The night was a living thing, pressing against the windows.
Derrick awoke not with a start, but with a slow, deliberate return to consciousness, fragments of a dream—scales and shattered stone—clinging to him like cobwebs. The silence of the house was a weight. He dressed and left, the door sighing shut behind him, his footsteps swallowed by the hungry dark.
Tom's Bar was a pocket of defiance against the night; a cave of amber light and murmured secrets. The air smelled of old wood, polish, and the faint, sweet tang of spilled wine.
"Evening, Derrick." Tom didn't look up, his hands moving in a practiced dance: a glass, a cloth, a spotless finish.
"Evening." Derrick's voice was a low rumble. He took his customary stool, the leather sighing in familiar welcome. "The usual."
Tom's smile was a brief crack in a weathered face. "Coming right up."
In a shadowed booth, two figures leaned close, their whispers painting the air.
"Wow, Quinn." Paige's eyes were wide, reflecting the bar's glow like a cat's. "Who is that?"
Quinn took a slow sip, her gaze analytical. "Talks to Tom like he owns the stool. That answer your question?"
The door opened, and the night seemed to part for her.
Irene entered with a symphony of quiet confidence. Her crimson dress was a stroke of fresh paint on the dim canvas of the room. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, found him immediately. Right on the money.
She slid onto the stool beside him, the scent of night-blooming jasmine and expensive whiskey arriving a moment before she did. "Tom. Grand whiskey. Neat."
Then, she turned, her voice a warm, deliberate contrast to the chill he carried. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Same." He didn't lift his eyes from the dark mirror of his wine.
"Seems you were bored." A tease, laced with genuine curiosity.
He let the words hang, evaporating in the space between them as he took a slow sip.
"Hey." Her tone softened, dropping the playful mask. "What's up?"
He turned just enough for the light to catch the glacial blue of his iris, then looked away. "I saw Lily. In a gate."
Irene's glass froze halfway to her lips. The ice clinked once, a tiny, shocked sound. "Lily? Wait. You're a hunter now?"
"I am."
"How are you bearing a party, let alone a guild?"
"Solo."
A beat of silence. "Cool," she finally said, the word carefully neutral. "If my knowledge serves me right... being a solo has the highest risks." She leaned in slightly, her polished facade showing a hairline crack of concern. "Solo hunters are minimum B-rank, by Association rules. Wealthy. Answerable to no one. To others in our... ecosystem, they're walking treasure chests. Easy prey for the greedy, with no guild to retaliate."
"You're surprisingly knowledgeable."
"Since the apocalypse, I opened a mana-crystal refinery." She took a measured sip. "In this new world, you learn the rules of the jungle, or you become part of the food chain."
In the quiet of the family home, Jane lay staring at the ceiling, her thoughts a turbulent sea.
I was too harsh with Lily this afternoon.
A wave of guilt, quickly met by a wall of defensive heat. Whatever. She deserved it. Hmph.
She raised her right hand, clenching it into a fist against the dim light, as if testing the strength of her own resolve.
I need to cool off some steam.
She dressed with sharp, efficient motions—an ash-grey cropped top, black baggy trousers that whispered against her skin. Downstairs, a floorboard announced her descent with a familiar creak.
"Where are you going?" Kate stood in the kitchen doorway, a silhouette of quiet concern.
"Just out." Jane's reply was a brush-off, and she was gone, the door closing with a soft click.
She really is mad at Lily. Kate's gaze drifted upstairs. Speaking of...
She climbed to the guest room and knocked softly.
Lily opened the door, already dressed for the night, her eyes holding a quiet, unresolved storm. "Seems you're also going out."
"Yeah. But... I don't know Derrick's address."
Kate's smile was a fragile, understanding thing. "He visits sometimes, but don't worry. I'll send it to you."
Lily merely nodded, closing the door. I just want to have a word with him.
After a long, aimless walk, Jane was drawn to the warm glow of a bar. She made for the secluded window seat—
"Jane!"
Paige's voice, bright and unmistakable. Jane diverted to their booth.
"Paige, Quinn. Didn't know you both hung out here."
