The smell of ozone and charred parchment hung heavy in the air, thick enough to choke an ordinary mage. Behind Kevin, the great clock face of the Clock Tower groaned as its internal gears melted into slag, collapsing inward with a sickening crunch that echoed across the courtyard. Plumes of crimson and emerald fire—the telltale signatures of destabilized magical crests—leaked from the upper story windows, painting the night sky in brilliant, destructive hues.
Kevin didn't bother looking back at the inferno. He stepped out through the archway, his footsteps steady against the cobble, completely detached from the chaos consuming the heart of the Mage's Association.
"Truly... what an ugly sight to behold," Kevin muttered, his voice barely audible over the roaring flames.
He reached into his coat, his fingers brushing against the stiff, ancient parchment of the letters entrusted to him by Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg. He withdrew them slightly, feeling the faint hum of the Kaleidoscope radiating from the seals. A faint, tired scoff escaped his lips.
"That old man was a fool," Kevin said to himself, his gaze drifting up toward the moonlit horizon. "Passing off a mess like this... And now, it seems I have to visit the Aozaki sisters. What a massive pain in the ass. Those two despise the very ground the other walks on. Getting them to sit in the same room without tearing each other apart isn't just difficult—it's damn near impossible."
He stopped at the edge of the leyline intersection, the ambient mana swirling around his boots. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the atmosphere fractured. Mana surged, condensing rapidly into a physical shape right beside him. Within seconds, an exact duplicate of Kevin materialized, his features and presence entirely indistinguishable from the original.
Kevin turned to face his duplicate, his eyes narrowing slightly as he delivered his instructions.
"Listen up," Kevin said, his tone leaving no room for error. "I will go and visit Aoko Aozaki myself. You go and meet her sister, Touko. Got it?"
The clone didn't say a word. It simply inclined its head, bowing deeply in quiet agreement.
Space warped around both of them—a distortion of light and sound—and in the next instant, the courtyard was empty, leaving only the burning ruins of the Clock Tower behind.
Space folded around Kevin, snapping back into reality with a muted pop. The ambient atmospheric pressure shifted immediately, replacing the sulfurous stench of the burning Clock Tower with the crisp, open breeze of a rural hillside.
Standing a few paces ahead was a tall, striking woman. She wore a simple white T-shirt paired with faded blue jeans and practical brown shoes, a small, battered suitcase resting casually behind her back. Bright crimson hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the light like a spark.
"Ah, hey there!" she called out, offering a bright, effortless smile. "I'm Aoko Aozaki." She shifted her suitcase, leaning her weight on one leg with a casual air of confidence. "It seems Fate has destined us to meet."
Kevin stared at her, his posture heavy, his expression carefully guarded against the swell of grief in his chest. He reached beneath his coat and produced a worn piece of parchment, its wax seal cracked but unmistakable.
"I got a message letter from Lord Zelretch," Kevin said, his voice lowering into a hushed, solemn cadence. A dark, mournful shadow crossed his eyes as he looked at her. "These are his last words."
Aoko's cheerful expression shattered instantly. The warmth drained from her face, leaving her features frozen in shock. Her grip tightened on the handle of her suitcase until her knuckles turned ghostly white, and a rare, suffocating silence fell over the open air.
"...Zelretch-sama?" she whispered.
She took a slow, hesitant step forward, her voice uncharacteristically soft—almost fragile, as if the mere sound of her breath might make the reality true. The air around them grew heavy, saturated with sudden tension, as if the wind itself dared not interrupt.
"Let me see it," she demanded quietly.
Kevin extended his arm, handing her the letter. Aoko stood completely still, her crimson hair whipping wildly in the rising breeze. The wind howled through the grass between them, rustling the fragile edges of the paper held in her hands. Her face—usually so bright, so utterly carefree—had gone completely pale.
Zelretch-sama is gone? Aoko thought to herself, her mind racing as she stared at the familiar, sweeping script on the page. No, this can't be happening. That old monster couldn't possibly fall to anyone. How could the Grand Master of the Second Magic die?
A single tear escaped her lash line, tracing a path down her cheek, followed immediately by another. She didn't utter a sound. No sharp intake of breath, no scream of anguish—just absolute, crushing silence. The kind of silence that follows the collapse of a world.
Slowly, with fingers that trembled uncontrollably, she folded the letter back into its original creases. She unzipped the inner pocket of her leather suitcase and tucked the parchment safely inside, pressing it right over her heart.
