The chitter of crickets echoed, barely audible through the downpour, thunder and lightning alike lit up the sky in brief segments. The sound of rain drowning out everything for miles, erasing the footsteps, the screams, the horrors.
In mere minutes, Raval had been reduced to rubble, its citizens crushed under the weight of their houses, the lustrous buildings and architecture—the havens main attraction, leveled to dust and rubble.
They had passed the entrance a while ago, and at first glance, everything had seemed untouched. But they knew better.
In the distance, flames licked the sky, small shadows dancing against the ruins. Ash drifted through the air like falling embers, carried by the dying wind.
"Do you think this is...?" Gran muttered, his voice trailing off. His gaze was fixed on something half-buried in the mud—a severed torso clad in a cut-off white overcoat. The company's uniform.
Massiah didn't stop walking.
"Keep moving," he ordered, his boots sinking into the thick, rain-soaked earth.
The storm had begun to ease, the heavy downpour thinning into a steady drizzle. The night sky cleared, revealing a full moon hanging over the devastation. It illuminated everything. Too much.
Quem swallowed hard, covering her mouth. "This is horrible..." she whispered. Blood pooled in the streets, mixing in with the rain water and dirt, a constant stream of crimson running past their feet.
They moved deeper into the haven, stepping over collapsed beams and shattered glass, past buildings struggling to remain upright. Fires still burned despite the drizzle, flickering weakly, refusing to be extinguished.
Massiah felt the heat, smelled the charred remains, but all he could focus on was the rising irritation gnawing at him. The further they walked, the heavier it felt in his chest.
What the hell did Sabrina mean by a human myutant?
Every report, every bit of research, every fact they knew about myutants contradicted the very concept. No human had ever mutated. Not once.
Had the haven's survivors gotten it wrong? Was it hysteria? Misinformation?
Or worse—
Had something changed?
The very thought of a human becoming a myutant was impossible.
It had never happened before. It couldn't happen.
So how had this come to be? When had it started? Had the pollutant evolved? Had humanity's genetic code deteriorated? There were too many questions, too many variables that didn't align. None of it made sense.
"What's that?" Gran muttered, pointing toward a large fire burning ahead. The flames burned in unnatural hues—light green, purple then flickering between blue and gray.
A man stood near it, his drenched hair plastered against his face, his feet tapping lightly in the bloodied water. It almost looked like he was dancing to an unheard tune.
"A survivor?" Quem asked, quickening her pace. She stopped a few feet away from the blaze, eyes locked on the stranger. "Are you a survivor? Did you see what happened here?"
"Yes, and I saw it all." The man turned with an exaggerated flourish, arms outstretched as if he were performing on stage. His voice was light, theatrical. "The myutant was massive! It tore through the haven, destroyed everything!"
Something felt... off.
His tone didn't match his words.
Gran frowned, studying him carefully. "Did you see where it went? And..." His gaze narrowed. "Did it really look human?"
"It did," the man confirmed, his voice laced with an unnatural joy. "It was huge, towering over everything. It moved so fast. The exterminators didn't stand a chance."
Gran's eyes flickered down to his hands.
The man turned back toward the fire, letting the gray glow illuminate his face.
And that was when they saw them—his eyes, or rather, the absence of them. Shielded behind dark sunglasses, pitch-black even in the firelight.
The man exhaled, "Unfortunately, I didn't see where the myutant went. My best guess? It left the vicinity."
Massiah exchanged a glance with Gran and Quem. Slowly, the three of them lowered their weapons, letting them rest against their backs. If the myutant was gone, then their priority shifted to a search for survivors. That's what Sabrina would've wanted.
He stepped forward, past Quem, his gaze drifting past the fire to the devastation behind it. The deeper layers of the haven were unrecognizable—nothing but rubble and ruin. Oddly enough, the entrance had remained untouched, as if spared by design.
"You're affected." The man uttered, his voice low.
Massiah turned his head slightly, eyes flickering toward the man.
"So, you're with them." The man's gaze turned to Gran and Quem. A flicker of something—contempt, maybe—crossed his face before he smoothed it away.
"They're exterminators," Massiah muttered.
A survivor. It was the first good news of the night. And yet, looking at the destruction around him, it barely felt like good news at all.
"Can I ask you something?" The man's voice dipped lower.
Massiah said nothing. His silence was answer enough.
The man smiled, just barely. "What do you see around you?"
Massiah didn't bother responding. The question was pointless. The man had eyes—he could see for himself.
A quiet chuckle. "Not much of a talker, huh? That's a shame. I really think you could've aided us magnificently. Then again..." The man exhaled, tipping his head back slightly. "You probably still can."
Something shifted.
