The creeper, which had raised its ghostly pale hands as if to reach out and stop the hammer from striking the structure, dropped them midway and went still.
Not because it accepted what was coming, but because every remaining option collapsed into the same conclusion, and even it, with fragments of human sentience still clinging to whatever passed for a mind, seemed to understand that some things, once set into motion, were no longer meant to be intercepted.
The beam came down.
The entire structure folded inward, not outward, like the space itself was being sealed shut.
Wood slammed into stone, forcing whatever occupied the neglected recess into a position it could no longer abandon.
Crates burst apart beneath the strain, warped boards snapping, nails tearing free and biting into flesh that sprayed blood despite having no right to exist moments ago.
Then the rest followed.
The overhang, faithful to its age and neglect, continued its descent in a grinding slide, momentum distorting into a fall midway through, the mass of it rushing to meet the ground.
It almost succeeded cleanly, almost completed the collapse, until something resisted its motion.
It pierced through anyway.
The resistance gave with a wet rupture, and crimson liquid burst outward alongside a transparent, viscous substance, spraying in erratic arcs like a grotesque sprinkler.
A sharp, guttural sound tore through the air as the body emerged into visibility within the secluded corner, the beam lodged through its shoulders and driven down toward the abdomen, pinning it in place with obscene finality.
The scythe girl, initially taken aback, lunged forward to deliver a decisive strike, but before she could complete the motion the figure went silent and collapsed inward, its form losing cohesion as the weapon passed through empty air.
Panic rippled through the crowd.
Whispers fled from mouth to mouth, some acknowledging the brutality of the death, others fixated on the thing's unnatural anatomy, and a few only just realizing that there had been a body there at all.
It wasn't that big of an achievement.
Creepers weren't even that powerful.
They were simply less fragile than humans, physically, mentally, and, well.
Determined.
The man who had given me the hammer cautiously crept back into the space, movements slow and deliberate, retrieving his tool with almost ceremonial patience, though the tremor in his hands betrayed what his posture tried to deny.
He left soon after, not before casting a guttural glance in my direction, something between resentment and relief, as if he still wasn't sure whether to be grateful or afraid.
The whispers followed him out.
Gradually, almost unnaturally so, the crowd dispersed, people returning to their work, their homes, or wherever it was they believed safety still existed, each of them acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.
As if lingering any longer would only invite trouble, and pretending otherwise might keep it at bay.
"Hey~"
The voice slipped into my ears, light but insistent, and my gaze dropped instinctively, meeting a pair of hazel orchid eyes staring up at me.
"Why did you not tell me it was there?" she demanded, rising onto her toes in a clear attempt to appear dominant, though she barely reached my earlobes even then.
"I figured you weren't smart enough," I replied calmly, stepping back just enough to keep her outside my kicking radius, "and it would've escaped the moment you knew. You'd have made it obvious. Besides, I didn't entertain the thought of asking for help even once."
She frowned, brows knitting together for a moment, irritation bubbling up, and then it vanished entirely.
"Goodness," she sighed, shoulders dropping. "It would've been troublesome if you hadn't assisted with the hunt. That creeper might have turned into a shadow if left amok for a few more days. It was one of my initial hunts. Weak, yes, but I'd been after it for a while."
Resignation sat plainly on her face, yet I found no trace of guilt in her eyes for the absurdity of the claim.
"Sure," I said. "Authorities wouldn't like initiators letting creepers turn into shadows and turning a problem into something worse than it already is."
I paused, then tilted my head slightly.
"On that note… you're the lowest rank, right. A Bearer?"
Her gaze fixated on me, wide-eyed, part surprise and part irritation, neither willing to give ground.
"I guess… I am," she said at last, then straightened slightly as if remembering something important.
"Anyway, by the Church's authority," her eyes narrowed, sharp now, "I have the right to ask whether you are within the ranks of the Church."
"No. I'm not," I replied without hesitation, then added, almost lazily, "though I remember you mentioning you'd drag me there your—"
"T-That was just out of annoyance," she hissed, cutting me off mid-sentence, cheeks flushing red almost instantly.
She looked away for a brief second, then cleared her throat and continued, voice lower, more controlled.
"Then… how were you able to figure out where the creeper was hiding. Even I couldn't see it myself."
I sighed.
Not because the question was difficult, but because it was already becoming longer than I wanted it to be.
"I used my skill," I replied, hoping the bluntness would end it there.
"How else. Didn't you see me."
I paused, then added, flat and unapologetic.
"I beat the hell out of that guy just because of that."
"Skill… And you say that you are not associated with any of the churches yet," she said, eyes widening slightly, surprise bleeding into annoyance almost immediately.
I nodded, which only seemed to add fuel to it.
"Waittt, could it be that you're way—"
"Absolutely not." I cut her off before she could complete the thought. "I'm not a free practitioner."
It wasn't an extraordinary conclusion for her to arrive at.
Very few people preferred not to associate themselves with the Churches. Most did so out of necessity rather than belief.
And then there were those who didn't have a choice at all, the ones abandoned, exiled, or quietly erased by the Churches themselves.
The Church liked to refer to them in dismissive terms such as Waywards or Dissenters.
Words meant to strip them of legitimacy before anyone even bothered to listen.
The neutral world-standard was different. Free practitioner. Or simply, unaffiliated.
Different words, same meaning.
"What's your name, by the way?"