"I hang out here quite often," Quinn stated, her gaze already drifting past Jane.
"We need some malt here!" Paige called to a waiter with a practiced flick of her wrist. She then leaned in, her whisper charged with gossip. "We've been here forever. But since that guy showed up, time just... stopped." A subtle nod toward the bar.
Jane turned.
And her world tilted. Derrick.
Heat flooded her cheeks. What is he doing here?!
"Given your expression, you know him," Quinn observed, her voice clinically interested.
"He's my twin brother."
Paige's eyes darted between them. "Now that you say it... the resemblance is uncanny. But he's all... sharp angles and quiet storms."
Jane sipped her malt, her gaze snagging on the elegant woman beside him—composed, beautiful, smiling with an easy familiarity that made Jane's stomach clench.
Who is that pretty lady?
Lily stood before a sleek, modern villa, larger and colder than the family home. The gate felt like a barrier.
He's out. She sighed, the sound lost in the quiet neighborhood. I just want a word.
"Derrick," Irene began, curiosity finally overriding her polish. "You said you saw Lily... in a gate?"
"Yes."
"In a gate!" Her composure slipped a notch. "Do you even know how dangerous that is? What's your rank?"
"S+."
The air between them grew heavy. Irene stared, her glass forgotten. "S+? You... you do know you'd be the only hunter to ever reach that. For an S- to even glimpse that threshold requires a lifetime of brutal, specialized training and obscene luck. It's considered impossible."
"I thought hunters could only increase by two ranks max."
"For the lower tiers, yes. But the rules change at the peak. The climb isn't just training; it's a negotiation with fate itself."
"What job does your brother do?" Paige asked, pulling Jane back.
"From what I heard... hunting."
"Hunting!" Paige's squeak was pure delight. "I thought he was some reclusive celebrity!"
"Judging by his presence and carriage, he must be high-ranked," Quinn added analytically. "Guilds would wage silent wars to recruit him."
"The brother I know would find guilds... annoying."
"Guilds equal money," Paige countered. "Who finds money annoying?"
"Derrick, I should go." Irene stood, smoothing her dress. "Care for a lift?"
"Yeah."
As they walked toward the door, Derrick's gaze—heavy and undeniable—found Jane's across the room.
"Omg, he's looking over here!" Paige hissed, ducking slightly.
Wow. He is extremely handsome. Quinn's analytical mind provided the uncharacteristic thought.
"Jane?" Derrick's voice cut through the murmur.
Jane turned, her blush a full-blown inferno. I can't look him in the eye. "I didn't know you'd be here."
"But Derrick," she forced out, nodding toward Irene, "who is she?"
"This is Irene. Irene, this is Jane. My twin sister."
Irene's smile was impeccable, her hand extended. "A pleasure."
"Nice to meet you." Jane's shake was brief. Her hands are so cold. Is she his girlfriend? No... the energy's wrong.
"Bye." Derrick turned, and they were gone, swallowed by the night.
"Is that what you call 'frosted allure'?" Quinn murmured, almost to herself.
In the sleek, silent car, Irene finally spoke, her eyes on the road. "A twin, Derrick? All these years, and you never mentioned a sister."
"You never asked."
"Hmph." A soft, exasperated sound. Four years ago, when I first found you, you were a ghost haunted by a name—Lily. Her disappearance broke something in you, even before I knew who she was. Her grip tightened on the steering wheel, the mana-crystal in her ring glinting darkly. This time, I won't just watch. I'll protect you. No more ghosts.
Back at the house, Kate found Lily in the living room, a solitary figure swallowed by an oversized armchair. She brought two cups of tea, the steam curling like unanswered questions.
"Did you meet him?" Kate asked, setting a cup of tea before Lily in the living room.
"No." A single word, thick with unshed tears.
Kate sat beside her, placing a gentle hand on her back. The night deepened around them, a blanket of quiet sorrow.
Morning light, harsh and revealing, stabbed through unfamiliar curtains. Paige's House.
Jane woke to a world of pounding pain. She sat up on the unfamiliar sofa, the room swimming.
