A cool breeze swept across the rooftop, carrying with it the distant hum of New Orleans—jazz melodies drifting from the French Quarter, the low rumble of traffic, the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby café.
Up here, though, the world felt far away. Calm. Peaceful.
Well… except for the fact that Elion felt like he'd just sprinted through a dozen soccer matches with zero breaks and double the tackles.
Jordan was sprawled out like a human pancake, arms splayed, chest rising and falling like he'd just outrun a stampede. "Man," he groaned, "who knew fighting monsters would be so exhausting?"
Leaning against the railing, Ronan didn't even blink. Arms crossed, cloak fluttering slightly in the wind, he looked like he'd just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. Untouched. Unbothered.
Which, to be fair, made sense. He hadn't lifted a finger during the fight.
"Maybe don't waste your mana like it's candy," Ronan said, shooting Jordan a sideways glance.
Jordan sighed dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. My bad. Got a little excited."
He didn't even bother defending himself properly. Not worth it.
Elion, on the other hand, was pacing like a man with a mystery to crack. Hands flexing. Brows furrowed. That look on his face—the deep-thinking, number-crunching, theory-forming look—Jordan knew it too well. It meant Elion's brain was cooking something complicated. And probably dangerous.
"What are you thinking?" Jordan asked, not because he really wanted to know, but because he was mildly concerned Elion might jump off the roof if he walked any more circles.
Elion didn't respond right away.
Which was worse.
Jordan sat up a little, wincing. "Seriously, man. You've got that 'mad scientist about to blow something up' look."
Ronan didn't weigh in. He hadn't moved from the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He wasn't ignoring them—he just had that faraway stare that said his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere darker.
Zodiacs. The Lord. The Corrupted Rings.
For a long time, Ronan had believed he could handle it. Him against the Lord? Seemed doable. Even if the odds were ridiculous. Even if it meant bleeding for it.
But now?
Twelve Zodiacs. Each one an Earthling marked by the Lord—gifted, corrupted, commanding armies of beasts under the signs of the Zodiacs. The balance had shifted. What once felt possible now felt… uncertain.
"I need to see how strong they've become," Ronan thought. "Only then can I understand how far he's risen."
The Lord wasn't just gathering power anymore. He was moving. And Ronan—he needed to move faster.
"Alright, I need to test something," Elion announced suddenly, snapping the silence like a twig.
Jordan lifted his head off the rooftop with a groan. "Now? Dude, I can barely breathe. My soul needs a nap."
"It doesn't involve you," Elion said flatly, already reaching into his ring's dimensional storage.
Jordan squinted. "Rude. Still gonna watch though."
From the ring, Elion pulled out the white crystal Ronan had given them—small, smooth, and softly glowing. It was their stat monitor, a way to track progress without guesswork.
Simple. Efficient. Mildly terrifying.
"What are you planning to do?" Jordan asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
"I'll explain later," Elion muttered, eyes already fixed on the crystal.
Ronan, who'd been off in his own little broody universe, glanced over. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, the kind that said this should be interesting.
Elion muttered to himself, "Let's do this," and activated the crystal.
It responded immediately, casting a faint glow across the rooftop. Numbers flickered briefly on the surface—his base stats, laid bare. Then he closed his eyes, focused, and let the beast ring surge through him.
One piece at a time, the black panther armor appeared on his body—shimmering golden-black plates wrapping around his arms first. After he had done with it, he tested it on his legs, then his torso, and finally his head. Each time he transformed a part, he paused, checked the readings, and noted the changes.
Then he tried something else. This time, he switched to his beast form—no armor, more fur, more muscles—and repeated the process.
Shift. Read. Shift. Read.
He mentally noted every changes in stats and already doing the comparison.
Jordan stared like he was watching someone disassemble a bomb with chopsticks. He was confused.
"What on earth is he doing…" he muttered.
Ronan, though, just kept smiling. "Smart," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
After ten solid minutes of this transformation ping-pong—plus at least six audible sighs from Jordan—Elion finally stopped. He took a deep breath, crystal still glowing faintly in his palm, and let out a breath of quiet triumph.
Jordan sat up, wobbling slightly. "Okay, I give up. What exactly did you just accomplish, genius?"
Elion grinned. "Something useful."
"Which means?" Jordan prompted, gesturing for him to spit it out.
"I figured out how our transformations affect our stats," Elion said. "The armored form boosts us roughly three times over. The normal beast form? Just doubles it."
Jordan blinked. "Uh… okay? Cool, I guess?"
Elion sighed, the way a teacher does when their student forgets what a triangle is. "It means we can strategize. Like, actually plan our fights."
Jordan blinked again.
Elion chuckled but he didn't mind to explain, "Look, when I transform one part of my body into the black panther armor, it burns through about ten mana per minute. With what I've got right now, that gives me around fourteen minutes of solid fighting."
He paused, holding up the white crystal again. "But if I use the regular beast form, the furry form, instead? I can triple that time. Maybe more."
Jordan squinted. "So what you're saying is… we go for the quick kill. Hit hard, end it fast, save mana. Right?"
Elion shook his head. "Not always. What if we're outnumbered? Or stuck in a long fight? You burn through all your mana too early, and you're a sitting duck."
Jordan muttered something about ducks not being that useless, but he nodded. Slowly. "Alright. Fine. You make sense. Annoying, but logical."
Ronan chuckled nearby, pushing off the railing with a smooth motion and stepping closer. There was something different in his gaze now—something like pride.
"I have to say," he remarked, "that's impressive thinking. Especially for someone who's been a Slayer for… what, twenty-four hours?"
Elion tried to look humble, but the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him. "Felt like something I should figure out early."
Ronan nodded. "Smart. This is exactly why Slayers push to open as many Mana Gates as possible. More gates mean more mana. More mana means stronger transformations… and longer survival."
