Black vans screeched to a halt at the mouth of the alley. Doors flew open before the engines fully cut.
Men and women in dark tactical gear poured out—silver-etched patches on shoulders reading Elite squad. Rifles slung low, blades sheathed at hips. Perimeter up in seconds: floodlights snapped on, barriers erected, scanners humming.
Alex sat frozen beside Thomas's headless body, knees in cooling blood, staring at nothing.
A woman stepped forward—tall, sharp features, short black hair tucked under a cap. She stopped a respectful distance away.
"Are you Alex xavier?"
Alex lifted his head and met her gaze. He wiped the tears from his cheeks roughly.
"Yeah," he croaked. "That's me."
"My name is assistant commander Lucy Hashi," Lucy said.
Lucy's gaze swept the scene—Thomas's corpse, the blood spray on the wall. Her lip curled in quiet disgust.
"Agent Luca!" Lucy called out.
A broad-shouldered man snapped to attention. "Ma'am!"
"Take three agents and sweep the block. See anything, report back," Lucy said.
"Understood!"
Luca vanished into the night with his team.
Alex's voice cracked. "You'll only find my friends."
Lucy's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes—pity, maybe. She reached out, hesitated, then rested her gloved hand on his shoulder.
"It's okay to cry kid," Lucy said.
At that moment tears rolled down Alex's cheek. No words—just raw choking sobs. Lucy didn't offer empty platitudes. She knew better.
"Agent Yuka," Lucy called
Another operative—a tall but not too muscular man—jogged over. "Ma'am?"
"Get him cleaned up. His hands and face. He doesn't need to sit in his friend's blood any longer."
"Right away ma'am," Yuka said.
Luca returned at a run, face grim.
"Two more bodies, ma'am. Down the block. Faces…destroyed. No ID possible on-site."
Lucy's jaw tightened. "Bag them. Full autopsy. We return them to their family once identified."
"Yes ma'am."
A sharp crackle cut the night—her radio.
"—free units, alert—shinji railways— demon attack in progress—tier 2 demon— request immediate—"
Static exploded. Screams distorted through the speakers, then nothing.
Lucy's eyes narrowed to slits.
"Agent?"
No response.
She thumbed the comm again. Silence.
"Round up!" She barked. "All teams to shinji Railways—now! Full contaiment protocol!"
The squad moved into the trucks.
Lucy turned to Yuka. "Get Alex home, safely. Meet us at shinji railway after. Tell Luca to meet us there also, once his done here."
Yuka nodded."yes ma'am."
Engines roared. Tires bit asphalt. The Elite squad peeled out, red taillights bleeding into the night.
_ _ _
Just the low growl of the engine and the occasional wet slap of tires over puddles.
Agent Yuka's knuckles stayed white on the wheel. He stole one glance at Alex on the passenger seat— curled against the door like he wanted to disappear into the upholstery. Dried blood crusted his shirt collar to skin.
"How you holding up, man?"
Silence.
Alex let the silence stretch another mile before he spoke.
"Does it…get any easier?"
Agent Yuka exhaled through his nose, long and slow.
"Truth?" He kept staring ahead. "No. Never. You just get better at pretending it doesn't hurt every time you breathe. And you keep walking…because stopping dishonors the dead more than anything else ever could."
Alex turned his face towards the window.
They pulled up to the small house with the crooked porch light.
A middle age woman—forties, tired eyes, cardigan slipping off one shoulder—walked barefoot down the steps.
"Alex?!"
Her gaze snagged on the blood. Her hand flew to her mouth.
"What happened," she asked.
"I'll explain, ma'am. But he needs to lie down. Now," Yuka said.
The mother nodded jerkily, already reaching for her son. Alex let himself be guided inside like a sleepwalker.
Minutes later she returned alone. Tears already standing in her eyes.
Agent Yuka explained everything.
By the end the woman was crying without sound, arms wrapped around herself.
"He's… he's a good kid," Yuka said quietly.
"Just drowning right now. Please look after him."
He turned away and slid back into the car, and drove off into the dark.
She went back into the house. The house felt too quiet.
Alex's mother found him already laying on the bed, still in the ruined clothes.
She sat on the edge of the mattress. Didn't know what to say. So she said nothing at first.
Placing his head upon her thigh.
"It's my fault, Mom."
His voice cracked on the last word.
"Oh honey…no."
Tears spilled immediately down her cheeks.
Alex shattered.
"Why did it have to be them?" The words came out jagged, between breaths. I—I killed them, Mom. Dad…because of me. And now…now them too. I killed them."
She had nothing wise to offer. Nothing that could undo it.
She just pulled him against her chest and let him sob—great, ugly,choking sounds that shook his whole frame. She cried too, silently at first, then louder, until they were both wrecked together in the dim lamplight.
"Your dad loved you," she whispered. " More than anything in the world."
Alex breathing slowed. Deepend. Sleep took him like mercy.
_ _ _
He opened his eyes to fire and thunder.
The bedroom was gone.
Instead: a shattered battlefield under a blood red sky. Humans in rune-etched armor clashed against demons. Screams. Steel. The wet crunch of bodies breaking.
A weight in his hands.
Alex looked down.
A longsword—simple, silver-edged, humming faintly as though alive—rested across his palms. It felt… familiar. Like it had always been there.
Footsteps. Deliberate.
A man emerged from the smoke.
Long black leather coat whipping in the wind of war. Eyes like twin blue stars burning cold. Claws—black, curved, predatory—flexed at his sides. Twin daggers hung low on his belt, edges still dripping.
"I've been waiting for you," the man said. Voice calm. Almost fond.
Alex's mouth went dry. "Who the hell are you—"
No answer.
The man moved.
Blur.
He crossed twenty meters in a heartbeat. Both daggers flashed— one high, one low.
Alex reacted on pure reflex.
Sword rose
CLANG—!
The impact traveled up his arm like lightning. Bones rattled. He staggered but didn't fall.
The man didn't pause.
Dagger—storm. Relentless. Every strike faster, sharper, more inevitable than the last.
Alex parried what he could—barely. Sparks showered. His wrists screamed. He was already losing ground.
Another brutal overhead.
The sword tore free from his numb fingers,cartwheeling away into the mud.
A boot slammed square into Alex's sternum.
He flew. Landed hard. Air punched out of him in a white gasp.
The man stepped forward. Loomed.
One dagger lifted high— gleaming red in the demon-light.
The dagger falling down.
Alex bolted upright in bed.
Chest heaving. Heart trying to claw out of his ribs.
Moonlight through the blinds.
It was just a dream.
…Right?
He flexed his hand.
For one stupid second he thought he still felt the sword's grip—cool metal, perfect balance.
Then nothing.
He stared at his palm in the dark.
A thin line crossed the center of his hand.
A cut.
Already healed—just a pale scar now.
His stomach tightened.
That hadn't been there before.