"Somebody's got a killer hangover!" Paige's sing-song voice floated down the stairs. She descended like a vision in a white nightgown, her dark hair a cascade, porcelain skin glowing. Her hazel eyes sparkled with merciless amusement.
Jane groaned, shuffling toward the kitchen like a wounded animal. "Ugh. Water."
Paige leaned against the doorframe, a flirty smile on her lips. "Hey, Jane... as your dear friend and saviour from a lonely night... mind giving me your brother's number?"
Jane paused, the cool glass at her lips. Not you too. "His phone blocks all unknown numbers. It'd be useless."
"Damn," Paige pouted, then brightened instantly. "Fine! Then hang out with me and Quinn today. Full itinerary."
"Yeah," Jane agreed, rubbing her temples. Anything is better than going home. Sharing a roof with Lily right now? Impossible.
Derrick stepped into the morning light, the breeze tugging at his coat.
'Oh entity.' The dragon's cryptic words echoed in his mind. He shrugged them off, a slight, fluid motion. Weapon first.
The Scavenger Guild headquarters was a monument of polished obsidian and arrogant energy. He entered, and his clairvoyance activated without thought, painting a glowing path to the armory in his mind.
A shoulder slammed into his—deliberate, solid.
"Oi. Watch it."
Derrick didn't break stride.
"Who the hell does he think he is?"
"Doesn't know who runs this jungle."
They circled back, five of them, forming a wall in the corridor. "Hey, punk. Know who you're messing with?"
Derrick stopped. His silver hair seemed to drain the light around him. "No."
The word was flat, an absolute null.
One lunged, a fist aimed like a piston. Derrick caught it—his grip was iron, absolute, stopping the motion dead. A ripple of whispers spread.
"That's A-rank Malcoy's crew..."
"Poor guy."
From a soaring observation balcony, Guildmaster Selene watched, a faint, intrigued smile touching her lips.
"It's been a while since you smiled, Guildmaster." Chairman Zyan appeared beside her, immaculate in his black suit.
"Chairman Zyan."
"Still so reserved. What's caught your eye?"
"Potential."
"Potential?" Zyan followed her gaze to Derrick. "That's all? There's a fight brewing in your hall."
Below, the lead hunter, Malcoy, threw a punch again. Derrick's evasion was a fluid whisper. His hand shot out, not to strike, but to grip. He didn't punch; he slammed Malcoy down into the polished floor. CRACK. Blood misted the air. Derrick walked on.
The remaining four moved to block again. "You're outnumbered!"
"I don't have time."
"You bumped us!"
Another attack. Derrick simply hooked a foot around an ankle and jerked. The hunter fell in a tangle of limbs, a disgraceful collapse.
The last three charged in unison. What followed wasn't a fight; it was a dismantling. Three precise, efficient motions—a dislocated shoulder, a swept leg, a pressure-point strike that dropped the last man gagging. It was over in two breaths.
"Annoying," Derrick stated, and continued his walk, leaving a scene of stunned silence and groaning bodies.
Zyan's eyes glinted. "Hand-to-hand like that! No wasted motion."
"The damage to Malcoy is notable," Selene observed calmly.
"Meaning?"
"The slam made an A-rank vomit blood. Raw strength alone shouldn't achieve that against reinforced physique."
"A+, then? A new registrant... I'll have Hayden look into him."
"He was holding back. Immensely."
"Holding back? An S- is possible?"
Selene's smile returned. "Why would an S- cause no system alert? Why walk in here?"
"Solo hunter," Zyan concluded, his voice dropping.
"Those monsters. Skilled, wealthy, answerable to no one. Why is he here?"
"An item, obviously."
But Selene's mind raced. What item could draw a solo of that calibre to my guild?
Armory.
"An S-rank form-changing weapon."
"N-none in stock, sir. We have a B+ 'God Before Me' series..."
God before me, indeed, the clerk thought, staring.
The transaction chimed. Derrick pocketed the slender hairpin, its latent power a faint buzz against his skin, and left.
Selene, from her perch, used an eyesight-enhancement skill. The image zoomed. Handsome. And utterly calm. "Confirm his purchase."
Minutes later: "He wanted an S-rank form-changer. Settled for the B+ hairpin."
