The fire roared behind him, moving faster than Akira anticipated. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide.
It's catching up too quickly… If I wasn't carrying Yukiko, I could outrun it. I have no choice...
With a grim expression, Akira let go of Yukiko. Shadow tendrils erupted from the ground, gently catching and lowering her to safety.
He dropped to his knees beside her, exhaling sharply.
"This… this is all my mana," he muttered.
Summoning the last of his strength, he created a dome of shadows, encasing them in a protective shell. Just as the fire reached them, it collided with the dome in a massive explosion of heat and fury.
Akira clenched his fists, pouring everything he had into keeping the barrier intact. The shadows trembled, cracking under the pressure.
Minutes felt like hours.
Eventually, the flames began to die down. The dome shattered like glass, revealing Akira and Yukiko lying amid the scorched earth.
Akira coughed violently, inhaling smoke and dust. The scent of charred earth and burned flesh filled the air.
"I really hope he won…" he rasped. "Because I'm completely empty right now…"
Beside him, Yukiko stirred. She slowly pushed herself up, her legs wobbling. Then, she leaned down, placed his arm over her shoulder, and helped him stand.
Akira blinked. "Wait… were you lying about not being able to walk?"
Yukiko sighed. "You dummy… It's not my mana I'm using. I'm drawing it from the environment. It helps with healing, but it's slow."
"Oh… I see," Akira mumbled.
They limped forward through the smoke and ruin. After a few painful steps, Yukiko finally said, "We're here."
Akira looked up—and froze.
In the center of a massive crater sat Mikage, completely drained, hunched over. Opposite him was the Nightwalker—burnt to a crisp, unmoving, a gaping hole torn through its chest.
The battlefield was silent.
Then the world around them began to shimmer.
Cracks formed in the phantom world, and in a blinding flash, it shattered—revealing the real world behind it.
Akira let out a pained breath. "Put me down, Yukiko… Let's just rest for a minute."
She nodded, gently lowering him onto the ground. They both slumped beside each other, bruised, burned, and barely conscious.
Then—without warning—the world shimmered.
The phantom world collapsed in an instant, like a curtain being pulled away. The destroyed buildings, burning streets, and crimson sky vanished. In their place stood the ordinary city block once more: clean sidewalks, still cars, and buildings untouched.
It was as if nothing had happened.
A car idled by the curb—the same one that had dropped them off. The driver, relaxing with one hand on the steering wheel, spotted something in the corner of his eye. His brow furrowed.
"What the…?"
He stepped out of the car and hurried over. When he saw the three students lying on the pavement—battered, covered in blood, and clearly wounded—his face went pale.
"H-Hey! What happened to you?! Are you alright?!"
Yukiko held her head, wincing. "Please… not now. My head's killing me. We'll explain later—just get us to the car."
The driver nodded quickly, shaken, and began carrying them one at a time toward the vehicle.
But high above the calm street, far removed from their pain, a man stood at the edge of a rooftop.
He didn't move.
Dressed in a sleek black suit and a wide-brimmed hat that shaded half his face, he looked more like a guest at a funeral than someone who had just witnessed a battle.
And then there was the mask.
Split cleanly down the middle—one side smooth and ivory, curved with a faint, haunting smile. The other, cracked and blackened, looked as if it had been burned, the jagged eyehole like a wound that never healed.
He was both serene and shattered.
He watched the trio below in silence, unmoving. Then, as the wind stirred his coat and shadows writhed at his feet, he finally spoke—calmly, almost tenderly.
"It was a failed experiment anyway… In due time, everything will be set in motion."
The shadows at his feet rippled—then opened like a door.
Without another word, he stepped through the void—and vanished.
All the students who had been sent on missions had returned—except for Mikage's team.
Trixie glanced around, scanning the room. "Did Yukiko stop to grab something to eat on the way back?" she wondered.
Edward silently took note of their absence but said nothing.
Kane, however, was grinning ear to ear, mumbling under his breath, "Looks like Mikage isn't as competent as everyone says."
Mr. Oliver approached the ever-stoic Simon, who stood calmly as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"Aren't you even a little worried about your students?" Oliver asked.
Simon replied evenly, "I am. But I trust them. Yukiko's smart—she knows how to handle herself. Akira might be a newbie, but he's surprisingly creative. And they have Mikage with them. We made sure to assign them a mission within their limits. They might just be taking their time… or exploring a bit."
