They never stood a chance.
The four men rushed at Tink, their weapons slicing through the air with deadly precision.
One aim. One purpose.
To kill him before he could react.
But—
Tink didn't even flinch.
His gaze was sharp, his stance unshaken—
Like a predator watching prey struggling in vain.
And when the first blade came down—
He moved.
"Kill him!"
A desperate battle cry.
The four blades swung down—deadly, precise, synchronized.
A killing formation.
But—
They struck nothing but air.
Tink was still standing.
Unharmed.
Untouched.
Not a scratch.
The four attackers froze, their eyes wide with pure disbelief.
"W-What just… happened?"
One of them staggered back, gripping his sword tightly with trembling hands.
Then—
A horrifying realization dawned upon them.
It had already begun.
Thin gray smoke curled into the air.
Flesh sizzled.
Then—the burning started.
"T-Too hot—!"
The first scream ripped through the silence.
Their skin convulsed, their muscles twisted and curled, as if something inside them was being devoured.
Then—
It was.
Their wounds—mere shallow cuts at first—began to erupt.
The flesh around them bubbled and melted, dripping onto the stone floor like molten wax.
"I—I'm burning! HELP ME!"
One of them clawed at his face, his nails scraping away chunks of his own flesh, but it was too late.
The acid had already spread.
One by one, they collapsed, writhing and screaming in a symphony of pure agony.
And above them—
Tink watched silently, his blade gleaming under the dim light, droplets of hissing acid still falling from its tip.
Unbothered. Unshaken. Unforgiving.
He took out a small cloth, wiped the dagger clean, and slipped it back into its sheath.
Like a butcher finishing his work.
As the last scream faded, only the sizzling sound of dissolving corpses remained.
The bodies—or what was left of them—had been reduced to smoldering black husks, barely recognizable as human.
The overwhelming stench of burned flesh and chemical death filled the air, thick and suffocating.
Even those who had been watching from the shadows took a step back, their faces pale with undeniable fear.
This wasn't just an assassination.
It was a warning.
And that's when he stepped forward.
Loster.
A towering figure with burning red eyes that gleamed like molten embers in the darkness.
He walked through the carnage, his heavy boots crushing the remains of his fallen subordinates without care.
His face?
Amused. Excited.
Like a predator that had finally found prey worthy of his fangs.
"Hah… this speed…"
His deep, guttural voice rumbled through the air.
"I've seen this before."
Then—
He laughed.
A low, gravelly chuckle, crawling up from his throat like a death rattle.
"Kekeke… So it's really you."
He stepped forward, letting the dim light illuminate his face.
His jagged, yellowed teeth gleamed in a twisted grin.
"The Ghost of the Underground."
His lips curled.
"Tink."The silence before the storm.
Tink stood motionless, his gaze locked onto the beast before him.
His expression?
Cold. Calculating. Unfazed.
Like a predator sizing up another.
The stillness in the air tightened—a suffocating, invisible pressure that pressed down on everyone nearby.
And yet—
Loster thrived in that silence.
It fed his excitement.
His lips curled into a twisted grin, eyes gleaming with unrestrained hunger.
"Why aren't you answering?" he sneered, tilting his head.
Then—
A laugh.
Low at first, but rising higher, sharper, madder—
"Hahahaha… doesn't matter. I don't need an answer!"
And with that,
Loster's entire body tensed—
And then—
The World Shattered.
"DIE BY MY HAND!"
A monstrous roar ripped through the air as he lunged forward—
Like a wild beast let loose from its cage.
His massive arm swung down—
A single blow.
Fast. Powerful. Absolute.
A strike that could crush steel and shatter bones.
But—
Tink was gone.
The fist met nothing but empty air.
Then—
"BANG!"
The ground exploded beneath the force of Loster's strike.
The stone floor cracked open like fragile glass, a deep crater splitting through the earth.
The impact sent a shockwave surging through the surroundings—
Walls trembled. Dust stormed.
The air rippled with raw, unrestrained power.
The spectators?
They scattered, instinctively backing away—
Because standing too close to a battle between monsters meant death.
The dust swirled—
And as it began to settle—
Tink was gone.
"I'm here."
A whisper—
Right by Loster's ear.
His eyes widened.
His entire body tensed—
He whirled around.
