"Japan."
Veyle's eyes shot open.
A shudder ran through him. His breath came in short bursts, uneven and sharp.
His hands wouldn't stop shaking. Every nerve screamed at him to panic… but he forced himself to breathe. To calm. To act like he still had control.
A shadow moved in front of him.
Halrun.
Expressionless. Silent.
The axe came down.
Cold steel split flesh and bone in one effortless swing.
Veyle's head hit the ground with a dull thud.
Blood sprayed in a crimson arc.
His body swayed once… then toppled.
Darkness swallowed him before he understood he was dead again.
Veyle's eyes snapped open again.
The sound of his own breath was all he could hear at first—ragged, uneven, desperate. His whole body trembled, sweat rolling down the side of his face.
The memories were still there. Seren's blood on the floor. Her last look. His own body being torn apart. All of it—still fresh, still raw.
Halrun was right in front of him.
Too close.
Veyle's heart seized—then Halrun's lips moved.
"Japan."
The single word froze him for half a second, a shiver running all the way down his spine.
But this time, instinct took over before terror could root him to the ground. He threw both hands forward, shoving Halrun hard in the chest.
The armored bulk staggered back half a step.
It wasn't much—but it was enough.
Veyle's feet scraped against the stone as he leapt back, every nerve screaming at him to move.
"Seren—!" His voice cracked, rough with panic.
He spun, darting toward her, his fingers locking around her wrist. Her wide eyes were still on him, mute but questioning.
There was no time to explain.
He yanked her toward him, almost dragging her as they bolted down the hall.
Boots pounded against the stone, the stale air rushing past them. The shadows ahead stretched long, swallowing the light from behind.
Behind them came the slow, deliberate sound of Halrun's boots following.
No rush.
No hesitation.
Just the steady rhythm of a hunter who knew his prey had nowhere to go.
The pounding of their footsteps echoed in the narrow hall, each one a desperate plea for distance.
Veyle kept his grip tight on Seren's wrist, dragging her forward, his eyes fixed on the end of the corridor.
They were almost there—just a few more seconds—
A soft tearing noise hissed through the air behind them.
Veyle risked a glance over his shoulder—
Halrun was standing in the hallway, one gauntleted hand lifted. His fingers carved a shape into the air itself, trailing a reddish-black substance. It writhed like smoke yet clung like liquid, glowing faintly at the edges.
The pattern curved into something alien—wrong—its lines bending in ways that hurt the eyes if stared at too long. It wasn't blood, but it pulsed like something alive.
The instant the sigil closed, Halrun's body blurred. He launched himself sideways, straight out a shattered window, disappearing into the night.
Veyle's breath caught.
"What—?"
They didn't slow. They couldn't.
They reached the entrance hall, the looming double doors in sight—
And then Halrun was already there.
He stood in the doorway, finishing the same twisting mark in the air, the red-black trail dissolving into the gloom. This one stretched wider, heavier, settling over the threshold like a silent threat.
Veyle realized it too late—
The marks weren't attacks.
They were boundaries.
Halrun stood in the doorway, the perimeter mark still drifting like smoke behind him.
His gaze locked on Veyle, then slid to Seren.
His voice was low, carrying the weight of something personal.
"So you're with them, huh? A filth to the surface of this wo—"
The air snapped.
A deafening hum tore through the hall, vibrating in their bones.
The space around them rippled, folding in on itself like reality had been grabbed and twisted.
Halrun's words died mid-sentence.
Veyle's breath caught.
Seren's eyes went wide.
Somewhere—close, yet impossible to pinpoint—soft sobbing began to echo. It was faint at first, but the sound swelled, curling through the air like a phantom's whisper.
A blinding black light erupted beneath their feet, swallowing everything in an instant. The hall vanished, replaced by a yawning nothing—an endless void stretching in every direction, as if the world had been erased.
There was no floor, no sky—only a weightless abyss.
For the first time since Veyle had seen him, Halrun's expression cracked. He laughed....
The endless blackness of the void pressed around them like a suffocating shroud.
Veyle's heart hammered in his chest as he struggled to stay upright, Seren trembling beside him.
Suddenly, a presence rippled through the nothingness.
A figure materialized—a man, pale blue as frozen ice, with three eyes stacked vertically on his forehead.
His arms weren't flesh but long, thin rods that flexed with cold, mechanical grace.