Intriguing.
A high-end resort pool glittered under the sun.
Jane, Paige, and Quinn lounged on golden chairs, condensation tracing patterns on their glasses.
"Been a while since you hung out like this," Quinn noted.
"You were the life of every party, pre-apocalypse," Paige added.
"Still... recovering," Jane said, the word feeling inadequate.
"There's a party tonight. Exclusive," Paige suggested, eyes alight. "We should go."
"Let's," Jane and Quinn agreed almost in unison.
"7 PM. Sharp."
Jane took a long drink. Yes. This is better. This is normal.
Derrick stood before a flickering dungeon portal. A steady mana leak—mid-rank. He stepped through.
Inside, a party was finishing a wave of lesser creatures.
Ava, her sword sheathing with a clean shing, spotted him. "Derrick! Good to see you." Her smile was genuine.
"You too."
"Want to join us? We're clearing the outer chambers."
"No need."
"Ah, right. Solo. I forgot." Her smile turned slightly wistful.
"Did you say solo?" A broad-shouldered man, George, approached, his party flanking him.
"Yes," Ava confirmed.
"Solo my foot," sneered Eric, a spearman with a permanent scowl. "Probably lying to leech EXP."
"Eric, stop. I've seen his form," Ava reprimanded.
"Just don't hold us back," Eric spat toward Derrick.
"I never intended to join you."
"Humph."
A mage with fiery red hair, Ruby, blinked. "You're incredibly handsome. Are you a celebrity?"
"This is Ruby, our mage," Ava introduced.
"No."
"Newbie," said Rachel, a woman with analytical eyes and a stern expression. "Surviving alone is a quick fantasy. Remember that."
"You are?"
"Rachel. Remember the name." She turned away.
"Our healer, Noel, and archer, Nora. Twins," Ava finished.
Nora blushed, her ethereal beauty seeming out of place in the gritty dungeon. Noel shook Derrick's hand with a mischievous grin. Soft hands. Wealthy. Worth currying favour with.
The party moved forward. Monsters swarmed—a horde of red orcs.
"What's their rank?" Derrick asked.
"You don't know and you just entered? Reckless," Rachel scolded. "A newbie solo without guild intel is a suicide statistic."
"You need a mana reader," George advised kindly before bracing. "Ava, flank! Eric, spear from the right! Rachel, fire support! Nora, cover my blind spot! Noel, keep the heals ready!"
Monsters swarmed—Red Orcs. The strategy was solid for these C+ creatures. Ava's swordwork was crisp, efficient. They worked as a unit and handled them well, until the ground shook and mutated orcs, pulsing with B-rank energy, emerged.
George roared, activating "Hexa Defense." A hexagonal shield of light materialized around him.
"His A-rank skill—he's serious!" Nora called out.
But the mutants were B+. The shield held for three thunderous impacts before shattering like glass. A mutated orc's fist connected with George's helm, sending him flying.
Ava and Eric culled the smaller ones. Nora's arrows, tipped with frost, slowed and finished the mutants. Rachel's firewalls cleaned up the rest. Noel rushed to George's side, healing light pouring from his hands.
After the cleanup, Rachel fixed Derrick with a sharp stare. "Why didn't you help?"
"You're veterans. You had a strategy. A newbie would have disrupted the flow."
"Hmph. A flatterer."
Then, a roar deeper than the dungeon's foundations shook the very air. Boss monsters emerged—not one, but three gigantic trolls, each radiating A-rank menace.
"We're not recovered!" Ava gasped.
"Only Rachel, Nora, and George are combat-ready! A healer has zero offensive output!" Noel said, panic edging his voice.
"And our useless newbie doesn't even have a weapon drawn!" Eric snarled.
"Eric!" Ava snapped.
"Bosses!" Ruby pointed, her voice trembling.
"All of them are bosses!" Nora exclaimed.
Derrick stepped forward, past the party line.
"Derrick, what are you doing?!" Ava shouted.
"Suicide run," Eric laughed, hollowly.
"This isn't a normal gate..." George coughed, struggling up. "Orcs don't strategize like that. This is an Irregular Dungeon."
