Varac lifts the torch, trembling, grotesque.
"Alright then, let's begin… the purification!"
His arm jerks like a badly handled puppet. His breath is short, his face stretched by excitement that n'a rien d'humain.
The girl—Nora—is at the edge of breaking.
Tears glisten in the firelight.
"Wait! Please! I'm not a demon! My name is Nora… I've lived here my whole life… I'm one of you! I… I've never hurt anyone…"
She screams.
But her words don't reach them.
They crash against an invisible wall.
The wall called fear.
A murmur rises.
A voice. Weak. Unsure.
"…It's a demon."
Then another.
Then three.
Then ten.
And suddenly it's a whole collective breath, a growl rising from the pit of their guts.
"IT'S A DEMON."
"IT'S A DEMON!"
"IT'S A DEMON!"
They shout. They howl.
Reason is gone.
There are hundreds of them.
Hundreds screaming the same lie to feel safe.
The ground vibrates under their hatred.
"DEATH TO THE DEMON."
"DEATH TO THE DEMON!"
Again.
Again.
Again.
Like a mantra.
Like a curse.
They don't see a girl.
They see a threat. A target. A way to empty their fear into someone else.
And Varac…
This skinny rat, this grotesque scavenger…
He feeds on it.
His face trembles with perverse joy.
His eyes burn with a fire dirtier than the one in his torch.
"Very well, my friends… I shall grant your wish."
He brandishes the torch like a trophy.
But it shakes in his hand.
Not from fear.
From physical weakness.
The torch is almost too heavy for him.
Adrenaline does the rest.
He lowers it.
Toward the straw.
Toward Nora.
And she breaks.
Her legs try to flee, but she's tied up.
"STOP! PLEASE! STOP!"
Her voice cracks.
She's nothing but a torn, desperate breath.
And me…
I'm ready.
Ready to move.
My heart beats slowly, coldly.
I slide into that mental zone I've learned to fear.
That glacial calm before the storm.
If the torch touches the straw, I act.
But a voice rings out.
Clear. Relaxed. Feminine.
"Wait. The show isn't over yet."
Silence explodes.
The crowd shivers.
The screams choke themselves off, smothered by surprise.
Three silhouettes step forward.
Slowly. With the kind of confidence people have when they've long since stopped needing to prove anything.
And I recognize them.
Them.
The three guys that mercenary wanted to hand me over to.
The ones who stood out from the first moment.
Not because of their strength.
Because of their aura.
The Guild of Word Hunters.
And this time…
They're here for her.
Three men.
They haven't changed.
Not a millimeter.
Not a crease.
The first one is tall, too clean for this place.
Long pink hair, carefully styled.
Subtle makeup. Purple suit.
Skin pale, almost translucent. He reeks of sweet vice. Of perfumed poison.
You can tell he loves his own reflection.
The second is massive.
Bull shoulders. Black glasses glued to his skull.
Black suit, perfectly fitted.
Bronzed skin stretched over thick muscle.
He doesn't smile. He doesn't talk. He waits.
And the third.
The one in the middle.
The one my eyes avoid instinctively.
Three-piece suit.
Dark hat.
Cigar between his teeth.
Tinted glasses, even here, even in this half-light.
He carries a kind of bored weight, like nothing can surprise him anymore.
The man with pink hair walks ahead, arms open.
His voice is sing-song, theatrical.
"Dear people, no need to panic! We're here to take that demon off your hands…"
The crowd freezes.
Varac, stunned, points a shaking finger at them.
"It's me, Varac! The great Varac who caught her! She's my prey! I'm the one who'll kill her! So get lost!"
The man in violet smiles wider.
He steps closer.
A pivot.
Almost a graceful spin.
And then a side kick.
Fast.
Sharp.
Devastating.
Varac flies backward.
His body crashes into several people before smashing into a corrugated metal wall.
Silence.
The man in violet adjusts his collar.
"I hope that doesn't bother anyone. On that note, you can all go back to your little miseries."
