack. Metal clashed, and sparks flickered in the dark. The demon clicked his tongue in irritation before vanishing into the shadows once more.
'That guy… He's listening to my breathing to track me?!'
The realization sent a jolt of unease through Nicholas. It was ridiculous, but it made too much sense. The demon didn't need to see—he only needed to hear.
Nicholas clenched his jaw. That meant he had to control his breathing, taking in a breath only when he was ready to react.
But even then, the thought that a single exhale could mean the end of his life made his muscles coil with tension.
Yet, despite the overwhelming danger, a small flicker of confidence sparked in his chest. The demon was blind in the darkness, while Nicholas could still see. That meant—however slight—he had an advantage.
'Don't get cocky. Cockiness is what got you into this mess in the first place.'
He crouched low, dagger held firm, listening. If the demon relied on sound, then Nicholas had to make him doubt it.
Slowly, he shifted his stance, careful not to disturb the debris around him. He tightened his core, suppressing any unnecessary movement. The demon would be expecting the same rhythm of silence, a held breath, and a sudden exhale—Nicholas would break that pattern.
Then, at the right moment, he moved.
A faint rustle—intentional. A step—deliberate. A feint to the left, a shift to the right.
The demon struck.
But this time, Nicholas was ready.
He ducked low and twisted, feeling the blade whistle past his ear. Before the demon could retreat, Nicholas surged forward, driving his dagger toward the exposed ribs beneath the demon's raised arm.
A sharp gasp.
Blood splattered onto the floor.
Nicholas didn't stop to celebrate. He rolled away before the demon could counter, keeping his breathing even, his mind sharp.
The advantage was now.
The demon bled.
And he had no idea where Unknown was.
Just as Nicholas thought he had finally turned the tide, the demon suddenly whipped out both pistols and started firing in a wide circle. Muzzle flashes illuminated the darkness in bursts, the deafening gunfire ringing through the empty floor.
Nicholas, still low to the ground, barely avoided the hail of bullets. But as he shifted to rise, pain exploded in his right shoulder—a bullet grazed him, leaving behind a searing trail of fire. He gritted his teeth, suppressing a cry.
That was all the demon needed.
In an instant, the bastard closed the distance, seizing Nicholas by the neck with one arm. Before he could react, cold steel pierced his chest.
"GAH—!" Nicholas choked out, the all-too-familiar sensation of bile and blood rising in his throat. His vision blurred for a moment, his body screaming in pain. But, surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as he expected. The blade had missed anything vital.
He acted immediately.
Darkness surged from his body, swallowing the katana's blade in an inky fog. The demon tried to pull it free—nothing. The weapon was stuck, completely absorbed by the darkness Nicholas had wrapped around it. And for good measure, he activated the 'healing' fog around his wound to at least prevent it from worsening.
Snarling, Nicholas lifted his leg, aiming for the demon's left knee. But the demon was faster. A brutal fist slammed into his gut, forcing the air from his lungs. Before he could recover, a rough hand grabbed the side of his head and yanked him into a nearby wall.
His skull cracked against the concrete, white-hot pain shooting through his senses. His vision spun, nausea clawing at his stomach. The demon didn't let go, he slammed Nicholas's head into the wall again, this time harder.
Stars exploded behind Nicholas's eyelids.
His grip loosened on the dagger.
'No!'
He forced his body to move, twisting just enough to shift the darkness still clinging to the katana. Instead of merely trapping the blade, he extended the darkness, coiling it up the demon's arm like a living thing.
The bastard finally hesitated.
Nicholas used that hesitation.
With the last of his strength, he surged forward and sank his dagger deep into the demon's side.
This time, the bastard roared in pain.
Nicholas twisted the blade, shoving the demon back with every ounce of strength he had left. His enemy staggered, panting heavily, hands slick with his own blood.
And then, the floor beneath them creaked.
Nicholas barely had time to process what was happening before the weakened structure gave out entirely.
With a sickening crack, the ground collapsed, sending both of them plummeting into the darkness below.
***
Philip's fingers fidgeted as he spoke on the phone with Rose.
"Still nothing?" His voice was tired.
"Still nothing... You don't think he's been kidnapped or something?" Rose's worry seeped through the call, unsettling Philip. She would never admit it outright, but he knew she cared about Nicholas just as much as he did.
Philip sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'd tell you not to worry… but that'd be hypocritical of me. This… isn't like him..."
"You… don't think he's dead, do you?"
His grip on the phone tightened. Panic surged in his chest, but he forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. "No way. That bastard's dodged death more times than I can count. He's practically made a sport out of it." Philip tried to sound reassuring, but deep down, it felt more like he was trying to convince himself. "I just… hope he didn't end up in the wrong crowd or something. Not to mention his dad keeps calling, and I'm running out of excuses."
Silence stretched between them, making Philip glance at his phone to check if the call had dropped.
"I can't really imagine Nicholas getting involved with the wrong crowd," Rose finally said.
Philip snorted.
"What's so funny? Why don't you share with the class?" Rose's voice suddenly mimicked their teacher's, sending an involuntary shiver down Philip's spine.
