Why are you here?
They traveled within the shadows for several minutes, the streets passing by in brief glimpses of distorted light and shifting darkness. When they finally reached their destination, the sensation of weightlessness faded as they appeared inside Hot Stuff, the glow of the lights casting long shadows across the room.
Thunk!
The first thing that greeted them was a flying object—a small device hurtling straight toward them.
Smack!
Zora yelped as the phone nailed her in the face.
"AH! WHAT THE HELL?!" she shouted, staggering back as she clutched her nose. Her tail flicked wildly, every bristle on end as she glared daggers at the offender.
Across the counter, Samīr—the Durin responsible—winced, scratching his cheek with a sheepish expression. "Ah... my bad?"
Zora exhaled sharply, crossing her arms with a scowl. "Hmph."
Before she could retaliate, another voice chimed in from the hallway.
"Hello!"
A familiar presence emerged—Amīrah.
Her gaze immediately locked onto Zora, and the moment she saw the flicking tail and slightly puffed-up fur, her eyes lit up with unfiltered joy.
"Ahhh~!" she beamed, closing the distance in an instant before grabbing Zora, lifting her effortlessly like she was nothing more than a stuffed toy.
"L-Let go of me! TOO...STRONG!"
Zora struggled against the Anasan grip, but it was no use.
Amīrah rubbed her cheek against her face like a delighted child, completely unfazed by the squirming. "You'll understand when you live in a town like this… hehe~!" she cooed, the warmth in her voice completely betraying the state of the store.
Zora let out a defeated groan as her tail flopped lifelessly against Amīrah's shoulder. It was over. She had lost.
Only when Amīrah was fully satisfied did she finally set her down.
The moment her feet touched the ground, Zora vanished into the shadows, reappearing behind Seraniti, only her eyes and ears peeking out from over her shoulder.
One ear twitched.
Seraniti sighed. "You're ridiculous."
The store looked almost the same as last time—except for the fact that most of the equipment was missing. What few items remained were scattered across the shelves, leaving gaping spaces where crates and stocked walls had once stood.
"So, old man—" Seraniti's voice broke the silence as she rested her palm against the counter. "Is it done?"
Samīr grunted, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "It's bein' cleaned, but yeah. Finished already."
Her eyes flickered toward him, casually scanning him over—then stopped as she stared at the scar across his cheek.
One that hadn't been there two days ago.
Zora noticed it too. "What happened to you?"
Her tail instinctively wrapped around Seraniti's wrist, coiling slightly in a subconscious gesture of alertness.
Samīr blinked before glancing at his own reflection in the smudged glass of a nearby display case. He barely reacted, shrugging his shoulders like he had forgotten about it entirely.
"Ah? Oh, some fool wanted free stuff. Yellin' turned to fightin', and then I killed him." He nodded to himself, as if reviewing the event like a mundane occurrence in his schedule.
A screen flickered in front of him, floating just above his arm as he swiped through data. He turned toward the hallway, his voice completely flat as he continued.
"Wasn't the first time he tried it. But look at him now. In a body bag, about to be cremated and sold to some crazy old man."
Seraniti hummed in response.
She wasn't some innocent lamb pretending not to understand how things worked. She had put people in body bags before. Some deserved it and some didn't. Some had names. Some didn't.
And some—some were people she had once considered important.
Back when she had been naïve. Back when she had still thought that the right choice always existed.
Amīrah, still standing near the counter, let out a small chuckle, her expression lighthearted—but her gaze flickered with something crazy!
Zora, however, was less amused.
Her tail tightened slightly around Seraniti's wrist, a visible reaction to pure despair as she shook with a creeped out expression.
"You really sold him off like that?" she asked, her voice flat with disbelief.
Samīr raised a brow. "Why wouldn't I?"
Zora let out a long, dramatic sigh as she pulled her tail free, rubbing her forehead like she had just lost faith in Humanvmy. "You're all crazy."
Amīrah giggled, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement. "You'll get used to it, kitty."
Zora had a look of unhidden disgust as her ears flicked sideways.
"I hate it here."
Seraniti ignored them both, her focus shifting entirely to Amīrah as the woman reached beneath the counter. A moment later, she placed a small metal tray on the surface—neatly arranged and gleaming under the lights.
Resting on the tray was her gun, freshly maintained, along with four magazines and a few extra pieces of equipment.
Seraniti's fingers brushed over the weapon first, tracing its surface, her touch methodical as she checked for any imperfections.
The Durin, Samīr, returned from the back, two floating screens following behind him.
