Morrin eventually regained domination over the fight. Being at the top of his grade wasn't just on paper; his physical power far surpassed Bryokun's, despite the latter's larger build. Morrin's alignment with his mark made him far more in tune with his demonic nature, and in this case, that meant pure, overwhelming physical prowess. In the end, that difference proved decisive. With one brutal twist, Morrin snapped Bryokun's neck, enough to kill a human instantly, but for a demon of Grade Two, it only meant unconsciousness and a painful recovery.

The arena went quiet. Bryokun's limp body hit the ground with a dull thud, victory sealed. Morrin spat on him. "Who's weak now, puta?"

Renny stepped in quickly, pulling him back. "That's enough. You've made your point."

Eryoma rushed to Bryokun's side, her expression fierce as she looked up at Morrin. "You're an animal. That's why I could never choose you!"

Morrin shouted, "Good! That's good! I'm a demon after all, right?! I'm not... I'm not a lover!"

Renny couldn't help but grin faintly, a thought flashing through his head—ouuu, that's what I'm talking about. As they turned to leave, he cast one last glance at Bryokun's unconscious form and Eryoma's furious glare.

***

It was the 14th of February, and rain poured down in heavy sheets, drumming against the rusted roof of an abandoned factory. Inside, Seraphine Velzira stood near a broken window, water seeping through the cracks as dim bulbs flickered overhead. Beside her stood another figure, face hidden beneath a dark hoodie and tracksuit, black shades obscuring any trace of light that might have revealed his features.

The stranger's voice broke the silence first, low, deliberate.

"How are preparations for Leila's soul extraction coming along?"

Seraphine straightened, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. "Well enough," she said.

The figure gave a short, quiet laugh. "You'd better hope he isn't pulling any of his tricks to delay the process. The royals are impatient; the faster you get this done for me, the sooner we can proceed with our main objective."

Seraphine's tone sharpened. "It'll be done. My current contract has kept me occupied, but I've been keeping tabs on him. The Ezraphor isn't doing anything out of the ordinary."

"Then for your own good," the shadowed voice replied, "pray that remains true. Leila was just as confident before she got tangled in the Ezraphor's webs… by the time she realized it, it was already too late."

Seraphine's eyes flared with irritation. "That could never be me. Leila had no foresight. She underestimated someone chosen to become the new Ezra. That's not me. I don't make that mistake."

The figure tilted his head slightly, the motion slow and deliberate. "Watch how you speak of Leila in my presence," he said, his tone calm.

Seraphine's jaw tightened; she bowed her head briefly. "My apologies. I meant no disrespect. I only meant to say, I won't make her mistakes."

The figure paused, the shadows over his hood shifting as if considering her words. "Better," he murmured at last.

After a few more exchanges, their brief meeting drew to a close, and Seraphine headed straight for the Soul Library. To fully focus on handling the Ezraphor, she first needed to remove an obstacle in her current contract—Commissioner Viktor Semyonov.

Semyonov was a senior trade commissioner overseeing the Oroshika–Veylan Trade Authority's high-value transit routes, and his soul wasn't unguarded. It was protected by a Tier-3 Soul Guard—a Reactor, the kind that materialized instantly and attacked without hesitation at the slightest hint of corruption. Getting close enough to plant seeds or exert influence on him had proven nearly impossible.

After months of failed attempts, Seraphine finally identified a weak link: Dmitri Makarov, Commissioner Semyonov's trusted liaison officer. He handled everything—Semyonov's private schedules, off-the-books meetings, and confidential memos. Conveniently, Dmitri's wife, Elena Makarov, lived entirely outside the Soul Guard's perimeter.

If Seraphine could acquire Elena's soul-key, she could use the woman as a conduit—subtly influencing Dmitri's thoughts, steering his actions, leaking information, or arranging "coincidences" that chipped away at Semyonov's defenses. It was the perfect indirect approach—corrupt the human network around the protected soul without ever triggering the Reactor.

Now, standing within the hushed expanse of the Soul Library, Seraphine scrolled through spectral archives until she located Elena's key. Her expression tightened. The record showed that it had recently been claimed by a beast, the worst possible scenario.

If the key had been held by an agent, she could have bargained for it. But a beast meant combat.

Still, Seraphine's resolve didn't waver. She'd handle this first, and once Elena's soul-key was hers, she could finally turn her full attention to the Ezraphor.

Hopefully, she thought grimly, the beast wasn't powerful enough to become a real inconvenience.

***

By the time Seraphine reached the pit, she had already crossed the Acheron and the Uzart, her path winding deeper into the underworld until she arrived at Drosvale. The fog there was as thick as ever, swirling like living mist around the broken streets.

Through the haze, faint cries rose, a group of limbomites stumbling toward her, shrieking for help. Seraphine barely slowed her pace. With effortless precision, she struck each one down, her heels cracking through bone and ash, before handing their writhing forms over to the pitters who followed behind.

As the pitters prepared to drag the creatures away for torment, Seraphine raised a hand. "Wait," she said coolly. "Where is Maeril?"

One of the pitters, a gaunt figure with molten eyes, bowed low. "When fog clear, house show itself, my lady. Only then yu can enter."

Seraphine nodded once, expression unreadable. "Fine. Then go," she said, her tone laced with quiet authority.

The pitters didn't hesitate; they vanished into the mist, their whips cracking as they drove the screaming limbomites ahead of them.

After a short wait, the fog finally thinned, peeling back to reveal the house the pitter had mentioned.

Seraphine started toward it, cutting through the long, miserable line that stretched to its doors. No one dared to stop her. Whispers rippled through the crowd — a demon, maybe… best not to interfere, some muttered, lowering their eyes.

When she reached the entrance, she shoved aside the limbomite at the front of the line. The creature began to protest until her demon eye flared, the dark markings crawling across her skin. Silence fell instantly. The limbomite dropped its gaze, trembling.

Seraphine turned to the guard. "Open the door."

They obeyed without question, hastily pulling it open for her.

The moment she stepped inside, she recoiled slightly, pinching her nose. "Ugh," she muttered, disgust twisting her face. "Can't believe people actually eat this filth."

From across the room, a voice called out, "Over here!" It was Maeril, waving from behind the counter. A pair of maids started toward Seraphine, but she stopped them with a glance. "Stay back," she said coolly. "I'm not here for you."

She walked straight to the counter, eyes sharp, and studied the beast before her. "You're Maeril?"

Maeril nodded, smiling politely. "Yes. What would you like to eat?"

Seraphine tilted her head, unamused. "I'm not here for your disgusting food," she said flatly. "I came for something else... a soul key that I believe is in your possession."

Her gaze dropped to the necklace hanging around Maeril's neck, eyes narrowing. "I believe that's the one," she said, gesturing toward it with a slight nudge of her chin.

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