Stepping into the house, Markus feels its silence cling to him like a cold hand. He turns just as the portal seals shut behind him with a soft, final crack—like a lock clicking into place.

  Dust swirls in the stale air, catching in his throat as he moves down into the basement of Ange’s home. Every step seems swallowed by the stillness, the kind of quiet that suggests the walls learned to listen long before he ever arrived.

  Then the world exhales.

  The walls ripple. Space pinches inward, folding and twisting as if a massive, unseen hand had gripped the edges of reality. In an instant, the basement unravels into nothing, replaced by a vast field of drifting stars that pulse with cold, distant light.

  A single phrase blossoms in his mind:

  “Vote for Berserk Mode: start.”

  The last fragments of the house dissolve as the stars pour into his vision. He floats, weightless, suspended in a cold cradle of light that feels too enormous to comprehend.

  “Wait—no. There’s a mistake,” Markus says, forcing his voice steady even though panic roils under it. “I don’t need Berserk Mode to end this. It can still be peaceful. My vote is no.”

  A voice rises from the stars—blurred, layered, impossible to separate. Exhaustion makes it hard to tell which god is speaking.

  “You do not worry about the life of the Sakura. With her on the planet, everyone is in danger.”

  “She isn’t the danger!” Markus shouts, his voice breaking against the blue glow swelling around him. “The Life-Giving Blade was never meant to kill someone innocent. That’s why I’m voting no!”

  Then all three divine voices merge, resonating like a single, colossal breath:

  “The vote is three to one. Berserk Mode is enabled.”

  But something is off this time.

  Something is wrong.

  Deeply wrong.

  Magic coils around him like invisible smoke, but instead of awe, dread floods his veins. Strength rushes into his limbs; his senses sharpen; everything feels faster, heavier—alive in a way that makes his stomach twist.

  He looks down.

  From the backs of his hands, the two long black whips unfurl—dark, leathery coils sliding outward like living serpents. Once, he’d stared at them with wonder. Once, he’d believed they were a gift.

  Now his breath trembles.

  This power… I could’ve done so much with it. Think of the people I could’ve protected. The kids whose parents might’ve come home safe because of me…

  His fists tighten, and the black whips flex with him, as if echoing his regret.

  So why does it feel like everything good he hoped for is slipping further away?

  Markus walks toward the door he already knows leads to her bedroom, the Life-Giving Blade heavy in his palm. The wraps coil around his wrists, eager in a way he isn’t.

  He pushes the door open.

  “Heya, Wielder,” Ange says. Her voice is low, flat, maddeningly steady. No fear. No surprise. Just a hollow calm that crawls under his skin.

  “You’re… a little too calm,” Markus says, resting the sword across his hand, the tip angled toward the floor. “You know why I’m here, right?”

  “I can read your mind,” Ange replies. “That’s how I know you don’t plan to kill me in Berserk Mode.”

  Markus exhales slowly. He steps toward her—deliberate, controlled—holding the blade out…

  …and lets it fall from his grip.

  “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t.”

  “You were going to try to talk me down.” Ange’s voice doesn’t waver; it simply states the truth.

  Markus sits beside her on the edge of the bed. The sword dissolves into light between his fingers, dismissed with a single thought.

  “Do you really think it’s fair?” Ange asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “What happens to him?”

  For the first time, something cracks across her expression.

  A tiny fracture.

  Then another.

  “Do you think it’s fair that they killed my Akuru?”

  Her voice breaks—fully, violently—as the mask shatters. Tears spill down her face in long, silent streaks that don’t stop, don’t slow, just keep falling like she’s been holding them in for centuries.

  “No,” Markus says softly. “What they did is unforgivable.”

  He barely finishes before she lunges at him, arms locking around his ribs. The suddenness of it freezes him. Her weight, her grip, her grief pressed into his chest.

  “To be honest… it’s hard to tell you to stop,” Markus murmurs, his voice sinking low. “If they’d hurt Liddle, I probably would’ve done the same thing. No hesitation.”

  He rubs at his chest, guilt flickering across his face.

  “I’m still haunted by how she looked after the priest attacked me. The cut on her cheek was so deep… and the burns…” His breath stumbles. “I still see them.”

  A hand brushes his.

  Her fingers wrap around his—soft, cold, familiar in a way that startles him. He turns to find Ange watching him, tears still streaking down her trembling cheeks.

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  “Your feelings for her are strong,” she says. “Just like her feelings for you. They flood your mind.”

  A beat.

  “They flood mine.”

  Her expression tightens. “So you understand me. You understand why they should die.”

  Markus swallows hard. “But… did you think about what happens if you murder them?”

  “What does it matter?” Ange snaps.

  She rises abruptly, voice fraying with desperation.

  “I’ve been all over the universe. I’ve tried every planet—from overcrowded cities to empty forests—”

  She snatches something from her nightstand and hurls it to the floor.

  It hits, shatters, and the sharp crack slices through the room like a scream.

  “Why can’t I just be left alone?!”

  Markus steps toward her, palms open, voice steady.

  “I understand why you want that. And you’re right—it is your right. People keep taking it from you, again and again.”

  He reaches out and takes her hands, slow and gentle, grounding her.

  “But if you kill them… the ones who survive will twist it against you. They’ll weaponize it. They’ll justify any horror in the name of stopping you.”

  He lifts her hands slightly, guiding her back onto steady feet.

  “But it’s not too late,” he says softly. “We still have that land by my place. I can keep you safe there. No hunters. No agents. No one trying to control you.”

  A tiny hopeful smile tugs at his lips.