And there—
Tink stood just a few steps away, arms folded, his expression completely unreadable.
Not a single bead of sweat.
Not a single sign of strain.
Calm. Cold. Unshaken.
"You're Loster… Am I right?"
A simple question.
A question spoken with absolute certainty.
Loster paused—
Then—
A grin.
His sharp, yellowed teeth glinted under the dim light.
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat.
Then—
He burst out laughing.
A laugh so twisted, so full of mad joy, it sent a chill crawling up the spine of everyone watching.
"Heheheh… that's right."
He nodded, his breath coming out in short, excited bursts.
Then—
He licked his lips.
Slow. Deliberate. Monstrous.
And the blood—
Still clinging to his teeth—
Was fresh.
Blood that had yet to dry from his last kill.
A fresh massacre.
A reminder.
A warning.
This wasn't just a man.
This was a demon in human skin.
And he was hungry.
The temperature plummeted—
The air turned frigid, suffocating—
A real battle was about to begin.
Loster's grin widened as he saw Tink still standing there.
Unmoving. Calm. Cold.
As if he didn't care.
As if he wasn't even slightly concerned.
That alone made Loster's blood boil.
His excitement surged.
Every muscle in his massive frame tensed—
Like a wild beast ready to pounce.
"Let's see how long you can dodge, Ghost!"
With a deafening roar,
Loster charged.
His giant arms swung—
Like twin guillotines, cutting through the air.
The sheer force behind his attacks warped the atmosphere—
A howling screech echoed through the battlefield.
Tink tilted his head—
And the attack missed by a hair's breadth.
A powerful gust of wind rushed past his face—
Cold. Piercing. Bone-deep.
If he had been a fraction of a second slower—
His body would have been reduced to pulp.
Whoosh!
Loster didn't stop.
His speed increased.
Each punch was enough to pulverize stone—
To break bone. To shatter lives.
The very walls of the third floor collapsed under the sheer force of his attacks.
BOOM!
A shockwave rippled through the air—
Stone walls shattered.
Entire buildingscaved in.
The ground trembled, as if an earthquake had been unleashed.
The battlefield was no longer just a fight—
It was pure destruction.
Yet—
Tink was untouchable.
He moved like a shadow—
Slipping through Loster's wild swings with inhuman precision.
His eyes were locked onto his target—
Focused. Calculating. Deadly.
One hit would be fatal.
He could not afford to be struck.
Slap!
Tink twisted in midair—
The acid blade whipped out—
A clean, sharp slash—
Right across Loster's throat.
Blood gushed out, spraying in a wide arc.
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
The wound sealed itself shut.
In seconds.
Tink landed softly, eyes narrowing.
"Regeneration…"
Loster licked the blood off his lips.
Then—
He laughed.
Deep. Guttural. Monstrous.
"Heheheh… you're gonna need more than that."
He grinned, eyes glowing with savage delight.
And then—
He lunged.
Again. Faster. Stronger.
The real battle had only just begun.
"Damn it…"
Tink gritted his teeth.
He knew Demon Men had the ability to regenerate, but—
Not this fast.
No matter how deep he cut—
No matter how precise the attack—
It wasn't enough.
Loster was still standing.
Still grinning.
Still laughing.
"How is it? Feeling helpless?"
Loster's mad cackle echoed through the battlefield.
His eyes burned like molten blood—
His body swelled, muscles bulging, veins pulsing—
Like a beast thriving in carnage.
Then—
BOOM!
A punch so powerful it ripped through the air—
The sheer pressure obliterated an entire house behind them.
Bricks exploded into dust.
The walls collapsed like sandcastles.
The impact sent shockwaves through the ground.
Tink's breathing was ragged.
He could feel it—
His body slowing down.
His muscles aching.
His vision narrowing.
Dodging wasn't an option anymore.
"DIE!!"
Loster's roar shook the air.
A hook punch—massive, unstoppable—
Came crashing down.
BOOM!
Tink couldn't dodge in time.
The punch hit him square in the chest.
His body launched like a bullet—
Tearing through three buildings in a row.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The stone floor cracked beneath him as he crashed.
Dust. Debris. Blood.
Tink lay motionless.
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
His ribs—shattered.
His lungs—burning.
Pain consumed him.
Loster strolled forward, savoring the moment.
