3. Not breathing anymore

That night was too quiet for a heart that raged. Alexander walked quickly, almost running, leaving the hall with his chest in turmoil. His breath was ragged, his mind chaotic, his heart gripped by an invisible shackle of worry. His brother's figure had vanished without a trace, and in every shadow dancing along the corridor, he hoped to find an answer.

We chased after him, following his slumped back that was still forced upright, as if refusing to surrender to the despair that began to consume him.

"Alexander!!!"

Feldard shouted, his voice shaking the frozen air, trying to stop steps that refused to halt. But the bond of blood was stronger than anyone's call. Alexander kept moving forward, shouting a name etched into his soul, echoing through every corner of the walls he passed.

"Dante!!! Dante!!!"

His call nearly tore through the night, sharp and piercing, stabbing deep into the heart. His voice trembled, not just from exhaustion but from a fear he could not hide. His knees weakened, but he forced his legs to keep moving, running even as his body trembled violently.

Feldard finally managed to grab his shoulder, his grip firm, as if trying to hold back a world that was about to collapse on Alexander.

"Calm yourself!!!"

His shout was like lightning splitting the night sky, sharp and jolting, pulling Alexander out of the whirlpool of panic that nearly swallowed him whole.

Alexander's body weakened instantly. His breath came in gasps, his eyes shook, staring at the floor as if the answers lay hidden there. A sob caught in his throat, his chest rising and falling uncontrollably.

Silence enveloped us all.

No one spoke, no one moved. We just stood there, letting time absorb the sorrow and anxiety hanging in the air.

The dark corridors stretched ahead of us, like an open maw ready to swallow hope. Our footsteps echoed between the cold walls, moving forward even as our bodies grew weary, even as fear gripped our chests. We opened door after door in haste, uncovering shadows that never answered, letting our gazes consume the emptiness that became more agonizing. We no longer cared for our own lives because at this moment, only one thing filled our minds. Dante.

We had searched almost every corridor, climbed the stairs, explored every floor with labored breaths, yet Dante was nowhere to be found. His figure seemed to have vanished, as if time itself had swallowed his existence without a trace.

The third floor.

We walked along its passage with unsteady caution. Our bodies grew weaker, our eyes began to lose their light, but we did not stop. Not now. Not while Dante was still out there somewhere.

Then, amidst the suffocating silence, between the shadows clinging to the walls, we saw him.

The silhouette of a man stood at the end of the corridor, his body tense, his eyes searching for something in the darkness. The dim light from the window made his face clear. Mr. Damian.

His gaze was wild, not just restless, but full of desperation. He looked like a man who had exhausted all his strength, someone trapped in a fear he could not put into words.

"What are you doing here?"

His deep voice echoed in the corridor, slightly trembling, yet still firm. "This place is very dangerous. You need to go back."

But beneath that firmness, there was something deeper, weariness hanging at the edge of his words. A fear creeping across his face, one he could not even hide.

"We're looking for Dante, sir."

My voice broke through the cold air. I tried to steady my racing heart, tried to push away the anxiety gnawing at me. "Have you seen him?"

Mr. Damian froze in place, his eyes clouded by his own thoughts. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

In an instant, our world seemed to collapse.

The hope that had clung to the tips of our fingers now slipped away, falling into an abyss of emptiness. Our knees weakened, but we refused to sink into this reality. Not now. Not while Dante still needed to be found.

In the suffocating air, Saphta finally spoke.

"What happened to the police, sir?"

His voice was quieter than usual, like the last fragment of fading trust.

Mr. Damian fell silent. The stillness stretched between us, tightening like a rope slowly constricting. Then, in a near whisper, he answered.

"When I went to bring the officers some snacks, I saw blood everywhere."

We held our breath.

"The blood was thick, dark red, staining the floor and walls. But…"

Mr. Damian took a shaky breath, his voice growing hoarser, as if every word he spoke tore at his throat.

"I didn't find anything."

Our chests tightened even further.

"There were no bodies. No traces of them. As if they vanished completely, leaving nothing behind but blood."

In that moment, the cold in the corridor grew sharper. We could feel the fear creeping into our bones, whispering dreadful possibilities into our minds.

Mr. Damian swallowed hard, his face growing paler, his eyes darker. Then, as if realizing something even worse, he asked.

"What happened to Dante?"

I looked at him with nearly empty eyes, with a heart that could no longer form words with composure.

"It's a long story, sir."

The words slipped out hastily, almost beyond control.

"We have to find him."

