Darkness swallowed Kal whole.
He shimmered violently, light flickering beneath his skin like a broken signal.
He ran.
There was nowhere to run.
The ground beneath him was nothing , yet his legs moved, stumbling through an invisible void.
"Clare!" he screamed.
His voice stretched, distorted, swallowed.
No answer.
Laughter echoed.
Not loud.
Close.
Right behind his ear.
"I never thought," the voice whispered, amused, "that a girl could hide inside a male body."
"Haaaa… look at cute Seraphina having an identity issue," she mocks, her voice sharp and cutting.
wonder how the princess got here. I'm really interested to know."
Her voice echoes through the room.
Kal's chest tightened.
"You're not from our world," it continued. "That means you don't know what Kal is. You don't know what that bastard did."
The darkness shifted.
Became weight.
The floor cracked open beneath him.
He fell.
His stomach lurched upward violently.
Air ripped past his ears.
His arms flailed instinctively, trying to grab something , anything.
His heart slammed erratically.
Breath tore out of his lungs in broken gasps.
"Help...!"
The wind forced itself into his mouth.
Sweat poured down his temples.
His muscles locked from the sudden drop.
His mind screamed louder than his voice.
Then, the impact never came.
The fall snapped into softness.
Grass.
Cold.
Wet.
He rolled once and stopped.
Silence.
A field stretched endlessly beneath a pale sky.
And she stood there.
Blonde hair cascading down her back.
Blue eyes locked onto him.
Walking slowly.
Not hurried.
Not cautious.
Predatory.
"No… stay back…" Kal's voice cracked. "Someone..."
"Oh," she said, smiling faintly. "A boy with a girl's instinct. How adorable."
Before he could move,she leapt.
Pinned him.
Her weight pressed him into the grass.
Her knees locked his arms.
She leaned down, face inches from his.
Kal struggled.
He tried to push her away.
His arms trembled.
His legs kicked wildly, helpless , like a fish thrown onto land.
She didn't budge.
She only smiled wider.
"You're weak," she whispered.
Elsewhere.
Room Twenty.
The handsome man removed his shirt, revealing a body built from disciplined training.
Across his chest was a pattern of black and white ink arranged in sharp, alternating squares , like a battlefield divided into opposing territories.
He laughed to himself.
High.
Unstable.
Like a child who had finally torn open a long-desired gift.
"First I enjoy," he muttered. "Then the others can have what remains."
He jumped forward toward the bed,and hit something solid.
Pain exploded through his lower body.
Not flesh.
Not softness.
Hard.
Like colliding with carved timber.
He stumbled backward, clutching himself, confusion replacing arrogance.
The figure lying on the bed wasn't Clare , it was something hard, lifeless, an exact replica of her.
A soft voice echoed behind him.
"You?"
He turned.
Clare sat elegantly in a sculpted velvet lounge chair near the corner of the room, one leg crossed over the other, a wine glass between her fingers.
Calm.
Composed.
Deadly.
"A bodyguard I don't even consider an ability user," she continued lightly, "thought he could touch me?"
She let the glass fall.
It shattered across marble flooring.
Her body began to shimmer.
The air vibrated.
The man's scream ripped through the room
But the soundproof walls absorbed it completely.
Thick acoustic padding hidden beneath silk paneling did its job perfectly.
Silence outside.
Inside,horror.
His hands separated from his wrists in clean, impossible fractures.
They landed across a row of low, upholstered benches placed near the foot of the bed , decorative seating meant for luxury, now stained violently.
He stared at the empty space where his hands had been.
Shock came before pain.
Then pain followed.
He staggered toward the window, body flickering as he activated his own ability in desperation.
He shimmered too.
But weaker.
Unstable.
On the wall, a large vintage clock ticked.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The second hand moved.
Reached three.
And stopped.
Not frozen.
Not broken.
Just… paused.
The air thickened.
The space between seconds stretched unnaturally thin.
And before the next tick could occur,
Clare stood in front of him.
No movement seen.
No blur.
Just there.
The second hand resumed.
Tick.
He realized,
She was on a different league.
She had simply moved faster than his perception could follow.
Her silver eyes met his.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
"You thought you were hunting," she said softly.
"But you were already chosen."
Back in the grassland illusion,
The blonde woman leaned closer to Kal.
"You don't belong here," she whispered. "And you don't understand what you carry."
Her smile vanished.
"For that… you will be reshaped."
Her palm rested against his chest.
Warm.
Too warm.
Her ear lowered to his pounding heart.
"No…" Kal rasped, struggling beneath her weight. "Don't you dare."
She smiled lazily.
"What will you do, my princess?" she whispered. "Kill me with your scream?"
Her breath brushed his skin.
Something snapped inside him.
Kal's fingers dug into the soil beside his head. He grabbed a fistful and flung it into her face.
She recoiled with a sharp hiss.
In that instant, he locked his legs around her waist and twisted sharply ,the kind of desperate grappling reversal learned in schoolyard fights and half-remembered wrestling matches.
He didn't throw her.
He shoved her off balance.
She rolled sideways.
Kal scrambled free.
Crawled.
Then ran.
"How do I return?" he muttered breathlessly. "That witch teleported me…"
He stopped suddenly, hands on his knees, lungs burning.
"No. Not teleportation. If it was… she couldn't know my name."
Footsteps.
Slow.
Playful.
He looked up.
She approached from the front now, wearing an elegant dress that flowed unnaturally with the windless air.
