Emi sat slumped on the cold, hard floor, her back pressed against the rough concrete wall. The hallway around her was eerily silent now, it felt desolate. Her head throbbed, a dull ache radiating through her skull, and her vision was still blurred from the blows she had endured. Dizzy and disoriented, she could barely make out the flickering overhead lights casting long, sharp shadows along the corridor.

She was alone, all the guards who had once crowded the area had gone, chasing Naito. A faint smile tugged at her bloodied lips. They wouldn’t catch him. She could still feel the adrenaline pulsing through her veins, though her body felt heavy, almost numb.

Her Aura surged softly beneath her skin, aiding her healing. Most of the lethal wounds had closed by now, leaving only deep bruises and gashes, but nothing that would slow her down much longer.

The uses of Aura were many—Ghouls could tap into it to augment their strength, speed, or even shape it into whatever their will demanded. It could also be used for healing, amplifying their natural regenerative abilities. Ghouls, already blessed with faster healing than any human or even the Awakened, could repair their bodies faster with Aura’s support, faster than any living creature. There were a few exceptions to this rule, and they were Awakened with healing capabilities, but they were far and rare to find.

But right now, Emi wasn’t thinking about her power or her abilities. Her mind raced with fragments of thought—how had she allowed herself to get into this position? She was supposed to have her revenge, but once again, Naito had humiliated her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps. They were measured, deliberate, echoing through the desolate hallway. Emi blinked hard, forcing her vision to focus. Slowly, she lifted her head, and there, in the dim light, she saw a figure standing at the entrance to the hallway.

Naito?

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move, not yet. Her fingers twitched, instinctively feeling the hum of Aura still lingering at her fingertips, ready to strike. Yet, something about his presence made her freeze. It was him, or was it?

Nevertheless, a strange smirk appeared on her bloodied, beautiful face as she took support from the wall and slowly stood up.

***

Kazuki moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridors, his mind racing as his footsteps echoed against the cold metal. The air was heavy with tension and the metallic scent of blood. He passed by countless cells, each housing fighters like him, their faces pressed against the bars, eyes wide with confusion and desperation. Some were yelling, some just stared in silence, but Kazuki couldn’t stop for them. He couldn’t save anyone. He had to think about himself first.

Survival had always come first.

As he continued, he saw the aftermath of the chaos Naito had unleashed—guards strewn across the ground. Some lay dead, their bodies limp in pools of blood, while others groaned in pain, clutching their wounds.

Without hesitating, Kazuki stripped the cloak from one of the downed guards, slipping it over his own body. It fit loosely, but it would work. He wasn’t about to risk being caught, not now. He bent down and grabbed a dagger from another guard, the blade slick with blood, but sharp enough. It would have to do.

What struck him, though, was the unsettling detail beneath the guards’ cloaks. As he pulled the cloak off one of them, he saw it—the familiar tracksuit, eerily similar to his own. The only difference was the color schemes—red, blue, green—but the design, the texture, it was unmistakable. This was no coincidence.

A cold knot tightened in his gut. What the hell was going on? He had noticed this previously as well, but again? On another guard?

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Curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself going from one guard to the next, pulling back their cloaks. Each one was the same—different color tracksuits, but the same design as his. It was as if they had been given the same uniform, the same identity.

Uncanny wasn’t the right word. It was unsettling.

He moved quickly after that, not letting his mind linger on the strange realization. His heart pounded in his chest, and he glanced at the cells around him. Fighters, some more battered than others, stood at the edges of their cells, their eyes following him as he passed.

"What's happening?" one of them called out, desperation tinging his voice. "You—do you know anything?"

Kazuki didn’t answer. He couldn't afford to. He kept his gaze ahead, his face hidden beneath the cloak’s hood. He looked just like one of the guards now, blending into the chaos around him. He had to keep moving, to make his way out before it was too late.

The chaos had created the perfect opportunity, and Kazuki wasn’t about to waste it. His focus sharpened, blocking out the noise, the pleas from the other prisoners, and the unsettling mystery of the tracksuits. Right now, the only thing that mattered was freedom.

Kazuki moved silently, his mind a whirl of thoughts as he passed by the cells, barely glancing at the fighters who watched him in confusion and hope. But then, something caught his eye.

A boy with moderately long brown hair sat on the floor of one of the cells, staring blankly at the ground. His face was not visible to Kazuki, and his hands fidgeted with the hem of his worn-out clothes. Kazuki froze for a second, recognizing him immediately—Elyas.

The first person Kazuki had fought when he arrived at this hellish place. Memories of that brutal encounter flashed through his mind. But there was more. Elyas had been different when they talked later in the cafeteria. He was quiet, a bit distant, but kind. There was a warmth to him, something that made Kazuki feel like they could have been friends, in a different world.

Kazuki felt a strange pull—guilt, sympathy, maybe even kinship. Elyas wasn’t in a good place, mentally. PTSD had eaten away at him, leaving him scarred in ways that mirrored Kazuki’s own fractured mind. They weren’t so different, and maybe that’s why Kazuki didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he slid the key ring through the bars of Elyas’s cell, letting it clatter to the ground. Elyas didn’t even look up, lost in his own world, but Kazuki didn’t wait. He moved on.

The corridors twisted and turned, each step bringing him closer to freedom—or so he hoped. The sound of the chaos behind had faded slightly, but a numb cacophony of chaos echoed around him, coming from the main arena.

As he approached a closed door, he noticed a hallway to his right. Something about it drew him in, a quiet instinct telling him to turn. Without thinking much, he walked into the dimly lit passage.

His instincts were wrong. Because that’s when he saw her.

A figure sat on the cold ground, slumped against the wall. Blood splattered around her, staining the cracked tiles in dark, sticky pools. It was a gruesome sight, the kind that should have made Kazuki recoil, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The woman was covered in blood, her dress torn in places, revealing a body marked with bruises and deep cuts. Yet, despite the brutality of her condition, there was an undeniable allure about her.

Her face was smeared with blood, streaks running down from her hairline, but beneath the crimson mess, she was…beautiful. Striking, even. Something about her delicate features, the curve of her lips, made her stand out in the horror surrounding her. The contrast was almost eerie, but Kazuki found himself staring, transfixed.

Then she looked up at him.

At first, there was surprise in her eyes—those piercing, cold eyes that met his with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. But surprise quickly shifted into something else. A flicker of recognition.

Her lips curled into a smile, soft at first, then twisted into something far more dangerous. Happiness, then anger. Her expression darkened, and she stood slowly, her movements fluid despite her injuries. The blood and bruises only seemed to heighten her presence, as if pain made her stronger.

A sly smirk spread across her face, her eyes never leaving his. It was a look Kazuki knew all too well. Predatory. She was dangerous. And yet…she felt familiar, like a memory lingering just out of reach.

The air between them felt heavy, electric. Kazuki’s heart raced as he tightened his grip on the dagger he had taken. He didn’t know who she was, but every instinct screamed that she wasn’t someone to take lightly. She was more than just another opponent—there was something deeper, something that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

“Who the hell are you?” Kazuki whispered, more to himself than to her.