When the Bull Charges

Elion sucked in a sharp breath. He hated to admit it, but his lungs burned like he'd just sprinted a marathon in freezing air—which, technically, wasn't too far from the truth.

He wasn't as disciplined as Jordan when it came to workout, but he wasn't out of shape either. Sprinting, climbing—he could handle himself just fine. But apparently, chasing a shapeshifting murder monster through the streets at midnight was where his cardio finally drew the line.

'What are we thinking?' he thought, his brain practically screaming at him to stop, turn around, and pretend none of this was happening. Because who in their right mind chased after a half-transformed bear-man?

Oh, right. Jordan.

Jordan was god knows how many steps ahead. Looking at him, he was moving with the kind of reckless confidence that only came from either extreme stupidity or extreme skill but Elion believed it was the former.

Due to his excitement, he leaped over trash cans, dodged broken glass, and closed the distance like he was the predator and not the other way around. Meanwhile, the bear-man—no, the thing—was barely holding itself together.

Its massive, fur-covered limbs were shrinking, muscles twisting, bones snapping into place in ways that should've been impossible. It wasn't a bear anymore, but it wasn't fully human, either. And somehow, that was worse.

Elion's instincts screamed run the other way. Every part of him wanted to listen.

But Jordan? Jordan wasn't stopping.

And that was the real problem.

He wasn't running after the bear-man out of curiosity. He wasn't even running because it made sense—because it absolutely didn't.

He was running because Jordan was about to get himself killed.

"Jordan!" Elion gasped, pushing himself harder. "Are you serious right now?! We don't even know what that thing is!"

"Exactly!" Jordan called back, barely slowing. "That's why we can't let him go!"

Elion swore under his breath. 

Of course Jordan was doing this. Of course he was chasing the impossible, running toward a nightmare instead of away from it. Because why not add "suicidal tendencies" to his list of hobbies?

It didn't matter that they had just watched a bear-man rampage through a club like a horror movie villain.

It didn't matter that it had killed people.

It didn't even matter that this thing wasn't supposed to exist.

And yet—here they were. Chasing after it. Because if Jordan was running headfirst into insanity, then Elion had no choice but to be right there with him.

The bear-man stumbled forward, breathing heavily until it reached the end of an alley—it was basically a dead end. A towering brick wall cut off any escape. That was when it stopped.

Elion barely managed to halt before crashing into Jordan's back. "Why did you stop?" he whispered, pulse hammering.

Jordan answered calmly, "Dead end."

Elion looked ahead and just noticed the dead end. "What should we do now?"

Jordan did not answer. His eyes was fixated on the mystery creature in front of them.

The bear-man stood just a few feet away from the two of them. One could hear his breath coming in short and ragged gasps. Sweat dripped heavily from his half-shrunken body, still, it had the trace of his previous form.

Elion and Jordan exchanged glances, both trying to process what they were seeing.

Right in front of them, the bear-man trembled violently, his body locking up as if it was fighting against itself. His hunched posture, the way his fingers clenched and unclenched like he was losing control—everything about him screamed pain, exhaustion… and fear.

Elion's mind raced. This wasn't just him getting tired. The way his muscles twitched, the way his breath came in sharp gasps—it looked like his own body was rejecting him.

Then it hit Elion.

"Wait…" Elion whispered. "Is he reaching his time limit?"

Jordan huffed, barely listening. "What? Like Ultraman?"

Elion did not reply as he felt an icy dread settle in his stomach. He had no time to joke around. He had seen this thing tear through Xylo Club like a nightmare made real. He had seen the blood. The bodies. The mindless destruction.

But now?

Now, the thing that had once been an unstoppable force of violence looked broken.

The man's fingers twitched at his sides, clenching and unclenching in a nervous, jerky motion. He was struggling—not just physically, but mentally. His breaths came in sharp gasps, like he was fighting off some unseen force.

Then, ever so slowly, he turned to face them.

And Elion saw his eyes.

Not the crazed, bloodthirsty look of the beast. Not the hungry, predatory stare of something that had enjoyed the slaughter.

Just a man. A man who was afraid.

Elion swallowed hard. The shift was so drastic that it made his skin crawl. How could something that had killed so easily now look so... vulnerable? So lost?

And yet, something told him that this wasn't an act.

Then, his eyes flicked lower, catching details that sent a fresh wave of unease through him.

Two things stood out.

One—a symbol burned into his chest.

A deep, blood-red mark. A shape that Elion recognized immediately. It was a bow with an arrow drawn back—a Sagittarius symbol. But why? He had seen symbols like that before, just not like this. It wasn't a tattoo. It wasn't natural. It looked carved into his flesh.

The second—a ring.

A thick black ring.

But, before Elion could process everything, the man spoke.

