Friday
The wine in Abel's glass rippled as he slammed it onto the table, crimson drops splattering across polished wood. His jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
"Damn that devil slayer…" he growled, voice thick with venom.
Reports had come one after another since dawn.
Bases raided.
Supply lines severed.
Men vanishing in the night.
And worst of all—Riser and Lucien, his right and left hands, gone without a trace.
The shattered remnants of his guild knelt before him, stammering excuses, but Abel barely heard them. His thoughts lingered on the traces of mana left at every site of carnage. That cursed aura. That power.
Devil Slayer Magic.
He knew it well. Too well.
The jagged chill of it still haunted him—the same power he had once tasted when those people experimented on him, when they forced a lacrima into his body. They had deemed him a failed product, discarded, unwanted. Abel had fled, terrified of attracting their notice again.
And now, here it was, carving scars across his territory.
He cursed himself. He should have crushed the source the moment he caught its scent in the city. But he had hesitated. Afraid. Pretending strength before his men, while deep inside he feared the genuine devil slayers. Unlike him—the counterfeit.
Yet something didn't add up. Abel leaned back, fury cooling into calculation.
If it was really them—the guild of Devil Slayers—they never hunted alone. Always in pairs, duos that stalked like wolves.
But this attacker… no. The signs were clear. This was the work of one shadow. One man.
Abel rose so suddenly his chair screeched against the floor. His men flinched. He ignored them, pacing like a caged beast.
"No more waiting. No more hiding. Call every man back—ports, hills, outposts—I want them all here. If he dares attack again, he'll have to carve through every one of us." His voice rose to a roar.
"And tomorrow's shipment—he definitely knows about it now. Good. Let him come."
His fist slammed the table, splintering the wood. "And when he does—I'll make him regret ever stepping into my city!"
On the other side of the city
Astro lay sprawled across Elara's couch, one arm dangling off the side, staring lazily at the cracks in the ceiling. For once, he let himself sink into the quiet peace of the house.
"You look like you've melted into that chair," Elara's dry voice cut through.
Without lifting his head, Astro smirked. "Maybe I have. You're hosting a rare species—the furniture parasite."
Elara's sigh carried both annoyance and amusement. "Unbelievable. You fight assassins and criminals like it's nothing, but give you a couch and you're helpless."
Astro just stretched, enjoying the calm. But Elara's tone soon shifted. "They're almost back. All fifteen of them. The adults and the children."
Astro sat up, interest sparking. "Really? Then we can move to the next step."
She nodded. "They met at Lunarian Hill outside the city. Shared food, stories, even music. Around forty light mages agreed to come back with them. Some for pay, some… well, the children swayed them. Sympathy can be stronger than coin."
Astro chuckled, rubbing his neck. "Guess I underestimated the power of tiny hands and big eyes."
"Don't act so surprised. You're the one who suggested the 'single-parent and child' angle. They weren't just protecting strangers—they were protecting families."
Astro tilted his head, a warmth creeping into his chest. He pictured it: children laughing under the stars, adults singing, light mages joining around a fire. It felt so painfully… normal. A fleeting peace before the storm.
He smiled faintly. "A party before the battle. Straight out of a storybook."
Kael shifted in his usual corner, silent, but his eyes said he was listening.
Astro leaned back, sharper now. "Good. Let them enjoy it while they can. Tomorrow won't be so kind."
The next night
Astro moved with the falling sun, shadows stretching long across the docks. By the time the ship neared port, he struck.
Wind roared around him, tugging at every crate branded with Abel's mark. One by one, the boxes trembled, then lifted into the air, gliding as if carried by invisible hands. Inside, frightened children pressed against the wood, but the magic held steady, carrying them gently skyward toward the mountains.
Onshore, Abel saw. His drink slipped from his hand, glass shattering. "That brat…" Fury burned in his chest. With a roar, he and his men surged after the flying figure, chasing him into the looming peaks.
At the summit clearing, confusion reigned. Dozens of light mages—recent arrivals—stood in shock. Signs of revelry still clung to the place: tents, fires, laughter barely cooled.
They spotted Abel and his men storming up the hill. One of the light mages stiffened, recognition flashing across his face. Abel…
His mind raced. Last night, their drinks had run out early, so most of them had gone to bed while the party carried on in songs and laughter. Then earlier today, a squad of law enforcers had arrived, declaring that "partying on this hill" was illegal. They had taken away the adults and children who'd hired them—leaving only the hired mages behind. At the time it hadn't felt right, but they couldn't stop it.
And now, only moments after their clients vanished, this dangerous group arrived, eyes burning for blood. The realization hit him like ice.
We've been set up.
"Mothe—" he tried to curse,, but the word stuck in his throat as Abel's roar tore through the clearing.
"Where is he? Where's the devil slayer?!" Abel's voice cracked like thunder, his rage spilling into every syllable. His bloodshot eyes swept across the gathering of bewildered mages. "Did you hide him? Are you working with him?! I knew he wouldn't dare face me alone. Of course—he's nothing but a cowardly insect!"
Most of the mages exchanged startled, confused glances. Some still tried to form words, explanations. But a sharper few realized the truth: talking was useless. Abel hadn't come here to listen.
The air thickened, choking with killing intent as Abel raised his hand, poison already swirling in his lungs. His lips curled into a snarl.
"Then you'll die with him!"
"Poison Devil's Rage!"
His breath attack exploded forward, a toxic gale rushing toward the startled mages.
But then—
"Wailing Tempest Wall."
A whisper, clear as a bell.
Purple winds howled into existence, colliding with the poison storm. Trees snapped, the earth trembled, but when the dust settled, neither side had gained ground.
Abel's eyes widened. His attack—stopped.
From the haze, a boy in a black cloak stepped forward, palm lowered, eyes glowing sinister purple.
Astro's voice was calm, yet carried to every ear.
"Name's Astro Blackmist. Sky Devil Slayer." His lips curved into a grin. "Did you enjoy the last few days? Abel?"