His lips never moved, yet a voice echoed inside their minds—calm, cold, unyielding.
"You trespass in realms you do not understand."
Veyle shuddered as the telepathic words drilled into his consciousness.
The figure was an extension of Halrun's power—a manifestation of his will within this void.
Halrun himself stood silent, watching, his expression unreadable.
The man's third eye flickered softly as the voice continued.
"There is no escape from what you carry. Your fate is sealed here."
Veyle's panic swelled, but the presence offered no mercy—only cold, inescapable judgment.
Halrun's eyes locked onto Seren with cold, merciless intent.
Without a word, his axe swung in a devastating arc, the blade slicing through Seren's body with terrifying precision.
The clean cut severed her in half, the upper body collapsing limply, eyes wide with shock and pain.
Before Veyle could react, Halrun slammed the heavy head of his axe into the fallen torso, driving it down into the void's featureless floor with a sickening thud that echoed like a death knell.
A cold silence followed—broken only by the faint, haunting sobbing that seemed to pulse through the void itself.
Veyle staggered backward, his breath catching in his throat. His heart hammered like a drum in his chest, panic flooding his veins.
"No… No! Seren!"
A desperate, raw scream tore from his lips, shattering the oppressive stillness.
But before he could move another step, a sudden, sharp tug seized his ear—then the other.
The pale blue figure, still trembling with quiet sobs, had silently reached out, ensnaring Veyle with invisible hooks of some terrible power.
Veyle's body jerked forward uncontrollably, the invisible chains pulling him closer and closer until their foreheads pressed together, an intimate and terrifying connection in the endless blackness.
The sobbing grew louder, surrounding them both, a mournful, chilling sound that seemed to seep into Veyle's very soul.
Locked in that frozen moment, the cold judgment in the man's unblinking third eye bore down on him like a merciless weight—silent, unyielding, and utterly final.
The pale man's three eyes shimmered coldly as the sobbing echoed around them, filling the void with a haunting sorrow.
Without warning, his rod-like arm shot out, gripping Veyle's wrist with a grip like iron.
In one brutal motion, he tore at Veyle's arm, ripping it free at the elbow.
Blood exploded into the void like a dark bloom, and Veyle's scream tore through the emptiness—raw, agonized, desperate.
But the pale man did not flinch.
Instead, with slow, deliberate cruelty, he turned to his own arm and shattered it at the same place, crimson leaking from the unnatural wound.
The sobbing grew louder, the sound twisting into a dreadful chorus of pain and sorrow.
Forcing Veyle to stare down the cruel symmetry, the man's cold voice whispered into his mind:
"Your pain is mine. Your suffering... shared."
Veyle's breath hitched, terror clawing at his throat, as the void swallowed his agony.
The pale man's grip was iron as he yanked Veyle close in the void's suffocating blackness.
A sudden scent, sharp and sickly sweet like crushed lavender soaked in blood, invaded Veyle's senses. Panic died, replaced by a hollow calm that numbed his screaming mind.
Without warning, the pale man's fingers dug deep into his own flesh. With a wet, tearing snap, he ripped his head free from his neck. Bloodless, eyes still open, it rolled in the darkness.
Veyle's scream ripped through the void as the severed head smashed into him, shattering his will and crashing him into unconsciousness.
Both body and head collapsed into the endless black—limbs twitching in gruesome silence.
Halrun's voice cut through the silence, calm but sharp.
"Japan."
Veyle's eyes snapped open. His heart raced, but instead of panic, he forced himself to stay calm.
"What's that?" he asked, trying to sound casual. It was a lie—he knew it—but he kept his voice steady.
Halrun studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Is that so…" he said quietly. His tone lightened, almost like a joke. "I guess it's from a book I'm writing."
Veyle blinked, surprised by how easily Halrun shifted the mood. Sweat trickled down his temple. He swallowed hard.
"Well… you'll have to let me read it sometime."
There was a challenge in his voice, hidden beneath the calm.After a long moment, Halrun finally left, his footsteps fading into the distance. Veyle stayed frozen, heart hammering, mind racing with questions and dread. Every nerve screamed for him to move, but his body felt rooted to the spot.
When he finally managed to stand, his legs shaky, he made his way to the nearest restroom. Inside, he leaned against the cold wall, the chill doing little to calm the storm inside him. Fear clung to his skin like ice—silent, suffocating, relentless.
"I-it was t-that easy,huh?"