The rain fell light, almost a drizzle, over the red-light district bordering the southern edge of the city. Business carried on as usual. A drunk slumped against a wall. A brawl broke out somewhere down the street. Women leaned from red-lit windows, silhouettes shifting as they sold their services to whoever would pay.
In the middle of it all walked a man in a black trench coat.
His mind was elsewhere.
He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled slowly, heat and smoke curling into the damp air. His fingers pressed into his temples, purple eyes distant, replaying the last fight.
Crimson eyes staring back at him.
Not Nathaniel's.
Not really.
They had been wrong—too sharp, too aware. Like something else was looking through him. Something that didn't belong in a human body.
Arc.
Ivo's jaw tightened slightly.
He had already won. He knew he had. Nathaniel had been on the back foot, breaking under pressure—
Then those eyes had changed.
The way he moved after that… precise. Effortless. Like every action had already been decided before it happened. No hesitation. No wasted motion.
Like a spectator stepping into the game for a moment.
Just to prove he could.
And Usagi…
His thoughts stalled there for half a second.
She had been right behind him. Supporting. Watching.
Then Arc had looked at her.
Really looked.
Space itself had felt… wrong. Pressurized. Folded in on itself without moving. And Usagi—
Frozen.
Not injured.
Not restrained.
Just… gone.
Standing there, eyes wide, body locked, like her mind had been pushed somewhere it couldn't come back from. Catatonic. Useless in an instant.
Before, she had been so easy to rely on.
So easy to position.
He should have ended it before that.
Should have put a hole through Nathaniel's heart before it surfaced.
His thoughts snapped apart as a figure leaned into him.
A middle-aged woman, barely steady on her feet, clothes clinging to her in all the wrong ways. Drunk.
"Hello there, hunk," she slurred, blue eyes meeting his purple. "Rare seeing someone like you here. I'm in a good mood… I'll let ya have me for forty units. You interested?"
She pressed herself against him, guiding his hand without permission.
For a moment—
Silence.
Ivo's gaze locked onto hers.
The shift was instant.
The intensity in his eyes hit her like cold water, sobering her faster than anything else could. A faint pulse of uratsu rippled outward, subtle—but enough.
People felt it.
Heads turned. Conversations died. Instinct kicked in.
Neo-humans didn't need words for this.
Something stronger than them was here.
And it wasn't worth the trouble.
She pulled back immediately.
Murmurs spread.
Ivo didn't even look at her anymore.
His arm lifted, pointing toward a narrow alleyway just out of sight.
At first, it sounded like nothing.
Then—
A muffled struggle.
A choked cry. Pleading. Cut off.
Movement in the shadows.
A man forcing someone down, hidden just beyond the line of sight. One hand clamped over her mouth. The other—
A sharp crack split the air.
The man dropped instantly, a clean hole torn through his arm as he collapsed, screaming and clutching at the wound.
The girl scrambled free, dragging herself back against the wall, shaking.
No one had seen the shot.
No one asked questions.
Ivo lowered his hand.
For a brief moment, his expression hardened—something cold, absolute passing through his eyes.
Crimson eyes flickered in his mind again.
Then it was gone.
He turned and walked on, as if nothing had happened.
Arc was supposed to be gone.
Erased.
That was the assumption. The conclusion everyone had settled on after the Amaterasu lost control of their vessel.
But those eyes.
Ivo exhaled slowly, the cigarette dimming between his fingers.
Arc was back.
Not whole. Not fully present.
But there.
And worse.
Different.
Free.
No longer bound by the Amaterasu. No handlers. No leash. No doctrine forcing direction or restraint.
Just will.
His brow furrowed slightly.
Why?
How?
They had not just lost control of him before. He had been contained, shaped, directed. Even at his worst, there had been structure behind the chaos.
Now there was nothing.
That made him more dangerous than before.
Not because of power alone.
Because of choice.
Ivo's gaze drifted ahead, unfocused.
He had options.
He could report it. Pass the information up the chain. Let the higher ups scramble, mobilize, pretend they had any real control over what came next.
Or he could wait.
Let the underground play its games.
Let them poke at something they did not understand.
If Arc decided to move.
Really move.
There would not be an underground left to manage.
Just absence.
A quiet exhale left him.
After all.
The man had fought Zenith.
And won.
At least, that was what the whispers said.
Ivo did not fully trust rumours.
But he trusted what he felt in that moment.
And that had been enough.
His grip tightened slightly before relaxing again.
No.
Rushing this would be a mistake.
For now.
He would watch.