She waited, listening to sounds from the other end of the line… until she summoned the courage to poke the monster. "Why are you angry? Does it have to do with us?" she asked, walking down the sidewalk beside tall walls separating the street.
She held her phone steady, the little animated decorations—like a white cat in a pink dress—on the rose‑pink case swaying gently in the breeze. Her voice bubbled with excitement as she talked to him, a vibrancy filling the air.
A teenager who liked sadboys—nothing unusual… right?
"Yeah, unfortunately…" he replied, blunt and cold. "But how would that even work? With your last name, I assume you're pretty busy, no?" He sat on the hospital bed, the nurse just walking out.
His eyes flicked between the soup tray in his lap and a look of displeasure, as if the meal were punishment, not comfort.
Food for the dead…
"Unfortunately? That's nonsense! This is gonna be fun! At least you'll have someone… someone to make you look less weird to everyone else…" she teased, touching her lips as if caressing her own words.
Her expression was casual, almost playful.
He would blow a fuse… Her cheeks warmed, and her gaze deepened, as if she saw him through the screen.
"Weird?" he echoed.
And in that moment, the plastic spoon in her hand snapped in two from her grip and dropped into the hot soup.
The bubbling liquid splashed everywhere, scorching the table beneath her. The doctor, about to walk in, paused at the small glass window. His surprise turned to fear, and he instinctively stepped back.
Better to retreat—this could blow up right here. These exorcists must deal with this daily… I don't want to be the one to handle this ticking bomb!
He was wise to step back.
What the hell?! Why, of all people, a girl? he cursed, clenching his fists.
"Yeah…" she finally said, after he fell silent except for his mental complaints, with a teasing smile edging on a challenge. "Lucky he didn't see that." She continued, stepping with firm, energetic strides, never glancing back. "And since we're talking disasters, you also have a lot to improve professionally! Seriously—how can someone that skilled almost demolish an entire school just to deal with one demon like that?" Her voice dripped with irony.
Cherry blossoms on the other side of the wall fluttered in the breeze, pink petals spawning a beautiful carpet that juxtaposed the gray, somber sky.
"Ah… I…" he tried to speak, but his words stumbled and died. He ran out of breath just trying.
"Me? Don't even try! You're a mischievous boy, and you know it. How about calling you 'dark imp'? It fits you perfectly!" she laughed, cutting off any chance he had to reply. Her words struck fast and true, leaving him disoriented.
"Fuck you! Seriously…" he snapped, part anger, part embarrassment; his face reddened with frustration.
"Haha, what a potty‑mouth… But yes, to answer your question—I'm not that busy. Being an exorcist is my life!" she sighed, as if the mere mention of work weighed on her. She paused, waiting for traffic to ease before crossing the street. "When I'm not training at my family's refuge, I'm out on missions registered by the public exorcist council…" Her eyes shone, as if the memory energized her, and she leaned into a brief confession.
Finally… he thought inside—like a weight lifted. The conversation had changed course, and he finally felt he was being taken "seriously."
"I get it…"
Honking horns and the shuffle of people passed by, and suddenly, he took a step to break the silence: "Well, we'll talk more when there's a mission to do, okay? I'll leave the rest to you…" He managed a tired smile, followed by a yawn—clearly more interested in resting than prepping.
"Wait!"
The gentle voice broke the silence just as his head hit the pillow, making him sit upright with a few quick blinks to shake off drowsiness as his eyes scanned the empty hospital room—bookshelf, an empty chair.
"What's up!?"
She pressed her lips together, struggling to keep the urgency from her words—or from toppling his heartbeat.
He was like coffee… bitter, but irresistibly addictive! But it was time to put away the caffeine! Shopping, errands… were waiting for her…
"It's nothing! I'll send you a message once I've confirmed everything—is that okay?"
"Okay…" he rolled his eyes, trying to process it. "That's it… no, catch you next time! Got it?" He yawned again.
"See you… dark imp…"
When he heard that, he turned his head toward the phone at his side. Rolling his eyes again, the sound of the phone powering down filled the room.
Finally, silence… He relaxed, surrendering to exhaustion. His vision blurred, and with a soft thud, his head hit the pillow.
Damn Azazel… turned me into an addict! His spiritual and vital energy drained, like I've been pierced…
Meanwhile, the girl hurried off, quick steps as she murmured under her breath, searching for a song on her app. She crossed another street, then paused on the sidewalk in front of a black car parked at the end of the block. It glinted mysteriously under the muted light of the clouds, a silver crucifix hanging on its front bumper.
The car finally pulled away as Rasen completed the steep climb of the stairs. The clock read 3:00 PM, and at the top, relief washed over his face—he'd left behind a difficult challenge.
Unlike the other floors, here there was only a single door. To its left hung a framed painting of a ship sailing calm seas. It looked like an old vessel, from Aija's bloodiest eras, when no empire could rise and the people were called Fujian.
He pushed the door open and finally reunited with his only friend—or at least the person closest to that.
"Twenty‑five days… felt like fifty!" Romero exclaimed, collapsing into a worn armchair at the back of the stuffy room.
The place breathed antiquity; books lay scattered on the floor, as if each page held a forgotten secret remembered only by him.
A dusty map lay spread across the table. Rasen stood under the door's arch, taking it all in, as if this wasn't just a room but a crucial stage in a grand play.
