POV: Alpha
It was a mission like any others I'd taken before Shadow Garden became what it is now. Normally, as the second in command after master shadow, my work is mostly to sit back and let others do the work. But I can't just do that, I can't sit back and let them put their lives in danger while I do nothing. Because of this, I sometimes join the Numbers on their missions when I have no other work for the day. Of course, that is very rare, and tonight was one of those very rare nights.
Our strategy was very simple, wait for the Cult's pawns or any group of bandits to find and collect people affected by the Possession. When they were ready to hand them over to any third party or the Cult, we would strike, inflicting casualties on the Cult and recovering them without using our own resources and time in the process.
Tonight, we tracked another bandit group connected to the Cult. I took this chance to join the mission, even though I knew numbers would be more than enough to take down some lowlife bandits. But this mission caught my interest because of the large number of Possessed the bandits had gathered in one place. Gathering this many could not have been easy. So, they either had large numbers or a powerful person helping them. Either way, it could be troublesome for the Numbers to handle alone. Even if I didn't want to go, Zeta is working on another mission I sent her on, so this falls on me tonight.
Before leaving, I reviewed the reports on the region. Disappearances had spiked, and there were whispers of a "ghost buyer" a figure who purchased the Possessed but left no trace of the transactions. Some local informants spoke of a man in a wide brimmed hat and a mask, a man who moved like smoke and left only cold silence in his wake. I'd dismissed it as superstitious rumor, a story bandits told to explain their own failures. Now, standing at the edge of the forest overlooking the camp, a cold prickle of doubt touched my spine.
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I sent the Numbers to intercept anyone approaching the camp. Their orders were clear: eliminate Cult agents, capture and question intermediaries, and protect the Possessed at all costs. From my vantage point, I watched them melt into the trees, shadows among shadows. Seeing this camp, I can say their numbers are indeed large for a bandit group—from what I can see, around 38 people, many with a decent mana pool, but nothing major. The cages were crude, wooden things, and inside I could see the faint, chaotic aura of the Possessed, writhing in silent agony. Maybe I was worried for nothing.
Then, a figure emerged from the treeline on the opposite side of the camp. He didn't walk so much as appear, stepping from a pool of darkness as if it were a doorway. The description from the rumors was painfully accurate, a long, dark cloak, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low, and a leadery mask. He carried one visible weapon on his back and a backpack. My breath caught. I hadn't sensed him. Not a ripple of mana, not a sound, not even the disturbance of air. It was as if he were a void.
The bandit guards immediately tensed, weapons drawn, but their leader, a burly man with a scar across his eye, raised a hand.
"It's alright. Let him through. Our payday has arrived," he said, though his voice held a note of uneasy relief.
I strained my senses, pushing my mana perception to its limits. Nothing. It wasn't that he was hiding his mana; it was that there was nothing to hide. A complete and utter absence, like a hole in the world. And what about the Numbers, did he pass through them because they couldn't feel him either? A cold dread began to settle in my stomach. And that clothing... don't tell me!
The bandit leader approached the masked man, his bravado visibly cracking under that blank gaze. "W-what a surprise to see you here, Sir Grimfray!"
Grimfray. So the rumors named him truly. The bandit leader is also surprised to see him, so does that mean he's employed by someone else to buy people with Possession? I'd heard the name in darker circles. A freelance contractor, a ghost in the underworld. He was said to be utterly neutral, taking jobs based on inscrutable criteria and completing them with terrifying efficiency. I thought Grimfray would never take any contract from outside the guild, and I don't think they'd post something of this caliber in a guild. Maybe he just happened to find this place? No, that's too coincidental. That leaves the last option.
The masked man's head tilted slightly. "And you?" The voice was flat, devoid of inflection, yet it carried through the clearing with unnatural clarity.
"I-I'm the captain of this lot, sir. Of course, the Cult would have a man of your... talents... on their payroll. Now everything makes sense!" the bandit leader babbled, trying to ingratiate himself.
I knew it! That makes total sense. The Cult of Diablos was the only organization with both the means and the madness to employ something like him. I bet they experimented on him to make him what he is now—those bastards. They must have stripped him of his mana, and in return, forged him into… this.
"What do you imply?" Grimfray's question was a soft, deadly thing.
The bandit captain paled. "I-I mean no disrespect, sir! Please, your 'package' is right here, sir!" He gestured frantically toward the cages.
Something is off. Grimfray didn't move toward the cages. He stood perfectly still, his masked face surveying the bandits, the camp, the caged victims. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
"S-sir? Is everything-"
BOOM
The sound wasn't magical. It was the brutal, physical crack of displaced air. Grimfray shoot, and a bandit standing five feet behind the captain simply… exploded. Not from magic, but from a bullet that traveled faster than sight, impacting with such force that the man's torso disintegrated in a mist of red.