The screens drifted toward her as she regained control. Lines of information flashed across her vision alongside a diagnostic startup.
"Oh?"
She frowned slightly as new information popped up—details that hadn't been there before.
Her gaze flickered toward the smaller one of the two. It resembled her primary screen, but the design had been changed. And the obvious
Instead of the single pouch her original setup had, this one had two.
She flicked her wrist, prompting the box to rotate in place, putting on a small, simple demonstration. The first thing she noticed was how the panels slightly protruded, revealing compartments beneath the surface.
The first pouch had enough room to hold her magazines, a large box of ammunition, and a collapsible baton—convenient even. The second was more flexible, capable of carrying two extra magazines, small items, a few knife, and rations.
"Thought you'd like it." Samīr grunted as he leaned against the counter, watching her reaction.
Seraniti tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as she inspected the device further.
The demonstration shifted, showing the full extent of the panels. Altogether, the compartments could securely store two handguns and six pieces of additional equipment.
"You just had to add more space for guns, huh?"
Samīr shrugged. "Figured you'd complain if I didn't."
Seraniti hummed in response, running her fingers along the edges of the protruding panels.
Her gaze drifted toward the shekel, its surface partially concealed beneath a protective cloth meant to shield it from the elements. The same cloth that covered where her axe would hang, resting just beside the extraction strap. A moment of contemplation flickered across her expression before she gestured toward it.
"Would I ever actually need to use one?" she asked, voice tinged with curiosity rather than doubt.
"Nah," the Durin answered with a nonchalant shrug, his fingers tapping idly against the counter. "But better safe than sorry, no?"
Seraniti gave a faint, knowing hum in return. Before she could think too hard about it, she flicked her wrist toward Zora, who effortlessly plucked the item from sight, disappearing it into the shadows as if it had never been there in the first place.
Shifting her attention back to the other screen—the box—the raised symbol on its surface caught her eye. It spun slowly, putting itself with her line of sight like it was waiting to be acknowledged.
"If you're wondering about the symbol," the Durin started, noticing her gaze, "it's the horns of the Qilin—one of the Fehemah. The pride of Yansu, though they took their fair share of suffering from the other Fehemah because of it."
Zora's tail tightened slightly around Seraniti's wrist, the gentle squeeze pulling her from her thoughts. "Oi, cat," Seraniti muttered, amusement dancing in her voice. "Falling asleep on your feet already?"
Zora, ears twitching at the sound of her voice, let out a slow, deliberate sigh. "Shut up." she whispered back, her head lazily pressing against Seraniti's shoulder.
Seraniti snickered but didn't push further. Her gaze returned to the design—it was simple, yet unmistakable, one that carried the pride of it. The country led by the Chieftain, the one who had single-handedly established the modern calendar of the common era just under two thousand years ago.
The House of Yansu—proud, ambitious—had, in their own arrogance, sought to control the Fehemah, only to fail spectacularly. That failure had resulted in the Long Expedition, a thousand-year war that nearly bled the country dry.
"They did manage to splinter it, though," she muttered under her breath. "So I guess, in a way, it's a win. The remaining Fehemah fled to the Wuste, and founded Outlon. Means enclosure or some shit."
Zora, still half-listening in her drowsy state, yawned. "This is all very tragic, but unless that Fehemah symbol is going to buy me breakfast, I don't care."
Seraniti smiled softly which didn't match her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "You only know of the twenty, right? The ones that survived?"
Zora lifted her head slightly, blinking slowly as if recalling the information. "Apart from the four that were killed in the war, yeah."
The Durin, who had been idly staring at the ceiling, exhaled thoughtfully before Amīrah, who had been unusually quiet until now, finally spoke up.
"Hmm," she mused, voice light but laced with knowing. "They're saying a good portion of them moved to the other plates, but no one really knows how many still exist. They're preservers, after all."
Zora let out a low hum, her tail still loosely curled around Seraniti's wrist. "Sounds like someone else's problem."
Seraniti grabbed her gun, the familiar weight settling in her palm before a thought struck her. She glanced at the floating screen, tilting her head as an idea formed.
"Ahh… they need names."
She squinted, rubbing her chin in deep thought before a smug grin stretched across her lips.
"Uhh… this one can be called Mr. Nothing, and the other one can be called Mr. Nobody!"
She puffed up her chest, rubbing her nose with unearned pride, clearly pleased with herself.
Amīrah and Samīr, however, only let out a long, tired sigh.
Seraniti coughed, pretending she hadn't just been judged before tugging lightly on Zora's tail, her fingers still loosely wrapped around it.