"You're strong—"
He grinned.
"But you still lost."
Tink pressed his hands against the ground.
He coughed.
He felt his ribs shift.
And yet—
His eyes suddenly sharpened.
His mind cleared.
Only chance!
He had watched Loster long enough.
Like all Demons—
Loster had a habit.
A tiny mistake.
A pattern.
Every time he roared—
His body would expose a weak point.
Tink's grip tightened on the acid blade.
His breath steadied.
His target locked.
"Loster."
The beast paused.
"Huh?"
"You lost."
"WHAT?!"
Loster roared in fury.
And in that moment—
Tink vanished.
WHOOSH!
Like a shadow cutting through the wind—
Like death itself descending upon its prey—
Tink struck.
The acid blade—
Sliced straight through Loster's throat.
SPLASH!
Loster froze.
His entire body shuddered.
His veins bulged.
His eyes widened.
His breath—staggered.
"I… can't… be…"
A gray smoke rose from his wound.
The acid burned deep into his flesh—
Melting him from the inside out.
His bones twisted.
His muscles liquefied.
His blood turned black, bubbling.
His screams tore through the air—
Until—
There was nothing left.
THUD.
Loster collapsed.
His eyes—lifeless.
His breath—gone.
His body—nothing but a melting husk.
Tink stood over the corpse.
Blood ran down his forehead.
His hand trembled.
His legs wobbled.
But—
He had won.
Behind us—
Ruins.
A scene of absolute devastation.
More than a dozen buildings lay in ruin.
Walls—shattered.
Ground—cracked.
The very foundation of the third floor was trembling under the weight of the battle that had just taken place.
The onlookers—those who had survived—stood frozen.
They could not believe it.
They refused to believe it.
A Demon Man—a creature that was supposed to be immortal—
Was dead.
Tink looked down at his hand.
It was covered in blood—his own and Loster's.
His fingers trembled, not with fear, but with the raw exhaustion that came after a fight to the death.
His wounds throbbed with pain—deep, excruciating, unrelenting—
But his feet never wavered.
He turned to me.
His voice was low, rough from fatigue, yet filled with unwavering determination.
"Michel… let's go."
I stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight of my bloodied companion.
His coat—torn to shreds.
His face—bruised and streaked with blood.
His breath—shallow, heavy, but steady.
And yet—
In his eyes, I saw no hesitation.
Only resolve.
I nodded.
Without a word, we turned away from Loster's corpse—
From the nightmare that had unfolded here.
From the legend that had just died.
But as we walked away—
I knew.
The underground world of the third floor…
Had just changed forever.
Tink moved slowly, every step leaving a faint trail of blood on the cracked stone floor.
The air reeked of smoke and death.
All around us—the remnants of war.
Broken walls.
Splintered stone.
Floating dust caught in the dim, flickering lights.
And there—
Loster's body—
Or what remained of it—
Had already begun to dissolve.
His once-mighty form melted away into black, viscous sludge—
Hissing. Bubbling. Burning.
The stench that rose from it—sickening, pungent, unnatural—
Spread throughout the battlefield.
A final reminder of the monster that had once ruled here.
But no more.
Loster the Immortal was dead.
I turned to look at Tink—
He wasn't much better than me.
His shirt was in tatters, barely clinging to his body.
His wounds were fresh, crimson streaks running across his skin.
Blood dripped from his shoulder, slow and steady, each drop darkening the cracked stone beneath us.
But his eyes—
Cold. Unwavering. Unshaken.
As if this battle—this near-death encounter—
Had never touched his soul.
And then—
"Crack."
A small sound—barely a whisper—
Echoed in the suffocating silence.
From a dark corner, not far away—
A faint glow flickered in the shadows.
A cigarette.
The ember flared, then dimmed.
A thin wisp of smoke curled into the air—
Then vanished into the abyss of the third floor.
A figure stood there, cloaked in darkness.
He did not move.
He did not speak.
He simply watched.
Then—
A laugh.
Soft, amused, dangerous.
It slithered through the air, mixing with the distant sound of debris crumbling from the ruined battlefield.
"So… you've finally arrived. Pff… pff…"
Tink froze, his sharp gaze snapping toward the voice.
But—
There was no one there.
