[Volume 1 | Chapter 36: Schweißhund]

He ran. He ran as fast as he ever did in his life, for he was practically naked in a vast clearing.

The moon cast weak light across exposed ground, offering neither shadow nor shelter between him and the warehouse complex. In the oppressive silence, each footfall felt like a thunderclap, sending jolts of pain through his still-healing ribs. Nothing stood between the gate and the building except bare earth and terrible possibility.

But Acacia Belmont had learned long ago that sometimes the only defenses in this situation were speed and stealth.

Thirty meters to the storage building.

His mind calculated distances automatically, the same way it had learned to do in Ocarina's streets. Above, perched in a tree that overlooked the complex, Leila waited with Novascope trained on windows and doorways. She released the Mystic Gear out of a cube from her pocket, the cube being yet another Mystic Gear that stored the spell formula for a Barrier Type containment spell that could store sizeable equipment. They'd argued about this plan—her emerald eyes blazing as she'd listed all the ways it could go wrong. But in the end, they'd both known: someone had to cross that killing ground, and it couldn't be her. Her Empyrean was their only chance of detecting Nemesis before he struck.

Twenty meters.

The distance seemed to stretch like rubber bands, each stride covering less ground than it should. His lungs burned—not from exertion, but from the oppressive weight of the Bounded Field that blanketed the complex. Even for an Irregular, the density of twisted prana in the air made breathing feel like drowning.

Ten meters.

The storage building's door stood before him, a featureless metal slab in the darkness. No handle on this side—just a simple push-bar mechanism. Standard emergency exit design, meant to allow quick evacuation. His hands reached for it—

And it opened, and he quickly closed it.

The stench hit him first.

Not decay—something worse. The air carried a sickly-sweet emptiness, like walking into a room where all the oxygen had been replaced with void. His eyes took precious seconds to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, the memories came rushing back.

Litore burning.

Bodies. Dozens of them arranged in neat rows against the walls like discarded dolls. Just as they had been arranged that night, lined up by their killers with mechanical precision. At first glance, they appeared dead—skin pale and waxy under the dim emergency lights, limbs arranged at unnatural angles. But then he saw their eyes. Every single one was open, staring at nothing with pupils dilated to perfect circles. Their chests rose and fell with shallow, mechanical breaths that seemed to take more effort than they should.

Just they all looked, propped against those burning settlements, mouths moving without sound.

These weren't corpses. They were husks.

Each victim had been stripped not just of power, but of something more fundamental. Their skin had a translucent quality, like paper held up to light, showing blue-black veins that pulsed with terrible slowness. Some of them twitched occasionally, their fingers moving in patterns that might have been attempts to cast spells, might have been prayers, might have been pleas for help that their bodies no longer had the strength to voice.

The same helpless gestures his family had made as they burned, reaching for aid that never came.

His heart hammered against his ribs, a war drum of remembered terror. The room seemed to twist, overlaying present horror with past trauma until he couldn't tell which screams were memory and which were imagination. Every face before him became a face from that night—neighbors, friends, family, all arranged in their final poses by those who had deemed their existence unnecessary. Their Mystic Gears lay scattered in a corner, stripped of purpose just like their owners. He recognized the standard-issue Contenders of security personnel mixed with civilian devices—all of them now just expensive paperweights without prana to power them.

Like the protective charms and wards that had failed that night, reduced to ash alongside their bearers.

One of the victims—a woman in a maintenance uniform—turned her head toward him with agonizing slowness. Her mouth moved, forming words that carried no sound. But he could read her lips clearly enough:

Run.

"Stop…"

Run.

"...P-Please don't look at me."

Run.

"S-Stop! Don't look at me!"

Run.

Just as his mother had mouthed with her final breath.

"Get away—"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The voice came from behind him, carrying all the warmth of a winter grave.

The force hit him before he could turn.

One moment Acacia stood frozen in that room of living death, the next he was airborne—launched through the doorway as if gravity itself had rejected him. The world became a blur of motion and screaming air. His body tumbled end over end, helpless as a leaf in a hurricane, every rotation bringing the unforgiving ground closer.

