Adam exhaled softly as he finished relieving himself beside a thick shrub well away from the safehouse.

  Above him, dark clouds swallowed the moons. Thunder rolled in the distance. A thin vein of lightning split the sky before vanishing again.

  “Rain,” he murmured.

  He adjusted his clothes, spat into the grass, and stretched his arms overhead with a lazy yawn.

  Then he began walking back. He had taken ten steps when he stopped.

  A patch of earth ahead lay bare—no purple grass, no nectar residue. Just exposed soil.

  Adam tilted his head slightly. “Do you need something from me?”

  Only wind answered.

  He sighed. “If you’re going to try something, this is your only chance to—”

  The ground behind him exploded.

  A mud-covered figure burst upward as six chains shot from the opposite direction, snapping tight around Adam’s limbs, waist, and throat.

  “Hold him!” Terrel roared, launching from the earth with dagger in hand.

  Steel plunged into flesh.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Again.

  The wet scent of blood filled the air.

  Terrel stabbed until crimson splashed across his mask. He carved open Adam’s abdomen in a single practiced motion and plunged his hands inside.

  Warmth spilled over his fingers.

  He pulled free a length of intestine and laughed.

  “That was easier than I expected.”

  Tilting his mask, he tore off a bite. The rest he stuffed into a sack at his side.

  “You can release him, Pierre.”

  Chains loosened.

  Terrel wiped his blade on the corpse’s clothing while Pierre coiled the chains into a separate pouch.

  Terrel paused.

  “Leaving the body like this is sloppy.”

  He produced a small vial and uncorked it. Emerald liquid hissed as it met the air. He poured it over the mutilated remains.

  The corpse dissolved into a blackened slurry within seconds.

  “Better,” Terrel nodded. “Let’s go. Sir Tristian won’t appreciate delays.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be seeing Sir What’s-his-name again.”

  Terrel froze.

  That voice had not come from Pierre. He drew his cleaver and scanned the field.

  “Who said that?”

  He turned sharply. Pierre was gone.

  “…Pierre?”

  “You won’t find him,” the voice continued, amused. “You already disposed of him.”

  A flicker of lightning illuminated the field.

  Terrel’s heartbeat spiked.

  The air before him rippled. A figure stepped out from distortion like a phantom emerging from water.

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  Adam. Unharmed.

  “H-How—”

  Terrel staggered back two steps.

  His eyes darted to the dissolving pool. Understanding hit.

  Jamari, you idiot.

  “There’s been a misunderstanding,” Terrel said quickly. “I can tell you who sent me if you let me—”

  “I’m not interested.”

  Terrel’s muscles tensed. “You might be strong, but don’t think I—”

  His words ended in a wet hiss.

  His head separated cleanly from his shoulders. It struck the ground and rolled once before settling in the grass. The body collapsed a heartbeat later.

  Thunder followed.

  Adam stood over the headless corpse. I should remove it before someone investigates.

  He stepped forward, but a translucent alert flared across his vision.

  [Potential Source of Danger Detected!]

  Cataclysm’s twin axes materialized in his hands.

  To his right, space folded inward. A circular blue portal opened above the grass.

  A man stepped through.

  He wore a tailored black three-piece suit, immaculate despite the storm. A beige scarf fluttered at his throat. In one hand rested a silver cane engraved with delicate filigree.

  When he turned, lightning revealed his face.

  There was no flesh. Only bone—dark as obsidian.

  “What do we have here?” His deep baritone rolled across the field as his gaze swept over the corpse and the dissolving residue nearby. “Wasn’t it made clear that fighting is prohibited here?”

  He slipped one hand into his pocket and advanced a step.

  “Explain yourself.”

  “Self-defense,” Adam replied evenly. “They attacked. I responded.”

  “Mmm.” The skeletal figure inclined his head. “If you say so.”

  He paused.

  “Indulge me. Why are you within Lord Jolran’s territory? Which Lord claims you?”

  Adam did not answer.

  The figure chuckled.

  “My name is Mpheto,” he said. “Vassal to Lord Jolran. I would prefer a satisfactory explanation. Otherwise…”

  The tip of his cane touched the earth.

  Adam’s gaze sharpened.

  [The Omen is intrigued by your actions!]

