The car ride back is silent. Ryuga follows in a separate vehicle; Yuna insisted on him having his own transport for “professional distance” until they get accustomed.

  Niche stares out the window, processing everything. His best friend is alive but dead inside. Following them like a ghost with car keys.

  "That was fucked up," Arius says finally.

  "Which part?" Niche asks.

  "All of it. But mostly the part where your zombie friend is now our bodyguard."

  "He's not a zombie," Shima corrects. "He's... restructured."

  "That's worse,” Arius adds.

  Niche's phone buzzes. An unknown number sent a message. He almost ignores it, then sees the notification preview: "You broke our deal."

  Niche’s blood freezes.

  "Still waiting. Come alone. – J” a following message reads.

  He'd ignored the summons for days.

  "Drop me off downtown," Niche says suddenly to the emotionless driver.

  "What? Why?" Shima asks.

  "Something I need to handle,” Niche responds anxiously.

  "At midnight? Alone?" Arius scoffs. "That's how people die in horror movies."

  "I'm immortal," Niche interjects.

  "That's what they all say before the creative death scenes.” Arius rolls his eyes.

  After a few minutes, the car pulls up to the downtown area. This time there's a lot more activity than usual: lights everywhere, commotion, parties spilling into the streets; there must be some kind of event tonight. Ryuga's car pulls up next to theirs; Ryuga rolls down the window, but Niche doesn't wait to chat. He gets out with purpose, closing – not slamming – the door before Shima can start asking questions.

  He walks through the bustling streets with purpose, towards the back alleys of the city, towards the places you can’t get to by car. The entrance to the old subway construction site isn't marked, but he knows where it is.

  Abandoned Subway Construction, Underground, Present

  Niche descends through half-finished tunnels, going deeper with each level. Eventually, the construction gives way to older stone passages – the catacombs beneath the city. At the bottom, the passage opens into a massive cavern. Construction lights are set up in the corners, casting harsh shadows across the space. The air is cooler down here, damp.

  Two blurry figures lay in the center of the cavern. One sitting on stacked concrete pipes, relaxed, staring at the only entrance to the catacombs. The other kneels on the ground facing the man, hands bound behind his back.

  Niche moves closer, staying in the shadows near the entrance. The sitting figure checks his watch, tapping his foot with exaggerated impatience. As Niche nears them, he recognizes the sitting man but cannot decipher who the kneeling man is, as his back is turned to Niche.

  "Finally!" Jupiter's voice echoes off the stone walls. He's looking right at Niche now. "Do you know how boring it is down here?"

  The kneeling figure lifts his head, turning around shyly to look behind him. Even from this distance, in the man’s fragile condition, Niche recognizes him.

  "Dad!" Niche calls out, his concerns validated.

  "Niche?" His father squints at the boy, seeing his son in the distance with an uneasy demeanor. "Don't—"

  "Shh." Boss hops down, wrapping a cloth around Mr. Sutori’s mouth and tightly securing it in place. Jupiter leans down to whisper into Mr. Sutori’s ear. "Adults are talking.” Looking up at Niche, Jupiter continues. “So, Niche. You broke our deal. I don't like that."

  "Let him go,” Niche orders sternly.

  "Sure, sure. But first—" Boss, his eyes still locked onto Niche’s, walks around Mr. Sutori, who, now disoriented, stares at the ground in front of him blankly. "Do you know what our true goal is?” Jupiter asks Niche. “I bet it's not what your father told you."

  "I don't care about—" Niche interjects.

  "You know that time stop of your father is really something." Boss grins as a confused expression appears on Niche's face. "Oh, you didn't know I knew?"

  "What?" Niche asks, frustration rapidly growing in his voice. “What the hell are you talking about?! You’re bringing up two things at once while my father is suffocating!” Niche takes a step forward, anger in his face as a pattern appears in his eye to mask his iris.

  "Yes, I will get to the point,” Jupiter continues, indifferent to Niche’s state. “What I mean is that I am aware of his element of time. Fun fact: it’s often thought of as hereditary in some bloodlines, but this is a misconception.”

  “Why the hell would I care?! Get to the damn point already!” Niche interjects, a flame igniting in his palm.

  “That’s the first thing. Secondly," Boss pulls out a knife, twirling it, "you know us shifters weren't sent just to make sure everything goes smoothly, right? We have another purpose."

  Mr. Sutori tries to speak, but the tight cloth presses his mouth shut.

  Niche doesn’t respond to this but stands there, his flames dancing on his body, waiting for Jupiter to continue.

  Boss stops twirling the knife. He reaches up with his free hand and rolls his sleeve back, revealing his forearm. There's something carved into the skin. Not a tattoo – deeper than that. Scar tissue formed into words.

