The thick scent of burning oil lamps clung to the air, barely masking the damp, earthy aroma of wet soil left behind by the rain. The bar was dimly lit, the flickering lights shifting shadows across the wooden walls.
Ansel and Dahlia sat across from each other at a table near the edge of the room.
It had been an hour since Massiah and the others left for Raval, but Dahlia couldn't sit still. Her body ached, her mind raced.
"I should go—" She shot up from her seat, palms slamming against the table.
Before she could move, Ansel grabbed her wrist. His grip was firm, steady. "Let them handle it, Dahlia," he muttered. "You'll only make things worse. There's no point."
"You heard Sabrina." Her voice was sharp. "You heard how she sounded. Did she sound like this was something we could handle?"
Ansel exhaled through his nose and let go, his fingers tapping against the worn birch table. "Even still—"
"I can help them." Dahlia pressed a hand to her chest, leaning in. "I can fight, Ansel. You know this."
The silence between them stretched, the beat of rain constantly slamming against the rooftop, the sound intensifying as each moment passed.
Ansel exhaled, rubbing his temples before meeting her gaze. "Why do you even want to help so badly?"
They had only been on two missions together. In truth, they barely knew each other. Massiah wasn't the most open, and that had set the tone for the rest of them. Ansel understood how to observe people—he had been raised in the Tregs, after all. Yet when it came to Dahlia, he still couldn't quite figure her out.
Dahlia didn't answer. She turned toward the wall instead. Avoiding his gaze.
Silence stretched between them once again. The flames within the oil lamps flickered—waning then, flaring back to life.
Ansel studied her posture, the way her shoulders hunched slightly, the way her hands clenched at her sides. She wanted to say something. Maybe everything.
But she didn't.
And if they didn't talk about it—
Nothing would change.
And he wouldn't be able to understand her.
"I can't." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I just want to help..."
Ansel turned his gaze toward the open doorway, staring into the darkness beyond. "Will you tell me one day?"
Dahlia hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."
That was enough for now.
Ansel sighed, pushing himself to his feet and moving past her. "Let's go then."
Dahlia turned, eyes widening slightly. "Really?"
"I'm scared as shit, believe me." He clenched his fists, knuckles pale. "But Massiah and the others are out there. We may not have started off great, but I don't want them to die."
Dahlia stretched, raising her arms above her head. "You're strong, Ansel." She grinned. "Not stronger than me, but you know."
"Sure, sure." He rolled his eyes before turning toward the door. "Let's bring them back."
"All of them," Dahlia echoed.
They stepped out into the night, their boots sinking into wet soil. The clink of metal followed—karambits rubbing against cloth, a hammer tapping against its strap, rain bouncing off its obsidian edge.
And then, they ran.
Thunder cracked overhead, revealing the battlefield with flashes of white. The haven was nothing but ruin—broken structures, blood-soaked mud, and rain pooling in deep craters. In the center of it all, Massiah's scythe swung in a brutal arc, its blade slicing toward the myutant.
The creature caught it midair.
Without effort, it wrenched the weapon to the side, using its free arm to swing at Massiah.
He barely had time to react.
Massiah had reached a conclusion—uncertain, but his best lead. The myutant had two possible weaknesses: the first was that it had already adapted to its peak, unable to get any stronger with regeneration. The second was Diamantis himself.
If he took down Diamantis, would the myutant fall with him? There was no proof, no guarantee. But in this fight, it was the only chance he had.
Letting go of the scythe's hilt, he ducked under the massive blow, feeling the wind shear past his face.
Instead of retreating, he lunged forward, his leg snapping out in a sharp kick against the weapon's handle. The impact sent a shockwave up the myutant's arm, forcing it to release the scythe.
The myutant watched as the scythe slipped from its grasp.
It had noticed before—something was different.
But now, as Massiah stood before it, it understood.
His strength was unlike any it had faced before.
Massiah didn't hesitate. He caught his scythe midair, boots skidding across the ground as he steadied himself, panting.
"You don't seem to have a way of winning," Diamantis called out, slowly pressing his fingers to the scratch on his cheek, rubbing at the blood. "All that talk for nothing."
Massiah exhaled sharply. He couldn't deny it. He had no clear way to kill this thing. Even if he severed its limbs, it would only regenerate again.
Which meant his target had to change.
