That afternoon, the alleys of New York were quiet. Credence stood alone, staring at a stained brick wall, lost in his thoughts. The city moved around him—distant cars, the murmur of traffic—but here, in this narrow strip of shadow, it was as if the world had gone still.
Graves appeared in front of him, silent as a shadow despite Apparating. One moment the alley was empty, the next, the tall figure in the dark coat stood there, looking down at him.
"Credence, have you found the child?" Graves asked, voice low and smooth.
Credence flinched. "I can't..."
"Show me."
Credence hesitated, but Graves reached forward and took his wrists, turning his hands over. Scratches and red welts marked his palms, old and new, angry lines etched into pale skin.
"My boy," Graves murmured, thumb brushing lightly over a welt, "the sooner we find this child, the sooner you can put that pain in the past where it belongs. So, I want you to have this, Credence. I would trust very few with it. But you? You're different."
He slipped a necklace around Credence's neck, the cool weight of the metal settling against his chest, and drew him into an embrace that felt almost gentle.
"When you find the child," Graves continued softly by his ear, "touch the symbol, and I will know, and I will come to you. Do this, and you will be honored among wizards forever. The child is dying, Credence. Time is running out."
Then he stepped back. A breath later, Graves vanished with the faint crack of Apparition.
Credence looked down at the pendant. The symbol was strange—a triangle enclosing a circle, bisected by a straight line. He didn't know what it meant. He only knew that Graves had given it to him, and that was enough. He would use it when he found the child—when he found the objective.
He moved on through the alleyways, pasting Second Salem flyers to a filthy brick wall, hands moving automatically. The paper slapped against the stone. Paste dripped. The city hummed beyond the alley mouth, indifferent.
A bottle rattled behind him.
Credence froze. He spun around, shoulders hunching as if bracing for a blow.
A young man with a worn-looking briefcase stood there, hands raised in a quick, open gesture.
"Oh—sorry," the stranger said. "I must've taken a wrong turn. Didn't mean to scare you."
Credence stared, saying nothing, eyes dropping to the ground.
"..."
The young man took a step closer, slow and careful, as if approaching a frightened animal.
"I'm Fujimaru Ritsuka," he said gently. "Can you tell me your name?"
"Credence..." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Credence Barebone."
Fujimaru's expression softened. "Credence... I have something for you. Just for you. Don't show it to anyone else. Call it an apology for startling you."
Credence tensed the moment Fujimaru's hand moved toward his pocket, shoulders locking, breath catching. He expected a fist, a belt, anything but what actually came.
A hand appeared in front of him, palm open. Lying across it was a plain, blank card.
Fujimaru knelt so they were closer to eye level. Gently, he took Credence's injured hand. His fingers brushed the rough, abused skin, then he placed the card in Credence's palm and folded his fingers over it.
"I'm sorry for scaring you," he said quietly. "Go home and stay safe, Credence. We'll meet again. You're not the only one who's been punished like this."
Warmth lingered where Fujimaru had touched him, a gentleness Credence wasn't used to. He watched the stranger go, that strange, unfamiliar tightness coiling in his chest—as if, for the first time, someone might actually care whether he lived or died.
By four o'clock, Fujimaru and the others were lying low on the roof of an apartment building. The air smelled of feathers and seed.
Jacob was crouched by a makeshift pigeon coop, tossing handfuls of grain.
"Your grandfather kept pigeons?" Queenie asked, smiling as she watched the birds hop and flutter. "Mine kept owls. I used to love feeding them."
At the edge of the roof, Newt and Tina watched the city.
"Graves always insisted the disturbances were caused by a beast," Tina said, eyes narrowed as she scanned the skyline. "We need to catch all your creatures so he can't use them as scapegoats."
"There's only one still missing," Newt replied. "Dougal, my Demiguise."
"Dougal?" Tina echoed.
"But the slight problem is that, uh... he's invisible."
"Invisible?" she repeated, incredulous.
"Yes. Most of the time. He does, um..." Newt trailed off.
"How do you catch something—?"
"With immense difficulty," Newt finished dryly.
