In the bright sunlight, beneath a beautiful blue sky streaked with drifting clouds, two teenagers sat in a garden overflowing with white lilies. The girl turned toward the boy, her fingers fidgeting in her lap, her voice hesitant.
"Hey, Schwarian… I was thinking… I mean—" She hesitated, then forced herself to meet his eyes. "When we're older… will you marry me?"
A rush of emotions hit him all at once—surprise, joy, embarrassment—colliding in his chest. He inhaled slowly, steadying himself before answering.
"Yes," he said, then corrected himself, softer. "Yes… I'd be glad to make you my wife."
Her face lit up. Still blushing, she held out her pinky finger.
"Then promise me," she said quietly.
Schwarian smirked and hooked his pinky with hers.
"You still make promises like this," he said.
She puffed her cheeks, offended but smiling. "What's wrong with that?"
"No, nothing—"
A scream ripped through the air.
Schwarian froze.
He turned sharply toward the sound, instinctively grabbing her hand as they stood.
"Did you hear that?" he said.
"Hear what?" she asked, confused.
"A scream," he replied, his voice tense as he slowly turned back toward her—
—and horror crushed the breath out of him.
Her body was gone.
In his right hand rested her severed head.
Blood dripped from it, warm and relentless, pooling in his palm before spilling onto the ground. Schwarian stood motionless, staring, his fingers locked, unable to let go.
The blood splashed onto the white lilies at his feet. Where it touched them, the petals darkened, turning deep crimson. One by one, the entire garden followed.
The girl's head spoke, her voice calm—accusing.
"This happened because of you," she said. "It's your fault. Only yours."
Schwarian screamed, raw and animal, as the lilies began to drip blood as well, the ground drowning beneath him.
"No!" he shouted. "It wasn't me! It wasn't me!" His voice broke. "They killed you. They took everything from us. They did this. They—"
His legs gave out.
He collapsed to his knees as the head slipped from his grasp, rolling away into the widening pool of blood.
"It was always your fault, Schwarian," the girl's head said as it rolled.
"You blame them because you're afraid to face it."
A pause.
"The guilt of everyone's death."
Schwarian's eyes flooded with tears. He screamed—loud, raw, tearing itself out of his chest.
And then he jolted awake.
He sat upright in bed, panting hard, drenched in sweat, eyes wide and unfocused.
Schwarian stared into the mirror on the dressing table in front of him. The reflection showed someone older. Taller. Nothing like the boy in the garden.
"This… damn dream again…" he muttered between breaths as he reached for the glass of water on the small bedside table.
A man's voice called up from downstairs.
"Hey, Schwarian! Breakfast's ready!"
Schwarian exhaled, the tension in his chest loosening as he recognized the voice. He took a slow breath, forcing himself to calm down.
"Coming!" he called back.
Schwarian swung his legs off the bed and stood, his hands still trembling.
***
The dining room was already set when Schwarian entered.
"Good morning, Mr. Vollner," Schwarian said as he took a seat at the dining table.
Mr. Vollner stood by the counter in his police uniform, finishing up breakfast. He turned toward Schwarian.
"Morning, kid," he said, setting a plate in front of him. "Made your favorite."
Schwarian's gaze drifted to the name badge on the man's chest. It caught the light briefly.
ERICH VOLLNER.
"Thanks… Mr. Vollner," Schwarian said as he began to eat.
After a few bites, a soft voice came from the other side of the table.
"So, Blumhart," she said lightly, "excited for a new day and new hunts?"
Schwarian's eyes followed the voice. He looked up at the girl seated across from him—Erich Vollner's daughter, Elara Vollner.
"Elara… you're up early today," Schwarian said, taking another bite.
Elara smirked. "Early? It's ten to nine. You're late for work."
Schwarian choked mid-bite and snapped his head toward the clock.
"Shit," he hissed.
He pushed back his chair and hurried toward the doorway, grabbing his dark fedora and pulling it on. The hat matched his black suit perfectly.
"At least finish your breakfast," Elara said, leaning against the kitchen doorway, one hand on her hip. "You're already late. A little more won't kill you."
Schwarian slid his arms into his black coat as he moved. "Zeph would eat me alive. See you later!"
He rushed out the door.
Mr. Vollner stepped out of the kitchen. Elara turned to him, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"Who's 'Zeph' again?"
"Zeph?" Mr. Vollner said. "He's the senior officer Schwarian works under—his training supervisor."
Then he paused, something clicking. "Don't you have university today?"
"Oh—right," Elara said. "I almost forgot."
"Hurry," he said. "Or you'll be late like Schwarian."
"Alright, Dad."
***
Schwarian stood in front of the office building, panting hard after running the entire way. He lifted his head and stared at the engraved letters carved into the stone façade.
DWELLERS SUPPRESSION AUTHORITY (DSA)
He adjusted his fedora and forced himself to steady his breathing.
Then he walked inside.
Schwarian slid his ID through the security gate. The scanner flashed green, granting him entry, and he stepped inside.
