The silence was wrong.
Zack felt it even before he pushed aside the rusted grate that separated the sewers from the surface. The Lower District was never silent—not even in the deadest hours of the night. There was always the distant murmur of conversations, the occasional crash of glass from a tavern, a child's cry, hurried footsteps of someone going home too late.
But now, nothing.
The pale light of dawn spilled over the deserted streets, revealing a scene that made Zack's stomach twist. Doors hung wide open, swinging gently in the wind. Personal belongings—a rag doll, a worn-out hat, a shopping basket—lay abandoned on the dusty ground. The stench of rotting food mingled with another scent, acrid and metallic, one he recognized instantly: blood.
"It's like everyone left… all at once," K murmured, her red eyes sweeping over the empty streets.
Zack nodded, his hand never leaving the hilt of the Black Moon. The emotional collapse he had suffered in the sewers still weighed on him, but now something stronger had taken hold—a grim determination, a silent promise that he would not fail again. He would not let his weakness put others in danger.
"Stay alert," he ordered, his voice low but firm. "We don't know what's still out here."
Orpheus took up the rear guard, more watchful than ever. The story he had shared earlier had left him exposed in a way that clearly unsettled him. The Boy walked beside K, his curious eyes picking up details the others seemed to miss—a strange mark here, an odd shadow there.
They advanced down the main street, each step echoing unnervingly in the silence. The shops and homes told the quiet story of a sudden, forced evacuation: meals abandoned mid-bite, chairs overturned as if their occupants had leapt up in panic, doors broken from the inside out.
It was K who noticed first.
"Zack," she called, pointing at the ground. "Look."
Drag marks cut through the dust of the street, dozens of them, all heading in the same direction—toward the central square. Some were broad, as if bodies had been dragged; others were narrower, as though someone had tried to resist, clawing at the ground as they were pulled away.
Orpheus knelt to examine a dark stain on the ground. "Blood," he confirmed. "Only a few hours old."
But it wasn't just the blood that drew their attention. In some places, the stains formed partial patterns, as if they had been deliberately smeared to create symbols.
"There," the Boy said, pointing to a nearby wall.
Small symbols had been scratched into the stone—concentric circles, lines crossing at impossible angles, spirals that seemed to shift when viewed from the corner of one's eye. They were the same symbols they had seen on Milos's equipment and in the abandoned village.
"Some of these are fresh," Orpheus observed, running his fingers over the markings without touching them. "But others… these here are weeks, maybe months old."
"How did we miss this?" K asked, disbelief coloring her voice. "Were we blind?"
"Maybe we wanted to be," Zack replied, his voice carrying a bitterness he didn't bother to hide.
They continued onward, tension mounting with each new discovery. At a corner, the Boy abruptly stopped, crouching to pick something up from the ground. It was a small wooden horse, the kind of toy a child would never let go of. It was stained with blood on one side.
The Boy held it for a moment, an enigmatic expression on his young face, before gently setting it back down, as if it were something sacred.
When they reached the Drunken Mug, Zack's chest tightened. The tavern that had been his refuge for so long was unrecognizable. The windows were shattered, the door hanging from a single hinge. Inside, tables lay overturned, shattered bottles covered the floor, and the massive wooden bar where so many stories had been shared was stained with dried blood.
"Alf…" Zack murmured, his eyes scanning for any sign of his friend.
That was when they heard it—a faint noise coming from the cellar, something being knocked over, followed by a muffled sob.
In an instant, they were all on edge. Zack gestured silently, signaling K and the Boy to stay back while he and Orpheus investigated. With the Black Moon half-drawn, he approached the basement door, which stood ajar.
The stench of fear was almost tangible as they descended the creaking steps. The darkness of the cellar was broken only by a thin beam of light filtering through a small crack in the ceiling. In the farthest corner, among empty barrels and broken crates, something—or someone—moved.
"Who's there?" Zack called, his voice firm but not threatening.
A sudden movement, and then a figure lunged from the shadows with a desperate scream. Zack barely dodged as a broken bottle sliced through the air where his head had been a second earlier. He caught the attacker's wrist, immobilizing them with ease.
"Talia?"
