As they sat in the back of the truck, the only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the muffled rustling from the duffel bag. The bag moved—not just a little, but violently, thrashing against the metal floor.
Dante's jaw clenched as he fixed his glare on it. "Seriously. What the hell is in that bag?"
Stiles sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "...It's a girl."
Dante blinked. Once. Twice. Then he exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. "What the fuck did we just do?" He took a few seconds to compose himself before his glare snapped toward Stiles and SteelArm. "No—what the fuck did you two just do?"
Stiles met his gaze, unfazed. "Nah, man. We did this. All of us. You were the lookout. If this shit gets out, we're all going down."
Dante felt his stomach twist. As much as he wanted to deny it, Stiles was right. He had helped. Maybe not directly, but enough to be considered an accomplice.
"...Well, shit." He ran a hand down his face. "What the hell do we do now?" His gaze shifted toward Jimmy.
Jimmy, who had been sitting back, watching their reactions with mild amusement, finally spoke.
"We're taking her to a place for..." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. Then, with a smirk, he finished, "Well, a human sacrifice, to put it simply."
Silence.
The words hit like a brick to the skull.
Dante's breath caught in his throat. "The fuck did you just say?" His voice was low, dangerous.
Jimmy chuckled, leaning forward slightly. "Relax. You're acting like this is some shocking revelation." He motioned lazily to the thrashing bag. "Did you really think we were just helping someone move in the middle of the damn night? Come on, use your head."
Dante's fists clenched. "You didn't tell us we were kidnapping someone to fucking kill them!"
"Details, details," Jimmy waved a hand dismissively. "Look, the deal is already in motion. We hand her over, we get paid, and we walk away. Simple."
SteelArm, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. "...How much?"
Jimmy smirked. "Fifty grand. Each."
That number sent a ripple through the group. Even Stiles, who had been the most composed, hesitated.
Dante, however, didn't hesitate at all. "Fuck that. We're not killing someone for money."
Jimmy's smirk faded slightly. "Who said we were doing the killing?"
The truck rumbled as it took a sharp turn. The movement sent the bag rolling slightly, followed by another muffled scream from inside.
Three hours had passed.
No one spoke.
The only sound was the occasional shuffle from the duffel bag, the girl inside still struggling, though her movements had grown weaker. Fatigue or fear—it didn't matter.
Dante sat with his arms crossed, gaze locked on the floor as he tried to make sense of the mess they were in. Stiles was leaning back, pretending to sleep. SteelArm cracked his knuckles every so often, his expression unreadable. Jimmy? He just sat there, smiling to himself.
Finally, the truck slowed before coming to a complete stop. The engine cut off, plunging them into an eerie silence.
The back doors swung open, revealing a thick, dense forest under the glow of the moon. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine.
They all stepped out one by one. The moment Dante's boots hit the dirt, he felt it—a heaviness in the air, something unnatural.
"Where the hell are we?" Stiles muttered, rubbing his arms.
Ahead of them, partially illuminated by the truck's headlights, was a set of stone steps leading up a mountain. Moss-covered and ancient, they disappeared into the darkness above.
Jimmy took a deep breath, stretching his arms. "Ahh... We're here."
Dante narrowed his eyes. "Here where exactly?"
Jimmy turned to him, grinning. "The ritual site."
A cold knot twisted in Dante's stomach. He looked at Stiles, then SteelArm, but neither of them said anything.
Jimmy clapped his hands together. "Alright, boys. Grab the package."
SteelArm moved first, lifting the duffel bag over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. The girl inside whimpered, but it was barely audible.
Dante exhaled sharply, his mind racing. "Do something. Stop this." But what could he do? He had no idea where they were, no clue what lay ahead, and worst of all—he didn't know a damn thing about the people they were about to meet.
The only certainty he had was that Jimmy was at least S-rank. And that alone made this situation even more dangerous if the kidnapper alone was S-rank.
Jimmy started up the stone steps without hesitation. Stiles followed, hands in his pockets.
SteelArm walked behind them, carrying the girl.
Dante hesitated. Then, with a sinking feeling, he followed.
Step by step, they climbed into the darkness.
As they climbed the endless stone steps, the darkness of the night slowly began to fade. A golden hue stretched across the horizon, signaling the rise of the sun. The soft glow bathed the mountain in an eerie light, casting long shadows that danced between the trees.
Each step felt heavier than the last. Even Stiles, who usually had a carefree attitude, was uncharacteristically silent. SteelArm kept his focus forward, but Dante could see the slight tension in his posture. The further they climbed, the more suffocating the atmosphere became—like something unseen was pressing down on them.
After what felt like an eternity, they reached the summit.
At the top, a gathering of over twenty figures stood waiting. They were motionless, clad in long, flowing robes, each of them wearing an identical blue fox mask. Their presence was unnerving, their silence even more so.
Dante's instincts screamed at him. "This isn't normal."
He kept his expression neutral, but inside, his mind raced. He needed information. Carefully, he sent out the slightest pulse of mana, barely enough to sense the strength of those before him.
The reaction was immediate.
A sound as if a mosquito flew past his ear was all that was heard.
A blade of energy whistled past his face, slicing through the air so fast he barely had time to react. It embedded itself into the ground behind him, leaving a deep gash in the stone.
Dante froze.
His pulse pounded in his ears as he looked up at the group, but none of them had moved. No one had drawn a weapon. No one had raised a hand. It was as if the attack had come from thin air.
Someone within the crowd of people had felt his mana within the microsecond he activated it. And not only that—they had responded with deadly precision.
His thoughts churned. "If someone was able to detect my mana instantly... there must be at least one SSS-rank person here."
His fists clenched slightly.
