Time seemed to freeze in the bell tower.
Milos's assistants were approaching, their elongated shadows climbing the spiral stairs. The group had seconds, perhaps less, before they were discovered. K was already preparing her daggers, the Boy cowered behind her, and Talia trembled uncontrollably in a corner.
It was then that Zack did something unexpected.
Without a word, he turned and placed his hands on Orpheus's shoulders. The gesture was simple, almost casual, yet laden with a weight that seemed to bend the very air around them. Their gazes met – a moment of silent communication more eloquent than a thousand words.
Orpheus didn't immediately understand. He frowned, confused by Zack's sudden calm in the face of imminent danger. But then, something shifted in Zack's eyes. The darkness in his irises seemed to deepen, to expand, like a bottomless well suddenly revealing its true depth.
It was no longer Zack's eyes looking at Orpheus. It was something older. Vaster. Something that existed before the stars and would remain after the last of them faded.
The Void looked through Zack.
Orpheus's face transformed into a mask of absolute terror. His body, normally controlled and precise in every movement, began to tremble violently. Cold sweat streamed down his forehead, and his breathing became ragged, almost gasping. He, who had faced the horrors of Luna's arenas without flinching, who had seen the worst atrocities humans could inflict upon each other, was now terrified beyond reason.
"Let's go," he finally managed to say, his voice unrecognizable, choked by fear. "Now!"
K looked at him, surprised by the sudden change. "What about Zack? We can't leave him—"
"NOW!" The word exploded from Orpheus like a roar, so unlike his usually controlled tone that even Talia stopped trembling for an instant, paralyzed by a new kind of fear.
Zack had already moved away from them. He knelt in the center of the bell tower, head bowed, hands fallen to his sides like abandoned tools. Motionless. Silent. Waiting.
K resisted, pulling against Orpheus's grip on her arm. "No! He needs us! We can't—"
"You don't understand," Orpheus hissed, pulling her towards the back exit of the bell tower. "No one can help him now."
The Boy, who had been watching everything with wide eyes, tried to intervene. "Orpheus, maybe we can—"
His words were cut short when he noticed the complete transformation in Orpheus's face. The calm, wise man they knew had vanished. In his place was someone – or something – dominated by a primordial terror, a fear so deep and visceral that it seemed to have altered his very features.
It was then that it happened. The Boy doubled over, as if he had taken an invisible blow to the stomach. A cry of pain escaped his lips – not the cry of a frightened child, but something deeper, older, like the lament of a creature wounded to its core.
"AAAAAHHHHH!" He fell to his knees, clutching his chest with both hands. His entire body writhed in violent spasms, his eyes rolled back, showing only white.
K rushed to him, trying to hold him, stabilize him. "Boy! What is it? What's happening?"
Orpheus didn't hesitate. With a precise movement, he struck a specific point on the Boy's neck. The scream abruptly ceased, and the small body went limp, unconscious.
"What did you do?!" K cried, horrified.
"I saved his life," Orpheus replied dryly, lifting the Boy's inert body onto his shoulders as if it weighed nothing. "And perhaps yours too, if you obey me now."
K cast one last desperate glance at Zack, still kneeling, motionless as a statue. She took a step towards him.
Orpheus's hand gripped her arm with surprising force. "Don't look back," he ordered, his voice low and laden with an urgency K had never heard before. "No matter what you hear, no matter what you feel. Don't look back."
There was something in the intensity of his gaze, in the vibration of terror in his voice, that finally penetrated K's resolve. A shiver ran down her spine, and she nodded slowly, allowing Orpheus to guide her out, with Talia following closely, silent in her own terror.
---
They descended quickly down a narrow staircase at the back of the bell tower, emerging into a dark alley. Orpheus moved with purpose, carrying the unconscious Boy with ease, his eyes constantly scanning the shadows around them.
"Where are we going?" K whispered, still casting worried glances behind her.