He hurried through the corridors, boots striking the floor, until he stopped in front of the handler's office.
Schwarian glanced at the nameplate mounted on the door.
ROSELYN AZUR
He stared at the name for a moment, then knocked twice.
"Enter," a voice said from the other side.
Schwarian stepped inside and found Roselyn assigning tasks to several officers.
"Morning, Handler Azur," Schwarian said, removing his fedora.
Without looking up, she replied calmly, "Morning, Blumhart. You're late."
"Apologies, Handler Azur," Schwarian said quickly. "May I ask where Mr. Zeph is?"
She finally looked at him. Running a hand through her hair, she answered evenly,
"He's already left for the Riss site assigned to him."
Schwarian inhaled sharply. "May I ask where the site is—and when he left?"
Roselyn smirked. "The Dweller was reported at Noxira Corps' Warehouse D24. Ten minutes from here."
"And when did Mr. Zeph leave?"
"Just now," she replied. "The moment you entered the building."
"Then why didn't I see him?"
"He likely took the other exit." Her tone flattened. "Now, are you going to keep asking questions, or are you going to the site?"
"Apologies," Schwarian said. "I'll take my leave."
He stepped out of the handler's office. Roselyn didn't say anything, she only gave a brief nod.
***
Schwarian sprinted through the alleys, taking the shortest route toward the warehouse. His breath burned in his lungs.
As he reached the exterior of the building, a loud, guttural roar echoed from inside.
Schwarian slowed immediately.
Keeping close to the wall, he approached the massive warehouse doors. There was a narrow gap between them. He leaned in, careful to make as little noise as possible, and peered through.
Nothing but darkness.
Then a wave of warm air washed over him from above.
Schwarian tilted his head up.
And froze.
Hanging before him was a Dweller.
It had a single massive eye, glowing a deep, blood-crimson red. Warm breath poured from its gaping mouth, lined with jagged black teeth. Its body looked like the very incarnation of darkness, crouched on four limbs, towering over him in silence.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
Then the Dweller noticed him.
It roared.
The sound shook the air.
Schwarian snapped back to his senses and ran, putting distance between himself and the doors.
"Fuck," he hissed, drawing his weapon—a specially forged silver gun.
The Dweller burst forward.
The giant warehouse doors exploded outward as the creature smashed through them, metal tearing loose. A massive broken section of the door came flying straight at Schwarian.
He barely dodged in time.
Schwarian forced himself to steady his breath. With shaking hands, he fired at one of the Dweller's limbs, trying to slow it down.
He missed.
The Dweller charged straight at him.
Schwarian gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm. This time, he aimed higher—straight at the creature's eye—as it raised a claw to strike.
He fired.
The shot pierced the Dweller's eye.
The creature shrieked and thrashed violently, shaking its head in agony. Seeing the opening, Schwarian fired again and again.
click.
The magazine was empty.
"Shit."
He turned and ran, creating distance as he fumbled to reload.
Behind him, the Dweller stopped shaking.
It went still.
The silence that followed felt wrong, too heavy, too sudden.
Schwarian noticed it as he slammed a fresh magazine into his gun. He looked up.
The Dweller was staring directly at him.
Even without its eye, it knew exactly where he was.
Schwarian finished reloading, raised his weapon, and fired as the Dweller began marching toward him.
Shots struck its body, metal against flesh, but did nothing.
The bullets bounced off its skin.
Too hard.
Too thick.
Ineffective.
Schwarian narrowly dodged the Dweller's attack and ran, forcing his body to keep moving as he created distance. He zigzagged across the ground, changing direction repeatedly in an attempt to confuse the creature's sensing.
At last, he skidded to a stop far from it, bending forward as he struggled to catch his breath. For a moment, the Dweller hesitated—its massive form shifting uncertainly.
Then it locked onto him again.
Schwarian steadied himself, ready to counter.
A voice suddenly echoed through the space—loud, sharp, commanding.
"Back off."
Schwarian snapped his head toward the sound.
From the shadows, a man in his forties stepped forward.
Zeph.
He wore a black suit and fedora, a silver katana resting casually in his left hand.
The Dweller sensed him immediately and charged.
Zeph walked forward to meet it—calm, unhurried.
As he moved, he flipped a coin into the air.
Schwarian watched, and in that moment, it felt as though everything else slowed to a crawl—everything except Zeph.
The coin spun.
At the exact moment it began to fall, Zeph drew his blade.
Steel flashed.
The katana sliced through the air—and through the coin.
But instead of splitting apart, the coin fused into the blade.
Fire swallowed the blade from hilt to tip.
The Dweller lunged, its claw raised to strike.
Zeph showed no fear.
Without hesitation, he swung the flame-engulfed blade straight down, releasing a blazing arc of fire.
The Dweller was cut cleanly in half.
Schwarian stared at the bisected Dweller.
Zeph stood nearby, calmly smoking his cigar.
"So… this is Mr. Zeph's iconic move."
Vulcan Claw.