Ah, this is how I die.

The thought came with strange clarity as the earth rushed up to meet him. At this speed, the impact would reduce him to—

"[Claustra]!"

Blue light erupted behind him.

The barrier spell materialized like a wall of solid prana, catching him with bone-jarring force. Instead of becoming a red smear across the complex grounds, he hit the cushion of data fortification at an angle that dispersed some of his momentum. Pain still lanced through every nerve as he bounced and rolled, but he was alive.

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Leila.

She landed beside him. Her eyes were already scanning for threats as Novascope assembled itself from its compressed state while her Contender was strapped to her side. The massive rifle seemed to drink in what little moonlight reached the complex grounds.

"You alright?" She didn't look at him as she spoke.

"Define alright," Acacia managed through gritted teeth, forcing himself to his feet despite protests from what felt like every muscle in his body. Nothing seemed broken—a miracle given the force behind that casual dismissal. He glanced at Leila, noting the way she held her rifle steady, ready to fire without a moment's hesitation.

A figure emerged from the doorway.

Nemesis stepped into the moonlight like a predator shedding its camouflage. His white hair caught what little illumination filtered through Windsor's perpetual haze, creating a halo effect that only emphasized the blood-red gleam of his eyes. He moved with the casual grace of someone who knew they held absolute control of the situation.

"I must admit," he spoke as if continuing a pleasant conversation, "I expected Dora to figure it out sooner. But sending Jack and Jill to do her dirty work? That's not like her at all." A smile that held no warmth crossed his features.

"We came on our own." Leila's voice remained steady as she kept Novascope trained on his center mass. Her finger rested beside the trigger, not on it—a professional's discipline even in the face of terror.

"Did you now?" Nemesis's gaze shifted to Acacia, who had managed to straighten despite the tremors still running through his body. "And what exactly did you hope to accomplish? Save the hostages? Stop my grand plan?" His smile widened fractionally. "Or perhaps you thought you could match wits with me, little Irregular?"

"We don't care about your damn plans." The words came out harsher than Acacia had intended, but he found that he meant every one of them. His memories were still vivid—the faces of those hostages burned into his vision. "...We won't let you hurt anyone else."

Nemesis laughed—a genuine sound of amusement that sent chills down both of their spines.

"Oh? And what makes you think—"

Leila's finger moved.

[Grilletto].

The laser-like spell of destruction crossed the distance between them in less time than it takes to draw breath. At that range, with Leila's Empyrean guiding her aim, it should have been impossible to dodge.

Nemesis didn't move.

[Grilletto] struck his shoulder with perfect accuracy—and refused to pierce. The light rippled like heat waves rising from summer asphalt as it disseminated into particles in the air.

"Interesting." He studied the point where the spell had struck.

There was a clear miniscule hole where fabric once was, but his skin was absolutely unscathed.

"You calibrated that based on what you learned from hitting Apollo, didn't you? Adjusted the penetrative force, compensated for biological resistance. Brilliant work. Your father would be proud."

Leila's only response was to fire again. And again. And again.

Each [Grilletto] attempted to pierce Nemesis's form, targeting vital points with methodical thoroughness. Each shot nulled out. He didn't even bother to move, simply standing there as death manifested as light proved unable to pierce him.

"You see," he continued conversationally as she fired, as if they were discussing physics over tea, "that's the problem with you geniuses. You get so caught up in the elegance of your solutions that you forget to ask the most basic question." He raised one hand, and suddenly the air felt heavy. "What happens when your preconceptions meet something that simply doesn't play by the rules and you're forced to adapt in the moment?"

The ground beneath their feet trembled.

The tremors grew stronger, spreading outward from where Nemesis stood like ripples in a pond made of stone. Small fragments of concrete began to lift from the ground, hovering in defiance of gravity. The air itself seemed to thicken, becoming dense with prana that even Acacia could feel pressing against his skin like ice-cold needles.