The young barmaid of the Drunken Mug was almost unrecognizable. Her brown hair, usually tied neatly in a braid, was disheveled and filthy. Her face, once known for its shy smile, was twisted into a mask of absolute terror. Her wide, bloodshot eyes didn't seem to recognize Zack.
"No! Don't take me! Don't take me to the square!" she screamed, struggling frantically.
K hurried down the stairs, hands raised in a calming gesture.
"Talia, it's us," she said softly. "You're safe. No one will take you."
Slowly, recognition began to flicker in the girl's eyes. Her body shook violently before collapsing into sobs. K pulled her into a protective embrace, guiding her to a crate to sit down.
"What happened here, Talia?" Zack asked, kneeling to meet her gaze. "Where is everyone?"
Her account came in broken fragments between sobs and moments when she seemed lost in horrific memories:
"They came when the moon was high… they weren't normal soldiers… their eyes… empty…"
She hugged her knees, rocking back and forth.
"The pale man didn't speak, he just… pointed. And people obeyed, like… like they couldn't resist."
Zack and Orpheus exchanged a grim look. Milos.
"There were hooded figures," Talia continued, her voice now barely a whisper. "Drawing on the square floor… a huge circle… chanting something that hurt the ears."
Fresh tears welled in her eyes.
"Alf gathered some of us… he tried to fight… but that man, the pale one, he just… smiled. And Alf fell, screaming, clutching his head."
Zack felt cold rage building inside him, sharp as ice. His fists clenched involuntarily.
"Then came the other one…" Her voice broke. "Tall, scarred… laughing as he watched. He said something about 'finally, a worthy revenge'…"
Orpheus stiffened visibly at the description. Ygon.
"I was down here," she continued, gesturing weakly to the basement. "I hid… I heard the screams… then chanting… then… nothing. Nothing for hours."
A heavy silence fell over the group as they absorbed Talia's account. The Boy, who had been quietly observing from the stairs, finally spoke:
"The circle is almost complete."
Everyone turned to him, surprised by the calm in his voice.
"What do you mean?" K asked.
But the Boy only looked at Zack, his eyes conveying something words could not.
They climbed from the cellar to discuss their next move, leaving Talia wrapped in a blanket K had found behind the counter.
"We need to see what's happening in the square," Zack said quietly. "Understand what Milos is doing before we act."
"I agree," Orpheus nodded. "If it's what I suspect, rushing in unprepared would be suicide."
"And what about her?" K gestured subtly toward Talia.
"We can leave her here," Orpheus suggested. "Hidden. She's survived so far."
As if she had heard them—and maybe she had—Talia suddenly stood, her eyes wide with panic.
"Don't leave me!" she pleaded, clutching K's arm. "Please… I'd rather die out there with you than alone in the dark…"
Zack studied her for a long moment. The terror in her eyes was genuine, but there was something else—determination born of despair.
"She comes with us," he said at last.
"Zack, she'll slow us—" Orpheus began.
"No one gets left behind," Zack cut him off, his tone allowing no argument. "No one."
Orpheus held his gaze for a moment, then nodded in silent agreement.
Zack quickly outlined a plan. He knew the Lower District better than most—its alleys, secret paths, and interconnected rooftops. They would use the high routes, approaching the central square from above, where they could observe without being easily detected.
The climb was difficult, especially for Talia, who was weak and trembling. K stayed by her side, offering physical support and words of encouragement. The Boy moved with surprising agility, almost as if he instinctively knew the way.
As they drew closer to the square, something strange began to happen. The air grew heavier, filled with a metallic scent that reminded them of blood, but also something older and deeper—like freshly dug earth and decaying flesh. The shadows in the alleys below seemed to move independently of their sources, at times reaching out with elongated, dark fingers.
A low, almost subliminal humming began to press against their ears. Talia clutched hers in silent agony, her face contorted with pain. Even Orpheus, usually stoic, looked uncomfortable.
Zack felt the Black Moon vibrating in its sheath, as if it were responding to the energy in the air. It was a familiar, unsettling sensation—the blade was… hungry.
The sky above the square had taken on a strange color, as if the very light was being bent around something that should not exist in this plane of reality.