Fujimaru listened with half an ear as he sorted compact drones and slid the reclaimed Saint Graph card back into its slot, but his thoughts kept drifting to Credence—to that boy's eyes, and the fog of heavy malice that had clung to him.
Credence... is it you? he wondered.
Tina's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Gnarlak," she said abruptly.
Newt blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Gnarlak," she repeated. "He was an informant of mine when I was an Auror. He used to trade in magical creatures on the side."
"He wouldn't happen to have an interest in paw prints, would he?" Newt asked.
"He's interested in anything he can sell."
Fujimaru's gaze sharpened. So that's our next lead.
Where is this Gnarlak guy, then? He wondered, the thought buzzing like a low radio signal under his skin.
Tina led them down through the alleys, the city swallowing them whole. As they walked, she and Queenie each flicked their wands, their modest outfits rippling and reshaping into proper dresses suited for a speakeasy. Newt tapped his tie, which wriggled into a bowtie.
Jacob, in his simple but decent suit, needed no change.
Fujimaru glanced down at his own clothes and grimaced.
"Not exactly dress-code friendly," he muttered under his breath.
"Mr. Fujimaru," Tina said, eyeing his briefcase, "don't you have anything else in that?"
"This thing holds all sorts of emergency gear," he replied, patting the case. "Mostly a shield. I wish I had my royal brand black suit, though—"
The emblem on his briefcase flared.
For a heartbeat, his clothes glowed and then vanished in a wash of light.
Queenie gasped. Tina looked away sharply, cheeks going pink.
When the light faded, Fujimaru stood in the Shinjuku Mystic Code: Royal Brand. Black lines, tailored fabric, an air of battle-hardened elegance—he suddenly looked like he'd stepped out of a very different kind of war.
"No way..." Fujimaru breathed, then grinned.
"Man, you look edgy in that suit," Jacob said, half impressed, half amused.
"I wasn't always edgy," Fujimaru replied. "Just... most of the time."
Newt tilted his head, studying the cloth. "The magic in that suit is remarkable."
"Don't ask where to get one," Fujimaru said lightly. "You can't."
Tina, deciding it was safer not to ask any more questions, stopped before a blank stretch of brick wall and knocked in a particular rhythm. An eye blinked open in the stone, then the wall shimmered like a mirage, revealing a hidden door. Concealment magic for No-Majs.
A slot in the door slid open. Someone peered out, then shut it with a clack. Locks turned. The door swung inward.
Inside the Blind Pig, smoke and music curled through the air like lazy ghosts. A female goblin on stage crooned into a microphone, her husky voice threading through the chatter while a tiny band backed her up on shrunken instruments.
Jacob and Queenie took seats at the bar, Queenie's eyes wandering curiously, Jacob wide-eyed at the sight of magical patrons. Fujimaru, Newt, and Tina slid into a table in the shadows, just out of the main traffic.
"I've arrested half of the people here," Tina muttered, scanning the room.
"By arrested, you mean hid them here?" Fujimaru asked dryly.
She only shrugged, as if to say it was complicated.
Newt leaned forward. "You can tell me to mind my business," he began, eyes flicking to Tina, "but I saw something in that death potion back there. I think Fujimaru saw it too. We saw you hugging that Second Salem boy."
So he and Tina are connected through Credence, Fujimaru thought.
Tina let out a breath. "His name's Credence. His mother beats him. She beats all those kids she adopted, but she seems to hate him the most."
"She's the one you attacked back there?" Fujimaru asked.
"That's how I lost my job," Tina admitted. "I went for her in front of a meeting of her crazy followers. They all had to be Obliviated. It was a big scandal."
"You had the guts to attack them knowing it'd cost you your job," Fujimaru said. "I can respect that. I need a drink for a moment after hearing that."
He meant it. He could feel anger stirring deep inside, the part of him that remembered Jack the Ripper clinging to him like a frightened child, the research he'd done into that Servant's twisted history, the way some people turned children into tools, into things.
He didn't want that anger spilling out. Not yet.
He opened his journal instead, jotting down a few quick lines about this world, about Credence, about Tina's choice, then closed it with a soft snap.