"Let me show you," Nemesis spoke with the same pleasant tone, but now an edge of something else crept into his voice.

He took a single step forward, and reality shuddered.

The concrete beneath his foot didn't just crack—it imploded, creating a perfect circle of devastation as if that single point of contact had become the center of a localized singularity. The floating debris shot outward like shrapnel, moving with such force that they left trails of superheated air in their wake.

Absent vocalization, he cast a Base Order spell—[Terrapina]. Acacia's eyes widened. He hadn't even seen him cast a spell. It had just happened. The concept of vocalizing the Aria was nonexistent.

"[Claustra]! [Gran Claustra]!" Leila's barriers materialized rapdily, but even her doubled defense couldn't fully stop the onslaught. Fragments of stone pierced through both walls of prana like bullets through paper, forcing them to dive in opposite directions.

"Quick thinking," Nemesis commented as they rolled to their feet. "But tell me something—"

His foot came down again.

Another step, another rupture in the fabric of reality. This time the ground didn't just crack—it liquefied, turning solid concrete smoother. The heat alone should have been unbearable, yet Nemesis stood in the center of this geological nightmare as if taking an evening stroll.

"Did you really think your little Mystic Gear could hurt someone like me? Someone who helped your daddy test a bunch of prototypes? Someone who fought in war and killed hundreds of thousands of enemies?"

Leila fired another round. But Nemesis just flicked his fingers, and the spell was deflected into the night sky. But before she could complete the transformation, Nemesis was simply there, beside her, moving with speed that made her [Flux] look glacial. His hand reached for her throat—

And a pole intervened.

Acacia threw himself forward without thinking. He swung a steel pole that the Bloodhound had displaced with his tremors. It was a desperate move, driven more by instinct than strategy. His ribs screamed in protest as he pivoted, putting the full weight of his body behind the blow. It connected with a satisfying sound—but Nemesis didn't even flinch. Smashing against his forearm, the pole literally dented, bending around the point of impact before crumpling into scrap.

W-What?

Nemesis raised an eyebrow, regarding him with detached amusement.

"Really, Irregular?" he chided as if scolding a child for some minor indiscretion. "You think you can stop me with sticks and stones? After everything you've seen me do, that's the best you can muster?" He shook his head. "Didn't your mom tell—"

A loud electric sound echoed across the grounds. Nemesis staggered backward, clutching his chest where a blast hole appeared in his coat. Behind him, Leila stood with her Contender aimed at his heart. She fired at point-blank range Gran Prana Burst.

For a single heartbeat, silence reigned.

The blast had torn through Nemesis's coat like tissue paper, leaving a perfectly circular hole that smoldered at the edges. A thin trail of smoke rose from the point of impact, carrying with it the acrid scent of burned fabric and something else—something that smelled like copper and ozone.

Blood.

Nemesis looked down at the wound with an expression that might have been surprise. His hand came away from his chest stained red. It was not much, barely more than a graze, but a small bruise nonetheless. Those crimson eyes widened fractionally, then narrowed with something that might have been akin to respect.

"Oh, I underestimated you," he said as he wiped away the blood from his chest. He inclined his head toward Leila in what could have been a mocking bow or sincere admiration—it was impossible to tell which. "Not many can make me bruise."

He [Fluxed] backwards and landed a few meters away from the duo. His gaze swept over Leila, taking in her stance, the weapon, and the determination written across her features. Then he let out a low chuckle—a sound utterly at odds with the situation. It started softly but grew louder until it echoed across the empty warehouse complex like the laugh of a lunatic.

"Well, I guess I should release it." Nemesis tapped his temple.

Leila's eyes widened, her Empyrean tracing the connections of prana that Nemesis was amplifying. The complexity, magnitude, and sheer insanity of what she was witnessing overwhelmed her senses. She felt her vision blurring, the world spinning around her as reality seemed to distort under the weight of his prana.

"Ars Magna—"

The apotheosis of Thaumaturgy.

"«Deathblossom»."

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