One that was about to begin, the "start" button waiting to be pressed.
"Yeah, but I'm here now!" He took the first step, grazing the map with his fingers.
"So, tell me—what did you discover?"
"It was enlightening… On Mount Hierosolyma, I felt the presence of the angel Gael's light, as if his essence and will still hung in the air, or the founders' souls remained woven into that place," he said, eyes distant, pacing the room as their steps echoed softly. "It makes me wonder why the Order was established in Aija. The land is barren and infertile, yet Niftar and the angel chose it. There must be something deeply significant behind that choice, right?" he wondered, as if the answer was hidden in that distant past.
Which several books and even the Leges failed to explain.
"Money, political motives… It's simple: with the Order in Aija, the emperor strengthened his bond with the people. Every move was calculated!" Romero replied cynically, as if uncovering people's true motivations. "But Niftar and Gael, with their vision beyond the obvious, must have sensed something sacred in that land!"
A painting of an angel yielding to a demon caught his eye—light in its descent, darkness in the skies. The image felt like truth incarnate: by becoming a "demon," the painter saw himself as a necessary evil.
"Indeed!" His voice carried certainty. "Anyway… I came back with more questions than answers!" He made a theatrical gesture, brushing dust from a cupboard with his fingers, leaving clean streaks in the grime.
"No matter how much we try to understand, the true nature of this reality always eludes us. We are only scratching the surface, leaving a sea of questions unanswered," Romero said, eyes shining like a newborn star, clearly fascinated by his words. "That's why… we are needed!" It was clear he already had a concept in mind—and that concept enthralled him.
Even Rasen had noticed.
"True…"
He rubbed his fingers, reciting from a book they both knew: Nunc autem videmus per speculum in aenigmate, tunc autem facie ad faciem... He watched microscopic dust fall in front of him.
It was like a trigger amid the chaos, echoing with the madness that had passed through and struck the listener's heart.
Didn't reach? Didn't understand? 1 Corinthians 13:12.
"That forces us to acknowledge the limits of our shallow knowledge and push to reshape destiny… I've concluded that the simulacrum of creation—the spiral Schattenstein envisioned for a perfect world—is our best blueprint: a world without truths, only harmony!"
They argued with remarkable synchronicity, each one completing the other's thought.
"But to reach that, we need my spiral to have an energy reservoir… one that surpasses any limit we know!" he continued, returning to a conversation that had started long before, even before he traveled.
"Yes, and that's precisely why we're here, in this rat‑infested place." He looked around and leaned back in his chair. "My plan is simple: we're going to steal the Cube of Eternal Curse—an Apocalypse‑Level artifact—stored and guarded in containment zone level 17!"
"Just fifteen minutes from here!" A triumphant grin formed on his lips.
"Exactly!"
"I remember when they discovered it. Legends said it was forged from humanity's despair. They claimed over a hundred mundane demons were sealed inside… an unparalleled energy source!" he confessed, sharing his friend's excitement. "But there are two problems: how to infiltrate without being stopped by a whole army of exorcists, and how to handle all those entities if the Cube is opened? That's a challenge even for me… at best, I could seal ten with my innate expansion technique… but…" he paused, mulling over the obstacles.
"I know—but let's break it down. We have a few days before then, and I just need six exorcists!"
"Six?"
"Yes, just six. My plan is to create a distraction on the day we storm the containment zone. Hopefully that will draw every exorcist's attention towards us. If Milk is as efficient as I predict, we might even delay the celestials long enough!" he explained. "Once we have the Cube, we must be cunning. Actually, we'll be boldly brazen! You're going to unleash all the demons—controlled or not—and as chaos spreads, the dark energy fueling your spiral will come from the fear, terror and despair unraveling in the air!"
His eyes dropped to the map among the books as the other finished outlining the next steps. The paper lay there, blown in by a gust of wind streaming through a window with no glass.
Energy in transformation—not yet mastered by instinct… understood! It was as if they were rearranging pieces in a mental chess puzzle.
That idea caught him off guard. Instead of focusing on exorcising entities and relying on leftover energy, the concept was to create energy—and absorb it, even without a fully rational plan.
"Two suicidal plans!" he admitted after a moment of thinking, staring at his palm where energy spiraled outward. He clenched his fist, his eyes burning with resolution as he looked back at him.
"To either perish for our ideal or give the world a second chance? Fair trade!" he exclaimed, as if finally choosing his path.
Or so it seemed… at least, back then.
"That's who we are—enlightened ones!" he paraphrased, adopting a new life motto from one of the many books he'd read. He stood, and said, "So, now that you're here, how about recruiting a kid with me?"
"Me?"
"Yes—you went through the same chaos…"
"That's not happening. Do you really think I can recruit someone with this face?" he replied, pulling his phone from his pocket and letting out a cold laugh.
"That's a pathetic excuse."
"No, actually, I need to pay him a visit… you get that, right?"
He hoped he didn't—but he only smiled sideways as he spoke, picking up one of his books and clutching it under his arm.
"Of course! Then see you later, my friend…" And before he left, he paused in the doorway and shot a piercing look backward. "But don't forget—secrecy, got it?" The warning sounded more like a veiled threat.
A fool, if anyone believed it would be kept…