At the bar, he ordered a juice. The bartender slid a glass toward him, and Fujimaru took it back to the table.
One sip told him it was close to a four-season juice—layered flavors, rich and sweet with a tart edge. A small, grounding comfort in the middle of mounting tension.
After a while, a goblin with a chin that would've made Lord Farquaad jealous slid into the seat across from them.
"So, you're the guy with the case full of monsters, huh?" the goblin drawled.
"News travels fast," Newt said carefully. "I was hoping you'd be able to tell me if there've been any sightings. Tracks or that sort of thing."
"You've got a pretty high price on your head, Mr. Scamander," the goblin—Gnarlak—said. "Why should I help you instead of turning you in?"
"I take it I'll have to make it worth your while?" Newt replied.
"Let's consider it a cover charge," Gnarlak said with a sly grin.
Newt began unloading trinkets, rare items, and magical odds and ends from his pockets and case, sliding them across the table.
Fujimaru watched, suspicion prickling at the back of his neck. Gnarlak's lingering gaze wasn't on the objects—it was on something else.
Sure enough, the goblin's attention shifted as soon as he noticed the small, twig-like creature peeking from Newt's pocket.
"That's a Bowtruckle?" Gnarlak asked, false-casual. The creature, Pickett, stiffened.
He immediately tried to use the Bowtruckle as a bargaining chip.
Newt sighed. "He's not for sale."
Something in Fujimaru snapped into place.
He slammed his palm on the table and stood, chair scraping back. Conversations stuttered and died as faces turned toward them.
"Funny," Fujimaru said coldly, "you brushed off everything Newt offered, but as soon as you spot his Bowtruckle, you're suddenly very interested."
"Gnarlak trades in magical creatures on the side, remember?" Tina murmured under her breath.
"Goblins deal in metal and ownership rights," Fujimaru shot back. "Not beasts. And goblins don't trust wizardkind."
His aura slipped loose, power bleeding out like the edge of a storm front. The air grew heavy. A few nearby patrons shifted uneasily.
Fujimaru's gaze cut to a house-elf pushing a cart of wine.
"Hey," he called. "Outside. What do you feel?"
The elf froze, big eyes going wider as it focused. "MACUSA!" it squeaked. "They're coming!"
"Gnarlak?!" Tina snapped. "You tipped them off?!"
Gnarlak only laughed, a harsh little sound full of sharp teeth.
The answer came a heartbeat later—a crack and rush of displaced air as Aurors Apparated into the bar. Spells exploded outward, tearing through tables and bottles, sending glass and wood flying.
Fujimaru swung his briefcase up into Gnarlak's chin, the metal edge connecting with a satisfying crack. The goblin hit the floor as Fujimaru dove for cover.
"Yan! Get us out of here!" Fujimaru shouted.
"On it, Master!" came Yan Qing's reply, voice cutting through the chaos.
Apparitions flashed around them. Some of their group vanished, yanked away mid-motion, while others were dragged back by searing beams of Auror magic.
Then Yan Qing burst into view, shouldering aside attackers like they were made of paper.
"Off we go!" he grinned.
He grabbed hold of them, momentum and magic combining as he punched straight through the ceiling, hauling them into the night.
Below, Aurors stared in disbelief at the shattered roof and the strangely resilient man who had just bulldozed through their spells.
Gnarlak groaned and slowly pushed himself upright. His eyes took in the wrecked bar, the furious Aurors, the hole in the ceiling, and the absence of his would-be prizes. His jaw clenched.
Meanwhile, back at the Second Salem hideout, Credence was alone in his small bedroom. The walls were bare; the bed was narrow and hard.
He bent down to straighten the blanket—and something under the bed caught his eye.
He reached underneath, and his fingers closed around smooth wood.
A wand.
He stared at it in shock. It had been there, beneath his bed, all this time.
The door creaked.
Modesty Barebone stepped in, doll clutched to her chest, eyes widening when she saw what he held.
"Whatcha doin', Credence?" she asked, voice small.
"Where'd you get this?" Credence whispered, grip tightening.