Then, she lifted her head.
For the first time in memory, the gaze of the Fifth Magician held no warmth, no playful mischief, no relaxed confidence. Aoko Aozaki's eyes burned with sheer, unbridled fire—the quiet, dangerous fury of someone who had just been handed the agonizing weight of humanity's survival.
Without a word, her trembling hands reached back into the suitcase. She pulled out a small, worn photograph in a scuffed frame: Zelretch standing beside her, smiling warmly during one of their rare, quiet moments together before the world fell apart. She stared down at his face for three long, agonized seconds.
I swear to you, she promised in her mind, I won't let your sacrifice be in vain.
She pressed her lips gently against the glass of the frame, kissing the image, before snapping the case shut.
Her red hair fluttered wildly in the storming wind as she turned her eyes back toward Kevin. Her face was now carved from cold stone, her voice deceptively calm, though beneath it roared an ocean of raw resolve.
"Roanoke…" she spat, the name dripping with venom.
A single fingertip lifted toward the distant horizon, pointing directly at a dark, ominous cluster of clouds gathering over a distant mountain peak. The mana in the surrounding atmosphere began to vibrate, swirling around her boots like a rising stormfront before lightning strikes.
Kevin watched the overwhelming pressure building around her and took a measured breath, raising a hand to steady the air between them.
"Wouldn't it be wise to join the resistance group of humanity that are gathering to fight back Roanoke?" Kevin urged, his tone earnest. "Since the main reason Zelretch lost is because he fought alone, I don't think you should repeat that mistake."
Aoko paused. Her raised fingertip hovered in the air. For a fleeting second, her hardened expression wavered—not with doubt or fear, but with a deep, crushing sense of regret.
She lowered her hand slightly and stared down at her palms—the very same hands capable of warping time and shattering mountains with beams of raw Fifth Magic, yet hands that couldn't reach far enough to save her mentor when it mattered most.
He's right, Aoko thought to herself, her throat tightening as the reality set in. I've always relied on my own strength, just like Zelretch-sama did. But look where that arrogance brought us. If I go in alone, I'll just end up dying alone in the dark, too.
"...You're right," she admitted quietly.
The confession was spoken without a trace of pride or bitterness—just pure, painful honesty. It was the voice of someone finally confronting a harsh truth she had been running from ever since the news of Zelretch's downfall first reached her.
She exhaled sharply through her nose, closing her eyes for a brief moment to collect herself.
"Zelretch-sama fought alone because he couldn't trust anyone else to keep up with him," she said, opening her eyes to reveal a crystal-clear focus. "But I... I don't have to be like that."
She gave a small, firm nod.
"Humanity's resistance? If they're still standing... then we fight together."
Aoko pulled the zipper of her suitcase shut with a sharp, decisive click and slung the strap over her shoulder. Her entire posture shifted—retaining her natural radiance, but now imbued with the unmistakable weight of a commander stepping onto the battlefield.
"Then we move now," she declared.
She turned to face Kevin directly, her gaze sharp, piercing, yet undeniably kind—the look of a general measuring the heart of a trusted ally. Then, without an ounce of hesitation, she thrust both hands toward the shattered sky above.
BEEEEEEEEEAM!!
A colossal pillar of pure, iridescent Fifth Magic erupted from her fingertips, shooting straight into the heavens. It wasn't directed at a target, nor was it meant for destruction—it was a beacon, a massive signal flare of blinding light so intense that it split the heavy storm clouds wide open, illuminating the dark countryside in artificial daylight.
The light pulsed outward in violent, radiant waves, a magic signature echoing across continents to anyone capable of sensing true True Ether.
"That," Aoko said calmly, a thin wisp of smoke curling lazily from her fingers as she lowered her arms, "should tell every surviving magus where to gather."
Meanwhile, within the dimly lit sanctuary of Hollow Shrine, the atmosphere was suffocatingly quiet.
Touko Aozaki stood beside her workbench, staring blankly down at the parchment resting in her trembling hands. Her lit cigarette dangled loosely from her lips, an ash trail tumbling toward the wooden floorboards as she read the hastily scrawled handwriting of the Grand Master of the Second Magic.