The bandit boss stumbled back, tripping over his own feet. "Everyone, get him!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with pure terror. Tsk, what a worthless leader, to use your subordinates as a human shield.
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POV: Narrator
The bandits, driven by panic and the fading echo of their leader's command, surged forward. What followed was not a battle, but a dismantling. The body of the man moved at its own will, a study in horrific efficiency. The first bandit to reach him lunged with a spear aimed at his stomach. Grimfray didn't dodge. His hand shot out, not to deflect the spear, but past it. There was a wet, crunching sound, and when he withdrew his arm, he held the bandit's still-beating heart, having pierced the ribcage and retrieved it in one motion.
The charge halted. The remaining bandits stood frozen, their fury drowned in a rising tide of primal fear as their comrade crumpled soundlessly to the earth.
"BASTARD!" another bandit roared, breaking the spell. His shout sparked a desperate, chaotic rush. If they couldn't beat him with skill, they would with numbers.
Three attacked from different angles, trying to corner him. The first swung a sword gleaming with a pale aura, a rudimentary mana edge. Grimfray's hand snapped up and closed around the blade. With a sound like shattering ice, the steel fragmented. The bandit's eyes widened in disbelief, and that was his last sight as a fist caved in his face, the impact traveling through his skull with such violence that the back of his head erupted.
The other two used that microsecond of distraction to strike. One aimed for his neck, the other for his kidney. Grimfray pivoted, using the collapsing body of the first as a bludgeon. He swung it like a sack of grain, slamming it into the second attacker with bone-breaking force. Without pausing, his free hand shot out, seized the third bandit by the face, and drove his head into the ground. The earth cratered, leaving behind only a pulpy, indistinct mass.
"FIRE!" From the rear, twelve bandits armed with crude muskets leveled their weapons. Their barrels glowed with concentrated mana, enhancing the projectiles. On command, a deafening volley erupted, a storm of mana-imbued iron aimed at the center of the clearing.
And then… silence.
The musketeers stood for a second, then toppled forward one by one, like cut wheat. Their weapons slipped from limp fingers. In the space where Grimfray had been standing, he now wasn't. He stood amongst them, having crossed the distance in the time it took for the smoke to clear. Each man's head was crushed into the dirt, their necks twisted at impossible angles.
His mask had come fown. The lower half, once sealed, now free, revealing the ruined landscape of his face, burned, scarred tissue pulled taut over bone. His hat was gone, showing hollow, dead eyes that stared at nothing and everything. His hair was matted and dark. But the most chilling part wasn't the devastation of his features, it was the calm, almost placid smile that rested upon them.
Every single one of the remaining bandits could feel it, the monster in front of them was looking at them, into their eyes... their souls. The will to fight evaporated. One by one, they dropped their weapons, their loot, their pride, and fled screaming into the woods.
Alpha, who saw all of this from her concealed position, was, to say the least, terrified. The idea of a manaless being able to go through a human body in one punch was something she had never seen or heard of, and yet it was in front of her. His speed defied physics; it wasn't teleportation, but movement so swift and direct it seemed to bypass the space between points. This was something she didn't expect at all from him. "The name Grimfray does suit him what a monster.", she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs. This wasn't a warrior; it was a wolf in sheep's clothing.
"G-get back here, cowards! With that package, we could retire ten times over!" The captain's pleas were pathetic, echoing in the suddenly quiet clearing. He stood alone, his sword trembling in his hand. "I-I guess I have to do it my-"
His words died. Grimfray was simply there, having closed the distance without a sound. Those empty eyes locked onto the captain's. Before the bandit could even begin his swing, a hand like iron closed around his throat.
He kicked and clawed at the unyielding arm, feet scraping the dirt as he was lifted. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" The mantra was cut short by a crisp snap. Grimfray held the limp body for a moment, then slammed it to the ground. Methodically, without anger or haste, he proceeded to beat the head into the earth with piston-like blows until nothing recognizable remained.
He slowly stood up, his posture hunched, his empty eyes scanning the clearing. He picked up a fallen torch, its flame guttering. He turned towards the cages where the Possessed whimpered and rattled their chains, unaware of their savior or their would-be destroyer. He drew his arm back, ready to cast the flame onto the dry wood and straw.
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POV: Alpha
I stepped from the shadows, my own cloak billowing slightly. "Hold."
He froze, the torch still held aloft. The mask swiveled toward me, and I felt the weight of that empty gaze, a pressure that had nothing to do with mana.
"They don't have to die," I said, my voice steady, carrying across the clearing. "There is another way."
His head tilted, just a fraction. "This… is mercy." The words were hollow, stripped of feeling.
"Mercy would be saving them, not ending them. Their lives are not beyond redemption."
"Save them?" The flat tone didn't change, but the air itself seemed to sharpen around him. "Do not tell me you wish to use them."