He paused, then added, "Though, with your current reserves and number of gates, a full armor transformation is still out of reach. And as for the beast weapon…" He gave a low whistle. "Don't even dream about it yet."
"Beast weapon?" Jordan's ears perked up. But then his expression shifted, something clicking. "Wait—does opening gates was 'the only way' to get stronger?"
"No. There is a simpler way," Ronan's grin turned sly, like a coach who just realized his students signed up for extra laps. "Training. Lots of it. Painful, exhausting, probably-regret-your-life-choices levels of training. That'll build your stats and expand your mana reserves."
He leaned in just slightly. "And yes—there are other ways too. But most of them are… risky. Let's stick to training for now."
Elion's eyes lit up. He actually looked excited. "Training sounds good. What kind? Is there a way to speed things up?"
Ronan's grin broadened into full villain mode. "Oh, I've got plenty planned for both of you."
Elion immediately regretted asking. He didn't even need to look at Jordan to know they were both thinking the same thing: We're gonna die.
Then Ronan turned to Jordan once again, his tone shifting from teasing to mock-serious. "As for wisdom…"
He locked eyes with him. "You actually have to study. No shortcuts. No beast powers to help with that one."
Jordan's entire face drooped. "Aw, come on! That's unfair!"
But before he could launch into a proper rant, the three of them broke into laughter—real, unfiltered, end-of-the-world kind of laughter. It drifted over the rooftop like music, blending into the rhythm of New Orleans below—the chaos, the lights, the heartbeat of a city that had no idea what was coming.
For that moment, they weren't fugitives. They weren't being hunted.
They were just three guys, laughing under the stars, standing on the edge of something bigger than all of them.
And deep down, Elion knew—this was the calm before the storm. The madness was only just beginning.
But then, as if on cue, Jordan suddenly leaned against the low rooftop railing, looking like he was five seconds away from passing out. His face turned pale, sweat beading on his forehead, and he clutched his stomach as if it had just declared war on him. With a deadpan look, he glanced at Elion and Ronan, his gut letting out a growl loud enough to send pigeons flapping off the building next door.
He sighed dramatically. "Okay. We need a place to crash. And more importantly…" —another growl echoed— "…we seriously need food. Like, now."
Elion rubbed his forehead, trying not to laugh. "Glad to see your priorities are rock solid."
Jordan shrugged, unfazed. "Hey, fighting beasts is cardio. I'm starving. We haven't eaten since… before everything went full beast apocalypse."
Elion glanced at Ronan, silently hoping for a miracle—maybe a hidden stash of food in his dimensional storage ring, or even a set of steamboat supplies.
No such luck.
Ronan was quiet, arms crossed, eyes on the skyline like he was waiting for something to explode. Again.
"Wherever we go, it needs to be off the grid," he said at last, his voice low and steady. "Authorities are after you two. Beast-men are after us. Right now, trusting anyone would be… unwise."
Elion nodded grimly. "Yeah, we're already wanted men. But how did they not notice you?"
Ronan shrugged. "They have nothing to identify me by."
Jordan groaned, slumping forward. "Great. So, what? You're saying we're officially homeless beast slayers now?"
"Not helping," Elion muttered.
Jordan flopped down dramatically onto a nearby vent. "Sorry. My stomach's doing all the thinking right now. And it keeps yelling feed me or I'll riot."
The rooftop went quiet again—tense, thoughtful. Ronan looked calm as ever, but even he seemed more serious than usual. He was built for survival, sure, but even the toughest people could use a proper bed and a hot meal once in a while.
Then Jordan suddenly snapped upright like he'd just had an epiphany.
"Wait. Wait. We do know someone we can trust!"
Elion arched an eyebrow. "Who?"
Jordan grinned. "Raymond."
Elion blinked. "Raymond? As in Red Team Raymond? Nearly-bear-chow Raymond?"
Jordan pointed at him like he'd just won trivia night. "That's the one! Look, the guy owes us big time. I literally saved his life. No way he'd turn us in."
Elion hesitated, then looked over at Ronan—who, of course, was no help. The man just raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, like your call, kid.
Typical.
This wasn't Ronan's world, after all. And Elion definitely couldn't trust Jordan to think things through. The guy once tried to microwave soup in a metal bowl.
"You sure this is a good idea?" Elion asked.
Jordan crossed his arms and nodded. "I heard he was part of the underground fights and works with sketchy people on the regular. He's used to crazy. If anyone would get our situation—it's Raymond."
Elion ran through their options in his head. He had none. And the loud protest from Jordan's stomach didn't help.
"Fine," he said. "You got his number?"
Jordan reached for his pocket, full of confidence. "Duh. Of course, I do. I'm not stupid—"
He froze mid-sentence. Then showed his phone.
Black screen. Completely dead.
Elion sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course."
Jordan winced. "Okay, okay, don't panic. I remember where he lives. He mentioned it once—he's got a gym downtown. He lives there. I swear it's real."
Ronan finally stepped away from the railing, letting out a slow breath. "As long as it's somewhere safe. You two need rest. And more importantly, you need to start training properly."
Elion met his gaze and gave a small nod. After today's fight, he didn't need convincing. Running out of mana mid-battle was a death sentence.
Jordan raised a fist like he'd just scored a goal. "Yes! Food, rest, and maybe a punching bag or two. I'm sold."
Elion cracked a small smile. "Alright. Lead the way. Just… don't lead us into another ambush, please."
Jordan chuckled. "No promises."
Ronan shook his head with the faintest smile. "With you two? Trouble's gonna find you no matter what. Might as well meet it on a full stomach."
They vanished into the city like whispers in the wind. But storms don't care about whispers. And this one? It was already closing in.