"AOU!?"
Zora jerked forward, a sharp jolt of electricity running up her spine. Her ears shot forward, her entire body tensing as she whirled around, blushing as a single tear threatened to form in her eye.
"WHAT THE HELL, MASHAA!"
She stumbled back, yanking her tail free as if she had just been violated, eyes wide in betrayal.
Seraniti smiled innocently, thoroughly entertained, watching as Zora huffed before swiftly shoving Mr. Nothing into the shadows—only for Mr. Nobody to immediately pop out in its place like a magic trick.
Seraniti paused, watching as the main panel on Mr. Nobody turned slightly before popping a bit more.
"Huh. That's new."
She brushed it off just as quickly, turning her attention toward Samīr.
"You got any nine?"
"Nine mil? Yeah, hold on."
Samīr ducked under the counter, rummaging through the storage as Amīrah walked up with a different box, flipping it open to reveal a selection of weapons—knives, collapsible batons, and a few other useful things.
Seraniti immediately reached forward, plucking out one baton and two knives, testing their weight before nodding in approval.
"I'll take this, this… and this."
Amīrah raised an eyebrow but said nothing, watching as Seraniti casually tucked them into her pouches like they were nothing more than spare change.
Samīr resurfaced a second later, sliding a box across the counter.
"Here ya go—box of five hundred, alongside sixty-three rounds and two extra magazines."
Seraniti grabbed the box, feeling its solid structure—plastic, but durable enough to take a few hits before cracking. She quickly set to work, fingers moving with practiced efficiency as she refilled all seven magazines, the click of rounds sliding into place filling the air.
Once she was done, she chambered a magazine into her gun before turning to the all-important question.
"How much?"
Samīr started counting, tapping his fingers against the counter.
"Hundred seventy for the rounds, sixty for the two knives, forty-five for the baton… so two hundred seventy-five."
Seraniti didn't bat an eye.
Her eyes glowed, the transaction finalizing in an instant as a receipt materialized in her vision.
Without missing a beat, she tucked the remaining magazines into their respective pouches, placed the box into its carrier, and secured the knives and baton in their slots.
Zora, still rubbing her tail with a mild pout, huffed dramatically. "You could have just asked me to move my tail, Mashaa."
Seraniti simply rolled her shoulders as she plopped her gun on the panel before it slid back in place. "Where's the fun in that?" She then grabbed her axe before clipping it to the shekel, the cloths allying pressure as it locked in place.
Mr. Nobody was swallowed by a shifting silhouette, disappearing into the darkness as if it had never existed. Seraniti and Zora didn't linger either—one final glance before they, too, vanished into the shadows.
They traveled in silence for a while, their conversation only breaking the quiet as they approached the battlefield from a day or two ago.
When they emerged from the alley, Zora's palm lifted toward Sekitsui—its massive, vertebrae-like body twitched in response, the shadow beneath its bony mass stretching outward before consuming it whole.
"What the FUCK!?"
The reaction was instant.
A chorus of startled yelps rang out as several people who had been studying it, fell straight onto their asses, wide-eyed and scrambling back in disbelief.
"They're quick to examine it, huh?" Zora mused, barely suppressing a snicker. "WELP!"
She was about to spin on her heel and walk away when a sharp voice cut through the commotion.
"The FUCK'S A BANSHEE DOIN' HERE?!"
Seraniti turned just in time to see a young man—his sword-like ΜΙСΛ aimed directly at her, his expression twisted in pure hostility.
His words grated against her nerves, something deep inside her stirring as a vein pulsed at her temple.
Her own eyes—already dulled with exhaustion and misery—gained a sharp, dangerous glint.
"What do you know, kid?"
The air grew thick. The tension in the atmosphere coiled tighter as more people turned to watch.
The massive stone arm still stood in place, gripping the pillar that had been forced into the adjacent building. The scene was already chaotic enough, but something about her response ticked him off further.
His ΜΙСΛ chimed.
"I'LL KILL ALL YOU DE—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Zora vanished.
In less than a blink, she appeared directly beneath his shadow—her presence looming, one hand snapping up toward his head.
Her hair veiled one of her eyes as she grabbed the back of his skull and yanked him backward.
A strangled gasp left his lips as his ΜΙСΛ clattered to the ground.
"UNHAND ME!"
His hands clawed at the air, struggling for purchase as he tried to resist.
Zora wasn't interested in negotiations. Her grip tightened as she seized his wrist, twisting it toward herself.
"Shut up. Weakling."
His struggling intensified.
"I AM NO WEAKLING!"