Touko, if you are reading this, I have failed to beat the Dead Apostle Ancestor Roanoke, and he has destroyed the Clock Tower. I know you hate the Clock Tower, but Roanoke is a massive threat to humanity. He is planning to wipe out all of mankind. This threat is beyond us, so if it is possible, I wish you can put aside your feelings and work with your sister Aoko and the remaining resistance to beat Roanoke.
— Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg
Touko's hands trembled slightly. The burning cigarette slipped from her lips entirely, clattering against the ground. She stared at the final stroke of Zelretch's signature, her pupils contracting into tiny pinpricks.
...That damn Clock Tower, Touko thought to herself, a wave of bitter disgust surging through her chest. That stupid, hypocritical, rotten hive of aristocrats—they finally got what was coming to them! But Zelretch... fell? That old monster actually died?
With a sudden, violent motion, she crushed the parchment within her fist, crumpling the ancient letter into a tight ball. A chaotic storm of raw emotion flashed across her pale face—seething anger at Zelretch for having the audacity to die and leave behind such a mess, absolute revulsion at the mere suggestion of cooperating with Aoko... and beneath it all, hidden deep within her chest, a cold, creeping knot of genuine fear.
Roanoke wants to wipe out all of humanity... she thought, her breath hitching slightly in her throat. This isn't just another pathetic power struggle between grand families. It's extinction.
Without uttering another word, she spun sharply on her heel and began marching with stiff, urgent strides toward the inner workshop area of Hollow Shrine, where her experimental ordnance and high-yield explosive runes were stored.
Standing nearby, the clone version of Kevin watched her retreating back, his voice flat, analytical, and devoid of false comfort.
"The current people gathering up to fight Roanoke are the Holy Church and the Atlas Institute," Kevin stated, pacing slightly to keep up with her heavy footsteps. "And maybe the Wandering Sea, if it chooses to join in for once rather than do nothing like it usually does. But as for the Clock Tower... yeah. Eighty percent of everyone there is dead, and the remaining twenty percent are currently scattered all over the world. It will take them a long time to organize or arrive without proper traveling resources."
Touko stopped dead mid-stride. Her back remained turned to him, her shoulders tense as her brilliant mind rapidly processed the overwhelming gravity of his words.
When she finally broke the silence, her voice was eerily calm—the unsettling, quiet stillness that precedes a catastrophic volcanic eruption.
"So... no Clock Tower," Touko murmured, her tone devoid of warmth. "No elite mage corps to rely on. No lords, no army, no high-class crests."
She turned around slowly. Her eyes burned with a terrifying, incandescent intensity beneath her bangs. With a quick, instinctive flick of her wrist, a tiny spark of magical energy ignited at her fingertips, lighting a fresh cigarette tucked between her red lips.
"That means we're starting from scratch," she declared, exhaling a thick plume of gray smoke into the stagnant air. "We need weapons. We need reliable communication systems..."
Her sharp, calculating gaze locked directly onto Kevin's face.
"You said the Atlas Institute is mobilizing? And the Holy Church?"
"Yes," Kevin replied simply.
Touko took a long, deep drag from her cigarette, letting the acrid smoke fill her lungs before exhaling it in thin, razor-sharp streams. Her mind was racing at maximum capacity, running through blueprints, runes, and strategic scenarios at blinding speed.
"Alright," she growled, her voice hardening. "Then we're not just fighting Roanoke—we're building an army from nothing."
She began pacing back and forth across the wooden floorboards like a caged, restless tiger seeking a way out of a trap.
"First priority: weapons," Touko rattled off rapidly to herself. "I've got experimental runic matrices and puppet prototypes that could be weaponized fast..."
Suddenly, she halted her rapid pacing. She whipped around and pointed a sharp, accusing finger directly at Kevin's chest.
"You seem capable," Touko demanded, her eyes narrowing. "Can you fight? Or better yet—do you know anyone with combat skills who'd join this mess?"
Kevin's expression remained utterly grave. He took a single step forward, his voice dropping into a solemn, heavy tone that instantly cut through her frantic momentum.
"What makes Roanoke so dangerous is his army," Kevin said, his voice laced with absolute seriousness and deep concern. "Roanoke has an army of nine hundred million vampires. And these aren't mere ghoul-level fledglings—they are Dead Apostle-level vampires. That is extremely dangerous, considering it normally takes ten Holy Knights just to kill a single Dead Apostle-level vampire, and Roanoke has nine hundred million under his command."
