Lucia grabbed Cassian’s arm without warning.
Her fingers closed like a vise, and before Cassian could react, the priestess was already dragging her toward the door with surprising force.
"Come with us."
Cassian tried to wrench free with a sharp jerk, planting her feet on the floor with every ounce of strength she could muster.
"Let go of me right now."
"There are dozens of injured people outside who are going to die if no one helps them."
Lucia didn’t loosen her grip, her usually neutral face showing an unusual determination.
"We need every available pair of hands."
"I’m not a doctor."
Cassian desperately clung to the doorframe, her fingers wrapping around the wood.
"I know nothing about healing. I’ll be completely useless."
Lucia pulled harder. The wood creaked under the strain.
"You can carry bandages. Do something."
"No, wait, I refuse to—"
Cassian’s fingers slipped.
She immediately grabbed a broken beam protruding from the collapsed ceiling.
"I’m not going anywhere!"
Lena appeared behind her and, without the slightest hesitation, mercilessly tickled her ribs.
Cassian twisted involuntarily, a strangled laugh escaping despite herself.
"What—what kind of cheating is this?!"
Her fingers lost their grip.
Lucia took advantage and dragged her out of the apartment while Cassian’s nails left scratch marks across the floor.
"You’re going to pay for this! I hate both of you!"
Her voice faded progressively down the hallway.
---
In the street, Hiro stood behind Dariston. The distance between them was about five meters—close enough to attack in a fraction of a second, far enough to have time to react to a charge.
His sword glowed with an intense orange light, waves of heat emanating from the blade and making the air around the incandescent metal ripple.
Constantine positioned himself on the opposite side, his black sword crackling with electric arcs.
Blue sparks danced along the dark steel.
Dariston looked back and forth between them, his red eyes shining like embers.
His breath created clouds of steam despite the ambient heat, and the muscles beneath his black fur rippled with every inhale, betraying the tension in his massive body.
He leaped without warning.
His body crossed the space in a flash, the ground exploding where he had pushed off, hurling paving stones in every direction.
Hiro froze—his body became completely still for a fraction of a second, like a spring compressed to its absolute limit.
Then he released everything at once.
The high-pitched whistle of his blade slicing the air pierced eardrums as it traced a perfect horizontal arc.
His body literally slid through Dariston as if the werewolf were nothing more than an illusion.
The sound of metal cutting flesh echoed throughout the street.
Dariston crashed heavily face-first into the ground, the pavement cracking under the impact, blood spraying from his left flank—a deep gash dozens of centimeters long that should have been fatal.
The werewolf stood back up. As if nothing had happened. As if the gaping wound pouring blood didn’t exist. He shook his massive head, turned toward Hiro, and growled.
Constantine appeared out of nowhere, his body blurring, difficult to follow with the naked eye.
He struck Dariston with a devastating charge, and both slid across the pavement in a crash of torn stone. Constantine immediately followed up—four rapid cuts that smoked from the electricity, each tracing a blackened line across Dariston’s skin.
The smell of burned flesh spread through the confined street.
Dariston roared.
He planted his massive paws into the ground, raised his arms above his head, and brought down a crushing blow.
The impact literally shattered the pavement, a massive shockwave exploding in every direction, the ground rising in concentric waves.
Constantine was hurled backward, sliding several meters before planting his sword in the ground to stop himself.
Sparks flew where the blade scraped the stone.
Hiro, farther away, was also lifted, his body spinning through the air before landing in a controlled roll.
He rose instantly, ran to the nearest wall, and scaled it with agility that defied gravity. In three seconds he was on the roof.
Dariston leaped after him.
The werewolf unleashed before Hiro could even stabilize—his fists hammered the air in a barrage impossible to count, twenty strikes per second, invisible shockwaves striking everything around.
The roof cracked under the pressure, tiles exploded, beams shattered.
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Hiro raised his sword to parry. The metal rang like a church bell with every impact, the painful vibrations traveling up his arms, his muscles protesting, his bones creaking under the force.
But he held firm—blocked the first blow, the second, the fifth, the tenth, briefly becoming numb to pain, to fatigue, to restraint.
He counterattacked immediately with a lightning thrust. His blade pierced Dariston’s shoulder, sank deep, went straight through, and emerged on the other side.
Blood sprayed, splattering Hiro’s face—hot, viscous, metallic.
Dariston swayed slightly, barely noticeable, then stabilized as if having a sword run through his shoulder was only a minor inconvenience.
Constantine appeared on the edge of the roof, having climbed from the street. He lunged, his body becoming a blurred streak, charged straight at Dariston, and impaled the werewolf mid-trajectory.
Both bodies continued their momentum and toppled off the roof.
They fell into the void. They landed in the street below, the pavement exploding into a crater, cracks spreading for several meters.
Constantine freed himself, took three steps back, and charged again—his speed increasing with every step.
He impaled Dariston a second time. Stepped back. Charged. A third. A fourth.
Dariston tried to grab Constantine on the fifth charge, his claws closing, but too slowly—Constantine was already gone. The werewolf growled in frustration and finally caught Constantine on the sixth charge, his massive fingers closing around the human’s waist.
