The rain in Nocturnus never felt cleansing; it felt oppressive. The water was cold, smelled of sulfur, and fell with a rhythmic tapping that seemed to count down the remaining sanity of anyone trapped beneath it.
In a narrow, filthy alley, amidst piles of wet trash and oil-slicked puddles, Devon lay. Naked. Broken. Humiliated. The chill of the cobblestones seeped into his spine, but it paled in comparison to the phantom cold left by Reven's mechanical fingers tearing through his chest.
"REVENNNNNNN! YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!"
The scream tore from his throat, hoarse and wet, bouncing off the damp brick walls before being swallowed by the rumble of distant thunder. Devon jerked awake, sitting bolt upright, gasping for air. His hands clutched his throbbing head, fingers digging into his own wet hair.
"Damn it... damn you, Reven..." he hissed, his teeth chattering.
But as the echo of his scream faded, replaced by the monotonous sound of the rain, Devon fell silent. He lowered his hands. His eyes, obscured by wet bangs, stared at the dirty puddle before him.
"Hah..." He let out a long sigh, white steam escaping his lips. "What's the point of screaming like an idiot?"
He realized how pathetic he had just been. Like a cliché protagonist in a cheap shonen manga who had just lost the power of friendship. Raging, throwing a tantrum, vowing revenge with teary eyes... that wasn't his style. It was inefficient. It was a waste of calories.
"Calm down, Devon. Think," he muttered to himself.
He began to assess the damage. He touched his chest. The wound where the purple Nephryss crystal had been forcibly extracted still stung, leaving behind strange scar tissue, as if the skin had melted and fused back together in a hurry. But something was different.
His hands moved to his arms, then his stomach.
"Eh?"
He wasn't scrawny anymore.
Devon looked down. Under the dim light of the streetlamp at the end of the alley, he examined his body. It was no longer the body of a skinny teenager who relied on magical armor or mummy bandages to look bulky. His physique had changed. His muscles were dense, sharply defined as if chiseled from alabaster. His back formed a perfect V-taper, and his abs were clearly etched but not excessive—an athletic build designed for speed and explosive power, not just a bodybuilding showcase.
He crawled toward a cracked mirror leaning against a pile of trash, the remains of a discarded vanity table. He wiped the mud from its surface.
The face staring back was his, but... upgraded. His skin was still corpse-pale, almost transparent, but the texture was perfectly smooth. His cheekbones were more defined, his jawline sharper. And his eyes...
He brushed back his thick, wet bangs.
His left eye was still pitch black. But his right eye—the eye that was once the window to the power of Nephryss and Corvus—was now a dim, glowing blood-red with a thin, vertical pupil.
"Well... looking closer, I'm actually quite handsome," he murmured, tilting his head left and right, admiring his reflection amidst the garbage and rain. He bit his lower lip, a newly developed narcissistic tic. "Hmm, looks like I've grown taller. Maybe five centimeters? So I'm 180 cm now? Not bad."
He stood up. His body felt light, yet powerful. He bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling the spring in his calf muscles.
"Incredible," he whispered. "I don't know if this is a side effect of the forced crystal extraction, or lingering mutations from merging with Nephryss, but I won't complain."
Then, his gaze traveled lower. He checked his rear. Tight. Good. Then he looked to the front, at his manhood.
Devon blinked. He leaned his face a little closer.
"What the hell...?"
The size... well, that got a significant upgrade too. More muscular, if that term could even apply. But it wasn't the size that confused him.
It was the color.
Amidst his corpse-white skin, his manhood was a bright pink. Hot pink. The contrast was so stark it looked like a misplaced neon sign.
"Why... why is the color so cheerful?" Devon scratched his head, genuinely baffled. "It's the only colorful thing on my body. Is this some kind of cosmic joke? A side effect of eating the universe? or did Reven do something while I was out...?"
He shuddered in horror at the last possibility.
As he rubbed the side of his head in frustration, his fingers brushed against something strange above his ear. Something soft yet firm.