  “Maybe a kid or two playing hide-and-seek will wander past, but the hatred? The fear? You won’t have to carry that anymore. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “You really do care about me,” Ange murmurs. “I usually hate reading your mind. You think about some truly horrifying things.”

  A tiny laugh slips through her tears.

  “But feeling how much you care…”

  She exhales, eyes lifting to meet his.

  “I’ll take you up on your offer. But since I’m siding with you… I’m sorry.”

  Markus blinks. “For what?”

  Ange looks away. Guilt tightens her features, pulling everything inward.

  “Lemres wanted me to lie. But I can’t hold it in. Not with you.”

  A beat.

  “I was never going to kill Priest Urban.”

  Her voice drops to a whisper, thin and shaking.

  “He was going to kill someone else. Someone who would do the act for us.”

  Markus’s breath stalls. “What—

  Before he can finish, panic flashes across her eyes.

  She snaps her fingers.

  A spell detonates through his nerves like a trap springing shut.

  His entire body locks. Arms seize. Legs crumble. He crashes to his knees, breath snagging in his throat as paralysis clamps down like iron across his spine.

  Footsteps enter the room behind him.

  A voice Markus knows—can almost place—speaks with eerie calm.

  “I see you’ve already killed him.”

  Markus tries to turn his head. Nothing moves—not even a twitch.

  “Sorry,” Ange murmurs. “I could tell you wanted to kill him.”

  Footsteps cross the room—slow, deliberate. The man steps into Markus’s frozen line of sight, approaching with a casual menace that makes the air feel heavier.

  “Don’t worry,” Ange says, stepping closer to the paralyzed Markus. “You won’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of the body.”

  The man sighs—annoyed, almost bored.

  “Man… you’re lucky you get to have all the fun. He should’ve known better than to let my girlfriend get hurt that badly.”

  He takes another step toward Markus.

  Ange’s arm snaps out, blocking him like a blade drawn across a throat.

  “Don’t you have to kill that priest?” she snaps. “With all the sugar he eats, he gets impatient. Lemres doesn’t want to wait.”

  The man glances past her at Markus’s unmoving body. Tilts his head. Exhales through his nose.

  “Very well.”

  He turns and leaves without another word.

  His footsteps fade down the hall… grow faint… then disappear entirely, like he slipped out of existence.

  The moment he’s gone, Ange snaps her fingers again.

  The floor ripples.

  The walls twist inward.

  The entire structure shudders, folding through itself like fabric pulled through the eye of a needle—

  —and in a single blink, all motion stops.

  Ange’s house now sits in Markus’s backyard.

  Markus’s fingers twitch—one useless, broken tremor against the paralysis. His heart slams against his ribs, adrenaline screaming through a body that refuses to obey.

  Then—

  Footsteps rush toward him.

  Liddle bursts in first, skidding to her knees beside him. Her hands shake as she cups his face, checking his breath, his pulse, every inch of him like she expects him to vanish if she looks away.

  Ange drops beside them without a word. She slides her arms beneath Markus’s shoulders while Liddle gathers his legs. Together, they lift him—slowly, carefully, as if he might shatter from the smallest wrong movement.

  They carry him down the dim hallway. The house gives unfamiliar creaks, shifting against the new reality it’s been dropped into. Liddle’s grip tightens every time Markus’s body sways, and Ange steadies the weight with a quiet, focused determination.

  Neither of them speaks.

  They lower Markus onto his bed and pull the blankets over him with the fragile, deliberate care someone uses when covering a sleeping child. Liddle tucks a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Ange adjusts the pillow beneath his head.

  Then they step back, standing side by side in the soft glow of the room, watching the rise and fall of his breathing.

  Liddle’s worry crashes into Ange’s mind like a storm she can’t shut out—raw, frantic, aching. It pushes her to work faster, steadier, to make sure nothing else hurts that girl’s heart tonight.

  “I’m sorry,” Ange says finally, looking away. “One of the people Lemres hired had… giggly thoughts about killing him, so I panicked.”

  “You saved him again,” Liddle replies, voice cold and cracking at the edges. She throws herself into Ange’s arms anyway, sobbing into her shoulder. “Who is trying to kill him?”

  “I don’t know,” Ange says quietly, moving to Markus’s other side. “Someone with blue hair and a red hand.”

  “That sounds like someone I know, but… no. No way…”

  The thought collapses before she can say it. She rushes back to Markus instead, trembling fingers brushing his cheek, his forehead, searching for heat, for pain, for anything she can fix. Then she settles beside him, close enough that her knees touch the bedframe, eyes locked on the rhythm of his breathing.

  Waiting. Guarding. Ready to move the instant he needs her.

  “Markus…” Liddle whispers. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

  Ange steps back toward the doorway. Her expression is unreadable—sharp, tense—but her presence anchors the room, steady as a warding spell.

  “I’ll keep watch outside,” Ange says. “If he comes this way, or if anything changes—just think about it, and I’ll be here.”

  She slips out, the door clicking shut behind her like a ward sealing the room from the world.

  Liddle lets out a shaky breath. She leans down and presses a delicate kiss to Markus’s forehead, her lips lingering there for a moment as if trying to warm him back into motion. Then she curls beside him, careful not to disturb his paralyzed limbs, and wraps her arms around him in a fierce, trembling hold.

  Her voice settles into the stillness, soft as a vow:

  “I’m right here. I’ll wait with you until you wake up.”

  And she stays like that—steadfast, unblinking—guarding him in the dim glow of the room, keeping watch over the fragile space where his dreams brush against the waking world.