"Let me see what's going on. Even for me, that thing takes quite some effort to defeat. To think someone here solved it... do they have some hidden ace up their sleeve?"
Sonaya read the feedback she had retrieved into her mind, but the information was riddled with gaps.
"Why are there so many missing pieces? My control mark—created with my original mana—was actually destroyed? No, this sensation... it feels familiar."
Sonaya focused on the residual aura left on her control mark. An inexplicable sense of déjà vu washed over her.
"It feels like... the flames of a rare Fire Dragon? But only one of those dragons is supposed to exist. How could such a thing be in this world?"
Sonaya searched her fractured memories. As she continued to absorb energy and recover, her memories were slowly returning. She recognized the aura of that singular, exotic flame. It was mind-boggling to her—that Fire Dragon was a creature from her own era. While it might still be alive somewhere, there was no way it should exist in this world.
Then, who is the one who destroyed my setup? A secret weapon of the human government?
Sonaya habitually reached up to fiddle with her crescent-moon earring, sinking into deep thought.
"Hey, Owen, wait up! A disturbance this big won't end in five minutes. There's no need to rush like your ass is on fire!"
A young man with a handlebar mustache ran through the empty streets, shouting helplessly at his colleague ahead.
"No, it's already over. If we don't hurry, everyone will be gone," the man in front replied. He had messy brown hair and a furrowed brow, his eyes fixed on the countless pale blue flames drifting in the sky like falling petals. They looked ethereal and beautiful, but he could feel the terrifying power within them. If they didn't get there soon, a disaster might occur. Fortunately, whoever was fighting had enough of a conscience to evacuate the civilians first, preventing a massacre.
"Isn't your 'Weapon' the best for handling clean-up? If they leave, we just track 'em. We're built for combat, not rescue. Captain putting us in the Support Squad was boring as hell anyway," the mustache guy rambled, though his complaining didn't slow his pace.
"Right ahead. The flames are still drifting, so they probably haven't left yet. But the winner has likely been decided. We don't know what kind of creatures we're dealing with, so don't be reckless. Let me scout first."
Owen reached out to stop his partner. They halted about two hundred meters from the epicenter. Hidden by the winding alleys and buildings, they weren't worried about being seen. As for detection, Mustache had a passive "Anti-Detection" ability.
Owen knelt, placing one palm flat against the ground. A silver bracelet with flowing red engravings appeared on his wrist. A series of invisible ripples spread from his palm. After a few pulses, several footprints manifested on the ground.
"Oh, footprints! Look at the tread... those are Ashina brand shoes. High-end stuff," Mustache noted, squatting down to stroke his facial hair.
"Since when did you become a sneakerhead? I didn't know you knew brands by tread," Owen teased, but he wasn't looking at the ground. He was looking up.
"What are you looking at? It's not like they can fly—wait, they can fly? (⊙_⊙)?" Mustache gaped at the wave-like patterns in the air.
"You think... our opponents might be succubi? That's bad news. Our mental resistance can't handle those old hags' corruption," Mustache whispered after a long silence.
"Likely. But there seems to be a 'person' involved too. Besides, doesn't your Weapon give you extra mental resistance? Why are you panicking? Shouldn't I be the worried one?" Owen joked to break the tension.
"Even with extra resistance, succubi rarely fight alone. They hunt in packs. We're great for frontal assaults, but mental warfare? I can maybe take out one if I get the drop on them, but more than that and I'm cooked."
Mustache's "Weapon" was a short blade, incredibly sharp with two special effects: "Anti-Detection" and "Damage Stacking." The former made him a master of ambush; the latter increased the "cut" and "pierce" effectiveness with every consecutive hit on the same target. These were the foundations of his spot in the First Squad.
"No choice. Let's get closer. We're 'Government Personnel.' If we play it right, they shouldn't give us too much trouble. This is the Human Zone, after all." Owen's face was grim. If the disturbance hadn't been this massive, they wouldn't have come. They usually turned a blind eye to minor supernatural skirmishes, but this was too big to ignore.
"Right. Owen, gimme a buff first. Just in case things get hairy."
"Got it." Owen stood up and pressed his hands together in prayer. Red light spiraled out of his bracelet, circling the two men before sinking into their skin. "Make it quick. I only have enough stored mana for fifteen minutes of buffs. Even with crystals, it's thirty minutes max."
Owen charged forward, his speed twice what it was before.
"You used all the buffs? Fine, I guess I'm going all in too," Mustache muttered, following close behind.
"Someone's coming. Humans. And they're either on some serious drugs or have a support-type buffing them."
Alistair, watching his own "fireworks," sensed two lifeforms approaching rapidly.
"Should we make contact? Human 'Exorcists' are quite weak, but their 'Weapons' are fascinating. Some even border on reality-warping," Eri Tsukikawa noted.
"Let's try it. Sometimes the government's organization is the fastest way to find things. My company is full of normal people—good for common tasks, but useless for the high-end stuff. You head out first. I'll use a transformation spell," Alistair said. The Monkey talisman allowed him to shift into anything. Not just animals—he could turn into a catgirl if he felt like it.
"This is the place, but where is everyone?" Owen frowned. A disturbance this big couldn't have just been mental magic, yet the street was suspiciously intact.
"Too intact. It looks fake as fuck," Mustache added, his hand hovering near his blade.
Boom!
"Well, well. New challengers?" A voice boomed from behind them. They spun around.
"Who are you?" Mustache stared at the giant before him.
The man was massive—nearly six foot seven. He was a wall of solid muscle. He wore a sleeveless, unbuttoned vest trimmed with thick fur, revealing a chiseled chest and abs. Two metal wolf-head ornaments hung from his collar. He wore standard trousers but paired them with rare, gold-pointed leather shoes. He wore fingerless gloves, and his right hand gripped a set of brass knuckles.
Owen noticed a diamond-shaped mark on the man's belt—a symbol that seemed to hold weight.
"Hello, sir. We are—" Owen began, but Alistair cut him off.
"Good, good. I'm doing great. So, you're the next challengers? Both of you at once? I don't mind. Come on then." Alistair cracked his knuckles.
"No, no, we're actually—"
"Why are you wasting breath, Owen? He's just a man. He probably knows something. Let's beat him down and get answers. Supernatural fights aren't won with just muscle," Mustache interrupted. He was annoyed by the giant's arrogance. He lunged at Alistair. He didn't draw his weapon; he just wanted to teach this guy a lesson.
"Hah! Look at that face! It's screaming: 'Hit me!'" Alistair grinned, pulling his left hand back.
Too slow, big guy! Mustache thought, a smirk forming as he reached Alistair.
Thud!
Alistair's left hook connected first, sending Mustache flying backward through the air.
"That's it? How am I supposed to lose?"