Charles and Michael hurried along the row of stone markers. The ground beneath them was a viscous mixture of mud and sulfur, made slippery and sticky by the recently stopped rain. Their footsteps made soft sounds as they pressed into the wet earth, but in their haste, they had no time to care about anything except moving forward.
Running through the scattered rocks and boulders only exhausted Michael further. Unaccustomed to running in such terrain, he stumbled frequently. His legs felt leaden and weak, his breathing growing more labored with each passing moment.
This escape was proving especially difficult for Michael, who had spent most of his life in laboratories. He had never trained his body for physical combat. His muscles ached more with every step.
"Hurry! We need to reach where I left the horse," Charles whispered urgently.
Michael tried his best to keep up, his movements clumsy and strained. Sweat drenched his face. His middle-aged body, unused to physical exertion, tired quickly.
The footsteps of their pursuers grew steadily louder. Charles could hear their movements and the increasingly heavy footfalls. They were close behind. Though Charles could quicken his own pace, he knew Michael couldn't.
Suddenly, Michael stumbled and fell onto the muddy ground. He tried to rise, but his body wouldn't respond. His muscles burned with such pain he could barely move. Charles stopped and turned quickly, knowing that pausing now might get them caught, but unwilling to abandon the man who held vital information.
Charles ran back to Michael and grabbed his arm to pull him up. "Get up. We need to keep moving." But the researcher's body remained limp, resisting his pull.
"I've been wondering for a while now," Michael looked up at the young detective. "Who are you, really?"
"This isn't the time for that question. We need to escape before they catch up," Charles replied while trying to haul him to his feet.
"No! This is important," Michael insisted. "I saw you use magic when you fought in the cemetery."
Faced with this stubborn questioning in such a dire situation, Charles decided to use his power on Michael, hoping to make him momentarily forget his suspicions.
"Let's hurry before they catch up," Charles tried to lift him again.
"He used magic back at the cemetery," Michael mumbled, his gaze unfocused. "Who is this person helping us escape? Just an ordinary magic user, or one of the Script-Decipherers..."
Charles realized his attempt had failed. Worse, it had made the researcher even more disoriented, causing him to forget the danger they faced.
'This isn't working,' the young detective thought, glancing around at the long row of stones and dead trees casting ominous shadows. 'Should I just leave him here and escape alone?'
The sound of footsteps and horse hooves grew closer. The glow of lights expanded within view, signaling that time was running out.
'I'll leave him. Better than getting caught and killed. Even if I lose this important lead, as long as I'm alive, I can start the investigation again. How to explain this to his family... I'll figure that out later.'
Having made his decision, Charles released the researcher still lost in his thoughts, abandoning his most important lead.
The young man shook his arm free and ran at full speed. But after only a few steps, his pursuers emerged from the shadows of the rocks and dead trees. They had already encircled him, cutting off all escape routes.
Charles froze when he saw the group surrounding him. He quickly counted their numbers—men in ordinary clothes and mining supervisor uniforms. About a dozen held torches for light, but in the darkness, there could be many more hidden. Some rode horses, some carried guns, others held close-range weapons.
'There really are officials working for them,' the young man assessed the situation. 'Too many. I could use my power to disorient them, but with this many people, I can't handle them all. Someone would escape my influence and shoot me. Besides, my power probably isn't strong enough to affect everyone here.'
Charles knew well that although he was an Ascendant with powers beyond ordinary humans, his physical capabilities hadn't increased accordingly. He still had the same limitations as any human. Even if he forced himself to use his power enough to handle everyone, he risked being consumed by it again.
"Surrender," a deep voice called from the group. "There's no escape."
Charles scanned his surroundings, his mind processing rapidly. If he fought, he needed to know where to start. If he fled, he needed to know where to break through. Or perhaps he could both fight and flee—break through their encirclement and then find a way to survive. Whatever he chose, time for decision was running short.
The pursuers began closing in when they saw that the young man wouldn't heed their warning. They moved forward to intimidate him, ready to attack.
Charles backed into a large rock, then flinched in surprise when a warning sensation flashed in his mind, accompanied by a strange change in the footsteps. The sound of his pursuers' approaching footfalls suddenly vanished.
Without warning, one man in the group collapsed to the ground without making a sound. His weapon and lantern hit the muddy ground. His comrades turned in shock, but the strange incident wasn't over. A second man fell immediately after, dark red liquid reflecting the light as it flowed from his throat, as if cut by something sharp.