A change in the air. The kind of thing you didn't notice unless you were paying attention.
Subtle. But not harmless.
"Wait..." Gran muttered, narrowing his eyes. "You said this was your haven earlier, right?"
"Yes," the man muttered, tilting his head ever so slightly.
"Then where's your bracelet?" Gran's voice cut through the chill air, stance prepared, eyes focused. "Raval's famous for its architecture. It's a tourist hub, but its citizens are required to wear a bracelet to distinguish them from visitors."
The subtle tension thickened.
Massiah's gaze went downward. The man's wrists—both bare. Not a single bracelet. And yet, on every corpse they'd passed, the bracelets had remained intact.
"Who are you?" Massiah's voice was low, steady. His hand had already found the hilt of his scythe.
The man exhaled through his nose, scratching the back of his head. "Diamantis Harkkavel," he admitted. Then, with a small chuckle, "Guess I blew it, huh? Should've figured those bracelets meant something."
The rain stopped. Completely.
No more drizzle.
No more damp air.
Just the hum of insects crawling through mud, the whisper of flames licking at collapsed buildings, and the steady pounding of their own hearts against their ribs.
And then—
A scream.
"IN FRONT OF YOU!" Quem's voice rang out, eyes locked on the fire.
Massiah turned.
The flames snuffed out in an instant, vanishing as if swallowed by the night. And from the darkness, something lunged.
A blur of moving flesh and muscle tore toward him, its arm slamming into his chest with bone-crushing force. The impact sent him flying, his body crashing into the rubble, feet away from the others.
Diamantis barely glanced at the carnage, already turning to face the rest of them.
His voice remained casual, almost bored. "You would have made a fine servant for the Crescent," he mused. "But perhaps your sins are too great."
His hand lifted, a lazy flick of the wrist.
"Kill them."
The myutant moved forward, its body unaffected by the inferno it had stood in. Unburned. Unscathed. Unnatural.
Gran tightened his grip on his axes, their darkened helms shining under the moonlight. "It's already regenerated," he muttered.
"Most likely the exterminator we saw earlier," Quem added, her polearm swinging into position. But something still didn't sit right. Her grip tightened. "Did you do this? Did you create this thing?"
Diamantis turned to her, his mouth curling at the edge, an infuriatingly casual shrug rolling off his shoulders.
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. No one can say for sure."
"Your corpse will have to do then," Quem muttered, tightening her grip on her polearm. She swung it in both hands, the crescent glaive slicing through the air in a deadly spin.
Diamantis chuckled. "Go for it."
The myutant lunged.
It moved like a storm, fast and violent, its body twisting mid-air.
In an instant, it collided with Quem, its massive fist slamming into the tip of her polearm. A thunderous clang rang out, metal grinding against something just as dense.
Gran surged forward first, axes in hand, darting past Quem's side before launching one at the creature's face. The blade struck its head—only to ricochet off, spinning wildly through the air.
Slamming his feet into the ground, Gran caught the axe mid-flight, twisting into a brutal follow-through. Both axes came down with crushing force, slamming into the creature's chest.
Yet—nothing.
His arms shook violently, a sharp jolt running up his wrists, tendons burning from the impact.
"The hell?" Gran said, his eyes narrowing as he took in the myutant's towering form. Its skin had hardened—as if crystallized under pressure. "It's regenerated a lot. Its bone structure's dense—damn near diamond."
Quem followed his gaze. Just like with regular myutants, their regeneration had a limit—a point where their bones and hide reached its maximum density, unable to strengthen any further regardless of its next regeneration. It was called their endpoint.
And maybe just like any other myutant.
It had reached its limit.
The myutant stared at them, sensing the change in their demeanor. Then, slowly, deliberately, it raised its fists—mimicking a boxer's stance.
Gran stepped back on instinct. Quem didn't.
She was already moving.
Her glaive spun in a fluid arc, slicing through the air toward the same point Gran had struck earlier.
The weapon hit.
A sharp, metallic clang rang out.
And just as she expected.
The myutant's body shuddered. Its flesh rippled, not with regeneration, but with resistance. The glaive, which should have skidded off, broke its flesh, stabbing an inch deep into its torso.
The myutant reacted instantly, swinging its arm in a wide arc, forcing Quem to retreat. Its torso began to mend, the wound closing, yet showing no sign of it being denser than before.
Quem's breath hitched. Just as she suspected.
It couldn't strengthen itself with regeneration past this point. It had adapted fully.
Gran caught on immediately. "That means it's stuck like this." He exhaled, adjusting his grip on his axes. "Problem is, we still can't cut through."
"Then we don't have to." Quem took a step back, bringing her pole arm to her side. "If we concentrate our attacks—"
The myutant moved.
