"You know, Xaltal..." Aymara began, her voice barely audible over the bustle of the crowded mall. She clutched the old, worn bag tightly, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the doll inside.
A faint rustling came from within, making her eyes gleam with an unsettling brightness. Xaltal noticed it immediately.
He sighed. This wouldn't end quietly.
Pushing through the crowd with practiced ease, Xaltal kept his movements deliberate—forceful, but not aggressive.
"Aymara, do you really think this is necessary right now?" he asked, voice low and edged with restraint.
The crowd grumbled.
"What's the big idea, huh, big guy?" someone shouted. Xaltal ignored them.
"Hey, you!" A blue-haired boy pushed forward, visibly annoyed.
Xaltal raised a calming hand. "You don't want to do that—"
"I don't have to listen to anything you say, old man!" the boy snapped.
"Old man? I'm only twenty-six," Xaltal shot back, irritation rising.
The agitation around them thickened. Someone in the back jeered, "Move on, uncle!" The noise grew into a low roar.
Without warning, Xaltal grabbed the boy by the collar and lifted him with ease. He carried him a few meters away and gently dropped him.
"What the hell, man?" the boy sputtered, scrambling up. "You ruined my uniform!" he whined, though it had already been wrinkled.
Aymara stood motionless at the center of the crowd, eerily calm. Her eyes were distant, unfocused. She ignored the people brushing past her, looking like a statue caught in thought.
Farther away, in the middle of the food court, Altan chewed on a large meat skewer when he first felt the shift.
His senses tingled. The air had changed—heavier now, charged. Something was wrong. Others noticed, too, though most were too absorbed in their day to care.
Altan's ears twitched. His nose wrinkled slightly. His pupils dilated. Hair stood on end—a physical reaction to the aura forming around him.
People nearby took notice, snapping discreet pictures, trying to capture the strange image of heightened senses without attracting attention.
What is that? he thought, narrowing his gaze across the crowded mall. Not high-ranking… but huge.
It was like a cloud had settled—not thick or suffocating, just present, obscuring detail and dulling sound.
Altan's eyes swept the crowd until they locked on Xaltal—just in time to see him drop the blue-haired boy.
"Hmm... Those people from before?" he muttered, noting the cross stitched onto Xaltal's clothes. "Definitely Church. Chapter of St. Joan."
A voice beside him broke his focus.
"Uh, sir, you seem pretty rich..." the food vendor said hesitantly, eyeing Altan's strange appearance with curiosity and unease.
Altan didn't glance his way. "I'm not rich," he answered curtly, still focused on the aura's pinkish hue. Whoever was creating it likely didn't even notice it themselves.
"I mean... your skin," the vendor stammered, trying to figure out where Altan's flesh ended and the gray-tinted armor began. The contrast between pale skin, armor, and stark white hair made it hard to tell.
"Armor," the vendor corrected quickly.
"What about it?" Altan asked absently, taking another bite of his skewer.
"It looks expensive," the vendor muttered, turning to adjust a few skewers on the stove before they burned. A holographic menu hovered beside him.
"That'll be 450 silk," he added quickly.
Altan finally looked at him—briefly. "Put it on the Sages' tab," he said, already preparing to leave.
"S-Sages?" the vendor echoed, stunned. A holographic window blinked into existence:
[The Sage would like to pay for this meal]
[Yes] [No]
Altan didn't wait for confirmation, already walking away. He hadn't even finished his food—it was just a snack.
The vendor, flustered, tapped Yes on the screen. Another message popped up.
40,000 draws will be added to your account.
Draws?
His hands trembled as he checked his balance. Sure enough—40,000 draws. He'd never seen that kind of money.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, he looked up, hoping to thank the strange man. But Altan was already halfway across the food court.
"Th-thank you, sir!" he called out, though his voice was drowned in the crowd.
Back at the center of the commotion, Xaltal had reached his limit.
"ALRIGHT!" he bellowed, drawing his sword with a long, metallic hiss. His mood had shifted drastically, his usual calm replaced by something far more serious. The crowd recoiled slightly, unsure of how to react to the sudden escalation.
He turned to Aymara, who still hadn't moved from her spot, her eyes distant and unfocused. "You don't have to do any of this," Xaltal said, his voice low and filled with frustration.
Aymara barely registered his words, her attention elsewhere. "I don't want to use that blasted tube again, and plus I would love to frequently use my attachment skill," she muttered, finally turning to look at him.
"We're still going to move at high speeds, though?" Xaltal asked, glancing over at Aymara, his voice laced with concern.
"The attribute of the anti-gravity lifts is easy to control—that being gravity," Aymara replied with a smile.
"We shouldn't have come..." Xaltal muttered, his earlier attempt to cheer her up already dissolving into regret. His body tensed as he sensed something heavy approaching. Instinctively, his jaw tightened.
Just then, Altan stepped into view, his slow, deliberate walk sending ripples through the atmosphere. A monochrome aura radiated from him, thick and suffocating, growing heavier with each step he took.