The Boy seemed unnaturally drawn to it all, his eyes fixed on the square with unsettling intensity. More than once, Zack had to call him back when he strayed too far ahead, as though pulled by some invisible force.
They were crossing a narrow walkway between two rooftops when Orpheus raised his hand in a warning signal. Below, a hooded sentry was moving slowly, his head shifting from side to side as if sniffing the air.
Everyone froze. The Boy, halfway across the walkway, almost slipped on a loose tile. Zack grabbed him by the collar just in time, pulling him to safety with a silent motion.
The sentry stopped. His hooded head slowly lifted, looking directly upward. For one terrible moment, Zack was sure they had been spotted. But then, after what felt like an eternity, the figure moved on, disappearing around a corner.
Held breaths were finally released.
"That was close," K whispered.
They proceeded with doubled caution until they reached their destination—an abandoned bell tower that offered a perfect view of the central square. Zack was the first to take position in the arched opening, his body tense as a drawn bowstring.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
The central square of the Lower District, normally a lively place of trade and social gatherings, had been transformed into something out of the darkest nightmares. A massive ritual circle covered the entire space, its complex symbols shifting subtly when looked at directly, as though existing partially in another dimension.
Within the circle, hundreds of bodies were arranged in precise geometric patterns—lines, spirals, macabre constellations of human flesh. Some were clearly dead, their faces frozen in final terror. Others, more disturbingly, seemed to breathe faintly, their eyes open but empty, as if their souls had been torn out, leaving only hollow shells.
At the exact center of the square, a column of dark energy rose as high as three men, pulsing like a diseased heart. Occasionally, arcs of black energy leapt from the column, connecting with different bodies in the circle, making them convulse briefly before falling still again.
And moving methodically among the bodies was Milos. His pale, angular face was focused, almost reverent, as he took notes in an ancient book. From time to time, he knelt to adjust the position of an arm or leg, ensuring perfect alignment with the larger pattern.
Hooded assistants stood at specific points around the circle, their hands raised as if maintaining some kind of barrier or field of energy.
Talia stifled a scream at the sight. K quickly covered her mouth, pulling her back from the opening.
The Boy watched with a disturbing fascination, his eyes reflecting the pulsing dark energy below.
"The Seventh Configuration," murmured Orpheus, genuine horror in his voice making Zack turn away from the square to stare at him.
"You know what this is?"
"Only… legends," Orpheus said tensely. "A forbidden ritual even among the profane. It's not just about draining life energy… it's reconstruction. He's… building something."
Zack turned his attention back to the square, cold fury rising within him as his hand gripped the hilt of the Black Moon so tightly his fingers hurt.
Then he saw it—a familiar figure among the arranged bodies. Placed in a prominent position near the center, his body forming part of a greater symbol, was Alf. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his eyes open but vacant, fixed on the warped sky above.
"Alf…" The name escaped Zack's lips like a prayer.
And then, as if the situation couldn't grow worse, Zack noticed another presence. At an elevated spot on the edge of the square, sitting casually on a fallen statue, was a tall man with visible scars across his face and arms. He watched the proceedings with a chilling smile, occasionally sipping from a bottle.
Ygon.
Zack felt something break inside him. Without thinking, he started to move, ready to throw himself into the chaos below.
Orpheus's hand gripped his arm with surprising strength.
"Not now," he whispered urgently. "Look at what he's doing. This isn't just a draining ritual. He's… building something."
"What can we do?" K asked, tension in her voice. "There are too many of them…"
"He's almost done," the Boy said, his voice unnervingly calm. "The circle will close when the moon reaches its zenith."
They all turned to him, surprised not just by his knowledge, but by the certainty in his tone.
Before anyone could question him, something unsettling happened. Milos, still in the center of the square, suddenly stopped his work. His body froze completely for a moment, like a statue. Then, slowly, his head turned, looking directly at the bell tower where they were hiding.
Even from a distance, Zack could see the smile forming on Milos's pale face—a smile that never touched his empty eyes. He raised a hand and made a casual gesture to two of his assistants, who immediately began moving toward the group.
"He knows we're here," K whispered.
The time for observation was over. The time for action had come.