Not with its usual erratic lunges, but with precision. Its shoulders flexed, muscles coiling with intent.
Then—without warning—it struck.
Gran dodged just in time, throwing his weight to the side. Quem wasn't as lucky. The creature's arm twisted mid-swing, its fingertips brushing against her ribs.
At first, the contact felt negligible. She steadied herself, glaive still raised.
Then—pain.
Her overcoat split at the seam. Something shifted inside her chest. Her breath faltered—shallow, uneven.
"It just—" Quem's voice wavered, falling to her knees. Her fingers trembled against the glaive's shaft. "It barely touched me."
"That was a warning," Gran said. "Its telling us that even if it can't get stronger, we aren't either."
And now, it didn't need to play defense anymore.
It had already won.
The myutant's face twisted into something horrifying—half-smile, half-grimace. Its lips curled, its eyes gleaming with something disturbingly human.
Recognition.
It knew.
It understood its own invulnerability.
And the weakness of the creature's around it.
"Here it comes—" Gran started, but before the words could leave his mouth, the myutant was already there.
Ablur.
A brutal, calculated strike.
Its fist slammed into Gran's chest, the impact sending him hurtling through the air. He crashed into the rubble, a booming crack splitting through the rain-soaked silence. His scream followed a second later.
"Gran!" Quem's grip tightened, but she didn't look away. She couldn't.
The myutant turned to her, its movements deliberate. It reached down, fingers digging into the dirt, and with a violent jerk, it sent debris flying.
Acrueltactic.
Ahumantactic.
The moment Quem flinched, the myutant struck.
Its fist slammed into her chest.
Her heart stopped,
Her vision blurred, her body refused to move. For a split second, she wondered if she'd been killed already—and only now was her brain catching up to the pain.
Her ribs shattered. Her vision flickered, her brain struggling to process the sheer, blinding agony.
And then—the second hit.
She was awake again, only to be thrown back into the ground, her body twisting mid-air before slamming into the mud.
Her scream ripped through the night.
Diamantis whistled low, his hand lifting to shield his eyes like a baseball fan tracking a home run. "Wow," he mused, glancing toward the rubble. A shadow approaching.
"I can already tell you're an incredible specimen." He sighed. "If only you weren't on the rivaling side."
Massiah dragged his scythe along the ruined ground, blood dripping from his overcoat, staining the mud beneath him. His breathing was slow. "What the hell does that mean?"
"I'm sorry I can't provide you with any more information." Diamantis muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "It'll ruin all my plans after all."
"Is that so." Massiah responded, his feet edging against the mud, still advancing.
Diamantis sighed, shaking his head. "Why are exterminators so goddamn persistent? I just watched the last group fight like rabid dogs against something they couldn't beat. Why do you all have a death wish?"
"A bombshell."
Diamantis blinked. "What?"
Massiah barely moved, but his grip on the scythe tightened. Above them, the first drops of rain returned, light at first, then steadily growing. Thunder rumbled, rolling through the heavens like distant artillery.
"You're doing all this for a woman?" Diamantis scoffed, half incredulous, half entertained. "You're risking your life for that?"
The downpour intensified, rain soaking into Massiah's coat, warm against his skin. He lifted his gaze, bloodshot eyes locking onto Diamantis.
"I have a question for you," he rasped. "Are you as invulnerable as your monster?"
Diamantis's brow furrowed. "What—"
In the next instant, Massiah moved.
A single blink, and he was already at Diamantis's throat. His scythe carved through the air in a perfect crescent, the arc meant to take the man's head clean off—
But steel met diamond, and the strike was halted.
The myutant's massive arm had swung between them, intercepting the blow.
Massiah's expression didn't change.
"So you're really its controller."
Diamantis exhaled, regaining his composure.
The momentary loss of control gnawed at him, but with the myutant shielding him, he had the upper hand again. He grinned. "Bingo. Now tell me, what exactly do you plan to do with that oh-so-valuable revelation?"
Massiah said nothing.
A single step forward. A twist of his wrist. A shift in his stance.
Then, the scythe swung.
It cleaved through the myutant's arm like butter, slicing clean through its reinforced hide—diamond-hard skin splitting apart with terrifying ease.
The blade didn't stop.
It carried through, grazing Diamantis' cheek, cutting deep. A thin line of blood trickled down his face.
His grin faltered.
Thanks to Gran and Quem, he had grasped the myutant's weakness—the fact that it had already reached the peak of its regeneration.
Once again, Diamantis wasn't in control.
And this time, there would be no taking it back.
Massiah exhaled slowly, his stance lowering, his fingers curling around the scythe's grip. His voice steady.
"I'll kill you."