The yokai came like teeth – rows of them, rows of them – slamming into the Sanctuary's walls with enough force to make the earth cough blood.

Victor roared.

The last of his restraint snapped.

Fur tore through his arms. Muscles twisted like rebar beneath his skin. A mane of burning gold burst from his shoulders as his bones cracked and realigned. His scream became something inhuman – deeper, thunderous. A lion's head reared from the ruin of his face, jaws stretching wide.

Then he charged.

He hit the first yokai like a comet, claws shearing through bone. Its body folded in half around his punch. Another leapt – he caught it mid-air and bit. Skull. Spine. Gone.

Around him, the world blurred red.

One yokai slashed at his side – its claws caught hide, not flesh. He turned, grabbed its throat, and tore it open with a single flex of his massive arm.

More closed in. Dozens. A swarm.

He didn't care.

His claws shredded. His fists broke bodies like eggshells. Even the stone guardians paused as he barrelled through the tide, flanked by screaming, bleeding shadows.

And through it all – she danced. Ying moved like a fracture in the air.

One step. A line tore open in space – she was gone. Then beside him. Then ten metres left. Her blade was everywhere. The yokai didn't die all at once – they realised they were dead mid-charge. Heads fell off. Limbs spun free. Viscera hung in air like flowers on invisible threads.

She was so fast the wind forgot to follow her.

A fox-masked yokai screeched at her. She vanished.

The mask fell in half before the body hit the dirt.

"Victor," she called – breath sharp, but voice calm. "You saw that, right?"

He swatted aside a crawler, blood matting his fur. "What?"

She didn't blink. "They're not hitting the pod building."

Victor paused. Just a moment. A yokai slammed into his shoulder – bounced off. He barely noticed.

His yellow eyes narrowed.

"…Yeah. They're swarming around it."

She flicked ichor from her blade. "Why?"

He didn't answer. Just looked toward the structure – the one wrapped in prayer cloth and rebar, where Liz slept. Where Max sat, blue Hellfire leaking from every seam like the building itself was about to combust.

"Max must be going through hell in there," he muttered. "That fire's not stable. Smells… wrong."

For a second, the tide paused. A breath in the onslaught.

Ying stepped back, blinking sweat from her eyes.

She ghosted to Chloe's side, appearing just as Chloe staggered – caught her. "You okay?"

Chloe nodded, shaky. "Still here."

Alyssa punched through a yokai chest, turned and gave a tight, blood-smeared smile. "More than them."

Dan limped into view, shoulder slick with fresh blood. But his hand was already glowing – gold light flickering between his fingers like liquid fire.

"I'm out of bandages," he said, voice tight, "but the spirit's still willing."

He pressed his palm to his wound. The light flared. Flesh knitted. Blood slowed. Around him, the air smelled faintly of citrus and copper – clean, sharp, alive.

Ying exhaled.

Then – the humming stopped.

Not silence. Just a lull. A beat.

…………………

The tempo changed.

Ying caught it before the others – not in the sound, but in the silence beneath it. A beat missing from the chaos. Like the battlefield had inhaled and held.

The yokai slowed.

Not all at once. But in layers. The way hunger stops when something worse walks into the room.

She exhaled, blade dripping black. Her uniform was torn, shoulder bruised, blood on her cheek not her own.

Then the humming stopped.

Not silence. Just stillness.

Her gaze snapped to the far treeline – and her gut clenched.

The yokai were parting.

Pulling back like curtains. Making room.

Not for something massive.

For something important.

Victor shifted beside her, shoulder blades rippling under cracked armour plates. His lion-head twisted slightly, scenting the air.

"What is that," he murmured.

And then they saw her.

A single figure, gliding through the wreckage like smoke given purpose. Masked. Child-sized. Silent.

Wrong.

It wore a child's shape, yes – but not its weight. Its limbs were too long, too exact. The joints didn't move quite right. The bare feet touched blood, but left no mark. The black kimono hugged her too tightly, trailing ink rather than cloth.