"We need to take shelter," Orpheus replied. He stopped abruptly, transferring the Boy to K's arms. "Hold him."
K accepted the boy's weight, surprised by the coldness of his skin. "Orpheus, what's happening? Why did we leave Zack? What did you see in his eyes?"
Orpheus didn't answer. Instead, he pulled an ancient, yellowed parchment from within his robes, covered in complex symbols that seemed to subtly shift when observed directly.
"Listen carefully," he said, handing the parchment to K. "You need to hide in the third house on Blacksmith Street. Take the Boy and Talia. Once inside, follow the instructions on this parchment exactly. Do not alter a single word, do not modify a single symbol."
"But why? What will it do?"
"It will create a barrier against the Void."
K frowned. "Against the Void? Why would we need—"
"SHUT UP AND DO AS I SAY IF YOU WANT TO LIVE!" Orpheus's outburst was so sudden and violent that K recoiled a step, shocked. Never, in all the years she had known him, had she seen him lose control like this.
Orpheus closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to compose himself. When he opened them again, there was a grim determination in them. "Don't look back," he repeated, more softly this time. "No matter what happens."
K nodded slowly, still stunned. "And you? What will you do?"
"Try to save whoever can still be saved." He looked in the direction of the central square. "There are people still alive in that ritual. I don't have much time."
Before K could reply, Orpheus had already turned and begun to walk away. She watched him for a moment, the Boy heavy in her arms, Talia trembling beside her. Then, swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned in the opposite direction.
"Come on," she said to Talia. "We have to hurry."
---
Alone in the dark alley, Orpheus finally allowed the tremor in his hands to manifest fully. What he had seen in Zack's eyes had shaken him to the core of his being. It wasn't just fear – it was recognition. He knew what was coming.
"No time," he muttered to himself.
Closing his eyes, Orpheus concentrated. His breathing slowed, becoming deep and rhythmic. Slowly, his skin began to change – not in color, but in texture. Small cracks appeared, like ancient porcelain about to shatter. Through these fissures, a scarlet light began to glow, as if his body were merely a shell for something made of pure crimson fire.
"Coyote," he whispered, naming the forbidden technique he had sworn never to use again.
The transformation was instantaneous. His body seemed to explode in scarlet energy, which solidified into forms identical to himself – perfect clones, each connected to his consciousness, each moving in perfect synchronicity with his will.
Without hesitation, Orpheus divided his copies into two groups. Half of them sped towards the bell tower, to intercept Milos's assistants before they could reach Zack. The other half, led by himself, ran towards the central square, where the ritual continued.
As he ran, Orpheus muttered to himself: "The black eyes have emerged... madness has begun."
---
In the abandoned bell tower, Zack remained kneeling, motionless as a marble statue. The faint light from the streetlamp outside streamed through the arched window, perfectly bisecting his face – half illuminated, revealing human and familiar features; half plunged into impenetrable shadows.
His eyes, hidden in the darkness, stared at an invisible point in the space before him. The Black Moon, still sheathed at his waist, began to vibrate. It wasn't a common, mechanical vibration – it was organic, like the pulsing of a sick heart, as if the blade itself were alive and eager.
The sky above the bell tower gradually darkened, not like the natural fall of night, but as if the light itself were being devoured by something hungry. The stars, one by one, seemed to flicker and extinguish, leaving only a black and absolute void.
A presence began to form around Zack – invisible, yet palpable. It was as if the very air had gained weight and consciousness, pressing against reality, testing its boundaries. No one but Zack could feel it, but to him, it was as real as the ground beneath his knees.
Slowly, a sound began to emerge from his throat. It wasn't a moan of pain or a cry of anger – it was a laugh. Low at first, almost inaudible, gradually growing in volume and intensity. It was a strange, guttural sound that didn't seem entirely human – as if multiple voices were laughing in unison, using his throat as an instrument.
