"Liora." His voice was soft — too soft, as if he was afraid she'd shatter if he spoke any louder. He approached her slowly, kneeling down before her as he gently took her trembling hands in his. His touch was warm, but she didn't respond.
"I know this is… tough for you," he whispered, his eyes filled with a sorrow so deep it seemed to mirror her own. "Come with me. To my home."
She didn't react. Didn't blink. Just stared ahead, her face pale and hollowed.
He swallowed, trying again. "Don't worry — my wife won't mind. Your home… it's gone. And staying here, in this cold, empty hospital… it's not good for you."
But Liora stayed silent, her fingers limp in his grasp. She didn't seem to hear him — as if her body was there, but her soul had long since slipped away.
"Is the paperwork done?" Kyros's voice cut through the stillness, low and rough with exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with dark circles, and his entire posture sagged under the weight of something too heavy to bear.
"Yes," the man said quietly, standing up. He squared his shoulders, though his fists clenched at his sides. "The preparations are complete. The body will be cremated tomorrow — first thing in the morning." His voice broke for a second, but he forced himself to keep going. "I'd… like to ask you to invite anyone who was close to my daughter. She—" his breath hitched "—she deserves to be surrounded by those who loved her."
Kyros nodded slowly, his face devoid of life. "I understand." His voice cracked on the last word. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak again. "Please… take Mrs. Liora with you."
Liora didn't resist when the man helped her to her feet. She moved like a puppet, her body swaying under its own weight. Her eyes — red and swollen from hours of crying — stared at nothing. Even her tears had dried up, leaving only an empty shell in their wake.
The man gently steadied her, keeping an arm around her as he turned to leave. But then —
"What's your name?" he asked, glancing back over his shoulder.
Kyros hesitated. His voice was barely more than a whisper.
"…Kyros."
The man nodded slowly, as if committing the name to memory. "How's your friend?" he asked after a beat. "I tried to help him back at the bus stop… the way he acted — that fear — it felt familiar to me."
Kyros's jaw tightened. His face darkened. But when he answered, his voice was flat, distant.
"He's fine."
But there was no conviction in his words.
***
The streets were painted in red, the rain mixing with fresh blood as it trickled through the cracks of the pavement. Silence hung heavy in the air—an eerie, suffocating stillness after the slaughter. Kiaan stood amidst the carnage, his chest rising and falling like a beast that had just finished its hunt. His sword, slick with gore, trembled in his grip. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, smearing crimson across his cheek.
"So much blood," he muttered, his voice hoarse, almost detached. Then, a small scoff. "At least the buildings are intact." He glanced around, eyes sharp. "If there are any eyes still watching… I'll make sure they forget what they saw."
His gaze flickered downward, catching sight of the twisted wreckage of metal. His car. The once-pristine vehicle now lay in ruins, a broken, unrecognizable heap. His lips parted, a breath hitching in his throat.
"My car," he whispered, and for the first time that night, his voice held something fragile—something dangerously close to breaking.
His fingers clenched into fists, nails digging deep into his palms until warm blood dripped between them. His teeth ground together, rage seething beneath his skin. "What does he want with us?" he snarled through gritted teeth. "What the hell did we do to him?" The memory of his mother's words flashed through his mind, but before his rage could consume him, his phone buzzed violently in his pocket. A call. Kiki.
Kiaan exhaled sharply, forcing himself to answer. "Yes?"
"Sir Kiaan!" Kiki's voice rang with urgency. "Finally, you picked up. I—I heard what happened, but there's something more important—"
"What is it?" His voice came out colder than he intended, devoid of warmth.
Kiki hesitated, caught off guard by his tone, but pressed on. "The suspect… the one we had in custody for black magic interrogation. Her body—it's gone."
The world stilled.
"Sir…? Sir Kiaan?"
Click.
He ended the call, letting the phone slip from his fingers. The bloodied rain still poured down on him, soaking his clothes, seeping into his skin. His hand moved to his face, covering his mouth—then, a sound. A laugh. A broken, uneven laugh that grew louder, shaking his shoulders, twisting into something unhinged.
His head tilted back, and he laughed at the sky, at the rain, at the madness that clung to him like a second skin. Tears, hot and bitter, flickered at the corners of his eyes.
Then, just as suddenly, it stopped. His laughter died in his throat, his expression twisting into something hollow, something dark. He barely managed to force the words from his lips.
"Why won't she just…" He swallowed the rest, his voice cracking, his breath ragged. His hands trembled before he stilled them, his gaze sharpening with deadly resolve.
"I need to find her," he murmured. "I need to end this. End this before it consumes us again."
A flicker of red light pulsed behind him. Then another. Then dozens.
The air trembled as monstrous forms took shape—colossal, writhing worms, their grotesque bodies pulsing with unnatural energy. Their guttural shrieks split the night, shaking the very ground beneath them. But Kiaan? He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
One lunged, its massive jaws widening, ready to swallow him whole.
Then—
A sickening crack.
The beast's head burst apart in an explosion of gore. Bone, flesh, and viscera splattered across the streets. The other creatures recoiled, their writhing forms hesitating in confusion. In that instant, Kiaan was gone from where he stood.
A seconds later—
Boom!
A second worm was sent hurtling through the air, crashing into a building with enough force to shatter concrete. A white barrier flickered to life, protecting the structure from collapse.
But the worms weren't done. Three of them surged toward him at once, their monstrous forms twisting in a frenzy.
Kiaan's eyes flashed. He vanished.
The first worm's body split down the middle, its halves collapsing to the ground with a wet squelch. Kiaan reappeared above the second, his sword humming with power. He brought it down—once. A single strike.
The worm's massive frame convulsed, and then hundreds of cuts erupted across its skin. It disintegrated into pieces before it even hit the ground.
The third worm managed to lash out, its tail snapping toward him like a whip. Kiaan raised his hand. The tail stopped inches from his face, frozen mid-air.
"Not fast enough," he whispered.
He clenched his fist. The worm's entire body crumpled inward with a deafening crunch, crushed by an unseen force.
The air rippled. More monsters surged from the red light—bigger, faster, more furious. Kiaan's lips curled into a savage grin.
"Good," he whispered. "Let's see how long you last."
He moved like a storm—too fast for the eye to follow, too brutal for the mind to comprehend. Blades of light rained from the sky, impaling the creatures one after another. Spells burst from his fingertips, turning monsters to ash. He caught one by the throat, lifting its enormous bulk with ease before hurling it into the others like a wrecking ball.
A dozen enemies became a hundred, and then a thousand. It didn't matter. Kiaan tore through them like a god of war. Blood painted the sky. Limbs and viscera rained down like macabre confetti. The air was thick with the stench of death, the shrieks of dying beasts drowned out by the crackle of his power.
And through it all, Kiaan smiled—a sharp, broken thing that showed too many teeth.
When the last worm fell, its body collapsing into a heap of twitching flesh, Kiaan stood alone once more. The rain continued to fall, washing the blood from his skin.
He exhaled slowly, his voice a whisper against the storm.
"Monsters… don't deserve to live."