The mask was porcelain – smooth, flawless, except for a jagged fracture through the left cheek. From beneath that crack peeked skin too pale to be real. One eye gleamed gold – stitched with metal. The other was absent. A socket of nothing.

She made no sound. And yet— every step throbbed behind the ears, like a heartbeat out of sync with time.

The yokai stepped aside.

Even the giants. Even the screaming ones.

"She's not one of them," Ying said quietly.

Victor's lion-head growled.

"No," he said. "She's worse."

The girl didn't hesitate. Didn't speed up. Just glided. A knife made of intention and silence.

A Guardian leapt to intercept – one of the good ones. Axe in both hands. He swung high, screaming.

She didn't block. Didn't duck.

She wasn't there.

The axe carved smoke. The Guardian hit the ground sideways, ribs caved in. No blood. Just silence.

Chloe blinked in and out beside her – phasing – trying to flank.

Too slow.

The girl had already passed the twins.

"She's heading for the pod!" Victor snarled.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Ying vanished. Appeared three metres ahead – blade lashing out with void-energy.

The girl stepped sideways. No flair. No effort.

She was behind Ying now.

Dan turned, hand crackling with golden light, trying to intercept – but the girl didn't even glance at him. She passed like a breeze. A scalpel through fog.

"Shit!" Victor bellowed, charging after her.

But the yokai surged again – like they'd been waiting.

Dozens poured in. Screaming. Crawling. Leaping.

Chloe phased and staggered. Alyssa dropped two with elbow strikes, knuckles glowing blue-white. Dan grunted, yanking a Guardian to safety as claws raked past his ribs.

Then Alyssa saw her. The girl – almost at the chamber door now.

"MAX!" she screamed. "SHE'S GOING FOR MAX!"

They moved to follow – but it was too late.

The line closed. A tidal wave of limbs and shrieks and hunger.

The mask-child – the demon in child's skin – slipped inside the pod chamber.

Gone.

Victor roared, full chimera now, shredding two yokai in one backhand.

Ying snarled, opening two voidgates at once – but neither reached the chamber.

Dan shouted for reinforcements. Chloe tried to phase again, but staggered – exhausted.

Only Alyssa stayed still – fists trembling.

"She wasn't aiming for Liz," she whispered.

Victor's eyes met hers. Understanding like a knife between them.

Ying didn't speak. Just stared toward the chamber door, jaw clenched tight.

Her blade twitched once.

Then she whispered, too soft for anyone but herself:

"Max… whatever you're doing in there…"

"…do it faster."

…………………

The chamber trembled.

Or maybe that was him.

Max knelt near Hana's collapsed body, panting, trembling, one palm braced to the floor as heat licked up his spine. His breathing came in shallow, jagged bursts. The pain was overwhelming.

The pod lights flickered, flickered again – and held. Just barely.

The Hellfire was wrong.

Too sharp. Too unstable. It hissed beneath his skin like boiling glass – not the usual roar of controlled fury, but a needle-thin scream. A piercing note he couldn't mute. He could feel the power spilling from him in blue waves, rising off his shoulders in pulsing wisps. His hands weren't hands anymore – just gauntlets of flickering heat.

I can't hold this much... not like this.

His back hit the wall, shoulders twitching. Sweat rolled down his neck, but it evaporated before it reached his collar.

Kabe snarled.

The massive bear-guardian loomed protectively over Hana's twitching body, eyes fixed not on her – but on him.

A low, guttural growl built in Kabe's throat. His fur was bristling. Muscles rippled under his runic hide.

Max held up a hand, voice hoarse.

"I'm— no— I'm not turning. I swear—"

But even he wasn't sure.

The flame pulsed again – high, bright, wrong. And Kabe roared, rearing up. The sound rattled the chamber walls. Dust rained down from the rafters. A paw the size of a man's chest slammed into the floor just inches from Max's feet, claws carving furrows through steel.

"Kabe—!" Max started.

Then everything stopped.

Not movement. Momentum.

A presence entered the room – not loud, not explosive. Just… final. As if the moment itself surrendered to make space for her.