Smiling.
Kal turned and ran again.
He glanced back,
She wasn't there.
He slowed.
Turned forward,she hovered above him.
Wings spread wide.
Translucent.
Mocking.
"Boo."
His heart skipped violently.
He fell backward, scrambling away on his elbows.
"No… this isn't illusion."
He swallowed hard.
"No matter how real an illusion is… it can't know secrets. I never told anyone."
He forced himself up and ran again.
The ground shifted beneath his feet,
And suddenly he plunged into water.
Cold.
Crushing.
His lungs seized.
He kicked wildly, choking.
The surface felt unreachable.
She appeared again , this time gliding toward him, lower body shifting into something serpentine and fluid.
A cruel parody of a mermaid.
He forced himself to think.
"It isn't telepathy either , she only mentioned my name and doesn't mention anything more than that.
Stone.
Sand.
Roaring crowds.
He stood inside a vast coliseum.
Ancient armor clung to his body , leather straps across his chest, bronze shoulder guards, greaves protecting his shins. A short sword in one hand. A curved shield in the other.
Across from him,she stood in matching battle attire. Fitted armor shaped for speed rather than bulk. A blade resting casually against her shoulder.
The crowd roared.
The sky burned orange.
They clashed.
Steel rang against steel.
She laughed , sharp and unhinged.
The sound dragged something from his childhood.
He remembered being chased in nightmares.
Ghosts whispering his name.
Calling out secrets to frighten him.
And just before falling into a pit,she would wake.
Kal smiled.
The woman paused mid-step.
Confused.
"Are you pretending to be a man now?" she taunted. "Don't mistake yourself for something you're not."
"Having a dick with balls and touching it a few times doesn't make you a man."
Kal let his sword fall.
Let the shield drop.
He shimmered faintly.
"Is that so?" he said quietly.
He placed his palm over his chest.
Right above his heart.
"I like the sensation," he murmured. "Let's see how it feels when I wake up."
Her expression shifted.
"No..."
Kal drove his palm inward.
Through the flesh.
Through his heart.
A violent jolt shot through his chest.
Pain exploded.
The arena cracked.
The sky shattered like glass.
The woman screamed,
And everything collapsed.
Kal's eyes snapped open.
Light flooded his vision.
A beautifully decorated ceiling above him , carved moldings, soft chandeliers glowing gold.
He lay on something incredibly soft.
Silk sheets.
Velvet pillows.
The faint scent of expensive perfume in the air.
His chest rose and fell violently.
Sweat soaked his collar.
His heart still pounded like it had been struck by lightning.
And then,a voice.
...
Room Twenty.
The man knelt on the polished floor, blood pooling beneath him, breathing ragged.
"Please… spare me," he whispered.
Clare walked toward him slowly.
No anger on her face.
No rush.
Just quiet certainty.
As she stepped close,
His expression shifted.
Desperation vanished.
His scalp twitched.
And suddenly,his hair shot outward in hardened strands, launching like compressed springs released at point-blank range.
They struck her.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Clare's body jerked violently.
Her eyes widened in shock.
A raw scream tore from her throat ,not elegant, not controlled , but animalistic.
Her back arched unnaturally.
Her fingers clawed at the air.
Her mouth opened wide, gasping like a fish thrown onto dry land, chest convulsing as if oxygen itself had betrayed her.
The man fell backward laughing, weak from blood loss but euphoric.
"Did you think," he wheezed, coughing red, "I was some weak punk?"
He laughed harder, nearly choking.
"I'm still alive… I don't know about you..."
The pierced body vanished.
Like mist dissolving.
The laughter stopped.
Clare stood in front of him.
Unmarked.
Untouched.
The color drained from his face.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Something deeper.
The expression of a man who has just understood he is already dead.
His lips trembled.
His eyes stretched wide, glassy.
"No… no… please…"
His hair was gone now , scalp smooth, stripped of its weapon.
He crawled forward and pressed his forehead against her boot.
Begging.
Muttering apologies.
Humiliation replacing arrogance.
A sudden scream echoed in the room.
Short.
Sharp.
Then silence.
When the silence settled,
Clare stood over a headless body.
The torso collapsed at her feet, marked by countless punctures , as if something invisible had struck repeatedly from every angle.
She blinked.
Her vision blurred slightly.
The room doubled at the edges.
Lights streaked faintly.
She steadied herself and walked to the bed, sitting down slowly.
Her hand rose to her watch.
Still no signal.
Still no message.
"Is that idiot dead?" she muttered under her breath.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Why hasn't he contacted me?"
She exhaled sharply.
"I need his head before someone else takes it."
Annoyance flickered across her face.
"I was hoping he'd bail me out of this mess."
She clenched her jaw.
"Damn it."
A pause.
Then quieter,
"I'll have to find another pawn."
Outside the club.
The night air was colder.
Three figures approached from the far end of the road.
Their steps were unhurried.
Confident.
Each bore the same mark inked onto their necks , a shield emblem, beneath it two severed human heads hanging by their hair, suspended like trophies.
The club's entrance glowed gold.
The guard stepped forward.
"Invitation card."
One of the men, tall, with long blonde hair brushing his shoulders and a small silver shield with heads hanging from his ear, lifted his gaze.
His eyes were red.
Not glowing.
Just red.
The guard's voice caught in his throat.
His posture shifted.
Without another word, he stepped aside and opened the door.
The three entered.
The music swallowed them whole.
Inside,the hunt was about to change direction.