"Credence, it's just a toy," Modesty insisted quickly. "Give it back."
Before he could answer, Mary Lou entered the room. Her eyes locked onto the wand, and her face twisted with fury.
Moments later, they were on the upper balcony of the mission hall. The followers below watched, silent and complicit, as if this were just another sermon.
"Take it off," Mary Lou said sharply.
With a harsh snap, she broke the wand in two. Something dark and unseen shivered loose from it.
Credence stepped closer, shoulders hunching. He knew what would come next—the belt, the blows, the cruelty. The same cycle of abuse he'd endured since the day he was left at the mission door.
Modesty stood at the doorway, half-hidden, watching. Her small hands shook as she clutched the doorframe, trying not to cry at what she knew was coming.
"Ma..." Credence whispered.
"I'm not your ma," Mary Lou hissed. "Your mother was a wicked, unnatural woman!"
"It was mine!" Modesty shouted, the words bursting out of her.
"Modesty...!" Mary Lou snarled, disbelief and anger tangling in her voice.
Modesty tried to defend Credence, but Mary Lou didn't believe her. Credence, standing at the back of the balcony, began to feel wrong—like his insides were twisting, like he might be sick.
The belt slipped from Mary Lou's grasp.
It slithered to the floor on its own.
"What is this?!" she demanded, grabbing for it again.
The belt jerked away. The lights in the hall flickered, dimmed, then flared. Fear crept into Mary Lou's eyes.
A black mist rolled across the balcony, coiling like smoke. Mary Lou turned—and a face formed in the darkness, contorted with rage and hurt.
It lunged.
The force slammed her off the balcony into a supporting pillar below. The crack of bone echoed through the hall. Mary Lou crumpled to the floor, dead.
The mist moved again, surging down toward the main floor. It swept across the room and seized Chastity Barebone, dragging her body toward the Second Salem banner. With a wrenching tear, it ripped the flag free.
The Obscurus stormed out of the building, blackness spilling into the street.
Modesty, terrified but more afraid for her brother than herself, ran after it, ignoring the wreckage around her.
Outside, just beyond the mission, Medea watched the dark mass streak into the distance, magic prickling against her skin.
"Master," she murmured into the bond, eyes narrowing, "I have a feeling we've found our objective..."
After escaping the Blind Pig fiasco, Newt tried to apologize to his Bowtruckle, murmuring reassurances as the tiny creature sulked and clung stubbornly to his lapel.
Fujimaru, tapping his bracelet, relayed Yan Qing's scouting report. "Dougal's been sighted around 5th Avenue. Macy's Department Store."
They made their way through the bustling streets until they stood before the darkened, imposing facade of Macy's.
Almost immediately, they spotted a bag being pulled across the floor inside by something invisible.
"That's our Demiguise," Fujimaru said quietly.
Newt raised his wand. "Alohomora."
The lock clicked. They slipped inside.
The bag floated up an aisle, as if tugged by an unseen hand, then disappeared behind a display. Moments later, Dougal revealed himself—shimmering, silvery fur, large sad eyes, frail hands clutching the bag.
Newt nodded to the others.
"Demiguises are fundamentally peaceful," he whispered, "but they can give a nasty nip if provoked. You two head that way,"—he gestured—"and try very hard not to be predictable."
Jacob and Queenie peeled off. Fujimaru moved left, watching the Demiguise's gaze flick continuously upward, tracking something only it could truly see.
"Is it looking at another Demiguise?" Tina asked.
"No," Newt replied, frowning, "but I think it might be the reason why Dougal is here."
They followed Dougal up to the attic, where piles of stolen food lay scattered—a little hoard of offerings. Newt set his briefcase down gently and motioned for them to move slowly.
"Its sight operates on probability," he explained in a hushed voice, "so it can foresee the most likely immediate future."
"How many seconds ahead?" Fujimaru asked.
"A few."
"Great..." Fujimaru muttered.
"What's he doing?" Tina whispered.
"He's babysitting," Newt said.
Fujimaru followed Dougal's line of sight and winced.
"Oh. That's what he's babysitting."