Zack raised his head to the darkened sky. His eyes were now completely black – not just the irises, but the entire sclera, as if they had been filled with the purest ink of darkness.
"Hello, Void," he said, his voice deeper than usual, reverberating with a strange echo that shouldn't have been possible in the confined space of the bell tower. "Long time no see."
---
In the central square, Milos was at the height of his work. The ritual circle pulsed with dark energy, the bodies arranged in precise geometric patterns occasionally twitching as arcs of energy leaped from the central column to them.
He walked among his "pieces," adjusting a hand here, a foot there, ensuring that every element of the pattern was perfectly aligned. His pale, angular face was illuminated by an almost religious expression – ecstasy and reverence mixed in equal measure.
"It's almost complete," he murmured to himself, or perhaps to something only he could see. "Almost perfect."
It was then that Orpheus's first scarlet clones burst into the square, attacking Milos's hooded assistants with lethal precision. Cries of surprise and pain echoed through the air, while other clones rushed to the ritual's victims, trying to remove them from their positions.
Milos raised his head, annoyed by the interruption. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the technique. "Coyote," he hissed. "Interesting."
As his assistants fought the clones, Milos turned his attention back to the ritual, seemingly unconcerned. He began to speak, not to the invaders, but to the air above him.
"Oh! Pious Void, all-seeing eye!" His voice grew in volume and intensity, becoming almost a chant. "I offer you the body of the Violet King and all his family, all his nobility! I offer you the pleasure of being alive!"
His voice faltered for a moment, a note of desperation infiltrating his reverent tone. "But please, speak! Just speak to me again..."
The true Orpheus, distinguishable from his clones only by a slightly greater intensity in his eyes, advanced directly towards Milos, his katana unsheathed. He had realized something crucial when examining the ritual's victims – the seals on their bodies were soul links to Milos. The only way to break the ritual and save the people was to kill the mad scientist before he completed the process.
But before he could reach him, a figure stepped into his path. Tall, muscular, covered in visible scars where his skin was exposed. Ygon smiled, a bottle of drink in one hand, a curved, serrated blade in the other.
"Not so fast, Orpheus," he said, his smile widening into something more of a baring of teeth than an expression of joy. "The party has just begun."
Orpheus stopped, his katana still raised. "Get out of my way, Ygon. This goes beyond any dispute between you and Zack."
Ygon tilted his head, feigning consideration. "Hmm, no. I don't think so."
"You're allowing the sacrifice of your own people!" Orpheus couldn't contain the disbelief in his voice. "The Lower Quarter you once helped protect!"
Ygon shrugged, taking a swig from his bottle. "So what?"
"Zack said you'd have your rematch," Orpheus insisted, trying to find some rationality in the man before him. "He keeps his promises. You know that."
"Oh, I don't want that kind of rematch," Ygon replied, shaking his head as if Orpheus were a child who didn't understand a simple concept. "Zack wouldn't take it seriously. He'd fight, of course, but with restraint. With... mercy." He spat the last word like venom.
"What do you want, then?"
Ygon's smile became even wider, almost predatory. "I want him to fight with everything he has. Without restraint. Without humanity. And for that..." He made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the entire square and the ongoing ritual. "...I need to destroy everything he loves."
"You sick son of a bitch!" Orpheus exploded, his usual composure completely abandoned. "You're sacrificing hundreds of innocents for an insane obsession! For a duel!"
"There are murderers and rapists among both rich and poor, Orpheus," Ygon replied with disturbing calm. "People who attack their own kind just for pleasure. I'm just doing the same."
"Is that why?" Orpheus tried again, desperate to find some logic, some humanity in the man before him. "Because of the defeat? For losing the title of leader of the Lower Quarter to Zack?"
Ygon threw his head back and laughed – a genuinely amused sound that was even more disturbing in context. "Idiotic titles mean nothing to me, Orpheus. What I want..." His eyes gleamed with a feverish intensity. "...is to relive the only moment I truly felt alive. Fighting Zack. On the edge. No rules. No limits."