"Ah, well… it's just, there's still a lot we don't know about him right?"
Another pause. "Aren't You his best friend? Shouldn't you have, y'know… a little bit more faith in him?"
Philip's sweat dropped down his forehead. "Yeah. I should and I do. It's just…"
"He's a good person, you know this."
"...Yeah I know. Just wish he'd talk to us more."
Rose was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, me too. Message me if anything new pops up."
"Of course."
The call ended, leaving Philip alone with his thoughts. He let out a slow breath, lying back on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"He's not dead, right? He said everything would be fine..."
***
Nicholas groaned as he lifted a chunk of rubble off himself. His entire body ached, bruised, and battered from the fall.
"How the hell am I even alive?" he muttered, running a shaky hand over his body.
The katana was still lodged in his chest. Surprisingly, it hadn't broken. The sight of it was almost comical—like some gruesome party trick. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to push himself upright.
A voice cut through the darkness.
"How am I alive right now?"
Nicholas froze. He recognized that voice.
"I gotta say, that was kind of intense," the demon continued. "Don't think I've ever made the floor collapse before."
Nicholas tried to pinpoint his location, but the bastard wasn't moving. Must be pinned under some rubble.
"Oh, so we're on casual talking terms again?" he sneered.
"I've been talking this whole time. You're the one who went quiet."
Nicholas paused. Yeah… that was true.
"Still don't see a reason why I'd talk to someone who just tried to kill me."
"Didn't you talk to that, uh… what was his name? Markus! That Markus guy?"
Nicholas clenched his jaw. He refused to respond. Instead, he focused on his next task—removing the katana.
Bracing himself, he gripped the hilt and pulled. Fire exploded through his chest, every nerve screaming in protest. He bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood. The healing mist helped, but not enough. He was surprised, again, by how much pain he could endure.
"Oh hey, thanks."
Before Nicholas could react, a brutal kick slammed into his chin. His balance gave out, and he was sent sprawling across the ground.
"Been waiting for you to pull it out," the demon added casually.
Nicholas's vision blurred from the impact, but he forced himself to focus. Through the haze, he saw Gin the demon standing there, katana in hand.
With an easy flick of the wrist, Gin slashed the air, sending a spray of Nicholas's blood flying off the blade. The weapon gleamed, spotless once more.
"Now then," Gin said, rolling his shoulders, "round two?"
Nicholas exhaled sharply. He was tired. Injured. But he wasn't done yet.
"Yeah," he rasped, pushing himself up. "Sure, whatever…"
The smallest sliver of moonlight bled into the ruined building, casting jagged shadows across the debris. It wasn't much, but it was enough—enough to dispel the oppressive darkness Nicholas had been using to his advantage.
He flinched.
No more hiding.
Gin stood a few feet away, still as a statue. Watching. Waiting.
Nicholas scowled. At least the bastard wasn't attacking right away, which gave him time to think. His dagger, once useful in the shadows, wouldn't do much now. He needed something better.
Closing his eyes, he focused on a new shape—longer, heavier, something with reach. A sword.
Dark wisps curled out of his palm, slithering over the dagger's edge like living ink. The small blade warped and twisted, the darkness consuming it whole before solidifying into something new—a sleek, simple sword with a crossguard.
Nicholas adjusted his grip, testing the weight. At the same time, he willed more of his darkness to wrap around his left forearm, forming a plated shield.
Gin let out a low whistle. "Guess you're a grower, not a shower, huh?" he teased.
Nicholas met his gaze with an unamused, deadpan stare. He sighed. "Have at thee?"
At this point, he was too exhausted to come up with anything remotely clever. He just wanted to be done with this—one way or another.
But then, a thought surfaced.
Survive.
The word hit him like a punch to the gut. It was something he had told Slash Draw what felt like a lifetime ago.
I have to survive.
And yet, survival felt almost impossible right now.
The thought barely finished before Gin moved.
One second, he was standing still. The next, he was right in front of Nicholas, murder in his eyes.
Nicholas barely managed to parry the incoming slash, sparks flying as steel met steel. He pushed forward with his shield, trying to shove Gin back, but the demon barely budged. Instead, he shifted, gun already in hand.
Aimed low.
Nicholas froze for half a second. His feet? Was Gin really aiming there, or was he just baiting him?
No time to hesitate.
Nicholas rolled to the side just as the gun fired, the bullet barely missing his leg.
So he really had been aiming for his legs after all.
"You actually dodged that? Damn," Gin mused. "Most people hesitate."
"Yeah, well," Nicholas panted, steadying himself, "Clearly, I'm not most people."
Gin smirked. "That remains to be seen."
And then he lunged again.
Nicholas met him head-on, parrying the katana with his sword. Again. And again.
It continued like that for a while—exchanges of steel and shadow, neither gaining a clear advantage. Nicholas, however, wasn't just fighting. He was watching. Studying every movement, every strike, trying to find something—anything—that could give him an edge.
'C'mon! Anything! Anything whatsoever!' he thought angrily.
But nothing stood out.
His exhaustion clawed at him like a vice. His body felt heavy. Today had been nothing short of hellish—one fight after another, each one chipping away at what little stamina he had left.