High above them, coiled along the ceiling girders, an enormous Occamy gleamed, metallic scales catching what little light filtered through the attic. It shifted slightly, the ripple of its body sending dust raining down.
"It was babysitting that?" Tina said, horrified.
"Occamies are choranaptyxic," Newt said. "They grow to fill available space."
Dougal held up some food. The Occamy answered with a soft trill, something almost tender passing between them.
Fujimaru watched their quiet, practiced rhythm and thought of Jack—the child Servant who clung to him, calling him "Mommy" in a voice both young and deadly. Dougal and the Occamy moved like a family, in their own way.
"Mummy's here..." Newt crooned softly up to the Occamy.
Dougal's eyes flashed blue.
Fujimaru stiffened. Probability had shifted.
Below, Queenie stepped forward with Jacob, drawn by the sight. Fujimaru's gaze snagged on a shiny Christmas ornament lying near her foot.
"Queenie, wait!" he shouted.
Too late.
Her foot nudged the ornament, sending it skittering across the floor.
The Occamy reared back, hissing and shrieking. Its coils lashed out, fast as whips, snatching Newt and Fujimaru off their feet.
Dougal, clutching food and Jacob, vanished from danger, fading into invisibility.
The Occamy's massive body tore through the attic, smashing displays and beams as everyone scrambled to avoid its writhing, metallic scales.
"Master, need a hand?" Yan Qing called from somewhere below.
"We got this!" Fujimaru yelled back, clinging to a coil. "Mostly!"
"We need an insect!" Newt shouted.
"Huh?!" Queenie cried.
"Any kind of insect and a teapot!" Newt clarified.
"So—bait and a container! Move!" Fujimaru added.
Cockroaches scattered across the floor, disturbed by the chaos. Jacob dove, grimacing, and managed to catch one. Tina scrambled among the debris, hunting for a teapot.
"I got it!" Jacob shouted, holding the unfortunate insect between his fingers.
"Teapot!" Tina called, brandishing one triumphantly.
The Occamy stilled, its eyes locking onto the roach. Dougal shimmered, then faded entirely from view, removing himself from the probable line of fire.
"Roach in teapot," Newt instructed.
Jacob grimaced, gently stroked the scales near him as if in apology, then lobbed the roach toward Tina. She caught it and dropped the insect into the teapot just as the Occamy lunged.
The creature chased the prey, its vast body compressing, shrinking as it forced itself into the narrowing space. Coils compacted, scales scraping porcelain.
Fujimaru and Newt were thrown free, crashing to the floor as the last of the Occamy funneled into the waiting teapot.
Newt slammed the lid shut.
"Choranaptyxic," he panted. "They also shrink to fit the available space."
Fujimaru lay there for a second, catching his breath, then laughed—short and breathless. "Nice work."
Tina eyed the teapot warily. "Tell me the truth. Was that everything that came out of the case?"
"That's everything," Newt said, "and that's the truth."
Fujimaru smiled. Newt's part of the mission—recovering his creatures—was complete.
He wasn't.
He still had to find the true source of this world's distortion—the heart of the anomaly.
He touched the bracelet around his wrist, reaching out.
"Medea, you there?"
"Yes, Fujimaru", her voice answered smoothly in his mind. "I have an update for you about tracking the high magic readings. I found its location after it moved recently."
"Okay, we'll talk further if we can meet", he replied silently. "Tell me—do you know about Apparition in this world?"
"Yes", she said. "I just observed and learned it after Yan's rescue from the pub."
"Can you pull me toward you via Apparition?" he asks.
"Sure, but you might experience some discomfort from the aftereffects..."
"Doesn't matter", he thought, glancing at the blank card tucked into his pocket. 'The card I gave that boy just vibrated a few minutes ago.'
Newt and the others were climbing out of the case, chattering in relief, when Medea's spell took hold. A purple, swirling shroud wrapped around Fujimaru.
He vanished.
The others stared at the space where he once was.
"He can Apparate?" Tina said, stunned.
"I never knew that," Newt said honestly.
"Again?" Queenie sighed, half exasperated, half amused.
