“Aralyss Nyxvoria: the author of death,” Code thought, eyes narrowed and fixed on Hina and the demon trapped inside the sphere. ‘If I remember correctly, history says she died in the war between humans and demons many years ago.’

  “Oi, you don’t wanna miss this part,” Ryūma said, snapping Code out of his thoughts.

  “Uh… oh, yeah,” Code muttered, lifting his gaze.

  Hina’s sword gleamed faintly in the darkness as she stood before the trembling demon. A thin crack split down through her eye sockets; blood spurted out. Then she commanded, “Begin!”

  As the word left her mouth, Aralyss raised the hand holding the pen and slowly moved it toward the tome, beginning to write. Her handwriting was gothic and unreadable; every stroke left trails of writhing darkness spreading outward.

  ‘This power… How does a mere human possess it?’ the demon thought, sweat sliding down its forehead. ‘Shit,’ it muttered inwardly, jaw clenching. ‘I can’t move at all.’

  Aralyss finished writing and lifted her pen. Hina’s eyes darkened.

  “One!” she declared.

  Aralyss drove the pen downward, stabbing it into the written words. Instantly, the demon’s eyes widened as a long black metal rod materialized behind it and pierced clean through its neck, bursting out the front.

  “Gahh!” the demon shrieked, gasping as blood sprayed from its mouth. “Where did this come from?” it whispered, collapsing to its knees.

  “Two!” Hina called again.

  Another rod materialized, tearing through the demon’s forehead and out the other side.

  “Oh my goodness,” Code breathed, stomach turning as he stared in horror. ‘Is she torturing it?’ he thought. Then realization hit. Cold air escaped his throat. ‘She’s not just torturing it, she’s making it want to die.’

  A third rod ripped through the demon’s torso, leaving a gaping hole. Another pierced its eyes, shredding facial skin and bursting both eyeballs. Code covered his mouth, fighting nausea.

  “Ha.” Ryūma chuckled grimly. “You’ll get used to it. Probably.”

  “She actually activated it,” Finn whispered from behind Code and Ryūma, blinking fearfully.

  “Seven!” By now the demon’s body was unrecognizable; arms shredded, skull cracked, torso punctured, eyes gone, legs twisted, blood smeared across ruined flesh. Hina’s expression remained cold and indifferent, untouched by the creature’s suffering. She raised her hand again. “Eigh—”

  “Stop!!” The demon’s ragged groan cut her off.

  “Hm?” Hina asked, lowering her hand. “Do you plead death?” she demanded.

  The demon lifted its ruined face. The look she gave it was pure, endless hatred. ‘I’ve never been on the receiving end,’ it thought. ‘I’ve always been the one torturing humans. Now I’m the one screaming.’

  “Haha,” the demon chuckled weakly, meeting her gaze with hollow eyes. “If death will take the pain away, then I plead death.”

  Hina raised her hand once more. This time Aralyss spoke. “Final Verdict: Death Penalty!”

  The tome snapped shut.

  “Gah!” The demon let out one last shaky gasp. Hina’s hand dropped. A massive guillotine blade materialized overhead and fell in a single, clean arc. It severed the demon’s head with a wet crunch; the head rolled across the ground in a spray of blood.

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  Code exhaled heavily.

  “She’s done,” Ryūma said quietly.

  The dark dome slowly dissolved. Aralyss’s form and the guillotine faded away. “Arrgh,” Hina sighed, turning back toward them. Her eyes were sunken, red veins bulging across the whites, hair matted to her blood-soaked face. “That was tiring,” she said with a faint smile, then collapsed forward.

  “She fainted?” Code exclaimed.

  “Yup,” Ryūma replied. “Creating and maintaining a sphere doesn’t just take tenzen,it also drains the wielder’s life force.”

  “Oh?” Code said.

  “Oi, scaredy cat, you can come out already,” Ryūma called, glancing toward Finn.

  “Wha?!” Finn blurted, brows knitting. “I’ll have you know I was here the whole time!” he shouted.

  “Whatever makes you sleep at night,” Ryūma replied casually, waving a hand as he walked over to Hina. He crouched, lifted her gently, and hoisted her onto his back. “Anyway, we should scram outta here.”

  “Uh… yeah,” Code nodded awkwardly.