"H...help… me."

His voice was raw—like he had been screaming for hours. It wasn't a growl. It wasn't a threat. It was a plea.

Jordan, still tense, lowered his fists slightly. "What?" he asked, stepping forward, his voice losing its usual edge.

Elion wasn't sure what was more disturbing—the fact that this guy was talking, or the fact that Jordan didn't seem to sense danger from him anymore.

The man flinched at the movement. His fingers shot up to his throat, clawing at something like he was trying to rip it off. His entire body seized—muscles locking, chest heaving—before his hand jerked toward his own trembling fingers.

That's when Elion saw it. Something was wrong with the ring. Veins of cracked darkness ran through the surface, like fractures in stone. And from those cracks—black smoke leaked out.

Not normal smoke. It moved. It slithered and twisted unnaturally, curling in the air as if it were alive.

"What's that..." Elion's breath hitched.

"Help… me… I don't—" The man shuddered violently, stepping forward, his body twisting, arms spasming. It was like he was being pulled.

The man's muscles locked, his head jerking unnaturally like something was forcing his movements. His eyes widened, flickering between them. His lips trembled.

He said in a weak voice, "Run… Run… I... Can't..."

Jordan had very little time to react when the man ran at him. He was ready to strike Jordan with every little energy he had left.

"Wait—" Jordan wanted to speak, but he needed to avoid the strike first. He twisted his body just in time, but the second hit him—a brutal swing to the left ribs.

He gasped and stepped back while holding his side. The man moved erratically as if he didn't want to attack but couldn't control himself.

Elion's pulse hammered. Jordan blocked two more wild, desperate strikes before a fist slammed into his jaw. Jordan reeled sideways, crashing against the alley wall.

"Jordan!" Elion shouted in panic.

The man closed the distance quickly and grabbed Jordan by the throat.

Jordan gasped, struggling.

The man looked shocked, his eyes wide. "Help… me…," he said, his grip getting stronger. His whole body convulsed, veins darkening, the black smoke from the ring spiraling faster. He didn't want to kill Jordan. But something inside him did.

Elion had to move—now.

But before he could—

BANG.

A gunshot split the night. Everyone was stunned.

The bullet hit the man before he fell backward. He landed on the ground, gasping and holding his shoulder. Black smoke poured out of the ring quickly, moving like it was in pain.

"Is the police here?" Elion turned sharply.

A figure loomed at the alley's entrance, shadowed and still. The gleam of a revolver caught the dim light, steady in his grip. Whoever he was—he had been waiting.

His long, dark cloak moved in the breeze. He stood firmly in his boots as if he planned to stay.

Based on his attire? Definitely not a cop.

The brim of his worn cowboy hat shadowed his face, but Elion could only see his eyes—cold, calculating, and completely unbothered. 

Well, this wasn't just a random guy with a gun.

Anyone would share the same thought that this man looked like a bounty hunter.

Elion's brain scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing tonight.

A half-dead bear-man (because what else could you call that thing?), a cowboy, and Jordan, standing way too close to the bear-man.

Yeah. This night had officially gone off the rails.

'Okay. Think,' Ethan's mind raced.

If one wrong move is made, anyone in this alley could end up dead. And knowing his luck, that anyone would absolutely include him.

The cowboy looked dangerously casual, as if killing bear-man or any kind of beast-men was just part of his nine-to-five.

And… the black smoke still curling from the ring made Elion's stomach churn. Whatever the hell had just happened—it wasn't over.

But priority number one? Prevent Jordan from saying something incredibly stupid, or he might anger the cowboy.

Elion turned slightly, already anticipating disaster.

Jordan coughed, still gripping his throat. "Why the hell did you shoot him?!"

Yep. Called it.

The bear-man on the ground groaned, trembling, struggling to get up.

The cowboy sighed. "What a mess." His voice was slow and careful as if he had plenty of time.

Jordan sat up, anger flashing in his eyes. "You—what the hell is wrong with you?!"

He walked closer to the cowboy and continued his rage. "He needed help! He wasn't trying to kill us—he was fighting something!"

The cowboy didn't react. Instead, he raised the gun again.

"Wait! Wait! Don't shoot!" Elion barely had time to process before—

BANG.

The bullet struck the bear-man's forehead. Blood splashed. It was crazy to see this scene. His body jerked once. Then—collapsed.

Silence.

Elion felt like vomiting—again. Even though he had seen too much killing tonight, he couldn't get used to it yet.

Well, it was the opposite for Jordan. He was raging.

Jordan's fists clenched. "You—"

The cowboy finally looked at them. "He was already gone."

Jordan's breathing sharpened, furious. "You don't know that!"

The cowboy didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, kneeling beside the now-lifeless body.