  Niche steps closer, trying to read it. The letters are there, clear enough, but they don't make sense. Like his brain refuses to process them.

  "The hell does that say?"

  Jupiter's grin spreads wider. "Can't read it? Interesting."

  "Just tell me what it says!"

  "You know I lead them, right?" Jupiter rolls his sleeve back down slowly, deliberately wasting time. "The shifters. All of them. They follow my orders."

  "What does that have to do with anything?!"

  Jupiter looks at Mr. Sutori, then back at Niche. "Everything, actually."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The knife stops moving in his hand. He takes a step toward Mr. Sutori.

  "Leading them means I decide who we go after. Who's worth the effort." His eyes stay fixed on the bound man. "And your father? He made our list a long time ago. You bearers who decide to hide from the law think you're untraceable." The knife reflects the construction lights. "Your dad was one of those fools."

  Niche's flames flicker brighter. "What did you do?!"

  Jupiter doesn't answer. Instead, he pulls out another cloth and moves toward Mr. Sutori.

  Something in Niche's gut twists.

  He breaks into a sprint, flames gathering in his palm. The fireball forms, growing hotter with each step.

  Jupiter kneels down, draping the cloth over Mr. Sutori's eyes slowly, covering his face completely and tying the cloth tightly.

  “Lower your head and relax,” Jupiter whispers in Mr. Sutori’s ear before standing back up.

  "Niche,” Mr. Sutori says quietly to no one, his words muffled by the cloth. “Tell your mother...tell her I tried."

  You raised him well, Boss thinks. I'm sorry this has to be done, but I have to stay professional no matter what I feel.

  A quiet click. The knife extends.

  "Dad—!" Niche calls out, reaching for his father.

  The blade moves in one clean motion.

  Mr. Sutori's head separates from his body.

  Niche stops mid-run, the fireball dissipating in his hand. His father's body slumps forward. The head rolls, coming to rest a few feet away, still covered by the cloth.

  He…h-h-he just k-killed my father. Like a martyr.

  Niche stands there, frozen. He wants to run to him, to do something, but what? His father's head is disconnected. There's nothing to console. Nothing to save.

  Niche's legs move before his brain catches up. He stumbles forward, reaching for the cloth covering his father's head.

  His hand hovers over it. Shaking.

  If I pull it back, I'll see his face. His eyes. Will they still be open?

  His gaze drifts to the body instead. The neck – cleanly severed, blood pooling beneath the body. The way his father's shoulders slump forward, like he's just sleeping.

  Jupiter moves again. Another cloth in his hand. He drapes it carefully over the exposed neck, covering the wound.

  Niche watches him do it. Watches this stranger show more care in death than—

  "Why?" Niche's voice comes out hollow. Not angry, just empty. "Why cover it now?"

  Jupiter doesn't answer. He just steps back, tucking the knife away.

  Niche looks between them. The covered head. The covered neck. His father, divided into pieces and wrapped up like a package.

  "I don't..." Niche’s throat closes. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

  The fireball is gone. His flames have dimmed to almost nothing. He's just standing there, a kid in a cavern with his dead father, and he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do.

  Jupiter checks his watch. "We should wrap this up soon."

  Something in Niche snaps.

  Wrap this up?

  The flames roar back to life, hotter than before. His vision narrows to just Jupiter standing there, casually packing up, like he didn't just—

  Niche charges, fire erupting from his entire body. He swings wild, no technique, just rage and heat and the need to burn this man until there's nothing left.

  Jupiter sidesteps, almost lazy. “Predictable. Emotional reactions always follow these kinds of events.”

  Niche lunges, unleashing a wave of fire. Jupiter is already elsewhere, examining his nails.

  "This won't bring him back, you know,” Jupiter advises.

  Niche unsheathes his sword, readying an attack before he is interrupted.

  “Niche,” Raizen says to him. “Calm down. You won’t beat him swinging like this. You’re just burning through energy.”

  Niche, startled by this sudden appearance of an ally, stands still to regain his breath.

  Niche, with his energy quickly drained, sheathes Raizen and heavily pants to regain his breath. While he recovers, he looks up with despair at Jupiter.

  "Why do you do this?" Niche's voice is hollow, looking straight at Boss. "Is the money really all that much?"

  "Money?" Boss laughs. "You think I do it for that? No, my reasons are greater.” Boss returns to his spot and sits down, looking at Niche’s recovering body with pity. Something in Boss’ response suggests he is aware that Niche’s question was rhetorical but still responds just to toy with Niche. “You think like a simple-minded human: we sell the sun's energy, profit, and spend it all on lavish gifts. That couldn't be further from the truth." Boss's voice carries cold superiority. "The others have their reasons for monetary gain. Revenge, pride, wellness...but me?"

