Arata lay motionless on the cold stone floor of the dungeon, his breathing shallow and his body battered. The Queen’s hands glowed with a soft, ethereal light as she placed them delicately on his chest, her fingers trembling slightly as she channeled healing energy into his weakened body. The light pulsed gently, its warmth flowing through his veins, knitting his wounds together slowly but steadily. Beside him, Elio was laid out similarly, his face pale but peaceful under the Queen’s care.
After an hour passed, a faint movement stirred in Arata’s fingers. His hand twitched, curling slightly as he began to regain consciousness. His eyelids fluttered, his breath hitching as he took a deeper breath, the pain receding from his body. Slowly, his eyes opened, unfocused at first, but they soon sharpened. He blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion, trying to make sense of where he was.
Jennifer was kneeling beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. The moment his eyes opened, she leaned in closer, concern etched deeply on her face. Her lips parted as she carefully weighed her words. “Aru,” she began softly, her voice tender but heavy, her fingers gripping his arm a bit tighter, “you and Elio... you’ve both been branded as traitors…”
Arata’s brow furrowed as he heard the words, his body stiffening. He sat up slowly, wincing from the lingering pain, his legs folding beneath him awkwardly. His eyes darted to Jennifer’s face, searching for confirmation, but all he saw was the quiet sadness in her eyes. She looked down briefly, her hand sliding off his arm as she sat back on her heels, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her coat.
“I came to warn you,” Jennifer continued, her voice quieter now, her shoulders hunching slightly as if the weight of her words bore down on her. “Alex said it back when you beat him…” Her eyes flicked up to meet Arata’s again, her lips pressing into a thin line, her chest rising and falling with a slow, steady breath. She glanced away again, unable to hold his gaze for too long.
Arata’s jaw clenched as the weight of the situation began to settle in. He lifted a hand, running it through his disheveled hair as he tried to process the news. His fingers paused at the back of his neck, his knuckles brushing against the rough stone wall behind him. His shoulders slumped, the exhaustion and the reality of their situation taking hold.
Butter, meanwhile, lay on the ground nearby, her face twisted in pain. Cheese knelt beside her, his hands glowing with a softer, less refined light than the Queen’s. His brow was furrowed in concentration, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he worked to heal her injuries. His hands hovered just above Butter’s body, trembling slightly as the light from his fingers pulsed and faded, not as steady or powerful as the Queen’s. His breath came in shallow pants, his lips pressed together in a tight line, but there was determination in his eyes.
Butter winced, her hands gripping the dirt beneath her tightly, her fingers digging into the ground as the pain surged and ebbed with Cheese’s healing. Her body twitched involuntarily, her legs stiffening for a moment before relaxing as the worst of the pain subsided. She lifted her head weakly, glancing toward Cheese, her lips parting in a faint, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, but her expression spoke volumes. Cheese only nodded, too focused on his task to respond verbally, his fingers still trembling as the glow of his healing magic began to fade.
Nearby, the Queen continued to work, her face serene yet intense, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns over Elio’s chest. The light beneath her hands flickered and pulsed rhythmically, and she murmured under her breath, her lips moving in soft, indistinct incantations. Her eyes, half-closed in concentration, gleamed faintly in the dim light of the dungeon.
Suddenly, she looked up, her face shadowed by a moment of tension. “We need to escape from here,” she said, her voice calm but urgent, her eyes locking onto Jennifer’s. “Some other country would be preferable.” Her hands continued to glow, but there was a sense of time running out in her movements—each stroke of her fingers more deliberate, quicker, her body subtly tensing with the pressure of the situation.
Arata’s gaze flicked to the Queen as she spoke, his hands resting limply in his lap, his legs still folded awkwardly beneath him. He pressed his palms against the ground, preparing to stand, but his muscles protested, the lingering effects of his injuries still heavy on his body. He winced, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to rise, his legs trembling slightly under the strain.
The moment was broken by a voice behind them. “Travis Loverheart, I can still sense him,” the voice said, familiar and haunting. Arata’s heart skipped a beat, his body tensing instinctively. He turned slowly, his movements stiff and wary, his breath catching in his throat.