"But who the hell is it?" He scanned the group carefully, his eyes flicking from mask to mask, robe to robe. There was no fluctuation of energy, no presence that stood out. It was as if all of them were nothing more than shadows in human form.
Dante swallowed hard.
"I've never seen any reports or files about an SSS-rank being part of a cult or anything like this... so who the hell are these people?"
Jimmy took a few steps forward, unfazed.
"Master," he called out, bowing his head slightly.
From the center of the group, one of the masked figures stepped forward.
The air around them shifted.
And for the first time in a long while, Dante felt something he hated to admit.
He felt fear from something that wasn't a monster, or a beast, but another human.
Then, with an almost casual grace, he lifted his hand from within his robe. His arm was draped in long, flowing sleeves, and his hand—covered by a pair of blue gloves—emerged from the fabric.
No movement. No sound. Yet— The bag suddenly rose from SteelArm's grasp.
SteelArm flinched, his muscles tensing on instinct, but he didn't resist as the duffel bag floated effortlessly into the air. It drifted as if caught in an invisible current, gliding across the space between them before gently landing at the feet of the masked figure.
Dante's breath hitched. No chants, no visible spellcasting... just pure control.
The Master finally spoke.
His voice was light, almost serene—a calm whisper that carried an eerie weight behind it.
"Well done, Jimmy."
Jimmy bowed slightly, his usual grin stretching wider. "Of course, Master. I live to serve."
The Master ignored him. Instead, he lowered his gloved hand, tracing his fingers over the bag's surface. The girl inside let out a muffled whimper, weak but still alive.
Then, the Master spoke again, his voice even softer this time.
"She will do nicely."
Without a single wasted motion, the Master lifted his gloved hand once more.
Without any warnings, or sounds the bag tore open instantly, as if invisible claws had shredded through the thick fabric in a single motion. The sound was sharp, unnatural—like reality itself had been split apart.
The girl tumbled out onto the cold stone beneath them, her ginger hair spilling over her face as she gasped for breath. Her arms were bound, her legs weak from being confined for hours. Terror filled her wide green eyes as she took in the masked figures surrounding her.
She scrambled back on instinct, her breath coming in ragged pants. But before she could move any further—
"What is your name?" The Master's voice was soft, yet it demanded an answer.
The girl froze, her whole body trembling as her gaze slowly lifted to meet the eerie blue fox mask.
Seconds passed.
Then, barely above a whisper—
"…R-Rosaline."
The Master tilted his head slightly, as if tasting the name.
"Rosaline…"
His voice lingered on it, almost amused.
With a snap of his fingers, the Master summoned one of the robed figures from the group. The member stepped forward, moving with a fluid grace that seemed almost unnatural.
Rosaline's eyes widened in panic as the masked figure reached for her. She scrambled backward, but there was nowhere to escape. Before she could react, he grabbed her by her shoulder and ripped her clothes off of her and hoisted her off the ground.
"Let me go!" she cried, her voice filled with desperation as he dragged her toward the stone table that sat ominously in the center of the mountain clearing.
The table was cold and rough, its surface marred by age and dark stains that hinted at a grim history. The figure placed her down roughly, strapping her hands and feet to the stone with heavy leather bindings, ensuring she couldn't escape.
Dante closed his eyes for respect for the girl but felt a surge of anger, but he remained rooted in place, fear constricting his throat. "Just... What have we gotten ourselves into?" He thought to himself before slowly opening his eyes again.
As Rosaline struggled against her restraints, the masked figure tapped the stone table with his gloved hand. Almost immediately, a muzzle materialized above her, the device snapping into place over her mouth.
A muffled scream escaped her as the muzzle closed tight, silencing her pleas. Panic filled her eyes, but the figure showed no sign of compassion.
The Master watched with a calm demeanor, his blue fox mask reflecting the first rays of sunlight breaking through the trees.
"Prepare her properly for the ritual," he commanded, his voice smooth and unhurried.
Several of the masked figures stepped forward, their movements synchronized as they encircled her. In unison, they began to chant in a language that felt ancient and powerful, their voices rising and falling like the tide. The air around them shimmered, pulsating with an otherworldly light that cast eerie shadows on the rocky surface.
The Master watched with a composed expression, his gaze fixed on Rosaline, who thrashed against her bindings, her muffled cries barely audible above the incantations. The muzzle restricted her voice, but the terror in her eyes spoke volumes.
One of the figures raised their hands, and a faint glow enveloped Rosaline, pulsing rhythmically in sync with the chanting. Another member stepped forward, tracing symbols in the air that flickered like fireflies before disappearing into the ether.
Stiles and SteelArm exchanged worried glances, their expressions a mix of fear and determination. They turned to Dante, who looked torn—caught between the horror unfolding before them and the instinct to flee.
But before they could voice their concerns, the Master's gaze fell upon them.
"You're not from here," he intoned, his voice smooth yet chilling.
With a quick snap of his fingers, an invisible force gripped Dante's head, locking his gaze onto the scene before him. He felt the same power bind Stiles and SteelArm, rendering them unable to look away.
Panic surged within Dante as he struggled against the unseen force, but it was futile. His eyes were fixed on Rosaline, the girl on the stone table, as the chanting began to fade.
After a moment, one of the masked figures stepped forward, raising his hand, which shimmered with an ominous magic. He tapped three times on the stone table, and with each tap, the air crackled with energy.
Suddenly, a dagger materialized before them, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light. The dagger was adorned with a symbol of blood, and two serpents intertwined along the length of the blade, creating an unsettling design that seemed to writhe with a life of its own.
The Master nodded approvingly. "Prepare for the offering."
Dante's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the dagger hover above the table, pulsating with dark energy. Each pulse seemed to echo Rosaline's heartbeat, a chilling reminder of the life that was hanging by a thread.