Oliver frowned. "Simon, I tried calling their escort. His phone isn't even connecting."
Simon's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then get ready. If they're not back in fifteen minutes, we'll go find them."
Oliver smirked. "I thought you'd never ask."
Meanwhile, in a quiet car driving down the road, the escort sighed to himself.
"I knew I should've charged my phone before leaving… At least the kids are safe."
Adjusting the rearview mirror, he looked into the backseat. All three were fast asleep: Mikage in the middle, Akira on the right, and Yukiko on the left—both using Mikage's shoulders as makeshift pillows.
The driver chuckled softly. "What I'd give to be young again…"
He glanced back once more, his voice barely a whisper. "How can they sleep through those injuries...? Still, they look relaxed. Must've been one hell of a fight."
The driver glanced at the rearview mirror, unease creeping in as he thought to himself, "Was it a bad idea to bring that Night Walker with us? It looked dead… but what if it springs back to life? We're screwed. At least I tied it down… in the trunk."
Back at the school, Oliver broke the silence. "Simon, it's almost time."
Small pebbles began to rise from the ground, trembling in the air—yet Simon remained still, saying nothing. Moments later, the escort's car rolled into the school premises.
Simon exhaled calmly. "See? I told you they were fine."
As he and Oliver stepped forward, they both suddenly froze. Their eyes flickered with a faint green hue.
"Oliver… do you feel that?" Simon asked, his tone sharpening.
"I feel it. It's too sinister to ignore," Oliver replied.
Without hesitation, Oliver shouted, "Edward! Kane! Brace yourselves and protect the students!"
Kane and Edward had already sensed it. Edward's eyes darkened as a surge of mana erupted—his shadow expanded, enveloping the entire school in a protective dome. Kane stood still, sweat trickling down his temple, his expression grim.
Trixie, clutching her hands, thought anxiously, "Is Yukiko in that car?"
The ground trembled faintly as Oliver stepped ahead of Simon, his pace increasing.
The escort hurried out of the vehicle, waving both hands. "We're fine! They're safe!"
The trio stepped out of the car—Akira stretched, then winced sharply as a painful pop echoed from his ribs.
"Ow—bad idea…" he muttered, clutching his side.
Simon approached quickly, his eyes scanning their injuries. "What happened to you three?"
The escort pointed toward the trunk. "The answer… is in there."
Oliver stepped forward, the sinister energy thickening with every step. He grasped the trunk's handle and slowly opened it. The pressure in the air intensified, but he pulled it fully open.
Inside lay the scorched remains of the Night Walker—its chest hollowed out by a massive hole, the corpse bound tightly in ropes.
"It's dead," Oliver thought, eyes narrowing, "and it still has this much mana in it?"
Simon raised his voice. "False alarm!"
Edward immediately dispelled the shadow dome as the tension broke.
Within moments, the school's nurses rushed in with stretchers, carefully lifting Akira, Yukiko, and Mikage to take them to the infirmary.
In the infirmary, the trio had been assigned to separate wards for treatment. As Akira lay resting, trying not to move too much, the door to his ward creaked open. Trixie stepped in quietly, a small smile playing on her lips.
"I heard this is where you ended up," she said, walking to his bedside.
Akira groaned as he tried to sit up, wincing. "I think… Yukiko's in the ward across the hall."
Trixie rolled her eyes, then flicked him lightly on the forehead. "Did you even hear what I said, or did that Night Walker beat your brains out?"
Clutching his forehead and pouting, Akira muttered, "That hurt…"
Just then, a nurse entered with a clipboard in hand. "Are you Akira Seguru?"
"Yeah, that's me," Akira replied.
The nurse gave him a sympathetic glance. "Your test results are back. You have three broken ribs—two are fractured. Your wrist and both ankles are fractured too. Several bones in your arms and legs are damaged, and… you've torn a muscle and suffered a concussion."
Trixie winced. "Sheesh… you're in a far worse state than I imagined."
"I'll be overseeing your healing process," the nurse added. "Let me know when you're ready to begin." With that, she exited the ward.
Trixie dragged a chair close to his bed and sat down, folding her hands over her lap.
"I know it might be hard to talk about now… but can you at least tell me what you felt when you saw that creature?"
Akira gave a half-hearted smile. "What are you, a reporter?"
He let out a slow sigh. "Honestly? I was petrified. But I almost lost it when it tried to rip through my chest. It reminded me of… that gunshot. When I got shot. Guess I have trauma after all."