Only the ghostly remnants of cigarette smoke, drifting through the air—
Then—
Nothing.
Like he had never existed at all.
I clenched my fists.
Who the hell was that?
A hunter?
A spectator?
Or—
Something worse?
But we had no time to dwell on the unknown.
Tink's body swayed.
He barely took three steps before his legs buckled beneath him.
I lunged forward, catching him before he collapsed completely.
He was too weak.
Too injured.
His blood soaked into my sleeve, warm and wet, the scent of iron thick in the air.
I had no choice.
I threw his arm over my shoulder, hoisting him onto my back.
Then—
I walked.
One step at a time.
Through the dark alleys of the third floor, beneath the flickering streetlights—
Through streets damaged and forgotten, heavy with the scent of mold, decay, and death.
I didn't know where I was going.
I didn't care.
All that mattered—
Was finding a place to rest.
Before something worse found us first.
We walked.
For what felt like an eternity.
Through countless narrow alleys—
Through deserted corners with broken walls, rusted iron doors, and unseen eyes lurking in the darkness.
Until—
A small motel appeared before us.
The only one still lit in this forsaken district.
But—
It was no better than the surrounding ruins.
An old three-story building,
Its walls smothered in moss, its wooden eaves sagging as if ready to collapse.
Above, a flickering neon sign, where only a few broken letters remained visible.
I pushed open the door—
Creeeaaaak.
A sickening stenchslammed into my face.
Rotten. Damp. Suffocating.
A mixture of mold, stale cigarettes, and—
Something worse.
Something decaying.
The dim yellow light overhead flickered.
It barely reached the reception desk, where a skeletal old man stood behind the counter.
His face was a maze of wrinkles, his skin as dry as parchment.
His sunken eyes locked onto us, but—
There was no reaction.
As if he had been expecting us all along.
"50,000 DK."
His voice was like a dying breath, trapped somewhere deep in his throat.
I frowned.
Too cheap.
Way too cheap for a place in Dagakang City.
A place this cheap—
Could never be a place meant for the living.
But right now—
I had no choice.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a few crumpled bills, and slid them across the counter.
The old man took them without counting,
Then handed me a rusty key.
No greeting.
No instructions.
Just—
A cold, lingering stare.
Like he was measuring my lifespan.
I hesitated for a moment—
Then turned away, hoisting Tink up the narrow staircase.
The hallway above was long and endless.
A row of wooden doors, their paint peeling like dead skin.
Some doors—
Were scratched.
Others—
Were sealed shut, as if hiding something unspeakable.
Creeeak. Creeeak.
The floorboards groaned beneath our weight, threatening to crumble at any moment.
Finally—
We stopped.
Room 207.
A number like any other.
But as I stared at it—
A cold dread slithered down my spine.
As if my instincts were screaming.
As if my body knew something my mind did not.
I pushed the key into the lock.
Turned it.
Click.
Then—
Creeeaaaaak.
The door swung open—
With a sound too long, too hollow, too wrong.
Like the exhale of something waiting inside.
As soon as I stepped inside—
I froze.
The stench.
It slammed into my face, sharp and overpowering.
My lungs clenched, my stomach twisted.
Rotten. Damp. Decayed.
Something wrong had happened here.
The room was small, its walls soaked in filth and shadows.
Yellow stains bled down the cracked surface.
Black water streaks slithered from the ceiling, like the trails of something crawling.
The old bed—
Its torn sheet was stained.
Dark patches seeped deep into the fabric—
Blood?
Or… something worse?
But the worst part—
The walls.
Not the bloodstains, not the stench.
But the handprints.
They were everywhere.
Layer upon layer of distorted, warped handprints.
As if—
Someone had clawed at the walls.
As if—
They had been dragged away.
By something unseen.
A violent chill raced down my spine.
Tink stirred on my back—
Even unconscious, he must have felt it too.
I swallowed hard.
Forced myself to breathe.
Shoved aside the icy grip of fear.
It didn't matter.
No matter how disgusting, no matter how cursed—
We needed to rest.
We had no other choice.
I carefully placed Tink on the least filthy part of the bed.
Then—
I sat down.
Exhaled.
Tried to ignore the way the air felt too thick.
The light flickered.
The walls creaked.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
From the hallway.
I didn't know if it was another guest—
Or something else.