Our steps quickened as we navigated the corridors, now thick with the shadows of uncertainty. Our breaths were ragged, our chests tight, as if the air itself refused to be on our side. Sweat trickled down our temples, mirroring the fear creeping into our hearts. We searched, but so far, all we had found was emptiness.

Dante. The police officers.

They seemed to have been swallowed by an unseen darkness, vanishing without a trace, without a sign we could decipher. There were no clues, only instinct guiding us, leading us through every corner and crevice, room after room that felt more suffocating as time passed.

Despair crawled up our spines, whispering possibilities we did not want to acknowledge. No light, no answers, only silence pressing in, growing heavier with each passing moment. Yet ahead of us, Alexander kept moving forward with unwavering determination, though inside his chest, a storm of anxieties raged.

"We've searched everywhere, but we haven't found anything."

Revika's voice broke the silence, hanging in the air that had grown unbearably heavy. Her breathing was uneven, her face pale, exhaustion and worry clearly etched in her eyes.

"I think we missed one place."

Petra's voice was barely more than a murmur, almost drowned in the oppressive stillness, yet her words struck us like a revelation. We all froze, minds racing, realizing there might indeed be a place we had overlooked. A hidden corner, a forgotten space.

And now, we stood before the old library, long abandoned and untouched.

The air around us shifted, becoming denser, darker. Something unseen yet unmistakable slithered through the atmosphere, pressing against our chests as if urging us to turn back.

Mr. Damian swallowed hard. His hand reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone as he dialed several staff members, hoping to find someone who still had the key to this place.

Time seemed to stretch unbearably. Each second dragged on like an eternity.

Then, footsteps echoed down the hallway. The school staff arrived, carrying the key that had kept whatever lay behind this door hidden for so long.

Mr. Damian clutched the key tightly, his fingers trembling as he finally inserted it into the lock. His breath came short and sharp, as if something inside him was screaming not to go through with this. But the door swung open.

And in that instant, the overwhelming stench of blood flooded out, slamming into our senses like a brutal force.

We immediately covered our noses, struggling against the nausea rising in our throats. The metallic tang filled the air, suffocating, yet our eyes remained blind to its source.

Slowly, cautiously, we stepped inside, letting our gazes sweep across the vast, dust-laden library. Towering bookshelves loomed over us, silent witnesses to whatever had transpired in this place.

And there, on one of the walls, we saw it. A symbol.

A broken chain, drawn in thick, dark ink, standing stark against the worn-out wall. It exuded an inexplicable unease, as if something lurked behind it, something more than just a mere scribble.

We moved closer, each step deliberate, letting the suffocating silence bear witness to our discovery. The sickening scent grew stronger, more pungent, twisting our stomachs with unease.

"There does not seem to be anything here," Mr. Damian's voice echoed through the motionless shelves.

But before he could turn away, before he could leave the room behind, Hyday stepped closer to the symbol.

"But… who wrote this? This was not here before, was it?"

His voice held a mixture of confusion and growing fear. His gaze remained fixed on the wall, as if searching for answers within the thick, ominous strokes of ink.

Then, a droplet of liquid landed on his face.

Hyday flinched, instinctively wiping it away with his hand, then raising his palm to his eyes. The liquid was thick, its scent strange, almost metallic, almost like rust.

And when he lifted his head, his entire world stopped.

His eyes widened, his body tensed, and his breath caught in his throat.

Corpses were hanging from the ceiling. Their necks were bound by rusted chains, their bodies suspended lifelessly, their eyes closed in an eerie silence.

Hyday's scream shattered the air, shaking the room, piercing through the stillness that had suffocated us for so long.

We all turned, and in that instant, the air became colder, heavier. Terror had found us.

Mr. Damian turned sharply, his eyes widening in shock he could not hide. Without hesitation, we rushed toward Hyday, who had collapsed onto the floor, his body trembling violently, his breath ragged, his eyes locked upward in pure, unfiltered fear.

When we followed his gaze, the world seemed to freeze.

Mr. Damian stumbled back, his voice caught in his throat, his eyes staring blankly at the horror above us. His breath hitched, his lips trembled, his body swayed as if unable to bear the weight of what he was seeing.

The corpses hung from the ceiling, suspended by rusted chains biting into their necks. Dried blood still left dark streaks on their pale skin. But that was not the most terrifying part.

Their necks were not just strangled. They were half-slashed, exposing their nearly severed throats. Their arms and legs dangled in unnatural positions, their bones shattered as if crushed with merciless force. Some fingers were still slightly curled, as if they had tried to grasp something before their lives were brutally taken.

