The night hung heavy, like a lid over the city.
Moist air clung to their clothes, and the distant neon lights flickered like dying fireflies drowned in rain.
In the alley, Hansi's shirt still smoked from the bullet hole — a red blossom spreading slow, ticking like a dying clock.
Ken — trapped in Ayato's body — pressed both hands against the wound, desperate, trembling.
The world had narrowed down to the faint rhythm of Hansi's pulse, the hiss of rain, and the echoing steps of the men coming back for them.
Behind them, Yuri stood calm and cold as steel, counting each breath, each bullet.
He had already dropped two of the attackers and wounded a third, but the rest were circling, relentless.
"Stay with me, Hansi," Ken whispered, his voice breaking apart. "Stay awake."
Yuri tilted his head, assessing.
"I'll hold them off. Get him behind that dumpster — there's cover there."
Ken obeyed, dragging Hansi's limp body through the mud, placing him in the shadow. The blood was soaking through everything. Then, out of nowhere, pain tore through him — sharp, electric. His leg gave out. He touched his thigh and felt warmth flooding between his fingers.
"Shit! I'm hit!" he shouted. "Yuri—cover me!"
Yuri snapped up and fired, precise and unflinching.
Two bursts. One enemy fell face-first, another retreated behind a wall. The air was smoke and thunder. Then a voice cut through it all — cold, commanding, and horribly familiar:
"Don't move! Hands where I can see them!"
The leader stepped into the light, tall and broad, his shadow cutting the alley in two.
And on his chest — an emblem Ken wished he'd never see again.
Grey Montclair.
Ken froze.
Yuri's eyes narrowed.
This was no random ambush. This was retribution.
Grey walked forward, boots slapping against the wet pavement.
Ken tried to move, but his wounded leg buckled. He made a small gesture to Yuri — stand down. They had no chance.
Yuri dropped his gun, slowly lifting his hands.
"We surrender!" he called, voice tight but steady.
The gunmen advanced, circling like wolves. Grey stopped before Ken, studying him in silence. Then, without warning, he swung his fist.
The blow cracked against Ayato's jaw — Ken spat blood, slamming against the wall. His ears rang, his vision went white.
"You killed my son," Grey said, every word a blade. "You took Ariel from me. Now I'll take my time."
Ken could barely breathe.
Before he could answer, Grey pressed the muzzle of his pistol against Ken's leg — the other one — and fired.
The explosion of pain tore through his body; he screamed, collapsing in the blood-slick dirt.
Grey smiled — a cruel, deliberate smile.
He knelt, pulling out a hunting knife, resting the edge against Ken's wrist.
"One limb," he whispered. "For Ariel. You'll learn what it means to lose."
And then—
Engines roared.
Headlights sliced through the dark, blinding everyone. Tires screeched.
A convoy of black vehicles burst into the alley, lights flashing, horns blaring. Voices shouted, chaos exploded.
Someone screamed his name.
> "Bill!"
Bill Montclair jumped out of the first car, tie loose, face drawn in fury and exhaustion.
Behind him came armed men — loyalists of the Montclair family, all bearing the same crest Grey wore.
"Stop!" Bill's voice thundered through the storm.
"Grey—this ends now!"
Grey turned slowly, knife still in hand.
"He killed my son," he hissed. "Your grandson, Bill. And you're protecting him?"
Bill's eyes were dark, empty. He didn't answer. He raised his pistol and fired — three clean shots.
Three of Grey's men dropped, lifeless. The rest froze, fear overtaking vengeance.
"Leave," Bill said again, his voice trembling but resolute.
"Go, Grey. Take what's left of your pride and walk away."
Grey's jaw clenched. His face twisted with hate.
"You think this is over?" he spat. "You've already lost everything."
Bill didn't flinch.
"Then let me lose the rest on my own terms."
For a moment, the world held its breath. Then Grey lowered his knife.
He glanced at the bodies on the ground, then at Bill, and stepped back into the shadows.
> "You'll regret this, old man," he growled.
"The Montclair bloodline ends with you."
He turned and vanished, his men dissolving into the night.
---
Yuri dropped beside Ken and Hansi, moving with the precision of someone who'd patched too many wounds before.
He pressed down on Hansi's side, hands steady despite the blood.
Hansi was still breathing — barely.
"We have to move," Yuri barked.
"He's fading."
Ken tried to stand but his leg refused to move. He looked up at Bill, who was reloading in silence, rain streaking down his weathered face.
"Thank you… for coming," Ken murmured, gasping. "I called you when—when I got him to cover."
Bill nodded once, but his hands were shaking.
"Go," he said quietly. "I'll take care of the rest. Meet me later."
Yuri lifted Hansi's limp body, muscles straining, and disappeared into the mist with him.
Ken leaned against the car, breathing shallow, his heart thundering like the rain on metal.
When he looked back, Bill stood alone — surrounded by corpses and regrets.
---
At Annie's House – Ezekiel and Enzo
Annie's home smelled of tea and dry earth.
Ezekiel laid Marie gently on the bed, as though afraid she'd crumble if he breathed too hard. Annie handed him a cup, her hands trembling slightly.
"She's alive…" she whispered. "How, Ezekiel? How did you survive?"
He smiled — a small, joyless smile.
"You survive when you have no other choice."
Enzo entered quietly, shutting the door behind him. His face was tense, words sharp.
"Bill Montclair's still alive. Why didn't you kill him?"
Ezekiel looked up, calm, controlled.
"I couldn't. Not in front of my mother."
Enzo slammed his fist against the counter.
"Then you've doomed us all! He'll rebuild everything. He'll strike back harder!"
Ezekiel didn't move.
"The time for revenge isn't over. It's just not tonight."
Enzo's voice dropped, trembling with fury.
"If you won't end him, I will. I'll burn down his house. Every Montclair left breathing — gone."
Ezekiel's eyes glinted, dark as obsidian.
"Do what you must," he said softly. "But remember—every reckless act brings us closer to the abyss we're trying to defeat."
Enzo laughed, hollow and broken.
"The abyss? No, cousin… I only want their blood."
---
Later that night
Rain fell again — heavier, colder.
Inside the van, Yuri held Hansi close, whispering words that sounded like prayers.
Ken sat in silence, head bowed, blood crusting on his clothes. The pain was fading, replaced by something worse — clarity.
He realized, at last, what had begun.
Not a skirmish. Not revenge.
A war.
Far away, Bill stared at his shaking hands.
Ezekiel sat beside his sleeping mother.
Enzo loaded a gun, eyes burning.
Three men. Three paths. One fate.
The rain became a drumbeat.
And the night — hungry, patient — waited.