No footsteps. No fanfare.

Just stillness.

And with it – dread.

Max's head snapped toward the door. His vision blurred with heat and pain – but he saw her.

Small. Masked. Drenched in silence.

She stood just inside the threshold. Her black kimono barely stirred. Her golden eye gleamed beneath cracked porcelain. Her hands were empty.

She looked like nothing.

And Max felt his body prepare to die.

Kabe's head whipped toward her. The bear didn't snarl. Didn't roar. Just charged, launching himself forward in a blur of sacred fury. The ground split beneath his weight.

The demon moved.

Not fast.

Effortless.

She spun sideways, dragging one foot in a sweeping half-circle. Kabe's claws missed by inches – gouging stone. She backflipped, heels skimming Hana's hair, her body a shadow sliding through gaps that shouldn't exist.

Max tried to track her. Failed.

She landed beside Liz's pod.

Max's fire flared – instinct, reflex – a wall of blue erupting from both hands.

"Get away from her!"

The flames roared – too wide – and Max's eyes widened as they reached toward the pod.

No—!

He twisted, pulling the fire back. Half a second of hesitation.

The demon used it.

She slipped past the edge of the fire, using the pod as cover. Her foot tapped the chamber floor once. Twice.

Max turned, snarling – both fists glowing white-blue – and threw a punch that cracked the air.

But she was already behind him.

He pivoted— too slow.

A hand struck his chest – not a blow. A placement.

Fingers splayed, palm flat. Heat flared – not his.

Then—

click.

Porcelain kissed skin – then sank.

The glyphs hissed red. Veins of fire laced down his neck, branding his thoughts. A taste like ash and old blood filled his mouth – even though he hadn't opened it.

Max gasped.

And everything— burned white.

…………………

There was no sky.

No ground.

Only burning.

Max fell – but there was no motion, no gravity. Just weight. A crushing heat that pressed in from all directions, tighter with each breath. It didn't sear flesh. It seared thought. The Hellfire curled through his veins, not as power – but as judgement.

The world – if it could still be called that – pulsed like a wound.

There was no colour. Only variations of pain. Smoke that bled light. Cinders that whispered names.

His name.

"Liar."

"Monster."

"Dad."

A voice broke through the roar – Liz's voice, thin as wire, coiled with grief.

"Why weren't you there?"

Max turned – no, twisted – toward the sound. But his limbs didn't obey. His hands weren't hands anymore. They were ash wearing muscle. The bones remembered what he'd done.

"No," he rasped. "I—"

But the words didn't leave his mouth. The mask had no mouth. He reached up to claw at it, to tear it off – but his fingers sank straight into his cheeks, like the porcelain had already become him.

The fire around him pulsed.

Blue.

Then violet. Then black.

A void made of heat. A silence made of screams.

The air cracked, and his own voice echoed back at him – years old, but still bleeding.

"APRIL!"

It hit like a blow. A memory – not recalled, but dragged forward.

The black turned red.

Smoke peeled apart.

And suddenly—

—he was back.

Outside the house.

The flames were already licking the second floor. The air tasted like gasoline and drywall. Ash spiralled past his face.

And above – a scream.

April's scream.

He was outside.

She was in there.

His feet were frozen. His hands trembled. Firelight reflected off the windowpanes like eyes.

"MAX!"

Her voice cracked.

Max staggered forward, lungs refusing to fill, the sound of his heart like fists on metal.

Too late.

He was too late.

Again.

…………………

At first, it had been routine.

A call-out. A house fire. Suburban. No known casualties. No sirens in his ears yet, just the mechanical squawk of dispatch cutting in and out on his dash. Max was strapping on his gear with one hand, sipping cold coffee with the other. Until—

The address.

He didn't hear the rest. Didn't need to. The world dropped away. His helmet hit the passenger floor. The radio kept talking but none of it mattered.

That was his home.

He didn't wait for his crew. Didn't check protocol. He didn't breathe again until he hit the gas.