I turned away, nausea hitting me with an almost unbearable force. The stench of blood grew stronger, filling every corner of the room, mingling with the suffocating presence of death. My fingers trembled, my body felt both light and unbearably heavy, as if my mind refused to accept the reality before me.

But there, among all of us, Alexander was the most broken. His world crumbled in a single heartbeat.

His body trembled violently, his knees gave out, and before we could react, he collapsed onto the floor. His hands clutched his chest, as if trying to contain the pain tearing through him, but it was futile.

Above us, among the hanging corpses, there was one face that was painfully familiar.

A face we had known for so long.

That smile still lingered on lips that had turned blue, as if leaving a final message to the world that had abandoned him.

A smile that had once welcomed us warmly.

A smile that had once been full of life.

A smile now frozen in death.

"DANTE!!!!"

Alexander's scream echoed through the cold room, slicing through the silence like a blade cutting through flesh. His voice was filled with an agony beyond words, mixed with sobs that broke from his chest.

Tears streamed down his exhausted eyes, falling uncontrollably. His cries were not just grief, they were the indescribable pain of loss, the torment of a soul being torn apart.

I wanted to speak. I wanted to do something.

But my tongue was numb.

Everything in that room felt frozen in unbearable sorrow.

The atmosphere was so silent, so suffocating, as if the world had stopped turning in mourning. We sat on the cold corridor benches, feeling the chill not only from the air but from the emptiness that engulfed our hearts.

Our hands gently rubbed Alexander's back, trying to offer what little warmth we could, hoping it would calm his trembling body. But it was useless. He remained hunched over, his gaze empty, staring at the meaningless floor as if searching for something he would never find again.

How could he not? His own eyes had witnessed brutality beyond comprehension.

The corpse of his brother, Dante, lay stiff, stolen from life in a manner too cruel to be called fate. Now, his body rested among others who had suffered the same, but even in death, Dante carried wounds that would never fade from Alexander's memory.

We all knew that no words could ever be enough to comfort him.

Not far from us, Mr. Damian crouched in front of another body, his posture hunched as both hands clutched the cloth covering the lifeless form. Mr. Johan's corpse.

I stepped closer, cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the suffocating grief hanging in the air. My gaze fell on the face hidden beneath the white cloth, and for some reason, my heart sank even deeper, as if this death was becoming more real, more tangible.

"Mr. Johan is also a victim..." My voice barely escaped as a whisper, weak and powerless. The words felt like thorns cutting my own tongue, bitter and painful.

Mr. Damian gave a small smile, but it was not one of happiness. It was the smile of a man too tired to keep holding back his sorrow. He turned to me, and in his eyes, I saw an ocean of grief, deep, dark, and silent.

"Long ago, Johan and I were childhood friends in the village." His voice was hoarse, as if a heavy weight pressed against his chest, stifling every word.

He swallowed hard, his breath heavy, like someone carrying an unbearable burden.

"We grew up together. We had the same dream to become teachers."

His voice grew weaker, breaking between trembling breaths. No one spoke, no one dared to interrupt this moment. It was as if everyone understood that this was the moment Mr. Damian was saying goodbye, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

The tears he had been holding back finally fell, slowly, like the first rain of autumn. He did not scream, he did not wail, but his sadness was more painful than any desperate cry.

"You were just happy about your wife's pregnancy." His voice was faint, almost swallowed by the suffocating silence.

"Why did you leave so soon..."

His grip on the cloth tightened as if he believed that by holding on, he could somehow bring back the one who was lost. But everyone knew that was impossible.

My body froze, my breath hitched, my mind spiraled.

Enough. Enough sorrow for today. My lips trembled, my tears fell uncontrollably. Dante... Mr. Johan... Was this all my fault? Did this all happen because of me?

We returned to the hall, a place that now felt more like a cage than a refuge. The corpses had been moved to a more proper location, at least for now, until help truly arrived. But that hope felt farther away, dimmer, like a candle flickering against the wind.

The police sent to evacuate us had been slaughtered without mercy, leaving us stranded in an abyss of uncertainty. There was no one to rely on. No hand would come to pull us out of this nightmare.

We sat in a circle of silence, our breaths heavy within walls that felt as if they were closing in on us. Every window and door had been locked tightly, as if we were trapping ourselves inside our own fear.

In the center of the increasingly oppressive hall, the school staff stood in a wordless tension. Mr. Damian looked at each of them one by one, his gaze scanning faces that were once familiar, now turned into puzzles too difficult to solve.

