he moment he stepped into the temple courtyard, he drew the attention of everyone—from the fragile lives desperately clinging to existence to the warmth of fresh blood seeping from the cold dead. With his unbroken, dull expression, he glanced first at the wretched souls kneeling as if begging for salvation, and then at the naked disgust etched on familiar faces.

  The Elf Princess's distorted smile was severed instantly, replaced by an expression resembling porcelain on the verge of shattering. Number 1 shared Flora's tension, while Number 4 could not mask his surrender to fear.

  The scent of death, thickening with uncertainty, sharpened as Number 99 spoke.

  "Princess... You don't seem happy to see me."

  "Haha!.. We have to admit we are surprised, don't we?"

  Grinding her teeth with every word, Flora struggled to restrain herself, while barely holding back the volatile Number 1.

  "It seems your precious hero hasn't recovered from the thrashing I gave him... Am I wrong?"

  "You!"

  "Shut your mouth, 1!"

  Number 1, stunned that the Princess—who had been nothing but supportive throughout their noble journey—snapped at him, wanted to spew his boiling emotions, but 99's sharp words stifled him.

  "The friends you sent after us... You could have done better, Princess."

  "O... Our friends?"

  At Flora's question, a familiar whistle cut through the air behind 99, filling the temple with dread. As an ember-hot arrow shot from the shadows and embedded itself in the dead center of the courtyard, radiating a trembling heat, an old face peeled away from the darkness to take her place beside the man with the dull gaze.

  "Despicable traitor!"

  Following his roar, Flora could no longer hold the leash of Number 1. Manifesting his silver spear, he locked onto Number 25. While Flora’s fake smile tried to return with grotesque twitches, watching the breath of this woman—who should have been eliminated—made her stomach churn.

  "This woman who insulted my Goddess... How?"

  As the whispers choked her, Flora swallowed as if tearing her throat; despite the thoughts piercing her mind, she shook her head violently, clenching her teeth until they threatened to crack.

  "1, we leave this place to you," she said, turning immediately to Number 4. "You come with me; we need the Tearstone at once!"

  Number 4 bowed slightly and followed Flora into the temple. Left alone, Number 1 unfurled his transparent wings—matching the color of his sun-bright eyes—in a radiant show of force.

  On the other side, after a silent exchange of glances with 99, Number 25 moved toward the temple, only to be stopped by Number 1 taking flight.

  "Where do you think you're going! Traitor!"

  Number 1 channeled the heat of his rage into his silver spear, but his move was choked by 99's dark mists.

  "Your priority is me, hero."

  "Fucking...!"

  Dispelling the dark mists surrounding him, Number 1 pointed his silver spear at the sky, igniting it with his fury.

  "Go on, 25!"

  At Number 99's command, Number 25 tore her eyes away from the angry angel and dashed into the temple in a single breath.

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  Inside, Number 25 found herself in an empty hall surrounded by marble columns, face-to-face with an old friend. Keeping her eyes on Number 4, she moved right, her small steps echoing on the cold floor.

  "Where is Flora, 4?"

  "I have no information for you... Traitor!"

  Clinging tighter to his dagger with a groan, Number 4 looked from the archer blocking his path to the bow in her hands.

  "You are a coward who let that woman poison you... 4."

  Taking a sharp breath at the brutal truth, Number 4 lunged at 25, blending into nothingness only to appear right behind her. Number 25, familiar with this signature move, parried with the sharp tip of her bow. The second duel between old friends had begun.

  ***

  As the metallic ringing of Number 4's relentless dagger strikes wrapped around the marble columns, Number 25 was forced to retreat, struggling to keep up with this macabre dance.

  Although she parried the attacks one by one, 25's movements grew heavier; the wounds from her journey surfaced like insidious aches. Realizing she could no longer stay on the defensive, she dodged an incoming strike with an agile move to the left. As her turn came, she swung the tip of her bow toward Number 4 like a spear.

  Falling into the void, Number 4 was forced to switch from attacker to defender like a sudden gust of wind; the roles had changed in this costly dance. After parrying a few tired blows and blending into nothingness, Number 25 found a moment to breathe.

  "How far can you run from the truth?"

  In response, Number 4 appeared with a sudden attack, vanishing again the moment he was countered.

  "You know very well they are using you!"

  With every sentence from 25, Number 4 launched a new attack, continuing his hit-and-run tactics with savage persistence.

  "Think about Number 7... Remember what you did to her!"

  "Enough!"

  With a sudden, crude attack, the elegant duel gave way to a brutal endurance test. As dagger and bow met in the air, the old friends gambled with their limits.

  "What right do you have to mention her, 25! Didn't you cower on the sidelines like a wretch when she was eliminated?"

  "Hah! Were you any different? Coward!"

  Shame flushed his face with blood. Number 4 pulled back in fury and disappeared into nothingness once more. Unable to tolerate these futile games, 25 drew her bowstring to its limit; an ember-hot arrow appeared, radiating a scorching heat.

  Just as she turned, Number 4 appeared. He landed a hard punch to the pit of her stomach, and 25's fingers involuntarily released the string. The fired arrow tore through Number 4's left leg and embedded itself deep in the flesh.

  That punch was the final drop. 25 collapsed, her consciousness fading. Number 4 pulled the arrow from his ember-charred leg with a groan that shook the temple. Leaning exhaustedly against a column, he ended their dangerous dance in bloody silence.

  ***

  "Try harder, hero."

  Number 1 panted, leaning on his silver spear. The failed strikes against the wall of flesh before him were bad enough, but the insults were worse.

  His futile attacks against this dull-faced man began to puncture the bloated pride he had raised to the heavens; his aggression, growing monstrous with every helpless second, became uncontrollable. He raised his silver spear and turned furiously toward the enemy.

  Number 99 did not break his composure, never taking his eyes off the fake hero.

  "I am waiting... Hero."

  Unable to bear his pride being trampled into the dust, Number 1 ignited his wings like the sun and dashed toward 99. Just as he was about to drive his rage-loaded spear into that dull face, Number 99 caught the weapon in mid-air with his left hand—forcing the hero to succumb to his own anger.

  Number 1's face turned to chalk. He tried to pull his spear from 99's grip, but every ounce of force he spent only made his hands tremble more, draining his strength.

  While Number 1 struggled, two silent shadows broke off from the flood of souls, approaching 99 insidiously to wrap around his legs.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Number 1 pulled with all his might, freeing his spear and forcing his enemy to drop to one knee.

  99 stopped the rain of furious spear strikes with dark mists summoned by his left hand, then raised his right. Bringing it down rapidly, he materialized the famous Black Sword in his palm.

  As the purple runes on the blade pulsed with malice, the souls swarming his legs retreated, cowering like insects.

  Against Number 1's relentless attacks, 99 hurled a dense wave of dark mist, blasting the hero backward.

  Straightening up, Number 1 looked at the Black Sword, then at the souls fleeing from it in horror.

  "Haha! I actually thought the spirits were helping you... But I see they are terrified of a monster like you."

  Rhythmically beating the marble floor with his spear, Number 1 rubbed his face with his left hand, trying to bring blood flow back to his pale skin. Meanwhile, Number 99 watched silently, controlling the Black Sword as it shook like a hungry predator.

  "Tell me, 99! What kind of freak are you?!"

  "Come and see for yourself."

  "Your petty insults..."

  GRUM!

  A noise tearing through the air pierced their ears, and the Great Kirola Cemetery began to rock like a cradle. The flood of souls around the courtyard fled through the trees like pale blue fireflies. A deep crack forming in the dome of absolute night initiated the labor pains of the cemetery's changing fate.