Merlin sighed suspiciously and slumped against the stone wall, crossing his arms.
"Killing a demigod is clearly within our capabilities."
The sarcasm in his voice was so thick you could almost cut it.
Nero looked at him and, for the first time since everything had started to go wrong, smiled with obvious relief.
"We don't have to kill a demigod," he corrected. "Just his puppet."
Lux didn't share the mood. He paced back and forth across the room, restless, brushing against the walls as if expecting something to jump out at any moment. Every few steps he glanced nervously at the stone door.
"Keep your voice down," he murmured. "We don't know what can hear us in here."
The atmosphere instantly became tense.
Kori broke the silence by leaning toward the center of the group. Her eyes shone, not with fear, but with genuine curiosity.
"If Reveli is a puppet," she said slowly, "then there must be strings. Something controlling it. A core, a logic, a rule it can't break without collapsing."
Merlin raised an eyebrow.
"I like the way you think."
Sunday nodded, crossing his arms with a serious expression.
"But finding the string isn't enough," he added realistically. "If Reveli is a system, it will react. Fields activating, routes sealed, collective punishments. If we attack without a clear way out, we all die."
Lux finally stopped.
"And time," he added, his voice lower. "If we fail even once, there won't be a second chance. Reveli learns."
All eyes turned back to Nero.
He took a deep breath.
He didn't say the name that burned in his mind. He didn't even try. The invisible pressure in his chest and throat warned him again that crossing that line would have immediate consequences.
So he did the only thing he could do.
Lead.
"First," he said, gesturing to the ground as if drawing an invisible map, "we identify the active harvesting zones and avoid them. No heroes. No unnecessary detours."
Merlin clicked his tongue, already sporting that dangerous smile that appeared when he started to have fun.
"Second," he continued, taking the lead, "if Reveli follows a pattern, we can force a mistake. Provoke him. Throw him off his stride. Make him act on reflex instead of calculation."
Kori raised her hand slightly.
"I can distract him," she said. "If he really grows stronger with suffering… maybe we can use that as bait. Something controlled."
Sunday shook his head, though not harshly.
"Just a few seconds," he warned. "Just enough for Nero to act. Nothing more."
Lux let out a nervous laugh.
"I hate to admit it, but… it makes sense."
Nero observed them one by one. He saw fear, exhaustion, deep doubt. But also something stronger: determination.
"It won't be easy," he said honestly. "And not all of us will get out unscathed. But trust me. I'll get you out of here."
Sunday opened his mouth, closed it, and then spoke.
"There's another option," he said. "Continue working for Reveli."
Lux frowned.
"Are you crazy?"
"Listen," Sunday continued. "Just for now. To gather information. Routes, schedules, reactions. We feign obedience while we learn how the system works from the inside."
Kori nodded immediately.
"And also retrieve our artifacts," she added. "Without them, any plan is suicidal."
Merlin exhaled slowly.
"Lying to a system designed to detect flaws…" he murmured. "Now that's ironic."
Nero nodded once.
"Then that's what we'll do," he decided. "We'll play at being obedient... until we stop being so."
The group exchanged glances.
It wasn't a good plan.
But it was the only one.
...
Nevue Restaurant, eight days earlier.
Rose slowly opened her eyes.
There was no light.
Only darkness.
Her brother's revolver rested awkwardly in her stiff hands. The metal was cold. Too cold.
What happened?… she thought, trying to move.
She couldn't.
Her body wouldn't respond.
Realization hit her like a sharp blow.
She was trapped.
The darkness was enclosed, oppressive. She couldn't see walls, but she felt them too close. Above. Below. To the sides.
A shelf.
Her heart began to pound against her chest.
Too fast.
Her breathing became erratic. The air didn't flow properly. Each inhalation was incomplete.
I can't breathe…
Panic gripped her when it all hit her.
Claustrophobia.
She had to get out.
She pushed with her arms, with her shoulders, trying to sit up. The space seemed to shrink with every movement.
Then she heard it.
A scream.
Sharp. Heart-wrenching.
It lasted only an instant, but it was enough.
Rose immediately threw herself back, her body refusing to move. She hugged herself, trembling, as silent tears streamed down her face.
No… no…
She pressed the revolver to her chest as if it were the only real thing left in the world.
She was alone.
She didn't know where her brother was.
And something, somewhere beyond the darkness, was dying.
Rose squeezed her eyes shut.
Hours passed.
Or maybe minutes.
Time had lost all meaning.
Rose didn't know exactly when her body began to obey her again. She only felt that, little by little, the air stopped hurting as it entered her lungs. Her fingers stopped trembling. The throbbing in her ears slowed.
With an awkward movement, she pushed out.
The cabinet door gave way with a soft creak.
Rose fell to her knees on the cold floor.
It took her a few seconds to react. Her hands touched the sticky tiles. Something wet. Thick.
She looked up.
The kitchen of the Nevue restaurant was drenched in blood.
Not splashes.
Puddles.
Dragged stains. Handprints on the walls. Overturned tables. Broken chairs. The metallic smell was so strong it burned her nose… and yet, something else happened.
She felt her mouth water.
Rose frowned immediately.
No, no, no, no.