Touko's eyes widened slightly, but before she could interrupt, Kevin pressed on.
"The only good news is that Zelretch managed to wipe out four hundred million of them before he fell, leaving Roanoke with only five hundred million Dead Apostle-level soldiers under his command," Kevin explained, his gaze unrelenting. "But the bad news is that Roanoke is quickly rebuilding his forces by simply turning thousands of random humans into Dead Apostle-level vampires. If he isn't stopped within three days, he will gather an army of around two billion. And at that point, humanity's fate is pretty much sealed."
Clack.
The burning cigarette slipped from Touko's lips once more, hitting the floor. She crushed it unceremoniously under the heel of her boot, her face completely draining of color.
"Five hundred million..." Touko whispered, her voice barely audible. "...Dead Apostle-level vampires?"
For the first time since Kevin had known her, the famously arrogant, ever-confident puppet master looked genuinely shaken to her core. Her brilliant mind was visibly spiraling through impossible, agonizing math. How do you fight an army like that? How do you stop a force that could swallow entire sovereign nations in a matter of hours?
"Three days..." she breathed out, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
A sudden, terrifying wave of manic energy surged into her eyes. The paralysis vanished, replaced by frantic, reckless purpose.
"We need Aoko. Now," Touko commanded sharply, her voice echoing off the walls of the workshop. "And every single magical weapon I've ever created in my entire life!"
She closed the distance between them in a flash, her fingers digging violently into the fabric of Kevin's coat as she grabbed his arm with desperate urgency.
"Where is my sister?!"
Kevin didn't pull away. He simply looked down at her gripped hand, his voice steady and calm.
"Aoko is with my real self," Kevin said plain textually. "While you are speaking to me—the clone of the real Kevin—I believe the real Kevin has already told Aoko everything I told you, simultaneously."
Touko blinked, her grip slackening slightly as her eyes widened in sudden realization.
A clone... she realized in her mind, her jaw tightening. He split himself to contact both of us at the exact same moment without wasting a single second. Clever. Damn clever.
"...Clever," she muttered aloud, dropping her hand.
Without losing another second, her Mystic Eyes of Enchantment flared to life, her irises shifting as she scanned the atmospheric laylines around Hollow Shrine for any massive surges of magical energy that might indicate where the primary battle lines were forming. Finding no immediate disturbances in her immediate vicinity, she exhaled sharply through her nose.
"Then we don't have a single second to waste."
Turning sharply, Touko sprinted with total focus toward the deepest vault of Hollow Shrine's armory—her heavily ward-protected private sanctuary that contained every lethal weapon, forbidden artifact, and high-yield puppet she possessed.
But before her hand could even touch the heavy iron latch of the vault door, space shattered.
A pitch-black shadow materialized in the center of the workshop with terrifying, unnatural speed. The motion was so blindingly fast that no human eye could track it—one moment, clone Kevin was standing perfectly intact; the next, a clean, silent line sliced through the air, and clone Kevin was bisected straight down the middle.
His upper torso slid off his waist, collapsing into a heap of dissolving mana before his body dispersed completely into thin air.
Touko didn't even flinch.
Instead, her Mystic Eyes immediately locked onto the spatial anomaly, her mind instantly recognizing the horrific, nauseating signature of the magical energy permeating the room.
Her voice came out icy, unnaturally calm, despite watching her source of information get brutally slaughtered right in front of her.
"...A Dead Apostle scout," she spat softly.
She instantly raised both hands into combat stances—her left hand weaving a complex, layered defensive barrier rune in mid-air, while her right hand channeled a blazing, blade-like attack spell. The fresh cigarette she had instinctively placed between her lips glowed red-hot, fed directly by the surge of magical energy coursing through her veins.
From the swirling vortex of darkness, a tall, masked figure stepped forward onto the wooden floorboards. The porcelain mask covered his features entirely, carved with subtle, ominous grooves.
"My name is Malakor," the intruder said, his voice echoing with a calm, reverberating resonance. "Great to meet you, Touko Aozaki."
Touko's lips curled into a vicious, predatory smirk. Her battle instincts, forged through countless life-and-death encounters, took over entirely as she coldly sized up the masked intruder.
"Malakor..." Touko sneered, her eyes gleaming with lethal intent. "...One of Roanoke's generals, I presume?"