A shiver traced down my spine, not from magic, but from the sheer, focused intensity of his suspicion. So he knows what happens to people with Possession. He's seen the Cult's work firsthand. Now everything makes sense, he was also here to free them in his own way. He thought that because nobody could cure them, the best action to save them from the hands of the Cult was to kill them. A terminal solution to a terminal curse.
But I could show him otherwise.
"No," I answered, meeting that hollow stare. "I am here to save them, as you are. But my salvation does not require their destruction. Let me show you."
Silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring. Then, slowly, his grip on the torch loosened. It fell from his fingers, hissing as it struck the damp earth, the flame dying into smoke.
"Show me, then," he said, the words quiet, yet laced with a blade's-edge skepticism. "This 'freedom' of yours."
I could still feel his hostility, a coiled tension ready to erupt into violence if this proved a trick. But I could change that. I had to. Someone with his knowledge, his power, his unique void in a world of mana… he could be a pivotal ally against the Cult. If I could just earn a sliver of his trust.
I moved to the nearest cage, my movements deliberate and calm despite the adrenaline singing in my veins. The Possessed within recoiled, her form warped by chaotic mana. I reached through the bars, placing a gentle hand on her fevered brow. I closed my eyes, focusing. I took exactly the same steps as Master Shadow taught me, channeling my own refined mana, I carefully intertwined it with her runaway energy, not suppressing it, but guiding it, stabilizing it, providing a template for it to harmonize. It was a delicate, exhausting process, but one I had done countless times. The woman's convulsions ceased. Her distorted features softened, reknitting themselves. The pointed ears of an elf emerged from her tangled hair. She let out a soft sigh and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
One by one, I repeated the process. Cage after cage, the twisted victims were restored, emerging as sleeping elves, their curses lifted. The clearing, once a place of horror, was now filled with the soft sounds of tranquil breathing.
Finally, I turned back to him, my energy depleted but my head held high. "Here, now you can see for yourself."
He hadn't moved. He didn't utter a single word. He looked into my eyes, but it was as if he was looking through them, at my soul, and judging me for it.
"Who are you?" he asked. It was an order, not a question, devoid of curiosity, demanding an answer.
I met his gaze steadily. "We are Shadow Garden. We lurk in shadows to hunt the shadows. I am Alpha, the first seat of Shadow Garden. So, tell me, who are you?" I put a subtle emphasis on the question, turning it back on him.
His eyes didn't leave mine. "My name is Zero, but I'm called Grimfray as well. But I am no friend of yours. Don't take my actions as help for you or your cause."
"I understand. But I'm interested in an alliance with you. With your capabilities and power, we can help each other destroy the Cult. I'm guessing this is what you want as well."
"Maybe, maybe not. But I have no interest in friendship or alliance with your organization."
"Can I ask why? We have the same goal, don't we?"
He finally moved, bending to retrieve his hat from the bloodied ground. He dusted it off with a slow, deliberate care that was more unnerving than any sudden movement.
"Tell me," he said, his voice low, "what's the difference between you and these bandits?"
The question hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't accusatory; it was genuinely inquisitive, as if he truly couldn't see a distinction. I stayed quiet for a second, searching for the right words to explain purpose, morality, the fight for a future…
"It's-"
"Enough." He cut me off before I could finish, the single word final and absolute. He had heard all he needed, or perhaps he had heard nothing that changed his mind.
He placed the wide-brimmed hat back on his head, the shadow once again falling over his ruined features. He adjusted his mask. Without another word, he turned his back on me, on the saved elves, on the carnage he had done. "I hope we don't see each other again, because if we do, it wouldn't end with a simple chat."
And then he was gone. Not with a flash or a dash, but by simply stepping into the deeper shadow of a large oak tree and not emerging from the other side. The darkness seemed to swallow him whole.
As he came, he left, into the darkness of the forest. Finally, I could breathe again! I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath. A cold sweat dampened my back. I was on edge the whole time. If he moved as fast as he did before, he could have killed me instantly. His final warning echoed in my mind. It wasn't a threat born of hatred, but a simple statement of fact.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and sat down on a mossy log, my legs suddenly weak.
Well, the mission was successful. The Possessed were saved. The Cult's intermediaries were dead. Even if I didn't convince him to join us, we aren't enemies either… yet. But his question lingered, poisonously simple: *What's the difference?*
My eyes swept over the clearing again, checking on the sleeping forms of my new sisters. And then I noticed it, a detail that sent a fresh wave of cold through me.
Where did the bandits' bodies disappear to?
The clearing was littered with weapons, debris, and blood, vast, shocking amounts of blood, painting the grass and soil in dark, sticky swathes. But of the bandits themselves, the captain, the musketeers, the heartless man, there were no remains. No corpses. Not even the pulverized matter from the crushed heads. It was as if the earth itself had opened and swallowed the evidence of the slaughter, leaving only the grim aftermath behind.
Grimfray, or Zero, had not just killed them. He had cleaned up. Thoroughly. And I had no idea how.