Tyres screamed. Red lights blurred past. He ran one, two, three intersections. His boots were half-laced. Jacket barely zipped. The whole way, one word rattled in his skull like a chain being pulled too tight:

April.

When he turned the corner onto his street, the heat slapped him before the visuals did. Then—

He saw it.

Flames curling from the upper windows. Smoke pouring from the roof like the house was exhaling something it couldn't hold. Neighbours shouting. Sirens wailing – but distant. Too distant.

And then he saw her.

Silhouetted in the upstairs window.

April.

She wasn't moving.

Time stopped. His legs didn't.

He ran. Slammed into the front door.

It didn't budge.

He hit it again.

Nothing.

Third time – it cracked. Splinters flew. The metal handle seared into his bare palm, but he didn't care. He kicked it open, staggered into the hallway – and stopped.

Because this wasn't home anymore.

Everything he loved had turned to black.

The hall was filled with choking smoke. The air stank – drywall, melted plastic, something worse. Family photos were bubbling under the heat. His boots crunched glass that used to be their wedding frame. He knew the layout by heart. Knew that April's scream had come from deeper inside – near the living room.

He tried to call her name, but his throat caught. The air was thick. Too thick.

A sharp crack overhead made him duck. Embers rained from the second floor. He turned – coughed – staggered past the kitchen, through smoke that felt like it had claws.

He found the door.

The living room door.

Closed. Hot. Warping under pressure.

He touched it. Screamed.

The skin of his palm peeled on contact.

Still, he kicked.

Once.

Twice.

The third time, it flew open – revealing hell.

The entire room was burning. The ceiling sagged inward. Bookshelves collapsed in slow motion. And pinned beneath a beam of burning timber—

April.

Her eyes found him.

Even now – bleeding, choking, half-crushed – she still looked at him like he was her world.

"MAX!" she coughed.

He didn't think.

He ran.

Each step felt like sinking into tar. His boots stuck to the burning floorboards. Heat pulsed from the walls. He should've been dead already. Should've hesitated. Should've waited for backup.

But she was there.

And he loved her more than anything.

Not the way people said it. Not in wedding vows or anniversary cards. It was messier than that. More fragile. More violent.

It was her laugh echoing through the kitchen at 2 a.m. as they slow-danced on the tiles with their socks half off.

It was the way she always bit her lip when reading – even texts. It was how she once held his hand during a funeral and whispered, "You don't have to fix it. Just stay."

It was her.

The only person who had ever seen through the fire and still called him gentle.

Max reached her.

Dropped to his knees beside her. Grabbed her shoulders. Her skin sloughed off where he touched her, half-charred – but he didn't flinch. Didn't let go.

"I've got you," he said. "I've got you, I've got you, I've—"

Too late.

Her eyes locked on his – wide, terrified, and forgiving all at once. One hand twitched toward his cheek.

The ceiling screamed – then gave way.

And the world collapsed.

He was pinned.

Buried in heat. His back screamed. Something inside him snapped – a rib, maybe two. April's body curled against his, limp.

His arms wouldn't move. Couldn't move.

He held her tighter anyway.

Her breath hitched once. Twice.

Stopped.

Max felt the moment she left him. Not because of silence – but because the fire got louder. As if the universe rushed in to fill the space she left behind.

He blinked.

Tears hissed away as they formed.

And then he broke.

"NO—!"

His scream tore out of him raw, part agony, part denial. "April, stay with me! Please— I'm here, I made it, I'm here—!"

Her eyes fluttered. Lips moved, but no sound came. The breath never reached him.

"I'm holding you! Don't go— you can't go!"

His arms wrapped tighter, even as the skin melted between them. Flesh blistered. Muscle tore. He was fusing to her. He didn't care.

"You said forever," he choked. "You said forever."

Flames licked the ceiling. His back split open. He couldn't move. Couldn't see. Couldn't feel anything except her weight against him and the fire devouring them both.

"God— no, please— I'm not enough without you—!"

He screamed until his throat blistered. Until his tears turned to steam. Until the heat made thought come apart.

But she was already gone.

And still— he didn't let go.

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