Then, with a firm voice, he spoke.

"Let me make this clear. The police who were supposed to evacuate us have been murdered. One of our students is dead. A teacher has also been killed. And they died in the most horrifying way."

His voice paused for a moment, as if the words were too heavy to utter, too bitter to say out loud. He stared at the school staff with sharp eyes, his gaze like a blade cutting through any pretense.

"Access to the old library is restricted to school staff. Not just some of them, all of them. That means the culprit might be among you."

The words dropped into the room like a heavy stone thrown into still water. The ripple shook everyone.

Immediately, the hall erupted with voices of protest and disbelief.

"That is impossible, sir!"

"Why would they do that?"

"They have worked here for years!"

The voices came from the students, from those whose hearts still refused to accept the reality that seemed too absurd. Even I wanted to reject the idea. It was too soon to point fingers, too early to plant suspicion in the people who had always been around us.

But before anyone could say more, a loud bang echoed through the hall.

Mr. Damian slammed the table.

"Listen to me!!!"

His voice roared, shaking the entire room, silencing every mouth that had been about to argue. Everyone fell silent, stunned by the rage hidden in his tone.

"I do not care about all your assumptions and doubts, but look at the facts! No student or teacher has access to the old library. Only the school staff hold those keys! So how can we turn a blind eye to this truth?!"

The hall fell into silence again, only the sound of restrained breathing remained.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer, deeper, reaching into something within all of us.

"I am doing this because I care about all of you. I do not want any more victims. I do not want to see any of you lying lifeless. If I have to be the villain to ensure your safety, then so be it."

The words hung in the air, piercing everyone who heard them.

The students lowered their heads, no longer arguing. They knew there was no fighting against reality. But still, reality was cruel, so bitter to accept.

Now, Mr. Damian looked straight at the school staff.

There was sadness in his eyes, something he could not hide. He did not want to do this. Never did. But the circumstances forced him to act.

"I beg you…"

His voice was barely a whisper, full of pain.

"If you are willing, please leave this hall…"

Silence swallowed the room once more.

Then, something unexpected happened.

The school staff simply smiled. A gentle smile, yet one that carried an emotion none of us could comprehend. Without resistance, without a word, they pulled the keys from their pockets and handed them to Mr. Damian.

"I have no problem with it, sir. We understand."

"Thank you for accepting us all this time."

They bowed respectfully.

And one by one, they stepped out of the hall.

We could only watch them go, not knowing whether their steps led to a deeper silence or something far more terrifying.

We all sat on the floor of the hall, trapped in suffocating stillness. No one spoke. No one tried to console each other. Because we knew, words were just passing wind. Nothing could replace what was lost. Nothing could ease a wound so deep.

Every now and then, we glanced at Alexander, who remained hunched over. His shoulders trembled slightly. His empty eyes stared at the floor. His hands clenched into fists on his lap. He was no longer crying, but we knew his grief was still there, lingering in every breath he took.

We wanted to do something. Wanted to say something. But everything felt meaningless.

Without thinking, I stepped closer to him.

Alexander turned to look at me, his eyes hollow and lifeless. The eyes that once burned with certainty were now like cracked glass, unable to reflect light anymore. I swallowed hard, doubt creeping into my mind. But I kept walking until I sat beside him.

Silence hung between us.

I did not know what to say, but my heart pushed me to speak.

"I'm sorry... This is all my fault... If only back then, I—"

Before I could finish, Alexander raised his hand and gently covered my mouth.

I froze.

He smiled. A calm, gentle smile, as if he had accepted everything without regret, without anger.

"This isn't your fault, Noir. Don't say that again."

His voice was soft but clear.

I could only stare at him, my eyes stinging, my chest tightening with emotions I could not name.

"But still, I—"

My voice rose, but Alexander kept smiling like that. A smile that had no place in a moment like this. A smile that seemed so wrong, as if the world, already broken, could still be accepted with open arms.

"The dead will remain dead, Noir. Nothing can change that. Nothing can undo cause and effect. So..."

He took a deep breath, as if gathering the last remnants of his strength.

"I will try to let go of Dante."

His voice trembled at the end, revealing a weakness he could not hide, a weariness that was impossible to ignore.

But more than that, there was something else.

A quiet resolve.

Not born from acceptance, but from the realization that the world would never stop turning, even when someone we love is gone.

My emotions broke like a dam collapsing under the weight of a relentless storm. Tears streamed down my face, falling onto my trembling lap. I lowered my head, trying to hide my shattered expression, while Alexander kept smiling.