Milos, who had apparently overheard part of the conversation, raised his head from his work and smiled – a thin, cruel smile that didn't reach his empty eyes. For a moment, Milos's and Ygon's gazes met, and something passed between them – a mutual recognition of madness, of obsession taken to the extreme.
Both began to laugh simultaneously – Milos with his sharp, metallic laugh, Ygon with his deep, resonant guffaw. The sound of their morbid harmony echoed through the square, overlaying the cries of the wounded and dying.
Orpheus gripped the hilt of his katana so tightly that his fingers turned white. There was nothing more to say. There were no arguments against pure madness. With a fluid movement, he advanced, determined to get past Ygon and reach Milos, to end the ritual once and for all.
It was then that it happened.
An overwhelming presence descended upon the square like an invisible cloak. Everyone – Orpheus, Ygon, Milos, the remaining assistants, even the scarlet clones – felt it simultaneously. A collective shiver ran down spines, skin bristled, breaths were held.
Orpheus froze mid-movement, his face paling even further. He knew this sensation. He knew what was coming.
Without a word, he abandoned the confrontation and darted in the opposite direction, his clones disappearing one by one in explosions of scarlet energy. He ran as he had never run before, towards the house where K would be with the Boy and Talia, to reinforce the barrier with the parchment.
"The black eyes have emerged," he murmured as he ran, terror evident in every syllable. "Madness has begun."
---
In the square, Ygon and Milos remained, confused by Orpheus's sudden flight. Then, they too felt it – a growing pressure in their skulls, as if something immense was trying to crush their brains from the inside out. A deafening hum filled their ears, growing in intensity until both staggered, dizzy and disoriented.
Instinctively, they looked up.
The sky above the square was no longer recognizable as sky. The clouds had twisted into impossible shapes, the stars had rearranged themselves into patterns that hurt the mind to try and comprehend. And in the center of it all, slowly forming like a wound opening in reality itself, was an eye.
It was not a human eye, nor that of any known creature. It was vast, encompassing half the visible sky. Its iris seemed to contain entire galaxies, stars being born and dying within it. The pupil was an abyss blacker than darkness itself, a void so absolute that it seemed to suck in light itself, meaning itself.
It was the eye of something that should not exist on this plane of reality – something so ancient and vast that the mere sight of it caused physical and mental pain.
Milos fell to his knees, tears of blood streaming from his eyes as he looked up, in ecstasy and terror mixed. Ygon remained standing, but his body trembled visibly, the bottle slipping from his fingers and shattering on the ground.
The eye watched them for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. Then, slowly, it closed.
And with it, all light in the square was extinguished.
An absolute darkness, deeper than the absence of light, swallowed everything. It was a living, palpable darkness, pressing against the skin like cold water, infiltrating the lungs with every desperate breath.
In the complete blackness, panic spread. Milos's remaining assistants, blind and terrified, tried to light torches or lanterns.
The first light that ignited revealed, for a brief instant, a distorted figure a few inches from the bearer – white hair bristling like needles, eyes completely black, sharp teeth in an inhuman smile. Then the light went out, and the wet sound of breaking bones echoed in the darkness.
Another light ignited in another part of the square. Again, the figure appeared, as if it had instantly teleported. Again, the light went out, followed by an abruptly silenced scream.
"Void!" Milos's voice tore through the darkness, trembling with fear and despair. "Help me! Guide me! You spoke to me once! Please, speak again!"
In contrast to Milos's panic, Ygon's voice emerged from the darkness, laden not with fear, but with a morbid excitement. He began to laugh, a growing laugh that echoed through the square. "ZACK!" he called out, provocatively. "Finally! FINALLY!"
Desperate, Milos lit a match and threw a cube of magical light upwards – one of his experimental artifacts. The cube exploded in an intense white light, briefly illuminating the entire square.
