Solomon, completely immersed in the sealing process, neither saw nor heard the battle behind him. His world had narrowed to the pulsating wound in reality, to the magical formulae he was mentally weaving to stitch its edges together.
— The final touch... Come on... — he whispered to himself, feeling the last drops of energy drain away to complete the ritual.
**Whooosh! Whooosh!**
With a deafening, sigh-like sound, the Rift contracted into a bright point and vanished, leaving behind only cracked, charred earth. The air stopped vibrating, and an unnatural, deafening silence fell.
Solomon opened his eyes, feeling profoundly exhausted. He instantly grabbed the hilt of his sword, turning with a practiced motion, ready for the worst.
And froze.
His gaze fell upon a field littered with dozens of monster corpses. And amidst this chaos, standing ankle-deep in snow and black blood, stood a teenager with a pale face and long black hair. Next to him, bristling, sat a strange three-tailed fox. They were the only figures, besides his family, still on their feet.
***
— What the hell was that? — raced through Quinn's mind. Her heart was still pounding wildly. — He... he killed them all? Who is he?
She stared at the stranger, trying to process what had happened. His movements had been surreally fast and lethal. It wasn't a fight—it was an extermination.
— Wait... So, he saved us? — it slowly dawned on her. — It seems... yes.
But her thoughts were interrupted by the tension radiating from her grandfather and father. She felt Michael and Ragnar shift their stances without lowering their weapons. Their gazes, fixed on the teenager, were not grateful but wary and ready to attack. They didn't see a savior; they saw a new, unknown, and extremely dangerous threat.
***
**Grrrr-r-r-r...**
A low, warning growl shattered the silence. It was the Kitsune. It had positioned itself between Azrael and the Crimson warriors, its head lowered, three tails puffed up. Its bright eyes were fixed on Michael and Ragnar.
— Did it sense their emotions? — a quick thought flashed through Azrael's mind. — Or their intention?
He himself didn't move, his face an impassive mask, but inside, everything tightened. He had saved them, and they were looking at him like an enemy. Logical. In this world, you couldn't trust anyone.
He slowly raised a hand, gesturing to calm the Kitsune, but his own fingers remained centimeters from his sword's hilt.
The tension grew with every second. The silence became thick and loud. It was time for the first word. And everything depended on who would say it and what exactly would be said.
***
Azrael slowly lowered the hand that was ready to grab his sword and instead rested it on the Kitsune's head. He began absently stroking it between the ears. The creature, which had been threateningly growling a second ago, unexpectedly began to purr, closing its eyes in pleasure.
*Wait, what? It purrs?* — an absurd thought crossed his mind. *It's a Kitsune, I think, not a cat... Though... it's cute.*
This simple, almost mundane gesture momentarily broke the tension. It looked so incongruous against the backdrop of the carnage surrounding them.
Then he raised his head. His brown eyes, cold and bottomless, met Michael's gaze first, then Ragnar's. Both experienced warriors involuntarily flinched under that gaze. It held no malice, no fear—only a calm, all-seeing emptiness that was more terrifying than any threat.
He broke the silence, his voice even, emotionless, slightly hoarse from the fight:
— Since you've finished closing the Rift, — he nodded towards the now-clear space, — perhaps you should leave?
The question hung in the air. It didn't sound like a request or a suggestion. It was... a polite demand. A statement of fact that their presence was no longer required and was even undesirable.
Michael, whose fingers were still white from gripping his sword hilt, slowly exhaled. His scarlet eyes narrowed.
— You... who are you? — his voice was low and grating. — And what was that?
Beside him, Ragnar didn't take his eyes off Azrael, his body still tense like a spring, ready to explode into motion at any moment.
Quinn, standing slightly apart, watched the stranger with a mixture of fear, curiosity, and involuntary admiration. He had just saved them, and now he was politely but firmly asking them to leave. It was... unexpected.
Azrael merely tilted his head slightly, continuing to stroke the purring Kitsune.
— I am someone who was passing by. And that, — he made a slight gesture with his hand, indicating the battlefield, — was the removal of an obstacle in my path. Your rift was attracting too much noise.