Somehow, that smile felt even more painful.

"I'm sorry..." I choked out, my voice barely audible under the crushing weight in my chest. "Forgive me..."

Alexander sighed, his eyes still soft, showing not even a trace of anger or blame. "I already told you, it's okay. You don't need to apologize..."

His voice was like a cool breeze, sweeping over my shattered heart.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, trying to pull myself together, though I knew it was useless. With a slow nod, I accepted his words, even though, deep inside, I still felt that all of this was my fault.

Silence draped over us once again, like an invisible veil that suffocated the entire hall.

Then, Nathan's voice broke through the stillness.

"There is a way."

The words were simple, but they hit like lightning in the middle of despair.

All of us turned to look at him at once, eyes filled with confusion. His face remained blank, his expression unchanged. But this time, there was something different.

Something burning in his eyes.

Something I had never seen before.

"There is a way to bring back the dead," he continued, his voice steadier than usual, deeper, more serious. "There is a way to change cause and effect."

Suddenly, the air felt colder.

This time, Nathan was not speaking with his usual madness. There was no eerie laughter, no crazed glint in his eyes. Just a seriousness that could not be put into words.

"What do you mean, Nathan?" Revika was the first to voice the question on all our minds.

Nathan turned to her, nodding a few times before answering.

"Azazelle can bring back the dead."

His statement shattered the air around us, making our breaths catch in our throats.

Some of us immediately reacted, growling under our breaths like cornered animals. Feldard, who had been holding back his emotions, now pointed an accusing finger at Nathan, his voice shaking with rage.

"Shut up, Nathan! I've had enough of your nonsense!"

His tone rose, not just angry, but like someone forced to listen to a joke that had long stopped being funny, a joke that only brought more pain.

But unlike the others, Alexander looked at Nathan with curiosity. His gaze did not hold anger or disbelief, but a quiet intrigue he could not conceal.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

Nathan nodded quickly, like a child who had finally been heard after being ignored for so long.

"If we can solve the puzzle tonight, we can completely escape from this situation," he said in a lower, more pressing tone. "Of course, with cause and effect that never happened like this."

The atmosphere in the hall suddenly froze.

We all stared at him with mixed feelings—curiosity, fear, and doubt.

His expression was too real to be considered a lie.

I furrowed my brows, my heart growing more confused. I could not hold myself back any longer.

"Nathan... What do you mean?" I asked, my voice filled with swirling questions in my head.

Alexander also spoke up, his voice calmer but with a hidden tension beneath it.

"What do you mean... Azazelle is the one behind all of this?"

Nathan shifted in his seat, looking at each of us with eyes so deep they seemed to pierce through us.

Then, finally, he answered.

"Everything that has happened is Azazelle's doing," he said, his voice softer, but every word felt like a hammer striking us. "Azazelle needs sacrifices to exist and grow. Until the tenth night ,at least... he will consume everything without leaving a trace."

Silence.

"What do you mean?" I whispered, barely able to believe what I had just heard.

Nathan gave a small smile, a smile that somehow sent a shiver down my spine.

"Like a gamble," he continued. "There is only one winner. Even if the pieces do the eating, they are still being moved."

He looked at each of us, as if ensuring that we understood the meaning behind his words.

"Consider our current position to be just like that."

Silence enveloped the room once again.

But this time, it felt different.

"I refuse to accept this!"

The words escaped from my lips, echoing in the empty hall, reverberating like a scream that would never find an answer. My heart pounded, unable to accept the reality Nathan had just revealed. I bit my lip, trembling, my chest tight with a mix of anger and despair.

"If this is really Azazelle's doing, if he truly sacrificed them all, then why did he not kill me too?"

The words burst out on their own, shattering the suffocating silence. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my breath uneven, my mind spinning with relentless questions.

Why am I still alive?

Why was I the only one left from that night?

Dante is gone. So is Mr. Johan. Yet I am still here, breathing, bearing invisible wounds that gaped open in my heart.

Nathan did not answer immediately.

He only gave a strange smile, his lips curving in a way that seemed completely unnatural. That smile made my skin crawl, not just because it was unsettling, but because it felt profoundly wrong. His eyes narrowed, reflecting something indecipherable—amusement, arrogance, or madness digging deeper into his soul.

Then, in the pressing silence, he slowly raised his hand, pointing his index finger at me with a motion so calm, as if he had known everything from the beginning.

That finger stopped, aiming straight at my pocket.