The atmospheric air within the workshop crackled violently with dense magical energy as Touko maintained both her defensive barrier and her offensive runic blade at peak readiness. Her Mystic Eyes of Enchantment glowed faintly in the dim light, analyzing every micro-movement, every twitch of muscle, and every strand of mana surrounding Malakor.
"How amusing," she taunted, taking a slow, calculated step forward. "Sending a scout directly to my doorstep."
She tilted her head back slightly, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke straight into his face.
"You picked the wrong mage to mess with."
Behind his painted porcelain mask, Malakor let out a soft, mocking laugh that echoed hauntingly in the small room.
"No, I am not merely one of Roanoke's generals," Malakor corrected smoothly, stepping through the cloud of smoke without care. "No... I am Roanoke's master. He is my student. And yes, I am proud of my master's plans... but I have my own plans to fulfill during this war."
Touko's vicious smirk vanished instantly, replaced by a wall of sheer, unadulterated cold fury.
Roanoke's... master? Touko thought to herself, a cold spike of horror piercing her heart. This monster taught the entity that killed Zelretch?!
For the first time in years, a momentary flicker of genuine terror flashed through her mind—only to be instantly swallowed, incinerated, and crushed beneath a tide of overwhelming rage.
"Then you're exactly who I wanted to crush!" she roared.
Without another second of warning, Touko launched herself forward. Her legs pushed off the ground with violent explosive force, her runic blade slashing downward through the air in a lethal, blinding arc aimed straight at Malakor's masked face.
Clang!
Malakor didn't even draw a weapon. He didn't shift his stance. He simply raised a single, pale finger.
The tip of his finger intercepted the razor-sharp edge of her runic blade, stopping her full-force attack dead in its tracks as if she had struck an unyielding mountain.
Slowly, mockingly, Malakor lowered his head and pressed his lips gently against the glowing, deadly edge of her spell.
"It's an impressive blade," Malakor murmured casually, his voice echoing through the mask. "But you are far too slow."
Touko's eyes widened in sudden shock. How is he holding a dense runic blade with a single finger?!
The moment his lips made contact with the magical construct, a sickening, violent sensation tore through her magic circuits. She felt an instantaneous, terrifying drain—as if a massive portion of her ambient power was being forcefully siphoned out of her body and swallowed into a void. Her stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.
Too slow?! she screamed in her head.
Gritting her teeth until they nearly cracked, Touko immediately severed the connection to her runic blade, disengaging with a sharp push and leaping backward to create distance. Her hands blurred as she wove new, complex runes in mid-air, summoning six massive, roaring spheres of explosive fire that encircled Malakor from every direction.
"Burn!" she commanded.
Malakor didn't even turn to look at the raging inferno. He casually raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.
Snap.
Instantly, the massive fireballs vanished—erased from existence as if they had never been cast. Before Touko could even process the absolute negation of her magecraft, Malakor extended his palm and exerted a terrifying, spatial gravitational pull.
The space behind Touko distorted violently, dragging her forward through the air against her will.
What kind of magic is this?! Touko gasped in her mind, completely unable to anchor her body.
Before she could form another defensive rune, Malakor's iron grip clamped tightly around her throat. He lifted her effortlessly into the air with a single hand, holding her suspended above the floorboards.
"Ghh...!" Touko gasped, her windpipe being ruthlessly crushed beneath his insurmountable strength.
Her legs kicked uselessly in the air as she clawed desperately at his iron wrist. The complex runic matrices hovering in the air around them fizzled out and shattered into useless sparks—whatever absolute domain of magic Malakor possessed, it completely overridden, suppressed, and nullified her own.
For the first time in her long, storied life, real, suffocating terror gripped Touko's soul. This isn't just a difference in magical output... this is complete, godlike dominance. He isn't fighting me—he's playing with me.
Yet, through her watering eyes, blurred vision, and choked, ragged breaths...
Touko's lips slowly curled back into a desperate, feral smirk.
Because hidden beneath her shirt, pressed directly against Malakor's chest as he held her aloft, was a tiny, specialized device she had secretly activated the exact millisecond his hand had clamped around her neck: a high-yield, anti-immortal magical bomb specifically engineered to detonate upon contact with Dead Apostle energy.
"I will take your Mystic Eyes," Malakor stated coldly, his voice echoing like a death knell. "For they are necessary for my plans."