"What is this?" a woman nearby gasped, her legs giving out beneath her as she crumpled to the ground. Her face twisted in pain as if a massive force were pressing down on her. It wasn't just her.
Xaltal and Aymara felt it too, the mounting pressure crushing them from all directions.
This is painful, Aymara thought, her face scrunched in concentration.
She tried to counteract Altan's suffocating aura by manipulating the attribute of anti-gravity floors, hoping to ease the burden on their bodies. But it was a losing battle. The crushing force seemed to infiltrate the very air around them, tightening like a vise around her ribs.
Xaltal clenched his jaw harder, blood pooling in his mouth, unseen beneath his chainmail mask. "I tried to avoid this," he growled, the taste of iron thick on his tongue. His eyes flicked towards the ground, hoping to steady himself under the relentless weight.
Above the mounting tension, Altan's voice cut through, low and menacing, "Even though the son is unseen and dead, the quest still gave birth to wonderful souls... such wonderful cores." A wide grin split his face.
"Let's see how the paladin chapters have improved since the last time I visited." His hand moved deliberately to his tail, which shifted seamlessly into a long, two-pronged spear. His eyes gleamed with predatory delight.
"Now this will be a good chance to just have a stretch," he whispered, almost to himself.
Without warning, he lunged.
Altan's form blurred as he dashed towards Xaltal and Aymara, his spear aimed directly at them. The ground quaked beneath his approach, cracking, his aura now laced with murderous intent. Each step seemed to ripple through the air like the strike of a war drum, filling the mall with impending doom.
To normal people without combat or sight-oriented skills, Altan teleported.
"I don't think you're allowed to kill heirs," Xaltal spat out through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper as Altan bore down on them.
Altan skidded to a halt for just a moment, his eyes narrowing as he considered the words. But a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and with a scoff, he shrugged,
"I really don't care what they say. One day they claim we have no boss, the next we're supposedly under the control of all the heads." His voice was laced with mockery and disdain, and with that, he dashed forward again, spear gleaming with deadly precision.
Xaltal's body tensed as he saw the spear edge closer, the point glinting like death itself. "I'm not ready for a fight," he muttered, panic rising in his chest.
"I am," Altan responded flatly.
His reflexes weren't fast enough to fully dodge, and the spear grazed his chest, its sheer sharpness cutting through his cloth like it was air.
Blood splattered from the wound, even though the spear had barely made contact. How sharp is that thing?
Xaltal tensed, perhaps to unleash an 'Attribute Slash,' but before he could act, Aymara suddenly sent them flying. Activating the attribute she took, a powerful diagonal arc sent both him and Aymara hurtling toward the ceiling.
The mall's vast expanse seemed to blur as they were thrown upward, like beams of light piercing through darkness, drawn to the high ceiling.
Aymara gasped, her breath catching in her throat as she fought against the overwhelming pressure. "Breathe," she told herself, but her lungs burned as though they were being compressed from all sides.
She glanced to the side and saw Altan, impossibly, keeping up with their breakneck speed. The wild gleam in his eyes remained fixed on them, his body moving with unnatural agility as he dashed along the walls, his spear gripped between his teeth. His saber-like fangs jutted out, glinting as he clung to the surfaces, vaulting off one wall to another like a beast possessed.
"That maniac!" Aymara screamed, her voice strained. She felt the familiar rush of fear and adrenaline flooding her veins as Altan closed the gap. Her mind raced, frantically searching for a way to stop him.
Xaltal, still reeling from the blood loss, clenched his fists. How is he so fast? Altan was coming, faster and more brutal with each passing second.
Aymara pushed her attribute—gravity manipulation—to its limits, trying to tilt their trajectory toward one of the mall's large tubes.
Altan's eyes never left his prey; his claws gouged plaster as he scaled the vertical surface, focused solely on Xaltal and Aymara. His lips curled into a grin, his breath coming out in low, excited pants as he tasted their fear in the air.
Xaltal scoffed through his pain. "He has serious mental problems," he growled.
The ceiling loomed closer. With a final desperate push, Aymara adjusted their fall, steering them into the tube just as Altan's clawed hands scraped the air where they had been moments earlier. They shot through the tube with blinding speed, the world narrowing around them.
But Altan wasn't done. He skidded to a halt on the roof of the mall, his gaze narrowing as he watched them disappear. For a moment, the hunt was over. But instead of frustration, his face split into a sigh.
"That was fun," he said, chuckling darkly to himself as he stood up slowly, stretching his arms as if loosening muscles for the next round. His eyes gleamed with anticipation. He stepped forward, walking leisurely to the edge of the mall's roof, the grin never fading.
"I don't want too much trouble... at least, not yet," he mused aloud, peering down at the mall below him. He took a step off the edge, letting gravity pull him down, his body dropping like a stone toward the ground below.
As he fell, his laughter echoed through the air. "Time to meet up with Sara," he called out, his voice fading as he plummeted into the below section of the mall.