" I'm trembling with anticipation!"
The Riftwalker vanished.
Reappeared to the Monster's left, cleaver swinging.
The Monster reinforced his arm with essence and met the cleaver head on with his bare hand.
CLANK!
A line of blood appeared on his hand where the blade met, but it was far too shallow.
The Riftwalker vanished again. Reappeared behind him.
The Monster rolled forward, still humming that cheerful tune.
Again. This time above.
The Monster traced runes—Gravitas Inversio—and launched himself sideways through manipulated gravity.
"You're getting desperate now!"
"Shut UP!" the Riftwalker snarled.
He appeared directly in front of the Monster, point-blank range, cleaver already mid-swing.
The Monster's smile widened.
"There it is. Beautiful."
He didn't dodge.
Instead, he stepped into the attack, inside the cleaver's arc where it had no leverage.
His hand shot forward a palm strike to the Riftwalker's solar plexus.
Not strong enough to damage a Stage 6 body. But enough to disrupt the essence flow for a fraction of a second.
The Riftwalker's next spatial step failed.
He materialized half-inside a piece of furniture. His leg trapped in solid wood.
CRACK.
Bone shattered as reality rejected the impossible overlap.
The Riftwalker screamed.
"Oh dear," the Monster said, examining the result with academic interest. "Spatial overlap. That must hurt terribly.
He knelt beside the trapped Riftwalker.
"You have two steps remaining. But you can't use them, can you? Because your leg is inside the furniture. If you teleport now, you'll leave it behind. Sever it completely."
The Riftwalker's face was pale. Sweating. Eyes wide with pain and realization.
"So you have a choice," the Monster continued pleasantly. "Lose the leg and escape. Or stay here and... well."
He pulled a shard of glass from the floor from one of the broken windows.
"I've always been fascinated by the study of living anatomy. Did you know the human body can remain conscious for up to thirty seconds after the heart stops? It's true! The brain takes time to realize it's dead."
He brought the glass shard to the Riftwalker's throat.
"Shall we test how long you last?"
"Wait—" the operative gasped. "We can negotiate. The Archivists will pay—"
"Shh shh shh." The Monster pressed a finger to his lips. "No begging."
He drew the glass across the operative's throat.
Not deep enough to kill instantly. Just enough to sever the carotid artery.
Blood sprayed.
The Monster leaned back, avoiding the spray, and started humming again.
"Let's count, shall we? One... two... three..."
The Riftwalker clutched at his throat. Tried to stop the bleeding. Failed.
"...fifteen... sixteen... seventeen..."
The light began to fade from the operative's eyes.
"...twenty-seven... twenty-eight... twenty-nine... thirty."
The operative went still.
The Monster stood, brushing off his hands.
"Thirty-two seconds, actually. Above average! You should be proud."
He looked around the workshop.
Six bodies. Blood everywhere. Vera's corpse still against the wall.
The paralyzed operative was trying to crawl away, dragging his useless legs.
"Oh, right. Almost forgot about you."
The Monster walked over, still humming.
Knelt beside the crawling man.
"I want you to understand something. Your death serves a purpose. Innocent people. Children. Families. By dying here, you prevent future harm."
The operative just whimpered.
"No? Not finding comfort?"
The Monster pressed his thumb into the base of the operative's skull. Found the exact spot where the skull met the spine.
Pushed.
Crack.
Instant death. Painless.
"There. Merciful. See? I'm not a monster."
He stood and turned toward Melissa, who'd just finished her own fight with two Stage 3 operatives.
She was staring at him. Horror and disbelief written across her face.
"Hello!" he called cheerfully. "Wonderful fighting on your part! Very efficient. Very practical. Not much flair, but we can't all be artists, can we?"
He took a step toward her.
His leg buckled. The body was failing now. Essence channels burning out. Muscles torn beyond repair.
"Ah. Right. The vessel. Nearly forgotten." He looked down at his hands. They were shaking violently. "Stage 1 body really cannot sustain Stage 8 technique. Who knew?"
He looked at the Lens. Still glowing. Still partially intact despite the destroyed crystal.
"But we're not done yet. Still one more performance. The finale."
He limped toward the artifact.
"By blood and will and sacrifice—I deny you. I reject your existence. You are unmade."
The essence exploded outward like a tidal wave of pure negation.
It struck the Lens.
The bronze frame dissolved atom by atom. The lenses cracked, shattered, turned to dust, then nothing. Fifteen years of work erased in seconds.
Essence backlash carved glowing patterns up his arm—permanent scars burned into flesh.
"And... done." His voice was quieter now. The cheerfulness fading. "The Lens is destroyed. Now for the price."
His hand moved to his left eye.
Melissa started forward. "Don't—"
"Don't worry!" His smile was reassuring. Gentle. "It won't hurt. Well. It will."
His fingers touched his eye socket.
"Besides, the original agreed to this. He knew the price. Made his choice. We're just... fulfilling the contract."
He started humming again. That same cheerful, childlike melody.
Even as his fingers dug in.
Even as he began to pull.
"You know what I love about eyes?" he said conversationally, even as he worked. "They're so delicate. So many tiny connections. The optic nerve alone has over a million nerve fibers."
Pull.
"The trick is getting the angle right. Too much force and you sever the nerve too early. Too little and it just... stretches. Very uncomfortable."
Pull.
Melissa was screaming something. He couldn't quite hear over his humming.
"Almost... there..."
SNAP.
The eye came free.
Blood poured down his face in thick sheets. The empty socket was a crater of ruined tissue.
But he was still smiling.
Still humming.
He held the eye in his palm, examining it with his remaining eye.
The eye in the Monster's palm burst into flames. Consumed itself in seconds.
"Tell the original... tell Hiroto... that I enjoyed this immensely. Best outing I've had in lifetimes. He should let me out more often."
The smile flickered.
"But he won't. He'll lock me away again. " The Monster's expression shifted, something almost sad. "That's fine. That's what he should do.
He took a step forward.
Collapsed.
Melissa caught him.
The remaining eye closed.
"Thank you for the dance."
Melissa held Hiroto—unconscious, mutilated, covered in blood—surrounded by corpses and ruin.
And somewhere in the distance, she thought she could still hear it.
That cheerful humming.
Fading into silence.