A heavy silence followed. Trixie's smile faded. For once, she didn't know what to say.
Then she stood up slowly. "Do you know what might cheer you up?"
Akira blinked. "What do you mean?"
Trixie turned her back to him. Confused, Akira tilted his head, watching her.
What is she planning? he thought.
Then, two subtle slits near the upper back of her shirt opened—he was about to warn her, but before he could speak, something incredible happened.
A soft shimmer lit the room.
From her back, a pair of wings began to unfold—delicate and ethereal, like they were spun from stardust and moonlight. The feathers weren't feathers at all, but flowing strands of golden luminescence, trailing sparkling particles that hung in the air like fireflies. As they fully unfurled, they cast a warm, radiant glow over the room, illuminating Akira's bruised and bandaged face.
He stared, wide-eyed, captivated. His pain seemed to quiet in the presence of such magic.
Trixie turned to face him, her eyes gleaming with the same golden hue that pulsed gently in her wings.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked softly, the light dancing across her face.
Akira, stunned, whispered, "It really is."
Trixie then asked softly, "Are you feeling better now?"
Akira, caught off guard by the question, gave a faint smile. "Yeah… I feel a lot better. Thanks." He paused, glancing at her wings. "Um, can I touch them?"
Trixie shot him a sharp glare. "No. That's weird, you perv."
Her words struck like a spear to the chest. Akira flinched. "I—I didn't know it was weird. Sorry for asking."
Trixie suddenly burst into laughter. "I'm kidding! Relax. You can touch them—just be gentle, alright?"
Akira chuckled nervously and slowly reached out, running his fingers along the glowing wings. They're so soft… but I can feel the strength in them too, he thought.
Trixie's voice broke the silence. "When I was little, my mom used to cry a lot… always in pain. But whenever I asked how I could help, she'd say, 'I just want to see your beautiful wings. It makes me feel a hundred times better.' She used to touch them… just like you're doing now."
Akira's heart sank. Now I feel like a jerk. He slowly pulled his hand back. "I'm sorry…"
Trixie turned her head slightly. "No, don't apologize. I should be thanking you. You reminded me of something I promised never to forget."
Akira hesitated, then gently asked, "What happened to her?"
Trixie's expression dimmed. "She… took her life when I was five. Back then, I didn't understand anything."
Akira winced. You just had to ask, Akira… "I'm sorry. That must've been hard."
Trixie gave a small shrug and smiled faintly. "Not really. It's been a long time. And hey, I'm here to make you feel better, not bore you with my drama."
As Yukiko lay on the bed in her ward, staring at the ceiling, Mikage stood just behind the door, hesitating. He sighed quietly and began to turn away, but then Yukiko's voice called out,
"Do you need an invitation?"
Mikage froze, stunned. He peeked his head into the room and asked,
"How did you know I was there?"
"You weren't exactly subtle," Yukiko replied calmly.
With a nervous chuckle, Mikage stepped into the room.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
Yukiko sat up slowly.
"I'm doing better. I've almost finished healing myself. The injuries weren't too severe," she said. "I was going to ask about you, but you seem fine."
Mikage gave a sheepish smile.
"I heal fast," he said, then added, "Since when did Akira and Trixie get close? I can sense her mana near his."
Yukiko shook her head.
"I don't think they're close. I asked her to help cheer him up. He looked terrified during that fight, and he's the most injured out of all of us. He didn't know how to reinforce parts of his body."
Mikage nodded.
"Yeah… she does know how to lighten the mood. But I actually came to ask if you're still up for tomorrow's mission. It's not mandatory and doesn't carry a grade."
Yukiko sighed.
"I don't mind going, but it's Akira you should be asking."
"I figured you'd say that," Mikage replied, already turning toward the door. "I'll check in with him then."
As he reached for the handle, Yukiko stammered,
"M-Mikage…"
He paused and turned slightly,
"Yeah?"
In a quiet, embarrassed voice, Yukiko said,
"T-thank you… for saving me. But next time, I'll be the one saving you."
Mikage froze for a second as a memory flashed before him—his final attack, Yukiko nearly consumed by the Night walker. He clenched his fist slightly, then smiled.
"No problem… but don't forget to thank Akira too. He saved you twice."
"I will," she said softly.
Trixie turned to Akira and asked, "Will you be able to come for tomorrow's excursion?"