  Jupiter takes his knife out and starts twirling it around again.

  "I want to prove my superiority. Humans are such weak creatures. Fall from a height too tall, break bones or even die. Not just physically, but emotionally also. Go through one heartbreak or tough situation, they end their own life."

  Boss's form ripples slightly.

  "But I? No, I am not like those humans. Whatever I go through, I never break, never get hurt. And this is not just because of my power – I never used my powers in this way – but because of my resilience."

  His voice drops, venomous.

  "And these...filthy humans. They are weak. Unable to resist. It disgusts me. Dogs should know their place, just as humans should assume their place under me. The money is just a supplementary benefit; the main reason for me to do is it to show the filthy humans how inferior they are, how my power allows me to control their fate.

  decide if they live the next sun cycle or not."

  Boss looks down at Niche, who had made his way to his father’s head and begins to stare at the cloth that covers it.

  "Do you know why I always hide my identity and not associate with others? Not to keep myself a secret, but out of disgust. Hatred of those worthless beings."

  Boss pauses, studying Niche. He can tell Niche’s mind is away now: not on Boss’ motives, or even on his father. Niche’s desires lie on something far purer, more potent than Boss is comfortable with. It sends a shiver down Boss’ spine, but he ignores this involuntary response.

  "But...I can tell you're a little different from the weak ones. Not because of your power, but..."

  Silence.

  “How powerful is a man,” Niche starts, tears in his eyes, “whose entire value is determined by how an inferior being thinks of them?”

  Boss is amused by this comment, as Niche has played into his game, but Niche doesn’t continue or elaborate any further. Niche is completely still. Then, his shoulders start shaking. Not with tears.

  With rage.

  His flames outward, wilder than ever.

  Niche lunges forward, swinging blind. Boss sidesteps easily.

  Another attack. Another dodge. Boss isn't even trying to fight back.

  "When you're done with your tantrum, come find me. We have things to discuss,” Boss says, stepping backwards into the shadow of the room.

  Gone. Quiet. Everything is still in that room, besides the dripping of Mr. Sutori’s blood, which even now has started to dry and solidify.

  Niche drops beside his father, his energy used up. He wants to reach for something, anything, but his body won’t let him. The air feels thick and resistant.

  “I…I used the sun flames in those attacks,” Niche mumbles to himself between exasperated breaths. “Used too much…energy…”

  Niche stays there, unable to get up. By this point, what had been lighting up the room had burned out, so only Niche himself brought light to this room. But now, his flames gutter out one by one until he's in near darkness. Something feels... wrong. Weaker. Like a wall inside him just crumbled.

  "What..." He looks at his hands. The flames come when called, creating some light in the room, but they're different. They feel softer. More vulnerable. "What did you do to me?” he says, referencing Boss. “No. I should be asking…what did I do to myself?”

  No one answers as his soft flame gutters out.

  Niche stays there in the darkness. Time passes; he doesn't know how long. Minutes? Hours? His flames light slightly, just enough to provide him with some awareness of his surroundings.

  Eventually, his body moves on its own. Mechanical. He can't look at his father's body slumped over, the covered neck, the blood pooled beneath.

  He reaches for the head instead. Still wrapped in the cloth Boss draped over it.

  His hands shake as he picks it up. Heavier than he expected. The weight of it registers wrong in his brain; this is his father, but it's also just... an object now. A thing he's carrying.

  He moves through the tunnels, each step automatic. The cloth is damp. He tries not to think about why.

  Halfway up, it hits him. Really hits him.

  He's holding his father's severed head.

  His stomach turns. He stops walking, leaning against the tunnel wall. The disgust rises in his throat – physical, visceral, undeniable.

  Then the tears come. Not from grief, not yet. From the disgust itself.

  I'm disgusted by my own father.

  That thought breaks something. He slides down the wall, still clutching the head, and the sobs wrack through him. He's crying because he's repulsed. Crying because he can't help being repulsed. Crying because what kind of son feels this way?

  The guilt is worse than the grief.

  He doesn't know how long he stays there. But eventually his legs start moving again. Up through the tunnels. Toward the street.

  By the time he reaches street level, his arms are shaking. Not from weight. From everything.

  He sets it down behind a dumpster gently, like his father's sleeping. Pulls out his phone with bloody hands. Dials 911.

  "There's... someone hurt. Please hurry."

  He quickly hangs up before questions, walking away into the shadows as the sounds of sirens approach.