He lifted him and spun him violently before slamming him into the ground.
Constantine slammed into the pavement with a force that created a new crater.
Spiderweb cracks exploded around the impact.
He spat blood but immediately rolled sideways to avoid the kick that pulverized the stone where he had been a second earlier.
Hiro descended on Dariston brutally, without warning, and sent the werewolf flying vertically with a single punch.
Dariston rose. Hiro jumped after him, caught him in mid-air, and unleashed a flurry of sword strikes.
The first struck with surgical precision, deeply slashing the flank.
The second struck just as precisely, slashing the other flank.
Then Hiro spun in the air, built momentum, and delivered one final, infinitely more violent blow.
The impact created a visible shockwave—an expanding ring of pressure.
Dariston was slammed downward like a cannonball and crashed into the street. A massive crater formed, paving stones exploding within a ten-meter radius, a cloud of dust and debris rising like a mushroom.
Hiro landed beside the crater, his feet barely touching the ground, as if he hadn’t just fallen fifteen meters.
Dariston slowly stood back up. Blood flowed from dozens of wounds, perhaps hundreds. His fur was soaked and stuck to his skin, but his eyes still shone.
---
The guild doors burst open, and adventurers poured out in droves—ten, twenty, thirty—all armed to the teeth, all running toward Dariston.
Constantine, rejoining Hiro, frowned and turned to an adventurer passing beside him.
"Why is everyone rushing this monster?"
The man didn’t even stop, shouting over his shoulder as he kept running.
"The guild just posted an emergency quest! Five thousand gold pieces for killing the werewolf!"
Constantine froze, his eyes widening.
Five thousand?
His head pivoted toward Hiro, who was already looking at him, and a mutual understanding passed between them.
They turned simultaneously toward the guild and began running together at the same speed, bursting through the doors like hurricanes.
They literally threw themselves at the quest board.
The scroll was pinned in the center in multiple copies.
Constantine tore one off, Hiro tore another at the exact same instant, and their hands collided.
"Let go!"
"I saw it first!"
"Liar!"
They shoved each other as they ran toward the registration counter.
Constantine arrived a half-second earlier and slammed his scroll on the counter.
"I’m registering this quest immediately!"
Hiro slammed his right beside it.
"Me too!"
The receptionist blinked several times and looked at the two men in confusion.
---
In an adjacent alley, a group of kobolds was patrolling, looking for easy prey—defenseless civilians, children perhaps.
The lead kobold suddenly saw two silhouettes running toward them at full speed, not slowing down, and smiled viciously, baring its fangs.
"These are weak humans fleeing! Block their path!"
The kobolds spread out, formed a line, raised their weapons, and charged at the two humans.
Hiro didn’t even slow down.
His glowing sword traced a perfect horizontal arc, and the first kobold was cut in half at the waist—its upper half flying one way, its lower half the other.
The second kobold was also bisected, cleanly, surgically, as were the third and fourth.
Constantine passed on the other side of the alley, his black blade decapitating the fifth, then the sixth, then the seventh in a single fluid motion.
Their heads flew in arcs and landed in different directions.
Their bodies remained standing for two seconds before collapsing, blood splattering the alley walls and forming grotesque patterns.
Hiro and Constantine continued their run without even looking back, without slowing for a single second, as if killing seven kobolds had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
The two surviving kobolds remained frozen, their weapons trembling in their hands, their eyes wide as they stared at the dismembered bodies of their companions.
One of them pissed itself.
---
Near the central square, a portly man was frantically setting up an emergency stand, unpacking knives, planks, buckets.
"Fresh kobold skins! Only five gold pieces each!"
He shouted with almost manic enthusiasm, gesturing toward a growing pile of kobold corpses that adventurers were dumping.
"Bring your own knife for a discount!"
His eyes shone like those of a madman.
This is the best day of my life—no need for expensive hunters, no shipping costs, no venturing into dangerous forests.
The merchandise is delivered straight to my door, free of charge.
He laughed, a high-pitched and slightly hysterical laugh.
Right next to him, another man was pulling out a giant barbecue—massive, custom-made for special occasions.
He began piling charcoal, pouring oil, lighting the fire that roared instantly.
"Special invasion promo! Marinated spicy kobold skewers—two for the price of one!"
He carved up several dead kobolds and lined their meat on the massive grill.
The smell of grilled meat spread quickly, surprisingly appetizing, and customers began approaching, curious, hungry despite the surrounding chaos.
"Is this really edible?" One man hesitated.
"Absolutely guaranteed! Taste similar to chicken with a firmer texture!"
The vendor expertly flipped the skewers.
"I’ll take four then!"
"Me six!"
"Give me ten!"
---
Farther on, Dariston was climbing a large five-story building, his massive claws sinking deep into the stone, tearing out entire chunks with every movement.
Fragments fell like hail as he pursued about twenty adventurers who were trying to reach him across the rooftops, to ambush him.
But he was faster, more agile despite his size.
