Chapter 6 — One Year Later (Part 1)
A full year had passed since Razan and Loona began living together. The time had gone by strangely fast—maybe because in the Hell they inhabited, days blurred together between chaos, danger, and the rare, fragile moments of peace. Now, with Razan at twelve years old and Loona at eleven, the two of them lived in a modest apartment far away from the poorest district of the city—an incredible improvement compared to the absolute misery they had crawled out of.
The apartment wasn't luxurious, but it was theirs. Four walls that didn't leak blood, a door that actually locked, and neighbors who were too scared of Razan's presence to cause trouble. For Hell, that was practically paradise.
Razan swung the bedroom door open without warning, bursting inside with the full energy of someone who had slept far too well.
He jumped toward Loona like um foguete.
"How's my little wolfie doing!?" he shouted, voice overly bright for the Hellish morning.
Loona sidestepped with reflexes honed by one year of surviving Razan's stupidity.
Razan shot past her and slammed face-first into the wall with a loud THUD.
He slowly peeled himself off the plaster, leaving behind a Razan-shaped dent.
Loona crossed her arms, her wolf tail flicking in clear irritation as she glared at him with the exhausted fury of someone who had lived with a hyperactive dragon-boy for far too long.
"Do you have any idea what time it is to come screaming like that into my room, you lunatic?"
Razan dusted himself off, trying to regain some dignity.
"Ah, Loona…" he began dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "When are you finally going to let me pet your ears? It's been a whole year since we met."
Her expression shut down instantly, like a door slamming.
"Never. Get out of my room. I want to take my bath."
Razan held up both hands in surrender, backing up toward the door.
Before leaving, he peeked back inside.
"Hurry up, okay? We still have a mission today."
"I heard you the first time!" she snapped, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled.
Inside her room, Loona grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom, muttering irritably:
How did I let this idiot invade my life? How did this become my normal?
She slipped into the hot bath, submerging herself slowly as the steam softened her tense muscles. Her ears twitched above the water.
Still…
Having someone who actually cares…
It doesn't feel that bad.
Meanwhile, Razan walked into the living room, flopping down on the couch with a dramatic groan. Outside the window, the usual Hellish madness unfolded like a disturbing painting in motion—explosions, fights, robbery, screams, unidentifiable creatures chasing people through alleys… all the familiar signs of another normal day.
Razan sighed, resting an arm over his eyes.
"System, what's the status of my model?"
The mechanical voice responded instantly, crisp and emotionless:
"Host model has reached 30%. You possess two fragments: Deadpool's regeneration and Recovery Girl's healing ability. Currently, you have no notable weaknesses. As long as you do not fight a Sovereign, your safety is guaranteed. However, progress would be far faster if the host engaged in large-scale destruction, triggering wars or chaos instead of training."
Razan snorted, half amused and half annoyed.
"Yeah, no thanks. There are things I'm not doing. Otherwise, what's the difference between me and the trash out there?"
He stared through the window at a demon mugging someone with a chainsaw.
Most people down there didn't deserve compassion.
But some did. Some were just… trying to survive between the cracks of this rotten world.
"If I took even that away from them," Razan muttered, "I'd be a piece of shit like everyone else."
"Understood, host. One more important reminder: you must not raise Acnologia's model above 50% for now."
Razan sat up straight, frowning.
"Why not?"
"Dragons are near-immortal. Their aging is extremely slow. If the host reaches 50% now, your physical body will be locked at its current state and will continue aging at a drastically slower rate. Unless you wish to remain in a twelve-year-old body indefinitely, you must wait until the physical age of eighteen."
Razan froze.
"…Yeah, I'm not interested in becoming some eternal little kid. I'll be careful."
At that moment, Loona stepped out of her room—clean, dressed, and looking more awake, her ears perked and tail swishing behind her.
"Let's go already, Razan."
Her tone was impatient, but not hostile. Just… normal. Familiar. The way family talked.
Razan stood immediately.
"Right. Let's go."
He opened the window, letting the warm, crimson air of Hell rush into the apartment. Flames crackled in the distance. Sirens screamed. Gunshots echoed.
Just another morning.
Razan wrapped an arm around Loona's waist.
"Hold on."
She bristled instinctively, ears shooting up.
"Don't drop me, you idiot!."
He grinned.
"Wouldn't dare."
With a powerful leap, wings of black energy burst behind him—dark, draconic, intimidating—and the two shot into the sky, soaring above the ruined city as they headed toward their next mission.
For a moment, Loona glanced sideways at him…
and a small, reluctant smile almost formed on her lips before she quickly looked away.