Touko's feral smirk deepened into a bloodthirsty sneer. Take my eyes? The core of my identity as a mage? Try it, you bastard!
Her fingers twitched subtly beneath her coat, confirming the arming sequence was complete.
With one final, ultimate act of defiance...
She gathered the last bit of moisture in her dry throat and spat blood directly into his white porcelain mask.
And in that precise, split second—
⟒ KABOOOM! ⟒
The hidden magical bomb detonated with catastrophic, blinding force right against Malakor's chest. A devastating shockwave tore through the workshop, unleashing a concentrated, holy-element blast specifically engineered to atomize and annihilate Dead Apostle biological matter.
The violent blast blew out the windows of Hollow Shrine, filling the room with a thick, suffocating wall of gray smoke and burning debris.
Silence fell over the room for two agonizing seconds.
Then, the heavy smoke cleared.
Malakor was standing in the exact same spot, completely unscathed. Not a single tear was visible on his coat; not a scratch marred his porcelain mask.
However, his surrounding atmosphere had completely transformed. A suffocating, blood-red aura surged around his body like a roaring inferno, vibrating with absolute, terrifying fury.
"You insulting woman..." Malakor hissed, his voice dropping into a dark, terrifying tone that vibrated through the very foundation of the building. "I know what you planned to do. After all, you have thousands of puppet bodies stored away to switch between, so you recklessly thought sacrificing this singular body would be smart."
He stepped forward, his red aura locking Touko's battered body in place with crushing kinetic force.
"But since you have made me mad... I will not simply kill this shell. I will spend your entire soul into oblivion, ensuring no backup body ever wakes up, right after I take your Mystic Eyes."
"Wait—!" Touko tried to scream, but the word died in her throat.
Before she could cast a spell, summon a doll, or even scream, Malakor's hand plunged forward like a shadow blade. With brutal, calculated precision, he forcefully gouged both of Touko's Mystic Eyes of Enchantment directly out of her eye sockets.
"AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!"
The world exploded into a searing, white-hot realm of unimaginable agony. The priceless, magical organs that had defined her entire existence, her lineage, and her identity as a supreme grand mage were torn violently from her head. Touko collapsed heavily onto her knees, blood pouring down her face in crimson rivers as she clutched frantically at her empty, hollow sockets.
Her magic circuits shattered. Her connection to her dolls severed. The power that had made her one of the most feared and respected mages in the modern world was wiped out in a single, brutal instant.
Yet, through the blinding torment, the agonizing shock, and the sound of her own blood dripping onto the floorboards...
Her bloody lips moved silently.
Not in a desperate plea for mercy.
Not in a prayer to a uncaring God.
She was cursing Malakor's name, carving every syllable of her absolute, burning hatred into the atmosphere with the final remnants of her broken spirit.
Malakor unsheathed a long, eerie sword from the darkness behind him. The blade flashed with a sickening, crimson light—a weapon forged specifically to cut through metaphysical concepts, slice spiritual anchors, and destroy souls beyond any possibility of magical resurrection or reincarnation.
Without a shred of hesitation or pity, Malakor swung the crimson blade downward in a clean, decisive arc.
Shatter.
Touko's head detached from her shoulders, rolling across the blood-stained wooden floorboards. Even in death, her lifeless face remained locked in that silent, furious curse.
For a brief, agonizing moment... nothing happened.
No backup puppet awakened in a hidden basement in Europe. No secondary soul-container activated in her hidden workshops. No hidden clone took control of her consciousness.
Malakor had succeeded.
Touko Aozaki—the legendary 'Red' of the Mage's Association—was dead.
Her headless body and severed head began to dissolve into fading, glittering motes of raw magical energy as her soul was systematically unraveled and obliterated from existence. Miles away, across all of her private workshops and secret vaults, every single backup doll and puppet body she had ever constructed collapsed simultaneously to the ground, their metaphysical strings permanently severed.
In Hollow Shrine... and everywhere Touko Aozaki had ever walked, lived, or left her mark...
⟒ Silence. ⟒
The pitch-black shadow wrapped around Malakor's body once more, enveloping him as space warped around his figure to transport him away.
"Step four of the Grand Zero Ritual is complete," Malakor murmured in a flat, emotionless tone, stowing the glowing Mystic Eyes safely away into his coat. "Just one more step to go."
With a soft flicker of black light, he vanished, leaving behind only an empty, ruined room filled with dust and silence.