He grabbed the first adventurer and shredded him into three pieces with one claw swipe.
The second was decapitated, the third impaled, the fourth, the fifth.
Blood now flowed down the fa?ade, forming red rivers.
Hiro and Constantine arrived at the base of the building, stopped, glanced at each other briefly, and nodded—a tacit understanding.
They began running along the base, each on opposite sides of the building, Hiro on the left, Constantine on the right, their swords methodically slicing all along the foundation.
Stone chips flew, entire sections of wall fell, the structure beginning to groan.
Inside the building, life continued strangely. People calmly filled out forms, stamped documents, filed folders.
"Kobold invasion, you say?"
An elderly man stamped methodically.
"Fill out form 27-B for level-three invasion declaration."
"But sir, the building is shaking dangerously!"
A young man pointed at the cracking ceiling.
"It’s perfectly normal during urban invasions. Continue filling out the paperwork according to protocol."
The man didn’t even look up. The ceiling cracked further, dust fell.
"Sir, I really think we should evacuate immediately—"
"Not before completing form 34-C for structural damage to municipal buildings."
A beam snapped and fell heavily, smashing a desk and completely crushing it.
Papers flew everywhere.
The elderly man observed for a brief moment, then resumed his work.
"Please also fill out form 12-G for falling debris during working hours."
---
The building groaned—a deep, terrifying sound, like a dying creature.
The completely severed foundations could no longer support the massive weight, and the entire structure tilted, slowly at first, then faster and faster.
Dariston on the roof realized too late.
The building collapsed with a deafening noise, like thunder amplified a thousand times.
A massive dust cloud exploded and rose like a nuclear mushroom, covering the entire street.
Debris flew in every direction—head-sized stones, massive beams, tiles whistling like blades.
Dariston fell with the rubble, tumbling over and over, and finally crashed in a cloud of broken stone and wood.
Tons of material buried him.
Silence fell, heavy and oppressive.
Hiro burst from the dust cloud, impossible to see, impossible to predict, striking at a speed that defied human perception.
His blows rained down on Dariston while he was still on the ground. Constantine immediately followed each of Hiro’s strikes, as if they had practiced this combination for years, as if they could read each other’s minds.
Their swords created a rhythm, a deadly beat.
Dariston blocked several blows with his massive forearms, the metal ringing against his reinforced bones, but strikes got through, deeply slashing his flesh, his blood forming pools.
He finally counterattacked, roared, and unleashed a massive fist shockwave that created a crater and lifted a cloud of debris.
Hiro was hurled backward, sliding across the ground.
Constantine was also pushed back.
Dariston painfully stood back up. Every movement seemed to cost him. Blood flowed from dozens of wounds, perhaps hundreds.
Hiro straightened and complimented Constantine.
"You fight really well."
His voice was sincere, almost friendly.
Constantine looked surprised and raised an eyebrow.
"Thanks?"
He wasn’t used to compliments from Hiro, nor to compliments in general during a deadly fight.
He charged, his body becoming electric, and struck Dariston with a series of devastating blows.
The werewolf was pushed backward, sliding across the rubble, his claws tearing furrows in the stone.
Constantine turned toward Hiro and opened his mouth to return the compliment—it was the polite thing to do.
Hiro suddenly slammed him against a still-standing section of wall, his hand gripping Constantine’s collar and lifting him slightly.
"Explain yourself now."
His voice was low, dangerous.
"About what you were really doing in OUR bathroom."
His eyes were completely empty.
"Why were you alone with Cassian exactly?"
He tightened his grip, the fabric stretching.
"Why are you ALWAYS with her precisely when I’m not there?"
Constantine shoved Hiro backward.
"I’m really starting to get SERIOUSLY tired of you and your stupid accusations."
Constantine advanced, each step creating sparks.
His eyes shone with an intense electric glow, and the air around him grew charged, dense, oppressive.
Sparks crackled.
"What EXACTLY are you accusing me of?" His voice rose and echoed.
"I think you’re circling Cassian like a vulture."
Hiro interrupted coldly.
"That you’re taking advantage of every moment I’m not watching."
"You’re completely DELUSIONAL."
Constantine laughed.
The electricity around Constantine intensified and formed an almost visible aura—blue, crackling, dangerous.
Hiro’s sword glowed brighter—orange, incandescent, lethal.
The ground between them began to smoke.
---
In the rubble of the collapsed building, Dariston sat motionless, head lowered, staring at the ground without really seeing it.
Cassian’s words echoed in his mind over and over and over, like a scratched record, like torture.
You’ve spent your whole life chasing a lie.
The words sank deeper, seeped into every corner of his being, gnawed, destroyed.
He slowly raised his massive hands and watched them tremble—these hands that had killed hundreds of people, maybe thousands, devoured so much flesh, sown so much terror.
His fingers slowly closed… as if trying to grasp something.
Something that was no longer there.
His breathing grew heavy.
Disordered.
His entire life…
All his certainties…
Everything he believed he was…
Everything was collapsing.
Like the building around him.
His voice finally emerged.
Broken.
Almost a whisper.
“What… am I…?”