  “Very well,” Mpheto continued calmly. “I shall administer punishment in my lord’s stead.”

  He tapped the cane once. Its shadow spread unnaturally across the grass.

  He tapped it a second time. The shadow tripled in size—stretching toward Adam like something alive.

  Mpheto tapped the cane a third time.

  The shadow beneath him surged—ninefold—spilling across the field in a suffocating tide of black. Grass, stone, even the distant shrubs vanished beneath it as though swallowed by ink.

  Adam tightened his grip on Cataclysm.

  The system had issued a warning.

  Mpheto was no minor obstacle.

  “Last chance,” the skeletal vassal said calmly. “State which Lord you serve and your purpose for entering—”

  An explosion split the night.

  Both men turned.

  The safehouse erupted into a column of flame. Black smoke twisted into the storm-choked sky. The ground trembled, violently this time, and a fissure tore open between Adam and Mpheto.

  “Oyioooo…”

  The laughter crawled up from the crack.

  An armadillo skull surfaced first. Then a man climbed out of the earth as though it were water. In one hand, he held a dried skull like a trophy.

  He glanced at Mpheto. “A worshiper of Jolran.”

  His gaze shifted to Adam. He sniffed once. Twice.

  “…And you.”

  He scratched the side of his skull mask.

  “What are you? You smell human… and Demonkin.” He leaned closer. “There’s something else.”

  His tone sharpened.

  “Why do you carry the scent of my missing apprentice?”

  “What happened to the safehouse?” Adam asked.

  “All Scavs must die. Oyioooo…” the masked man sang. “Answer me. No one has taken you as a host. So why do you smell like him?”

  Mpheto’s cane scraped lightly against the ground.

  “And who might you be?”

  The masked figure laughed again. “Pavani. Mxyrath.”

  Adam’s expression did not change. “Nokum. Salma. Come out.”

  Space fractured behind him with a sound like shattering glass. Two Omen beings emerged from distortion.

  “Salma,” Adam said, eyes never leaving Pavani, “find X and the Archbishop. Kill anything in your way.”

  She vanished instantly.

  “Nokum. With me.”

  Nokum’s burning gaze shifted between Mpheto and Pavani. His right arm elongated grotesquely, bone and flesh twisting before a blade extruded from his palm.

  Mpheto tapped the cane a fourth time.

  The shadow expanded violently.

  Shrieks—like electricity grinding through metal—ripped across the field as Mpheto’s darkness collided with Adam’s Domain and the warped space surrounding Pavani.

  Pavani’s laughter deepened.

  Two curved horns tore through his forehead. Thick black fur erupted across his limbs. A flaming tail lashed behind him as muscle swelled beneath the skin.

  “So the rumors were true,” Mpheto hissed. “The Temple of Wrath shelters abominations.”

  Crimson light ignited within his skull.

  “I shall purge you in Lord Jolran’s name.”

  He tapped the cane again. His body sank into the sea of shadow.

  In his place, a monolith of black stone rose from the earth. The ground churned around it as if breathing.

  Pavani roared and immolated.

  Flames exploded outward in a five-meter ring, grass vaporizing instantly. Heat distorted the air. His delirious eyes scanned for prey.

  He found none.

  Two red streaks sliced toward him from opposite sides.

  Pavani met them with burning fists, knocking Cataclysm’s twin axes aside. Adam materialized behind him, fists wrapped in dense black energy.

  He struck.

  Once. Twice. Again.

  Each blow detonated louder than the last, shockwaves rippling outward.

  “Oyioooo… there you are!”

  Pavani’s tail snapped around Adam’s leg. His flaming fist drove forward and passed through smoke.

  Adam vanished.

  “Oyioooo…”

  Pavani swung right. Mid-strike, he twisted violently left.

  Steel clashed.

  Adam reappeared, axes crossed to block.

  “You can’t fool me,” Pavani snarled. “I will force you to—”

  A fist smashed into his jaw—shattering the mask completely.

  The Xyrath hurtled backward.

  Another Adam stood where Pavani had been seconds earlier.

  Pavani wiped blood from his mouth, eyes gleaming.

  “So that’s your trick. You gave your weapon a form…”

  He grinned. “I won’t fall for it twice.”

  With a single explosive step, he launched himself beyond his own ring of fire.