He felt it again. There was a pair of protrusions on the left and right sides of his head, just beneath his thick hair. He pulled his hair back and looked in the mirror again.
Wings.
Not webbed fins or leathery bat wings, but a pair of small, elegant, feathered wings, deep blood-red in color. They grew out from the sides of his head, curving backward at an aerodynamic angle, resembling the iconic headpieces of the Valkyries in ancient legends. The feathers were soft but looked sharp, arranged neatly like tiny blades, twitching slightly in response to his emotions.
"Ehhhhhh..." Devon stared at his reflection blankly. "What is this? Permanent Valkyrie cosplay? War god accessories? Ah, whatever."
He let go of his hair, allowing it to cover the strange fins. "Who cares, anyway. In this city, people have tentacles on their faces. Two small wings on my head won't put me in a circus."
Current priority: he was naked. In an alley. In the rain. And although he felt very sexy with his new body, walking around with a swinging "pink sword" wasn't a wise strategy.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
The sound of firm, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the end of the alley. The footsteps of someone wearing expensive shoes.
Devon immediately darted behind a stack of wooden crates, his movements silent and fluid, far faster than before. He peeked through a gap in the rotting wood.
A male vampire was walking across the mouth of the alley. He looked like mid-tier nobility—a neatly tailored black suit, high-collared white shirt, leather shoes that shone despite the wetness. In one hand, he held an elegant black umbrella, and in the other, a clove cigarette puffing out blue smoke.
The vampire was humming softly, about to turn into the alley for a shortcut.
"Target locked," Devon whispered. "Body size... seems about right. Fashion taste... decent."
As the vampire stepped into the shadows of the alley, Devon didn't hesitate. He was no longer prey.
He lunged.
Soundless, without warning. Devon shot from his hiding spot like a shadow detaching from the wall. His new, powerful right hand seized the vampire's neck from behind.
"Urghk!" The vampire gagged, the umbrella slipping from his grasp.
Devon gave him no chance to use blood magic or transform into a bat. He shoved the vampire with full force, slamming him into the rough brick wall.
BLAM!
The vampire's head hit the brick, spiderwebbing the wall. The vampire slumped, dazed.
Devon spun the victim around, staring into the shocked, pale face.
"Sorry," Devon said flatly, without a shred of remorse. "I need your clothes."
THUD!
Devon's right fist smashed into the vampire's face. Nose broken. Blood sprayed.
THUD!
The second blow shattered the jaw.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Devon didn't stop. He struck with sadistic precision and a brutal rhythm. The vampire's once handsome and arrogant face was turned into a pulp of flesh and bone. There was no anger in Devon's punches, only terrifying efficiency. He ensured his victim wouldn't wake up. Wouldn't report this. Wouldn't be a problem.
After the final blow caved in the vampire's skull, the body slid to the ground, lifeless.
Devon stood, shaking off his blood-soaked hands. He looked down at the corpse.
"Now, for the shopping spree."
Quickly, he stripped the vampire. He removed the jacket, the shirt, the trousers, even the belt and shoes. Miraculously, the fit was perfect, as if fate had sent this man specifically to be his clothing donor.
Devon put on the white shirt, buttoning it with fingers stained in dried blood, then donned the black suit jacket. He tightened the belt, feeling the high-quality fabric against his skin. Far better than a canvas loincloth or mummy bandages.
He dragged the vampire's naked corpse and tossed it into a large dumpster filled with restaurant waste, covering it with a pile of rotting fish bones.
"Sleep tight, Prince of Darkness," he murmured.
Devon picked up the fallen black umbrella, opening it with a satisfying fwoomp. He plucked the vampire's still-burning cigarette from a puddle—miraculously not fully extinguished—and took a drag.
He walked over to the mirror shard again. The black suit fitted his athletic frame perfectly. The high collar covered part of his neck. He combed his black hair back with his fingers, letting a few strands fall over his red eye.