And now?
He was slipping.
First, it was small cuts—thin, almost ignorable. Then they got deeper. Soon, his body was marred with fresh wounds, each one screaming at him with pain. Yet none of them were fatal, as if his opponent was a sadistic mastermind. The demon fought with the intent to harm his opponent as much as possible.
Nicholas long realized the demon was just toying with him, the thought infuriated him. His breathing grew ragged, his vision blurred at the edges, and his limbs felt like lead.
No. Keep going.
Nicholas gritted his teeth.
If he was going to go down, it wasn't going to be like some helpless, flailing idiot.
So he stopped focusing on defense.
Instead, he attacked.
Gin's eyes flickered with amusement, but only for a moment. As Nicholas pressed forward, something changed.
He blocked a strike, only for Nicholas to bash his shield into Gin's pistol, sending the shot wild. Another strike came in—then another, each one pushing Gin back inch by inch.
And then—
"How…" Gin grunted, blocking another sword strike. He pulled his gun up for another shot, but Nicholas shoved his shield in front of the barrel again, forcing the bullet off course. "How are you doing that?!"
Nicholas hesitated. "Doing what?"
Gin grimaced, stepping back slightly. "My fighting style…" His grip tightened on his sword. "How are you copying it?"
Nicholas blinked.
Was he?
He barely had time to think before Gin snarled and launched forward in a whirlwind of steel. His attacks were sharper now, faster, more aggressive.
Nicholas struggled to keep up. Every impact rattled his bones, forcing him back, back, back—
And then Gin feinted.
Nicholas's sword met air.
A split second later, a boot slammed into his chest.
The impact sent him flying. His back collided with a crumbling wall, the force sending a shockwave of pain through his already battered body.
The last thing Nicholas saw was Gin standing in the dust, seemingly massaging his shoulders.
"Round three?" Gin said, though this time, there wasn't the same excitement in his tone as before.
Nicholas barely heard him. He was beyond exhaustion—his body felt like it had been torn apart and put back together wrong. And yet, despite it all, he still didn't want to just close his eyes and die.
"I'd rather not…" he muttered.
But what else could he do?
Gin's katana scraped against the ground as he took slow, deliberate steps toward Nicholas. The unpleasant screeching sound made it even harder to think—maybe that was the point.
I have to get away.
That was the only thought left in his mind. But how?
Then, something clicked.
The Swart Rook. Lucian's fog.
His pulse quickened, a final burst of adrenaline forcing his battered body to move.
Focus. A faucet, like water.
With a sharp exhale, Nicholas unleashed every last ounce of darkness in his soul. A dense, pitch-black fog erupted from his body, swallowing the entire area in an overwhelming void.
Nothing.
He couldn't see. Couldn't hear. Couldn't smell, feel, or taste.
It was as if his very existence had been stripped away.
Nicholas moved—or at least, he thought he did. He couldn't tell. There was no ground, no up or down, no way to know if he was even real anymore.
Then he tried to breathe.
His chest convulsed as he gasped, but no air entered his lungs. He wasn't even sure if his body was actually gasping or if it was just his mind screaming in panic.
His instincts begged him to retract the fog—to stop this nightmare. But if he did…
The demon would kill him.
Still, this sensation... it terrified him.
It was too familiar.
It reminded him of that place.
The void in his dream. The thing that had tried to tear him apart, that had wormed its way into his soul. This felt too close. Too much like that endless, hungry darkness.
Time stretched into eternity. Then—
His hand hit something solid. A wall. A doorway. His sense of touch was back, meaning his hands were outside the fog.
Nicholas stumbled forward, collapsing onto the rough pavement. He sucked in air like a drowning man breaching the surface—only to realize Gin was right there, doing the exact same thing.
The demon coughed violently, spitting out curses between ragged breaths.
"You… kaagh! You crazy fucker!" Gin wheezed. "Gah—! Were you planning a double suicide?! Sorry-not-sorry, but I'm not interested!"
Nicholas grimaced. Even after all that… he's still here.
"At this point, just kill me," he sighed, too exhausted to care. He'd fought well enough. That should've counted for something, right?
He let himself fall back onto the cold ground, staring up at the vast, dark, empty sky.
Gin exhaled, shaking his head as he staggered to his feet. His katana was already in his hand.
"That was the plan all along, you crazy fuck," he muttered, raising the blade over Nicholas's chest. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "Though for what it's worth, it was kinda fun. Usually, my fights end in a minute. Even with Awakened. So… good job. I guess."
Nicholas wanted to scoff, but he didn't even have the strength for that.
And then—
A dart embedded itself in Gin's neck.
Nicholas barely had time to register what had happened before the demon's eyes widened in shock.
"Son of a—"
Gin's body collapsed onto Nicholas with a heavy thud.
Nicholas gasped, struggling for air beneath the dead weight of his opponent. He didn't even have the energy to shove him off. His vision blurred. He could just barely make out shadowy figures approaching them.
Shit.
His thoughts flickered to Gin's unfinished curse.
Before unconsciousness took him, he couldn't help but finish it for him.
"…bitch."