Akira blinked and replied, "What excursion?"
Trixie smirked. "The mission you and my group were assigned to. I called it an excursion since we're not really doing anything—just exploring a recently discovered labyrinth."
Akira let out a soft laugh. "Putting it that way really lowers the tension I was feeling. I'll go. What's the worst that could happen?"
Trixie quickly raised a finger to her lips, signaling for silence. "Don't say things like that—you'll jinx us."
Akira tried to hold back his laughter but failed. "You believe in stuff like that?"
Trixie pouted. "And what if I do?"
Akira, still chuckling, replied, "There's nothing wrong with it."
"Then stop laughing," she huffed.
But he kept going, so she poked his ribs playfully. Akira winced and quickly gave in. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry!"
Trixie grinned. "I'll go get the nurse so she can start your treatment."
"Alright," Akira nodded.
As she stepped outside, she nearly bumped into Mikage at the door.
"Oh, did you want to see Akira?" she asked.
Mikage shook his head gently. "Don't worry, there's no need. And… thank you for helping him."
Trixie smiled warmly. "It was my pleasure."
The cold night air coiled around the narrow streets of London. A faint mist clung to the cobblestones, and the flicker of faulty neon signs cast dancing shadows along the walls. Amid the stillness, a woman strutted confidently down the sidewalk. Her dress—short, blood-red, and barely concealing—drew attention like the scent of prey.
From a corner pub, two drunk men stumbled into the street, their laughter echoing down the block.
"Oi, gorgeous!" one of them slurred, grinning. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?" asked the other, eyes scanning her figure. "We could keep you warm," the first added, voice thick with lust.
The woman turned, her smile coy and inviting. "Really? You think the two of you can handle me?"
They exchanged drunken chuckles. "Oh, we can do more than handle you."
She chuckled softly and motioned with a curl of her finger, stepping into a nearby alley swallowed by shadow.
Eager, they followed.
The first man wasted no time. As soon as they were secluded, he slid an arm around her waist and pressed his lips to hers. She allowed it—for a moment. Then her eyes gleamed crimson.
She seized his hair, yanked his head back with unnatural strength, and flashed her fangs.
Before he could scream, she bit deep into his neck.
His shriek was muffled by her lips as she drank greedily, blood gushing from the wound.
The second man stumbled back, panic setting in. He turned to flee—and slammed straight into a towering figure wrapped in darkness.
Crimson eyes stared at him from beneath a black hood.
"Move!" the man screamed.
The figure didn't.
Instead, he grabbed the man by the face and slammed him down, skull-first, into the cold, wet concrete. The crunch of bone echoed like thunder. Blood spilled freely, steaming in the chill air.
The figure—Charles—dragged the broken body into the alley's shadows, then turned to the woman, who was still draining her victim dry.
"Rebecca," he said, his voice smooth but reprimanding, "how many times must I remind you not to let your prey run?"
Rebecca looked up, her lips glistening with blood. "Oh, come on, Charles. What's the point of calling them 'prey' if I don't get to chase them once in a while?" She licked her fingers. "Besides, I knew you were watching. You always clean up my messes."
Charles exhaled sharply. "I didn't come for this. The plan is nearly complete. In ten days, the Blood Moon will rise. And with it... Dracula will awaken."
Rebecca raised a brow. "A little dramatic, don't you think? Still, we'll need at least one of the Horns, just in case Van Helsing sticks his nose in again."
"If we move quietly," Charles replied, "we won't need the Horns. Nor the risk of drawing the hunter's attention."
Rebecca smirked. "Still... let's talk to the Right Horn. He's more agreeable than the Left."
Charles nodded. "Agreed. She's... unstable."
He drew a small blade and sliced open his fingertip. Drops of blood sizzled as they hit the ground, forming glowing crimson runes that spiraled outward. The pavement cracked, and a dark portal spiraled open before them.
"Let's go."
Rebecca walked toward the portal, then paused and looked back at the second body. "What about him?" she asked.
"He's dead," Charles said.
She shrugged. "Pity. They both tasted more like whiskey than blood." She turned, then added with a teasing grin, "Maybe I'll drink yours next."
Charles didn't flinch. "You most certainly will not."
She laughed and stepped through the portal. He followed without another word.
Moments later, the alley was silent—save for the soft drip of blood, and the faint, ancient whisper stirring deep beneath the city.