Medea pulled Fujimaru by Apparition onto the roof of an abandoned apartment block. The world snapped back into focus. He staggered, shaking his head to clear the lingering dizziness.
"What do you have?" he asked.
"The Obscurus turned back into a boy and went in there," Medea said, nodding toward the building below. "Credence Barebone. A girl followed him—Modesty. She was crying."
"Got it," Fujimaru said. "I need him to see me alone. Back into the case for now."
"Duly noted," Medea replied.
She nodded once and vanished into the briefcase.
Fujimaru descended the fire escape, boots clanging softly against metal. Inside, the building smelled of dust and old water, the air thick with the echo of lives that had long since moved on.
Somewhere below, a girl sobbed.
He followed the sound to a half-open door. Inside, Modesty Barebone sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, cheeks still wet with tears.
Fujimaru set his briefcase down and raised his empty hands.
"Hey," he said gently. "I'm not here to hurt you. See? No wand, no weapon."
Modesty flinched, shrinking back. "Who are you?"
"Fujimaru Ritsuka," he answered. "I'm looking for your brother. I know what happened at the house. I'm here to get you both away from that. For good."
His Mystic Eyes flared, unbidden.
In an instant, he saw it like a film overlaying reality: Credence breaking under a lifetime of abuse, the black mist tearing free of his body, Mary Lou's spine snapping against the pillar.
Tina hadn't lied. Their mother had beaten them, again and again—and in the end, her own fanaticism killed her.
His briefcase rattled softly at his side.
Downstairs, voices rose in argument—one cold and measured, the other desperate and frayed.
"Okay," Fujimaru said quietly to Modesty. "Stay calm. Don't make a sound. I'll confront whoever that man is."
She could see the tension in his eyes as he moved to the side of the doorway, hiding in the shadows.
Footsteps echoed from below, growing louder.
Two voices drifted up.
"You're a Squib, Credence," Percival Graves said, his tone dripping disdain. "I could smell it on you the minute I met you."
"What?" Credence's voice cracked.
"You have magical ancestry but no power."
"But you said you could teach me," Credence choked.
"You're unteachable," Graves snapped. "Your mother's dead. That's your reward. I'm done with you."
Fujimaru's jaw tightened until it hurt.
Graves's footsteps climbed further. "Modesty," he called, voice suddenly smooth again. "There's no need to be afraid. I'm here with your brother, Credence. Out you come now."
As he reached the landing, Fujimaru moved.
He stepped into the hall and slammed the door to Modesty's room shut behind him.
Graves whirled, wand already raised. Fujimaru began to circle, keeping himself between Graves and the door.
"Percival Graves," Fujimaru said, voice low and sharp. "How low can you sink?"
Graves narrowed his eyes. "Mr. Ritsuka," he said. "I'm impressed you managed to—"
"Save it," Fujimaru cut him off. "I know why you're here. I heard every word you said to Credence. I've seen you hit him."
Graves's lips curled. "You shouldn't exist in this world..."
"People tell me that a lot," Fujimaru replied. "Doesn't change a thing. I'm their guardian now. You want Modesty, you go through me. And you answer for what you did to him."
Graves flicked his wand, thoughts spitting venom.
Stupefy.
The stunning spell fired silently, a red bolt streaking toward Fujimaru.
He snapped his briefcase up. Light flared along its seams, expanding into a full-sized shield that absorbed the spell and hurled the force aside. The redirected blast scorched the far wall as Graves dodged, eyes widening.
"That thing isn't wizard-made," Graves snarled. "It's ancient. Where did you steal it?"
"Didn't," Fujimaru said. "It was entrusted to me by someone who believes in humanity more than you ever will. Step back, Graves. You're looking for a weapon. All I see is a terrified kid."
"A weapon is exactly what's needed to change this world," Graves hissed. "Move, or I'll blast that relic into splinters."
Fujimaru didn't move.
The Master–Servant link thrummed through the shield like a heartbeat, Lord Chaldeas's protection flowing into the metal through his will.
"I've stood against worse than you," Fujimaru said. "Your wand isn't breaking this."
A ghostly howl tore through the building.
