The hooded man snarled and swung his claws—a savage arc meant to sever Malik's head from his body.
But the blow never landed.
Danes caught the wrist mid-swing.
With a roar, he spun the man midair like a ragdoll and hurled him—the impact split a tree in half as the hooded figure crashed through it and rolled across the wet earth.
Malik didn't pause.
He vaulted over Danes, his coat flaring like a cape in the rain, both pistols aimed.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The bullets hit—but this time, they didn't explode.
The hooded man dropped to one knee, blood painting his cloak, thick and dark, his breathing ragged.
Danes' pupils glowed golden, fierce and full of fire.
He stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—"
"Danes!" Malik's voice cut through the rain like a whip.
Danes barely turned before his body was launched into the trees—his limbs ragdolling violently, snapping branches as he flew.
Then—crack.
His body hit a massive rock, stopping dead.
A figure stood where Danes had been.
A man in a black suit, tailored to perfection. Black gloves. Black shoes polished to mirrors. His glasses gleamed, even in the dimness.
Malik had already reloaded.
The man turned to him, smiling faintly.
"Still trying to play the hero, are we, Malik?"
He said the name like a verdict.
Malik squared his stance, gun raised. "Depends. Who's asking?"
The man's smile deepened. "You know, for someone trying to save a city, you're fighting for a government that's already given up on it. Corrupt politicians. Missing funds. Soldiers paid to guard empty walls. You're guarding a rotting corpse, detective."
Malik's jaw flexed. "Maybe so. But it's my corpse. And it's still breathing."
The rain intensified, cascading down the man's shoulders like it feared him.
He cocked his head slightly. "You really believe that? That these people—these backstabbers, liars, thieves—deserve to be saved?"
"I believe they're mine to protect," Malik said, voice low and solid. "Even the worst of them."
The man chuckled softly. "Loyal to the end. How poetic."
Malik narrowed his eyes. "So, tell me… what the hell are you doing in an abandoned hotel?"
"You'll see," the man replied.
Then he bent, pressing two fingers to the forehead of the hooded man. A red aura burst around them like a ripple through molten glass. The hooded man's wounds hissed as they sealed.
"Go," the man whispered.
The hunter moved.
Malik raised his pistol—too late.
The hooded man was already upon him.
Fangs sank deep into Malik's neck.
"You son of a—" Malik cursed as blood sprayed into the rain.
His hand darted to his belt.
Grenades. Three of them.
A sharp twist. The pins dropped.
"See you in hell," Malik hissed.
BOOM.
The forest exploded with fire and thunder. Trees bent backward. Shockwaves flattened the grass. Smoke swallowed everything in sight.
Lines of light pulsed silently.
Then a message blinked into view:
[System Notification: You will be teleported in 24:00:00]
[Current Time: 2:37 PM]
"Tomorrow. Afternoon."
His hand hovered near the red-lit interface.
A storm was coming.
And this time, he wasn't sure who would survive it.
It was quiet, neatly kept, smelling faintly of ginseng and old wood. At the far end, behind a broad glass desk, sat Chairman Dae, head of Korea's Hunter Association. He looked just over fifty, his silver-streaked hair combed with care, face marked with lines of both laughter and war.
He didn't look up.
"Chairman," Marcus said, bowing lightly. "Got a minute?"
Dae finished scribbling a note before lifting his eyes. "Marcus. I always do—for you."
Marcus stepped forward, voice careful but firm. "I read your memo. You're still against fast-tracking the new awakened stars into the field?"
Dae's brow rose. "You disagree?"
Marcus nodded. "Sir… we have a chance to boost our numbers. These kids have potential. With training, they could—"
"They're kids, Marcus," Dae cut in gently. "Not soldiers."
"But the benefits—"
"Yes. More firepower. More presence. More national pride." Dae rose, picking up a worn satchel and slipping files inside. "But also more deaths. More disillusionment. More young people thrown into something they didn't ask for."
He paused, glancing out the large window where the skyline of Seoul shimmered in twilight.
"I want them to choose to protect this country. Not be pushed into it like cattle."
Marcus exhaled, frustrated but respectful.
"I understand."
Dae slung the bag over his shoulder. "Good. Because next week, you'll be standing beside me when the rest of the world's chairs speak their piece."
Marcus blinked. "Me? Where?"
Dae smiled faintly. "The Grand Alarian, Chicago. Biggest hunter-safe hotel on American soil. Five-star, triple-layered mana wards. No cameras. No leaks. And enough barrier seals to hold an army."
Marcus nodded, the weight of the invitation hitting him. "All the chairmen?"
"All of them," Dae confirmed. "And the United Front Alliance will be there too."
The name alone carried power.
The United Front Alliance—the largest hunter-party coalition in the world. Formed after the first global merge. Every nation had given birth to their own S-Ranks, but only those in the UFA were recognized as world-level assets.
They were the apex.
"After the awakening," Dae went on, "it was chaos. Everyone thought it was a gift. A dream come true. Some used it to help. Most... just flexed power. Some turned into gangs. Some crowned themselves gods."
"So the world merged," Marcus said softly.
"Yes. And every nation was told: produce two S-Ranks. Put them into the Alliance. No more, no less."
Marcus shifted. "And those who couldn't follow?"
"They're not here to speak."
There was a pause. Dae lowered his voice.
"And the most dangerous ones—the ones who lost themselves—we built them a home."
Marcus frowned. "Where?"
"Southwest Niger. Flatlands. Sparse population. No real infrastructure. The world doesn't look there much."
Marcus's eyes narrowed. "A prison?"
"A tomb," Dae said quietly. "One we hope stays shut."