What the light revealed froze the blood in both their veins.
In the center of the square, where the black energy column of the ritual once stood, was Zack. Or something that had once been Zack. His white hair bristled like needles, pointing in all directions as if electrified. His eyes were pits of absolute darkness, with no visible irises or sclera. His teeth, normally human, had lengthened and sharpened like those of a primitive predator.
Arcs of black energy crackled around his bloody body, like lightning in a contained storm. The Black Moon was unsheathed in his hand, but it looked different – longer, darker, as if it were absorbing the very light around it.
Around Zack, a circle of destruction extended – heads, arms, and legs of Milos's assistants scattered on the ground in a pattern that, disturbingly, mirrored the original ritual circle. Blood flowed in streams, forming symbols that seemed to move of their own accord.
Milos, instead of horror, showed ecstasy. His eyes widened, and a smile of understanding illuminated his face. He looked at the sky, where the eye had been, and cried out: "You spoke to me, Void!"
He turned to Ygon, his voice trembling with excitement. "I understand! It wasn't them – the ritual victims. It's him! The Void wants him as the final offering!"
Ygon didn't reply immediately. His eyes were fixed on Zack, on his transformation, on his unleashed power. A slow smile spread across his scarred face.
"Finally," he murmured, almost to himself. "Finally you won't hold back."
Without need for further words, Milos and Ygon positioned themselves, side by side, facing the creature that had once been Zack. Each for their own distorted reasons – Milos to complete his offering to the Void, Ygon to finally have his ultimate battle.
Milos was the first to attack. His movements were precise, calculated, each blow aimed at specific points on Zack's body. He used a combination of artifacts and forbidden spells – needles that materialized from the air and flew like projectiles, containment circles that briefly glowed on the ground before exploding into columns of energy, corrosive liquids he threw from small vials hidden in his robes.
It was as if he were dissecting Zack in combat, testing limits, seeking weaknesses with the coldness of a scientist conducting a particularly fascinating experiment.
Ygon, on the other hand, attacked with pure brutality. His blows were powerful enough to shatter stone, his speed surprising for someone of his size. He absorbed injuries with laughs of pleasure, as if pain were just another spice in a long-awaited feast. His technique was chaotic, unpredictable, more animal instinct than human strategy.
Together, they formed a lethal combination – Milos's cold precision complementing Ygon's savage fury.
But Zack – or the thing Zack had become – was on another level entirely.
He moved like water and shadow combined, flowing around attacks that should have hit him, appearing in impossible places as if the laws of physics were mere suggestions. His strength was absurd, capable of shattering Milos's magical barriers with a single blow, of making Ygon recoil several meters with a simple push.
And the Black Moon... the sword moved as if it had a will of its own, a living extension of Zack's arm, cutting through defenses as if they were air. Each blow left a trail of darkness in the air itself, like wounds in reality that took seconds to close.
As the fight intensified, Zack's transformation seemed to deepen. His skin began to crack in certain places, revealing not flesh and blood, but an absolute darkness beneath, as if his body were merely a shell for something made of pure Void. His movements became less human, more like those of a puppet controlled by invisible strings – angular, impossible, disturbing to observe.
Milos, despite his obsession, began to realize that he had made a terrible mistake. Whatever was controlling Zack now was not something that could be contained, studied, or offered as a sacrifice. It was something that existed to consume, to destroy.
Ygon, however, was in ecstasy. Every injury he received, every drop of blood he shed, only intensified his morbid pleasure. This was the fight he had waited for so long – no rules, no limits, no humanity.
The battle spread through the square, destroying what remained of the ritual circle. Bodies were thrown like rag dolls, structures collapsed, the very ground cracked under the impact of blows too powerful to be contained.
And above all, invisible to the combatants but palpable in the atmosphere, the cosmic eye had reopened, observing the chaos with a hungry and patient attention.
Madness had only just begun.