But I felt it.
A presence in the dark.
Watching.
Waiting.
A cold, slimy fear slithered down my spine.
But exhaustion won over fear.
And slowly, despite everything—
We fell asleep.
"Mom, where are you going…?"
"Stay here, I'll be right back…"
BANG!
A violent pounding on the door.
A voice roared, thick with rage.
"WHERE ARE YOU?!"
Mom froze.
Then—
She burst into action.
Her face pale, her breath ragged.
She grabbed me, her hands shaking.
Shoved me into the closet.
Her voice quivered.
"Stay here, wait for me, Michel. Promise me—no matter what happens, you won't come out until Uncle Loren comes… Promise me!"
I didn't understand.
But I was a good child.
So I nodded.
Her hand trembled as she stroked my hair.
Her eyes shone—not with fear, but with something worse.
Regret.
"It's okay… I'll see you soon…"
"Mom, what's wrong…?"
"It's okay, Michel. Just stay here."
She kissed my forehead.
Then—
The door shut.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
Outside—
"YOU CAN'T RUN, BITCH!"
BOOM!
A door slammed open.
A man's voice—savage, full of bloodlust.
I pressed my hands over my mouth, forcing my breath silent.
Through the thin wooden slats—
I saw her.
Mom.
Standing there, back straight.
Facing them.
A laugh—cold, amused, deadly.
"Even if you kill me, the bloodline will live on."
A different voice—sneering, dripping with mockery.
"SOPHIE… FINALLY. I'VE BEEN WAITING."
"I'M NOT HERE TO TALK."
Her voice didn't shake.
"You think you have a choice?"
The grinding of chains.
A low chuckle.
CLANK!
The sound of metal meeting flesh.
Mom screamed.
My heart stopped.
I clawed at the door—
I had to—
"DOES IT HURT TO BE STRANGLED?"
A choking gasp.
A cruel laugh.
The chains tightened.
"GOODBYE, MORVAIN FAMILY."
I slammed my fists against the door.
"NO! NO! MOM!"
But the only answer—
Was silence.
I jerked awake, my body drenched in cold sweat.
My breathing ragged, my heart pounding.
I pressed my hands to my forehead, trying—failing—to shake off the suffocating dread still clawing at my chest.
That nightmare again.
It kept coming back, over and over, as if whispering a secret I couldn't grasp.
Sleep was impossible now.
I pushed myself up, grabbed my coat, and slipped out of the motel room.
I needed fresh air—if there was such a thing in this cursed city.
And food.
Tink was still knocked out on the filthy bed, his breath shallow.
Out here, there was no difference between night and day.
A thick, permanent gloom hung over everything, like a veil of sickness choking the life from this place.
Street lamps flickered weakly, barely illuminating the cracked roads stained with dried blood.
The air was thick with rot, the stench of death woven into the very stones beneath my feet.
A slow, creeping unease slithered up my spine.
I was alone.
And in this city, that was never a good thing.
I walked.
Slowly.
Between the decaying buildings, past doorways where shadows lurked, their hollow eyes following me from the darkness.
The wind howled through the narrow alleys, carrying whispers that weren't really there.
Or maybe they were.
And then I reached the market.
The place where Tink and Loster had fought last night.
My breath caught in my throat.
The place was unrecognizable.
The earth had been ripped apart, gaping wounds torn into the cobblestone streets.
Stalls lay in ruins, their wooden frames splintered and burned.
And the bodies—
Charred remains, fused into the blackened ground.
Some still intact—
Others shattered, scattered, reduced to nothing more than grinning skulls and broken ribs.
But worst of all—
The crows.
Dozens of them.
Perched atop the bodies.
Pecking at the flesh that hadn't yet rotted away.
Their beady red eyes glowed in the darkness, like ember coals smoldering in the night.
The sound of ripping meat, the wet squelch of their beaks digging deep into Loster's corpse—
It sent a chill through my bones.
Crows weren't supposed to be here.
They were creatures of the surface world.
And yet—here they were, in the deepest part of the 3rd floor, thriving among the dead and the damned.
I clenched my fists.
This place—
This hellhole—
It was hiding something far worse than I had imagined.
And I had a feeling—
That soon—
I was going to find out exactly what.
A creeping unease settled in my gut.