  “Your leg’s healed,” Ryūma noted as he passed him.

  “Eh?” Code looked down. “It regenerated already?” he exclaimed, staring at his fully restored leg in disbelief.

  ...

  Meanwhile, outside the house, the evening sun cast a pale red glow over the city streets, the air thick with chatter and murmurs.

  A dense crowd had gathered around the building, heads craned toward the darkened windows, voices overlapping in speculation.

  "I heard some sorcerers went in there... they still haven’t come out," a man said, arms folded.

  "They’ve probably been eaten by the ghost," another replied with grim certainty.

  "May their souls rest in peace," an old woman whispered, pressing her palms together in silent prayer.

  Farther back from the throng stood two figures, both hunched slightly, barely keeping their balance. Their eyes drifted lazily; color had drained from their faces.

  "Ugh, aren’t they taking too long?" Van asked, voice slow and dragging.

  "Doesn’t look like it. Was a mid-class demon really too much for them?" Ken replied, a faint hint of concern in his otherwise flat tone.

  Van shook his head weakly. "Nah, no way they’d lose to a mid-class." He straightened a little, then immediately regretted it.

  "Damn, what’s with this intense heat," he muttered, pressing a palm to his face as he tugged the mask down. "Sheesh," he groaned.

  "Uh… Van?" Ken said, casting a sideways glance before flicking his eyes back toward the crowd.

  "What?" Van exhaled heavily, turning toward him. Sweat glistened on his forehead and slid in slow trails down his cheeks.

  "You sure you wanna keep that mask off?" Ken asked.

  "Ugh, what are you talking about now?" Van grumbled, eyes rolling in dizzy circles.

  Ken raised a hand and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

  Van blinked slowly, then followed the gesture to the crowd.

  His eyes snapped wide; the dizziness vanished in an instant.

  "'Is that…?'" a woman near the front murmured, hand flying to her mouth. "V-Van Ackerman?!"

  "Eh?" Van blurted, instinctively stepping back. "N-no, you’ve got the wrong guy," he tried, raising both palms.

  "It’s unmistakable," a man farther to the right declared. "That is Van Ackerman!"

  "Oh, shit," Van breathed.

  "Oh my God! It’s really him!" someone screamed.

  "But wait… is he drunk?!"

  "Oi, Ken, you gotta help—" Van hissed, spinning toward his companion, only to freeze mid-sentence.

  "Bastard!" Van growled under his breath, biting his lip when he realized Ken had already vanished into thin air.

  "Van Ackerman!!" voices erupted as people surged forward, encircling him in seconds.

  "Give me your autograph!" A woman thrust a crumpled receipt and pen toward him.

  "Look at me, I’m right here!" a man bellowed, waving both arms.

  "I’m your biggest fan!" another shouted.

  A teenage girl rushed forward and grazed his sleeves with her hand. "Oh my God, I touched him! I’m never washing this hand for the rest of my life!" She shrieked, clutching the hand.

  Before she could process what was happening, a cluster of people mobbed her, tongues already darting out, trying to lick the back of her hand.

  "He is the manifestation of a god!"

  "I’m blessed! I don’t mind if I go blind."

  "Arrgh," Van sighed grimly and yanked the mask back over his face.

  The instant the silver fabric settled, the frenzy halted. Everyone who had surrounded him froze, blinked, then looked at one another in confusion.

  "Who’s that?!" someone muttered.

  They stared at the now-masked figure walking calmly away.

  "Wasn’t that just Van Ackerman?!"

  "Nah, I think we all mistook him for Van Ackerman," a man said, scratching his head. "Yeah, think about it; what would Van Ackerman be doing here? No way that’s possible, haha!"

  "Hahaha!" The crowd dissolved into awkward, relieved laughter.

  The girl who had claimed she touched him stood frozen, cheeks burning with embarrassment as the people who moments ago had tried to lick her hand slowly backed away, suddenly mortified.

  "Jeez," Van sighed as he slipped into a dark alley. ‘What would I do without this mask?’ he thought, shoulders finally relaxing.

  The mask was coated with a spell: while worn, it temporarily erased all memory of the wearer’s true face from anyone who saw it, except those who already knew the masked man was Van Ackerman.

  He adjusted it once more, then kept walking, disappearing into the lengthening shadows.