The assassin moved like wind—silent, sure, and wicked. His blade hovered over Reina's father's chest, the tip trembling as though savoring the moment.
But then came the growl.
Rael materialized beside the bed in a curl of smoke and spirit-fire. The air dipped in temperature, a frosty edge sweeping across the tiles like creeping death.
Before steel could fall, the door burst open.
Zaire's hand caught the blade mid-swing.
A gasp tore through the air, followed by the hiss of sliced skin. Blood spilled down his arm, but he didn't let go.
The assassin didn't hesitate. In a blur, he twisted his body and slammed an elbow into Zaire's ribs, sending him reeling. Zaire flipped mid-air and landed low, breath sharp in his lungs, eyes gleaming with fire.
"You're fast," he said, tightening his injured hand into a fist. "But I've fought things faster."
No words came from the assassin—only the hiss of metal.
The room lit with bursts of clashing Ka energy. Rael lunged, fangs glowing, but the assassin weaved through him as though smoke meant nothing. For every strike Zaire landed, the assassin answered with two.
Their battle danced across shattered instruments and overturned chairs, a ghostly blur of death and defiance. Zaire ducked beneath a slash, countered with a palm strike, and lit the air with a short Ka burst that cracked the assassin's mask.
Just as Rael summoned a net of soul flame to bind him, the assassin threw himself backward through the glass window. The crash thundered down the corridor. He vanished into the night, leaving behind a single trail of blood curling like a question mark.
Zaire stood amid the shards, chest heaving. His hand bled freely.
"That," he murmured, "was no ordinary hitman."
The corridor outside smelled of blood and ozone. Reina stood near the wall, her eyes wild—not with fear, but with rage. Her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles blanched.
"He came for my father," she spat. "In his sleep."
Elior was already beside the bed, checking vitals with trembling hands. "Stable. For now."
Rael, now calmer, sniffed the air with a snarl. "He left behind a residue. Ka-binding toxin. It clings to the lungs and soul. Designed to sever life from flesh without leaving a wound."
Zaire pressed his injured hand against the wall. "That's ancient magic. Forbidden even by the Cult."
A scroll shimmered open midair beside them. Aristea's voice flowed through it, tight and urgent.
"I found something else in the journal. There's mention of the Eclipse Path—a rite performed only when Sekhmet's blood is threatened. It's older than the gods. And buried deeper."
Zaire exchanged a look with Reina.
"Then we find it."
Far from the hospital, firelight flickered across cracked stone. A chamber buried beneath the earth echoed with murmurs and old pain. The assassin knelt, his cracked mask bleeding mist.
A figure in crimson robes loomed before him, face hidden beneath a jackal-shaped helm. Behind them stood a mural of Sekhmet split in half—flames gushing from her eyes like bleeding suns.
"Let the heirs gather," the figure said. "Let them awaken. The Red Eclipse shall judge their worth."
The assassin bowed lower.
"Burn the weak. Bring me the rest."
Back in the mansion's war room, tension pressed on the four gathered around the old table.
"We need to move," Reina growled. "I don't care if it's a god or a ghost—I want to bury whoever did this."
"And what if you're next?" Elior shot back. "You're thinking like a warrior. We need to think like survivors."
"We're not surviving this. We're inside it," Aristea said, holding up the journal. "The Temple of Sekhmet is our only lead. It might still hold the secrets to the Eclipse Path."
Zaire leaned forward and pointed to an old desert symbol inked into the map's frayed edges.
"If they're hunting her blood," he said quietly, "then we hunt the reason why."
That night, Zaire stood alone in his room. Bandages wrapped his injured hand, the fabric already stained red. The moon poured light through the window, carving silver lines across his skin.
He stared into the mirror.
A mark—faint but pulsing—glowed just beneath his collarbone. Crescent-shaped, pierced by a downward fang. It shimmered like something trying to awaken.
Rael appeared behind him, eyes glowing with ancient recognition.
"You're waking up, my prince," the spirit hound whispered. "And the world isn't ready."
...to be continued.