I turned away from the market of corpses, slipping deeper into the labyrinth of abandoned streets.
Every corner reeked of decay—of something old, something dead, something that had been festering in the dark for far too long.
After fifteen minutes of wandering, I stumbled upon it.
A noodle shop.
The only one I had seen since coming to this cursed floor.
The signboard was ancient, its wooden surface cracked and discolored.
A tattered cloth curtain hung at the entrance, stained yellow with age, swaying ever so slightly in the stale air.
Inside, a few shadowy figures sat motionless, hunched over their bowls, eyes empty—slurping their noodles with an eerie detachment.
As if the world outside had ceased to exist.
A faint chill crawled down my spine as I stepped inside.
The shop was tiny, barely enough space for eight people to squeeze in on rickety wooden stools.
Dim yellow bulbs flickered above, their weak light casting elongated shadows on the cracked brick walls.
The air was thick—a strange mix of broth, mildew, and something else.
Something metallic.
Something that shouldn't be here.
I quickly chose a corner seat, pressing my back against the wall.
From here, I could see everything without being seen myself.
The shop owner, a middle-aged man with a face darkened by grease and exhaustion, stood behind the counter.
His hands moved mechanically, stirring, slicing, pouring, as the fire beneath his stove roared like a beast.
He didn't look up.
Didn't acknowledge my presence.
Didn't seem to acknowledge anything at all.
I scanned the menu, written in faded ink on an old wooden board, my brows furrowing.
This place—this tiny, forgotten hole—somehow had dozens of dishes.
Not just noodles, but rice, porridge, even elaborate stews.
It didn't make sense.
The third floor wasn't exactly a place rich in ingredients.
Where were they getting all this food?
Where were they getting the meat?
I was still deciding when a voice—low and hoarse—cut through the silence.
"Egg fried rice is the best here, young man."
I tensed.
The man sitting beside me hadn't made a sound before now.
Hadn't moved.
I hadn't even noticed him until he spoke.
Slowly, I turned my head.
He was draped in a long, tattered cloak, the fabric frayed at the edges, stained with things I didn't want to identify.
His unruly hair fell over his face, obscuring most of his features.
But his eyes—
His eyes were clear as ice.
Cold.
Unreadable.
Like a man who had seen too much.
A man who had already died once.
A smile ghosted across his lips.
Not quite friendly.
Not quite hostile.
Something in between.
Something dangerous.
"You look familiar…" he murmured.
His voice was calm, but I felt the weight of it pressing against my skull.
Then—
That smile sharpened.
Like a blade being slowly unsheathed.
"Oh."
A pause.
His eyes flickered with amusement—with recognition.
"So you're the one who fought Loster."
I didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
I simply stared at him.
Every nerve in my body screamed that this man—this thing—was a walking disaster.
He tilted his head slightly, as if sizing me up.
Then, with an eerie calm, he said:
"You know, there's a bounty of 50 million DK on your head… and the one you're traveling with."
A slow chuckle.
A deliberate pause.
Then—
"Be careful."
Before I could react, a flock of crows burst from the shadows.
They landed on his shoulders, his arms—black feathers ruffling, sharp beaks clacking.
Their blood-red eyes gleamed, tiny embers burning in the dark.
They shrieked in unison, the sound tearing through the air like a funeral hymn.
Yet—
He didn't flinch.
Didn't react.
Didn't even acknowledge them.
He merely smiled.
A smile that made my skin crawl.
"Well then, I must be going."
He turned slightly, as if about to leave—
Then glanced at me, his voice dropping into a whisper:
"But before I go… tell me your name."
I clenched my fist.
Felt my fingers twitch around the hilt of my sword.
Somehow, I had already drawn it slightly from its sheath—ready to strike.
This was bad.
Everything about this was wrong.
But if I said nothing, I knew he would only grow more interested.
So—
"… Michel."
A single word.
Tightly spoken.
A name I wasn't even sure belonged to me anymore.
He tilted his head again, the gleam in his eyes sharpening.
Then—that smile widened.
A grotesque, knowing grin.
"Michel…"
He let the name roll off his tongue, savoring it.
"I will remember this."
A flicker.
A twitch of his fingers.
Then—
"WHISH!"
A blade.
A single, silver dagger.
Flying straight for my throat.