"What's happening?!" one of the group shouted in panic, trying to identify the source of this strange phenomenon. Unable to locate its origin, he turned his gaze back to the stranger in the center of their circle—the most suspicious person in this situation.
The man aimed his gun at Charles, but before his finger could pull the trigger, a silver metallic flash crossed his line of sight. It severed his arm. The world spun around him. The stunned expressions of his colleagues above the lantern light became the last thing he saw.
Moonlight filtered through thick clouds, revealing a dark silhouette standing among the encirclement, like a reaper. The damp air mixed with sulfur carried the scent of blood and death. As he stepped out of the shadows, the light from lanterns reflected off the blood-stained sword in his hand. Drops of blood fell onto the muddy ground.
When this figure appeared, everyone present understood the source of the strange occurrences. The silver, blood-stained sword in his hand was undeniable evidence.
The pursuers didn't hesitate. They immediately fired a barrage of bullets at the mysterious figure—this dangerous entity who had arrived with ill intent and taken the lives of their colleagues.
Charles quickly dropped to the ground, taking cover from the flying bullets. In the chaos, some in the group managed to dodge, others were grazed and wounded, but none died.
After the gunfire ceased, the smoke dispersed. Silence fell. Everyone searched for the cloaked figure, but found neither corpse nor trace that he had ever stood there.
A cry of pain shattered the brief calm. More people began falling dead. Screams came from every direction, sometimes near, sometimes distant. Some glimpsed the mysterious figure for a moment, but when they blinked, he had vanished, only to appear somewhere new without warning. He killed one by one with his razor-sharp blade, as if able to materialize anywhere in an instant.
He appeared behind a man in an official uniform, cutting him down silently without anyone noticing, before vanishing again. Then he reappeared elsewhere, disposing of the next victim. He moved so quietly and swiftly that no one could counter.
The remaining survivors backed against a large boulder, breathing heavily, gripping their weapons tightly. Their bodies trembled with fear as they tried to stay vigilant in three directions—left, right, and front.
Suddenly, the cloaked figure appeared in the center of the circle formed by the remaining survivors. They all turned and aimed their weapons at the target simultaneously. The figure didn't even attempt to dodge, simply standing motionless, allowing bullets from every gun to fly toward him.
But every shot passed through his form as if firing at empty air. Some bullets hit colleagues standing on the opposite side. More cries of pain erupted.
When the smoke cleared, the cloaked figure still stood unmoved in the same spot, showing no signs of injury. He slowly raised his sword, pointing it toward the remaining survivors, before vanishing again.
Time passed. Screams of pain and terror continued unabated. All remaining survivors perished, their throats slashed by the keen-edged blade.
Charles, who had been lying on the ground, slowly stood up, staring at the scene before him in shock. Lifeless bodies lay scattered across the ground, blood seeping into the muddy earth.
The cloaked figure turned toward Charles. Moonlight filtering through the sulfurous mist and thick clouds dimly illuminated the face beneath the hood—cold, merciless eyes. Michael, who had regained his senses and witnessed everything, trembled with fear when he clearly saw that face. His eyes reflected confusion and terror.
"No! That's—!" But before he could finish, the cloaked figure dissolved into the darkness.
Then suddenly, he materialized in front of Michael. Before the researcher could react, his body was violently slammed against a dead tree with such force that the impact resounded loudly. The mysterious man gripped a metal spike of appropriate size, then thrust it swiftly through Michael's hand, pinning him to the rotting trunk.
Michael screamed in pain, his body shaking from the impact and the sharp agony that shot through him. Blood seeped from the wound in his hand. His body was so weak he could barely move.
The cloaked figure stood still, observing the body pinned to the dead tree. Blood from the wound slowly trickled down the rotting wood, mingling with the recently stopped rainwater.
Charles stood frozen, watching the scene in astonishment. While taking cover from bullets earlier, he had witnessed this mysterious person's ability to pass through objects. It resembled the power of a Script-Decipherer member he had once confronted, but this person was far more powerful and dangerous.
Moonlight cut through the mist and thick clouds, illuminating the area filled with lifeless bodies, bearing witness to the massacre that had just ended. The blood flowing freely mixed with rainwater and sulfur deposits, forming dark red streams that flowed along rock crevices and puddles.