She swallowed hard, embarrassed, confused. The metallic taste seemed to cling to her tongue just from breathing that thick air. Each breath left a strange sensation on her palate, like hunger.
Her stomach churned.
Her red and black dress was wrinkled, dirty, and stained in several places. She didn't know if the blood was hers. She didn't remember hurting herself.
Everything was dark.
The lights weren't working.
Yet… she could see.
Not well. Not completely. But enough.
Her eyes adjusted to the dimness with unsettling ease. Shadows had outlines. Surfaces reflected shapes. It wasn't normal vision, but it was something.
That frightened her more than the blood.
She stood up carefully, the revolver still in her hand. The gun felt heavy, but familiar. Real.
"Brother…?" she whispered.
Her voice was lost in the empty kitchen.
She moved forward slowly. Each step made a faint, damp sound. She avoided looking at the floor too much, but still… every time her shoes touched a puddle, the feeling returned.
Saliva pooling.
An absurd, almost instinctive impulse made her press her lips together in anger.
What's happening to me…?
She walked past the main prep table. There were deep marks, as if something had been dragged forcefully. A trail led toward the pantry… but disappeared before reaching it.
Rose placed her free hand on the table for balance.
The blood was warm.
The contact was enough.
Her mouth filled with saliva again, this time more intensely. A shiver ran down her spine. She jerked her hand away, wiping it clumsily against her dress, with a mixture of disgust and fear.
Don't think. Move.
She approached the knife area.
The rack was almost empty.
Only one remained.
A large kitchen knife, the blade stained, the edge intact.
Rose took it in her left hand, her dominant hand. The weight gave her a strange sense of security… and another pang of that incomprehensible impulse.
She clenched her teeth.
No.
The revolver remained in her right hand, her finger off the trigger, as her brother had taught her.
She took a deep breath.
Darkness.
Blood.
Silence.
Too much silence.
She moved toward the kitchen door, knife lowered and gun slightly raised. Every muscle in her body was tense, ready to run… or attack.
"I'm here," she murmured, not knowing for whom.
No one answered.
But Rose was certain of one thing.
She wasn't alone.
Rose crossed the threshold that separated the kitchen from the main room.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
The space, which had once been warm and tidy, now seemed like something else entirely. The floor was covered in dark stains that dimly reflected the scant light that filtered in from outside.
Her footsteps echoed uncomfortably, as if the place didn't want to be explored again.
The air was heavy.
Strong.
Rose felt a knot in her stomach before she even understood why.
There were people on the floor.
They weren't moving.
She didn't need to get closer to know. The way they lay, the absolute stillness, spoke volumes. She looked away almost immediately, a sudden wave of nausea rising in her throat.
Beyond, she recognized the silhouettes of some dead women. Their dresses were torn, and expressions of pure terror were etched on their beautiful, cold faces.
The tables were overturned.
The chairs were scattered haphazardly.
Broken plates and discarded food littered the floor, mingling with the dark stains, as if normalcy had been abruptly interrupted, without warning, in the middle of a daily routine.
The restaurant seemed frozen in the exact moment everything went wrong.
Rose took a step back, breathing heavily. Her hand trembled slightly around the revolver. The knife in her other hand felt all too real.
This isn't a dream.
She swallowed, trying to ignore the nausea churning in her stomach. Her senses were on high alert. Every shadow seemed to be watching her. Every sound, no matter how small, set her nerves on edge.
She advanced cautiously, dodging debris on the floor, forcing herself not to look at any one point for too long. She knew that if she did, she wouldn't be able to go on.
"...Brother," she murmured again, her voice breaking.
There was no response.
Only silence.
A heavy, dense silence that seemed to press against her chest.
Rose gritted her teeth.
If someone had survived... if her brother was still there... she wasn't going to find him by staying still.
Rose took a step toward the center of the room.
A kick came from a direction she couldn't see.
The force was brutal, so much so that it sent her flying several meters, slamming her into several tables.
She didn't even have time to react.
The man lunged at Rose, pinning her to the ground.
Beside them was a pool of crimson sangee.
"Well, well," the man said with a wicked, lustful look. "Looks like I've found a very beautiful one."
He said, pulling a small knife from his belt.
Rose froze, her red eyes watering and filled with fear. A gnawing fear gripped her entire body, so much so that she turned pale.
The lustful man tore the top of Rose's dress, revealing her red bra.
Rose's expression changed from fear to absolute panic and terror.
"No, no, no!" she screamed. "I don't want to, please let me go!"
She tried to break free from his grip, but it was no use.
A blow shook her head, silencing her. She wept silently, trembling.
Brother, save me... guys, save me...
"What's wrong, girl?" the man said with a lecherous expression. "Is this your first time? Well, your first time will be rape..."
He laughed. He writhed, hitting the blood-stained floor.
Blood splattered across Rose's half-naked body, staining her head.
Rose felt the saliva again. But this time she couldn't control it...
She swallowed the blood.
Her eyes began to glow like stars in the night. Her body grew stronger, more agile, and faster.
She pushed the man off of her.
She gripped the knife in her left hand and stabbed him once. Then again. And then again.
Eighteen stab wounds in total.
Rose stared at her blood-soaked hands.
She hugged herself and began to cry.
It was the first time she had killed someone. It was in self-defense... but the impact was the same.
Pam!