Elion barely registered the movement before he saw the black ring crack further. More smoke poured out—thick, unnatural.

That was when Elion noticed that the cowboy wore the same kind of ring, but unlike the dead bear-man's cracked, corrupted one, his was pristine—a sleek mix of gold and black, untouched by whatever had tainted the other.

Elion's gaze sharpened as he caught another detail—a gorilla symbol etched into the metal, subtle but unmistakable.

The black smoke from the dead bear-man's ring stretched toward the cowboy's like they were drawn to it, like ink spilling into water—only instead of dispersing, the cowboy's ring absorbed it. The black smoke twisted as they were pulled in, vanishing into the surface as if they'd never existed.

Elion swallowed. "What the hell was that?"

The dead man's ring still leaked smoke, but weaker now, the tendrils growing thinner, fainter. Whatever power had been inside it was draining away—and the cowboy?

He didn't look the least bit surprised.

The cowboy picked up the dead man's ring, tossing it into a sack that came out of nowhere. A metallic rustling noise followed.

Elion's mind whirled. Based on the sound, he believed the sack was carrying rings. It was full of them.

Jordan's voice was low, dangerous. "What are you?"

The cowboy dusted off his coat. "A Cleaner."

Jordan's fists shook. "That's what you call this? Cleaning up?"

The cowboy shrugged. "You boys saw too much. This… will be a trouble."

Jordan took a step forward, trembling. "You just killed a guy..." He raised his voice as he said, "And you think we're gonna pretend we didn't see that?!"

The cowboy sighed, adjusting his hat. "I think you'll try... For your own good."

Elion swallowed hard. His entire body screamed at him to leave. He wanted to tell Jordan to walk away. But something inside him knew—it was already too late.

Jordan was tense. Too tense. His fists were clenched so hard his knuckles had turned white, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths—the kind that wasn't calm, but trying to be.

Elion had seen this before. Jordan wasn't just mad. He was raging.

And that? That was dangerous.

Elion instinctively reached out, grabbing Jordan's arm before he could do something stupid. "Hey," he hissed. "Not here. Not now."

Jordan didn't budge. He didn't even look at him at first. Then, finally, his lips parted, and he muttered something in a voice lower than usual.

"You can stop me at anything... but not this, Elion."

It wasn't anger. Not completely. It was something else—something Elion couldn't place.

That was when the cowboy—who had already started walking away—froze mid-step.

Slowly, he turned his head just enough to glance at them over his shoulder. His hat still shadowed most of his face, but the sharp focus in his gaze was unmistakable.

"Elion?"

The way he said it wasn't casual. It wasn't the way someone repeated a name they'd just heard. It was like he recognized it.

Still, the cowboy lifted his sack over his shoulder, the metallic rings inside shifting. He looked at them one last time. "Be careful, boys. You're not ready for what—"

The cowboy did not able to finish his words when a deep, low vibration—like a rumbling growl, except it came from the ground itself was felt.

BOOOM!

He barely turned before the brick wall behind them exploded. The force sent chunks of debris flying, brick and mortar crumbling like wet sand. Dust filled the alley, and from within the wreckage, something huge emerged.

Elion barely had time to process it before he saw it.

A low, rumbling growl rattled the ground. Then—it stepped forward. Seven feet of solid muscle, a head full of curved horns, steam snorting from its nostrils. A bull. No—a man. No—both

Elion believed this wasn't just a mindless beast after everything that had happened tonight and how near-impossible it was for a bull to be roaming in the city.

It was definitely a guy.

Well, a bull-man guy.

Because, of course, after a bear-man and a cowboy, the universe had to throw in a Minotaur-looking nightmare just to really mess with them.

Elion groaned internally. 'Oh, fantastic. My night just keeps getting better.'

It wore something—tattered, battle-worn pants like it had once been human. Chains hung loosely from its massive wrists, clinking as it snorted, then lowered its head.

And then, without warning, it charged.

Not at Elion.

Not at Jordan.

But, at the cowboy.

The impact was devastating. The cowboy barely had time to shift before the bull-man's horned skull slammed into his chest, sending him skidding backward. His boots dragged against the pavement, his long coat billowing as he fought to stay upright.

But the real problem?

His sack. He lost hold of it; it fell through the air and hit the ground with a loud bang.

That was when Elion could see it.

Rings. Everywhere.

The alley was suddenly filled with dozens—no, hundreds—of rings scattering across the pavement. Some rolled away into the shadows, others clinked against broken brick, their eerie glow flickering in the dim alley light.

Elion's breath caught in his throat.

Jordan took a step forward, eyes locked—not on the rings, not even on the bull-man. But... on the cowboy.

Elion swallowed hard. "Great. Just great." He had no idea what was happening anymore, but one thing was clear—

Things were getting messier.