His eyes locked onto Diamantis.
But the second his focus shifted, the myutant lunged.
Massiah barely evaded as its fist crashed into the ground where he had stood moments ago, sending stone and mud flying. He leapt back, but instead of retreating, he launched himself forward—his boots landing on the creature's outstretched arm.
A second later, he was airborne.
Striking mid-flip, his scythe tore into the myutant's back. The blade bit deep, slicing through flesh—but not deep enough. Not enough to sever it in half.
Not enough to buy time.
Massiah landed, feet skidding across the ground. His attack hadn't done enough damage to the myutant, but that didn't matter—not right now. Because in that brief opening, he had positioned himself exactly where he needed to be.
Behind it.
Right next to Diamantis.
Without hesitation, he lunged. His foot tapped against the ground in rapid succession, water splashing at his sides. His scythe reeled back, ready to carve through the rain in a devastating sweep.
Diamantis turned his head slightly, watching as the blade neared his face. But there was no fear in his expression—only gaiety. A smirk, sharp and knowing.
A man in control.
Massiah's instincts screamed.
He twisted, glancing back—too late.
The myutant was already on him. Its arm lashed forward, its massive palm open, aiming to crush his skull.
Massiah reacted instantly.
He dug his heel into the mud and spun, his scythe carving through the air in a full, sweeping arc. The blade sliced into the myutant's torso, cutting deep—
And then continued toward Diamantis.
But before it could reach him—
It broke.
The reinforced steel of the scythe fractured mid impact, shards of the blade splintering midair. The snath—the metallic shaft—slammed into Diamantis instead, the force barely making him stumble.
"Fuck," Massiah hissed, the myutant already regenerating behind him.
No time.
He dashed forward, grabbing a rock from the ground. It wasn't a weapon, but it didn't need to be. He just needed to kill Diamantis—end this before his last chance slipped away.
Rain blurred his vision.
His breath came in short bursts.
He needed to kill Diamantis, that was the only way he could end this, the only way he could save them.
He was so close.
Then—
Impact.
The myutant's arm swung forward, its massive palm striking straight through Massiah's chest.
His breath hitched.
Blood splattered against the mud.
"Almost," Diamantis mocked, leaning in, his voice a low murmur against the rain. "Maybe they'll put that on your obituary."
The myutant edged back, its massive hand withdrawing from Massiah's chest. His body crumpled to the ground, a gaping hole in his torso. Blood pooled beneath him, washed away by the downpour.
Silence overtook the battlefield.
No screams. No words.
Only the rain.
It pounded against the broken terrain, a merciless force against the ruins of Raval. The haven was gone. The exterminators sent to protect it—gone. Each one crushed, torn apart, erased. And in the center of it all stood its destroyer. A towering monstrosity, an agent of devastation.
And beside it—the man who set it loose.
"Well, that was sure something," Diamantis muttered, wiping the rain from his glasses as he turned to the myutant. "They were persistent, I'll give them that. But if you can keep taking them down like this, we won't have any problems."
The myutant didn't respond.
It didn't need to.
Instead, it turned.
Its third eye spun wildly in its socket, tracking something—someone.
Diamantis barely noticed. "Still I would've liked to—"
The myutant moved.
It dived aside, its arm lashing out in an attempt to intercept—too slow.
An axe whirled through the air, a silver blur against the rain, and slammed into Diamantis's side. It carved across his torso, deep enough to draw blood but not deep enough to kill.
Diamantis stumbled, clutching his wound as crimson spilled between his fingers.
"You fucking bastards!" he shrieked, his voice etched with pain and fury. "Kill all of them! Now!"
"And you said you didn't need us," a voice called.
The myutant snapped its head upward, its third eye flickering through the darkness.
Impact.
Dahlia came crashing down, hammer-first, the sheer force of her landing splitting the ground beside the myutant. A shockwave of dust and debris burst outward, momentarily blotting out the rain.
"You were right," another voice murmured.
Diamantis turned—only to freeze.
A blade pressed against his throat.
Ansel's karambit gleamed under the flash of lightning, his grip steady, already cutting in.
"Now," Dahlia exhaled, rising to her full height, her hammer resting on her shoulder. "If you don't want your 'master' or whatever to die—"
She pointed the weapon straight at the myutant.
"You'd better play ball."