I reacted on instinct.
Barely tilted my head in time—
The blade grazed my cheek, slicing through flesh.
A thin line of red bloomed across my skin.
But I was already moving.
"SHHIIING!"
In one motion—
I drew my sword and drove it straight into his stomach.
A clean hit.
A fatal stab.
I felt it pierce through flesh. Through muscle. Through bone.
And yet—
He didn't fall.
Didn't even stagger.
He merely…
stood there.
Still smiling.
Still grinning.
Still breathing.
His body trembled, but not from pain.
From excitement.
"Hahaha… Interesting."
His voice dripped with pleasure.
I yanked my sword free.
Blood dripped onto the floor.
But even as I watched—
The wound was closing.
Sealing shut.
Like it had never existed.
He stepped back slightly, smirking.
"I am Garmuth."
The name was spoken like a curse.
Like a sentence.
Like a promise.
"We will meet again soon… Hahaha!"
Then—
His form flickered.
The crows screamed, wings thrashing—
And he was gone.
As if he had never been there at all.
I stood frozen.
Sword still raised.
Heart hammering against my ribs.
Mind reeling.
Garmuth.
I remembered Gakun's warning.
The name he spat with fear.
A monster.
A nightmare.
A thing that shouldn't exist.
That warning echoed in my skull, clawing at my thoughts.
A deep shiver ran through me.
I had stabbed him.
And he had laughed.
I took a deep breath.
Wiped the blood off my cheek.
Then—
I turned away.
I ordered a quick meal.
Bought another one for Tink.
And I left.
Left that cursed place before the shadows swallowed me whole.
Back at the Motel…
As soon as I stepped inside—
I saw him.
Tink.
Sitting by the window.
Eyes distant.
Watching the world outside.
There was no sun on this floor.
No morning.
No daylight.
Only an eerie glow bleeding through the thick mist, bathing everything in a dull, lifeless hue.
The second he heard the door open—
A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips.
"You're back."
His tone was teasing.
Casual.
But there was an edge beneath it.
"Who got into trouble this time?"
I set the food down.
Didn't answer immediately.
Just let the silence settle.
Let the weight of my encounter sink in.
Then—
I met his gaze.
And spoke.
"It's Garmuth…"
The teasing look vanished.
His eyes sharpened.
His entire body went still.
"… I met him."
The smirk on Tink's lips vanished instantly.
His muscles tensed.
His fingers curled into fists.
His eyes—sharp as blades.
"He came to you?"
His voice was low.
Dangerously calm.
Too calm.
A silence settled between us.
Thick.
Suffocating.
Laced with unspoken fear.
Then—
"Tell me everything."
A quiet command.
A demand.
One I couldn't ignore.
We sat down.
And I told him.
Told him everything.
From the moment I saw the flicker of cigarette smoke in the dark—
To the way Garmuth smiled, like he already knew me.
The way he said my name.
The crows.
The dagger.
The way I stabbed him—felt my blade sink into flesh—
And how he laughed.
Like it meant nothing.
Like he was playing.
And then—
How he simply disappeared.
Tink didn't interrupt.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
He just listened.
Expression unreadable.
But I could see it.
The way his jaw tightened.
The way his fingers dug into his palms.
The way his breathing slowed—controlled, measured, but forced.
As if he was holding something back.
When I finished, the room was dead silent.
Tink leaned back against the chair.
His arms crossed.
His gaze clouded, deep in thought.
Then—
He exhaled slowly.
A long, deliberate breath.
Like he had been waiting for this moment.
Like he had been dreading it.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"This is bad."
He stood up.
Didn't look at me.
Just stared at the door.
Like something was waiting on the other side.
Like something was already here.
"We can't stay here."
His voice was flat.
Decisive.
Certain.
I nodded.
Didn't question it.
Didn't argue.
Because I knew—
Tink was never afraid.
Never.
But right now—
He was scared.
No more hesitation.
No more waiting.
We had to move.
Now.
Silently, we began packing.
Bags. Weapons. Money. Passes.
Everything.
And as I zipped my bag shut—
A thought struck me.
One that made the hairs on my neck stand on end.
Garmuth didn't attack me.
He could have.
Easily.
But he didn't.
He let me go.
On purpose.
And that meant—
This wasn't over.
Not even close.