"Noir... why don't you check your pocket," he said, his voice slithering through the air, flowing with a softness that only made it more terrifying. A faint chuckle slipped between his words, like someone enjoying a game whose rules only he understood.

I froze for a moment, feeling my heartbeat quicken.

"See what is inside."

His eyes radiated something we could not comprehend, something that made the air around us feel even heavier, as if the world itself was holding its breath alongside us.

With trembling hands, I reached into my pocket.

My fingers brushed against something cold, small, and hard. I swallowed, pulling the object out slowly, then looking at it under the dim light of the hall.

A small green stone.

Its glow was faint, like the shimmer of an emerald hiding something within, as if the object was more than just a mere stone—something far greater than I could comprehend.

Nathan let out a soft laugh, then shook his head, like someone who had just watched another person realize the truth that had been right in front of them all along.

"That stone," he said, his voice light but echoing in my mind, "that stone is something you received from Vitra, is it not?"

I stiffened.

"Of course, you remember," he continued, his expression growing more filled with an eerie arrogance. "You must have heard the explanation from him. That stone will protect anyone from danger... even from Azazelle."

I clenched the stone tighter, feeling its cold surface against my sweating palm.

"That is why you are still alive, Noir."

Nathan grinned, his dark eyes glimmering with something unreadable—pride, insanity, or both tangled into one.

I stared at the stone in my hand as my thoughts spun, connecting scattered pieces, trying to grasp the reality that had just crashed over me like an unstoppable wave.

So... just because of this... Just because of this stone... I am still alive. Dante was not so lucky. Neither was Mr. Johan.

I lowered my head, my fingers trembling, gripping the small stone tightly as if letting it go would strip away every last bit of control I had over myself.

Such a small thing.

A green stone, barely different from any ordinary rock.

Yet because of this, I am still here.

Because of this, I am the only survivor.

And I hate it.

I hate the fact that my life was decided by something I cannot even understand.

I hate that I am still breathing while they are not.

I hate that I still have the chance to speak, to ask, to feel this burning guilt inside me.

I closed my eyes.

Then, in the silence hanging between us, I took a deep breath, trying to swallow the emotions that continued to rage within me.

But I knew, even if I held back my tears now, they would return later.

When everything became even clearer.

When the truth became harder to deny.

That night felt so dark, as if the shadows were swallowing every last bit of hope.

Nathan stood in the center of the room, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with an ecstasy beyond comprehension. A twisted smile stretched across his face, forming an expression that did not belong to this world. His hands trembled, struggling to hold something back, but it was useless. The more he tried to suppress it, the more his laughter erupted from his throat. A high-pitched chuckle sliced through the air like a blade scraping against stone.

He raised his hands high, like a maestro conducting an orchestra of death. Our breath caught in our throats, our chests felt tight, as if the very air in the room refused to give us space to breathe.

"Oh… Azazelle," his voice trembled, half a song, half a lament. "Take me to your Black Continent, the place where dawn never comes, where shadows take flesh, where the night devours all."

He laughed again, louder, more insane, more desperate. A voice that no longer belonged to him, a voice that sounded more like a call from something lurking between dimensions.

Behind us, Vitra stood motionless. His sharp eyes caught something beyond our sight, piercing through barriers we had never realized existed. He did not look at us, nor at Nathan. Instead, he turned his gaze to the sky, watching the clouds darken like ink spilling across the canvas of the night. His lips moved, murmuring something. A sound so soft, so cold, yet carrying a weight that shook our very souls.

"The Black Scripture, verse seventeen. At the edge of night, the chains will rust, and the flesh will be torn. Those who surrender to the darkness will find light at the end of suffering. For only through destruction can new life be born."

The words drifted through the air, rattling our bones more than the wind that blew around us. Vitra's voice did not ring out like Nathan's laughter, nor was it filled with madness. Instead, it was flat, nearly emotionless, as if he were merely repeating something that had been written since the beginning of time.

Yet those words were more dangerous than Nathan's desperate screams.

Because in the silence that followed, we did not just hear those words. We felt them. We saw them.

Images of the old, burned-down library flashed in my mind. The cracks in the walls where we had found Dante's corpse and the others. There, faint symbols had been etched, almost like markings left by the fingers of a dying man. Vitra's words formed a pattern just like them, calling something from a past we had never understood.

Who was Nathan, really?

Who was Vitra?

Or more precisely… what were they?

Nathan's laughter and Vitra's voice blended into a terrifying symphony, as if the world around us was preparing to swallow us whole.