"Perfect."
Next destination: The Rusty Anchor.
He had to meet his team. The noisy Kageyama and the uptight Stormclaw. They must be tired of waiting for him. And he owed them an explanation—and perhaps a revenge plan—to discuss.
Devon walked out of the alley, blending into the night crowd on the streets of St. Veren's Gate, his black umbrella shielding him from the drizzle, cigarette smoke curling from his lips. He looked like a bored young nobleman, not a monster who had just risen from the dead.
However, as he neared the district where the inn was located, his pace slowed.
There was the smell of smoke in the air. Not tobacco or cigars, but burning wood, charred meat, and chemicals.
And there was light. Too much light for these gloomy streets. Flickering orange light reflecting off the wet walls.
Devon turned the final corner, and he stopped.
The Rusty Anchor was no more.
In the place where the multi-story wooden inn should have stood, there was only a charred, smoldering skeleton, a crater of destruction in the middle of the city. Firefighters—water golems and ice mages—were busy extinguishing the embers. The St. Veren Ebony Guard medical team was rushing around with stretchers carrying unrecognizable charred forms.
Glowing yellow magical police tape blocked the area.
Devon stood there, his umbrella shielding him from the falling ash. His face remained flat, a perfect mask of indifference, but his eyes darted rapidly, recording every detail.
"Hmm... what exactly happened?" he whispered.
He spotted a demon man standing at the edge of the police line, watching with his mouth agape. Devon approached, nudging the demon's arm gently.
"Bro," he called out casually, as if asking for the time. "What's going on here? Why the crowd? Is there a barbecue party?"
The demon turned, staring at Devon with a horrified look. "Barbecue?! Are you crazy? It was a massacre!"
The demon pointed at the ruins with a trembling hand. "Earlier... suddenly there was an explosion. Not a normal explosion, but green fire! And then... on the roof..." His voice dropped in fear. "I saw her. A woman... wearing a white robe like a doctor or scientist... she was fighting a monster."
"A monster?" Devon interrupted, his eyes narrowing.
"Yes! A giant white cat! Walking on two legs! Its body was wreathed in lightning! They destroyed the building as if it were made of cardboard! The woman laughed like a maniac while throwing bombs, and the cat... it roared like an angry thunder god!"
The demon shook his head. "And then... the woman blew everything up. No one survived. They're evacuating pieces of bodies from inside. It's horrific."
Devon fell silent. His cigarette smoke drifted under the umbrella.
'Woman in a white robe. Reven. So, she's already been here.'
'White cat with lightning. Stormclaw. Reven's escaped experiment. Of course.'
His brain assembled the scenario in seconds. Reven found them. Reven attacked. Stormclaw fought back. Result: Total destruction.
"Then," Devon asked softly, "did you see another woman? Black hair, black armor, carrying two katanas? Beautiful but looks a bit... unhinged?"
The demon thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. But they carried out several body bags from the second floor before the fire got too big. Maybe she..." The demon didn't finish the sentence, only shrugging with feigned sympathy.
Devon nodded. "I see. Thanks, bro."
He turned, leaving the crowd.
'Hmm. Most likely Kageyama has been taken out by Reven. She's strong, but Reven... she's cunning. And Stormclaw...'
Devon stared up at the rooftops towering in the darkness.
'If that cat is still alive, he must be chasing Reven. Or hiding to lick his wounds.'
He tossed his cigarette butt into a puddle, hissing softly as the fire died.
"Alright," he said to the cold night. "I guess I'll go find Stormclaw. If he survived, he'll be useful. And maybe... we'll face Reven again."
A thin, cold smile carved itself onto his face. Not a smile of anger, but the smile of a chess player who had just seen the opponent's next move.
"I need to think this plan through. This time, no more playing Pharaoh."
Devon walked away, the silhouette of his black suit merging with the city's shadows, his umbrella shielding him from the rain and ash, walking toward the deeper darkness of Nocturnus.