Cracks spidered across the walls and ceiling. Plaster rained down. The very bones of the structure trembled.
Room by room, the walls buckled inward, collapsing until a jagged gap yawned open opposite them.
Credence stood there, framed in dust and darkness, fists clenched at his sides. A single tear tracked silently down his cheek.
"Credence," Graves said quickly.
"I owe you an apology," Credence said, voice shaking. "I trusted you. I thought you were my friend. I thought you were different."
His gaze slid past Graves to Fujimaru. His eyes softened, just a little.
"Mr. Fujimaru..." Credence whispered. "You were the only one who didn't look at me like I was broken. You talked to me like I was a person."
Fujimaru slowly lowered the shield and held out his free hand toward him, his voice gentling.
"Credence," he said, "I know what it's like to carry something that feels like it's eating you from the inside. You don't have to do it alone."
Power roared around Credence, a storm drawn from every wound, every betrayal, every lash of the belt. The air crackled.
Fujimaru stepped in front of Modesty's door, placing himself between her and the rising tempest.
"I'm sorry," Credence choked. "I'm so sorry, Fujimaru. To you... and to Modesty."
"You can control it, Credence," Graves urged, voice slick with false concern.
Credence shook his head, tears now streaming. "I don't think I want to, Mr. Graves."
Black mist burst from his skin.
His eyes went white.
Fujimaru's bracelet buzzed violently as it began collecting data, lines of information streaming through its systems. In Credence's pocket, the blank card Fujimaru had given him pulsed in answer, resonating with the surging magical output.
And then all hell broke loose.
The Obscurus exploded outward, a tidal wave of darkness and light that ripped through the building and surged into the sky.
Graves Disapparated in a blink, fleeing the blast.
Fujimaru snapped his briefcase back to its compact form and turned to Modesty, who had cracked the door open just enough to peer out.
He pressed a small pouch into her shaking hands.
"There's enough money here to start over somewhere else," he said. "Take it and run. I'll go after your brother and try to bring him home."
"Can you... Can you save him?" Modesty whispered.
Fujimaru hesitated, then nodded.
"I will," he said.
Outside, the Obscurus streaked through the city like a living storm, its black cloud laced with red-orange light. Buildings shuddered. Glass shattered in its wake.
Fujimaru checked the readings on his bracelet and swore under his breath.
"Power on par with an Extra Class..." he muttered. "Great. I'll have to pace myself."
He began Apparating in short jumps, each one eating at his reserves, but conserving enough energy to fight when it mattered.
Elsewhere, Newt and the others had reached the top of a high-rise condo. From there, they could see the Obscurus ravaging the city, following the Thunderbird's cries of warning.
"Is that it?" Jacob asked, voice faint. "That's the Obscurial thing?"
"It's more powerful than any Obscurial I've ever heard of," Newt said grimly. "Tina..."
"What?" she asked.
"If I don't come back, look after my creatures," Newt said, thrusting his case toward her. "Everything that you need to know is in there."
"What?" Tina repeated, thrown.
"They're not killing it," Newt said. "Not on my watch."
"Newt!" Tina shouted as he stepped off the building and vanished mid-fall in a burst of Apparition.
She looked at Queenie, then pressed the case and the guidebook into her hands.
"You heard him," Tina said. "Look after them."
Then she, too, Disapparated, chasing after him.
Below them, the city shuddered under the weight of a boy's pain.
One faction raced to capture him and use him as a weapon.
Another sought to contain him.
Another came to kill him.
And finally, one last person—out of place and out of time—ran toward him with only one goal:
To catch him and guide him toward something like hope.
[Credence Servant Bio]
Credence Barebone (Obscurial)
Class: Berserker
Attribute: Man
Alignment: Neutral Good / Chaotic Mad
Status Parameters
STR: D (A+ as Obscurus)
END: B (EX as Obscurus)
AGI: C (A++ as Obscurus)
MANA: A++
LUCK: E-
NP: A+
Note: Credence is designed here as a potential Servant, leaning into the overwhelming, unstable power of his Obscurus while reflecting his core as a deeply hurt but fundamentally kind person pushed past his limits.