Rachel's analysis skill flared, her face paling. "He's right."
In the Scavenger Guild's surveillance room, a female hunter rushed in. "Ma'am! The dungeon with the unidentified solo hunter—it's just been flagged as Irregular!"
Selene took the tablet, her eyes fixed on the feed. That solo. His gait... he anticipated this. But why enter a mere B-rank gate?
Derrick faced the towering bosses. He drew the hairpin. It melted and expanded, reforming in his grip into a massive, elegant scythe, instantly sheathed in a shroud of devouring black aura.
He dashed. The world blurred into a series of violent, beautiful panels.
"Black aura? Isn't that a neutral aura color!" Rachel gasped.
"His scythe proficiency is insane!" Ava exclaimed.
"He's not using skills—just layering raw aura on the weapon. That's not mana-based," Nora observed, her archer's eyes missing nothing.
"Not corrupted mana either—that's grey-blue. This is just aura." Rachel's stern facade cracked into sheer awe. I called a grandmaster a newbie. I need to apologize. If we survive.
"Is this... really that guy?" Eric's sneer had vanished, replaced by stunned disbelief.
Derrick moved like a vortex of darkness, culling the trolls with terrifying efficiency. Only the elite, skilful A+ trolls remained.
"He's not even winded after two A+..." Noel breathed.
Derrick didn't pause. He dashed again, and a torrent of ghostly blue flame—"Greater Dragon's Breath"—erupted from his free hand, scorching the elite troll. A B+ skill doing A-rank damage. His pace, relentless.
Pyromancy mixed with his scythe work—fireballs shot from his fingertips with pinpoint accuracy, disrupting the troll's guard between devastating slashes.
"Isn't that your fireball skill, Rachel?" Nora asked.
"That doesn't look like a skill... it's more like innate ability. This is legendary. Not even S-ranks fight like this," Rachel whispered, awe-struck.
The final troll fell with a ground-shaking thud.
Without a glance back, Derrick sprinted deeper into the crumbling dungeon.
"He's running deeper? Without resting? What's with his stamina?!" Ruby gasped.
Guided by clairvoyance, he found a hidden cave, which opened into a vast, cathedral-like throne room. At its end, upon a dais of luminous stone, sat a figure—a being of divine radiance, wings of shimmering radiance folded at her back.
Her cosmic eyes opened.
"Archangel Sariel greets the Ruler of the Night Sky," her voice echoed, both beautiful and terrifying.
Derrick stopped. Ruler of the Night Sky? What title is that?
The same moment, elsewhere.
Jane left the resort for the party. 7 PM—fashionably early. Paige and Quinn arrived, a whirlwind of excitement.
"Party time, girls!"
They entered a pulsating, exclusive club. The bass was a physical force.
I'm already over this, Jane thought, taking a seat. Her phone buzzed—Kate.
She moved to the marginally quieter toilet area. "Where are you?" Kate's voice was tight.
"At a friend's place."
"I hear upbeat music. Jane, don't tell me you've resumed your partying lifestyle." Kate's sigh was audible even over the thrumming bass.
Damn those heightened senses of yours, Jane thought irritably. "It's not what you think—hey, hello?" Kate, knowing an excuse was being concocted, had already ended the call.
'Ugh, Kate!'
Jane shoved her phone into her pocket. Then she paused.
Why is it so dark down this hallway?
And so quiet?
Her clairvoyance flickered involuntarily, outlining two figures in the last restroom stall. One blazing with frantic activity. The other... faint, cooling, dormant.
Not just sex.
She crept closer. The door was ajar.
Inside, a man was bent over a woman's neck. He looked up.
His face was pristine, handsome, and utterly clean. No mess, no smear. Only his lips held a faint, glistening sheen of crimson. The woman in his arms was pale and still.
His eyes, a deep red, met Jane's.
He smiled, revealing elongated, pristine white fangs. The smile was courteous, chilling, and utterly inhuman. A low, elegant hiss escaped him—a sound of predatory recognition.
Vampire?
Aren't vampires supposed to be myths?
Jane froze, shock rooting her to the spot as the noble vampire's polite, hungry gaze held her own.