Calm returns.
Too calm.
Too fragile.
People start to scatter.
Not because they feel safe.
Because they know when they're outclassed.
Beside me, Évra watches them.
Her tone changes. Freezes.
"Change of plans."
She jerks her chin toward the three intruders.
"You'll handle them. And you'll make sure the girl awakens her Word. If she's useless… you kill her."
My spine stiffens.
"I'll be watching. I won't step in. You're strong enough."
A short pause.
"One piece of advice: if you want to save her… push her to her absolute limit."
And then she's gone.
No footsteps.
No dramatic exit.
Just a titanic breath.
A raw surge of power that detonates the air around her.
The crowd is blown back.
The shacks creak, some almost rip out of the ground.
We grit our teeth not to be swept away with them.
When I look up again, the three Hunters are staring at us.
The man in violet takes another step forward.
His grin stretches across his face.
"Well, well… that's the little cargo from last time, isn't it? Looks like it's our lucky day. Two for the price of one… maybe even four. Your two friends look like Word bearers too."
Fortuna moves first.
Her steps are calm.
Her gaze, razor-sharp.
"I'll take him. Loudmouths are my specialty."
Aris walks up without a word.
He locks onto the man in the black suit.
"I'll take the big one. He interests me."
And me…
The last one is for me.
The man with the cigar.
The one I wanted to avoid.
The one who looked at me like a fly the last time.
The one I couldn't face back then.
Today is different.
Today, I'm ready.
I clench my fists.
Rage rises from somewhere quiet, but it's leashed.
I'm not a runaway anymore.
I'm a Word bearer.
And I'm not afraid.
I walk straight toward him.
The man with the cigar.
He doesn't move.
Not a twitch.
Not a breath out of place.
He just says, in that flat, cutting, mechanical tone:
"Mato. Topi. Take care of those three."
Mato—the colossus with the glasses—responds instantly.
The air rumbles.
He charges.
Straight at me.
Fast. Too fast.
Light gathers in his hand.
A pale glow condenses.
And a hammer appears.
Huge. Brutal.
The thing is my size.
I tense up, ready to block—
But Aris gets there first.
He flashes in front of me. A streak of motion.
He boosted his speed.
He probably borrowed a little of mine.
Mato swings.
Aris slips past the blow.
A right hook follows.
Precise. Clean.
It sinks into Mato's ribs with a blunt thud.
The giant stumbles.
Then he's launched, thrown like a bag of scrap, rolling away in the dust.
Topi, who stayed back, steps forward with slow, meticulous care, adjusting the hem of his coat.
He watches his partner roll off into the distance like a broken doll.
"Mato, you idiot… Getting humiliated by children… How disgraceful."
He stops.
Straightens his collar.
His gaze settles on us.
"Come at me, you two. I'll deal with you myself."
But Fortuna cuts in.
Her smile widens.
Her eyes gleam with something dangerous.
"How about we play a little game? You and me."
Topi pauses. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back.
Then he smiles too.
"I see you understand honor. Very well. A fair duel. I accept."
And right there… Fortuna's face changes.
A spark passes through her eyes.
A shiver runs down my spine.
Her Word is ready.
The conditions are there.
Her voice rings out like a curse:
"Place your bets. Nothing goes anymore… place your bets… AHAHAH."
A coin appears.
Huge. Metallic.
It spins up into the sky, whirling at insane speed.
Topi doesn't flinch.
Not impressed. Not shaken.
The coin falls.
Impact.
Shockwave.
A thick cloud of dust engulfs the street.
Silence.
Then…
Fortuna stares at Topi like a judge waiting for the verdict.
"Heads or tails?"
He pulls out a tube of pink lipstick, applies it with surgical precision.
Only then does he answer:
"Heads."
Fortuna's smile spreads.
A smile of pure ecstasy. Of victory.
As the dust starts to settle, her voice cuts à travers l'air :
"Too bad for you. It's tails."