"Then stop struggling like one."
Zora pulled harder, the shadows locking his feet in place as he writhed against them.
"JUDDDDD!"
A voice boomed across the street, rattling the air like a shockwave. A group of fifteen emerged from a nearby building.
At the head of them was a Perro—his presence carrying the weight of someone who expected to be listened to.
His sharp gaze snapped toward them, his expression immediately souring the moment he laid eyes on Seraniti.
"AND YOU!" he barked, his arm thrusting forward as he pointed straight at her with an ill expression."Did that woman send you here, huh?!"
Seraniti frowned.
"HAH? The fuck you talkin' about?!"
The mood shifted.
The tension coiled even tighter as magicules leaked from Seraniti's body, a warning—an unconscious response to her growing irritation.
The Perro's glare darkened.
"OH, I THINK YOU DO!" he snarled. "Red hands, circles in her eyes, gothic-ass attire!"
Seraniti stilled.
A slow shift passed over her as more manas slipped from her form.
"Keep your mouth shut!"
The weight of her words split the air, sending a ripple of unease through the crowd.
The moment was poised on the edge of something ugly.
Until—
"SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU HOT-HEADED BROTHER OF MINEEEEE!"
A second voice exploded into the scene, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a thunderclap.
Before the Perro could react, a blow landed at the back of his head with a crack, sending him stumbling forward, his skull bouncing off the ground with a dull thud before he caught himself.
All heads turned.
Standing behind him—completely unfazed—was none other than the Maid Knight, Ĉiela.
She was smiling. This maid knight also had her own quirk it seemed.
"Hello there, little knight and little Sera!" she greeted, one finger placed innocently against her cheek. "No need for such scary eyes now… okay?"
Seraniti said nothing. But she also didn't attack.
Zora, however—
"Tch."
She shoved the young man away with little effort, sending him face-first into the dirt. The human named Jud stayed silent as he went unconscious.
"Weakling."
The Perro on the other hand, groaned while pushing himself up—only for a dot in the sky to bigger, hovering ominously for a single second before slamming into his back, forcing him flat against the pavement.
He let out a pained grunt.
Seraniti exhaled slowly, eyes flicking toward the surrounding onlookers.
A good handful of them had their weapons raised. The tension in the air was thick, an almost tangible weight pressing down on the street. The battlefield had long since quieted, but the hostility never faded.
"Zora."
At the behest of her mashaa, Zora appeared next to Seraniti in an instant, her feline ears twitching as she scanned their surroundings. The menacing glances from the crowd weren't unfamiliar—resentment, caution, barely restrained aggression. They had seen worse.
Ĉiela, meanwhile, pressed her boot against the Perro's head with a casual stomp, the weight of her screen sinking into his spine with a satisfying crunch.
"Even if you're adopted, I will still discipline you, boy!" she chided, shaking her head as if disappointed.
The Perro gritted his teeth, but any attempt at resistance was crushed under the sheer strength behind her boot. A moment later, a small
The way her manas looked, however, drew more than a few stares. Some averted their gazes, while others looked on in with thin unease.
Seraniti watched silently, taking note of how people shifted uncomfortably at the sight of the girl. Before she could speak, Ĉiela tilted her head, her voice echoed as she looked at her neck.
"Ahh… you're a casket too, huh, little Sera..."
Seraniti's expression didn't shift, but her fingers curled slightly.
Ĉiela's tail flicked into view, patches of black streaked with brown. The brief, ugly silence that followed was all too familiar.
"You'll get used to it, okay?" Ĉiela's voice remained gentle but with a stained smile. A thumping heart materialized behind her for just a moment—its surface shifting, screaming faces pressing against it before they faded into nothingness.
Liar...
Seraniti inhaled through her nose before exhaling slowly. Her eyes, though still heavy with exhaustion, darkened in disappointment as she turned away. Even when she looked back at Ĉiela, the hostility had drained from her expression—her eyes stayed the same.
"So what's with the
One of the researchers examining the vertebrae-like remains of Sekitsui coughed, as if only just remembering they were being watched. "Ahem. Uh... She was a Rebbah at one point, as you can tell, and the bones on her head—if you will—appeared when she was ten. She'll be two hundred and fifteen in a month, and, well… she outlived her family."
Seraniti barely reacted, as if the information wasn't surprising. She supposed it wasn't.
She had seen enough tough luck stories to last her a lifetime.
Her gaze flicked toward the girl again, but she didn't say anything—just stored the information away in the recesses of her mind. She doubted it would be the last time she'd see something like this.