“Eh? Angela?” His voice was barely a whisper, disbelief flooding his senses as he turned fully to see her. Angela stood there, her form more human-like than he had ever seen before. Her body was solid, tangible, her skin smooth and warm, her eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. She smiled softly at him, her hands clasped loosely in front of her, her stance relaxed yet purposeful. Her presence seemed to fill the room, a strange mix of comfort and unease washing over the group.
Arata’s breath hitched as he stared at her, his mind racing. His legs threatened to buckle under him, but he locked his knees, standing firm, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Angela’s eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to still, the tension hanging thick in the air.
The Queen’s face twisted in confusion, her brows knitting together as she watched Angela with wide, disbelieving eyes. Her usually calm and composed demeanor shattered as she looked between Angela and the others. Her hands, still glowing faintly from the healing magic she’d been channeling, faltered slightly as they hovered over Butter. Her fingers trembled as she tried to make sense of the scene before her. “Angela? The Ring?” she asked, her voice tight with bewilderment. Her lips parted again, struggling to form words. “Wait, what? She can manifest herself in human form?”
Her confusion deepened as she turned to the others for some explanation, her hands slowly lowering from Butter’s now-stabilized body. The Queen’s legs shifted, her knees bending slightly, as if she was bracing herself for more surprises.
Suddenly, Vamby bolted forward, her small body rushing towards Angela with arms wide open. “Master ANGELA!” she called out, her voice filled with excitement. Her legs moved quickly, her feet barely making a sound on the stone floor as she threw herself into Angela’s arms. Angela smiled warmly, her expression softening as she opened her arms to embrace Vamby. The hug was gentle, Angela’s hand coming to rest lightly on Vamby’s back, fingers splaying across her shoulder blades in a familiar, affectionate way.
“Oh, it’s Batty,” Angela said softly, her voice lilting with amusement. “It’s been a while.” Her other hand gently ruffled Vamby’s hair as they pulled apart slightly, Angela’s head tilting to the side as she examined her.
Vamby stepped back, her hands clasping in front of her, fingers fiddling nervously. She looked up at Angela with bright eyes. “My new master has named me Vamby,” she said, her voice a little more formal now. “Please call me Vamby from now on.”
Angela raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Ah, I see,” she replied, her gaze flicking toward Jennifer, who stood with her arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. Angela’s eyes sparkled with playful mischief as she added, “I’m guessing that girl with big breasts is your new Master?”
Jennifer’s expression instantly shifted, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. She puffed out her cheeks in indignation, her arms tightening around herself as she shot Angela a sharp glare. “HOW RUDE!” she exclaimed, stomping her foot slightly, her leg trembling with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. “I am more than big breasts, you know!”
Jennifer’s pout deepened, her lips sticking out in a childlike gesture, her face scrunched up with frustration. Arata, sitting nearby, couldn’t help but chuckle softly, his shoulders shaking slightly as he held back a full laugh. He turned his head slightly, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, but it was too late—Jennifer’s eyes snapped to him, her expression a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.
“What?” she asked, her voice sharp, though there was a hint of curiosity behind her irritation.
Arata dropped his hand, his lips curling into a soft smile, his gaze warm as he met her eyes. “Nothing,” he said, his voice soft, affectionate. He straightened slightly, brushing some of the dirt off his knees as he added, “You just look cute, that’s all.”
Jennifer’s pout wavered for a moment, her cheeks still red but for a different reason now. She quickly turned her head to the side, her arms crossing again in an attempt to hide the small smile threatening to break through her stern expression. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, her body still tense but softening slightly in response to Arata’s words.
Nearby, Lance rolled his eyes, his body slumping back against the wall with an exaggerated groan. “Bleh—romance. Hate it,” he muttered, his arms crossed lazily over his chest. His posture was loose, but there was a faint tension in his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he avoided looking directly at the scene.
Arata’s eyes flicked to Lance, his smile fading slightly as he tilted his head, studying him. “Yeah, yeah,” Arata replied, leaning forward on his knees as he rested his elbows on them, his hands loosely clasped together. “I’m pretty sure when you were human, you also had someone.”
Lance’s eyes darkened, his expression tightening. He shifted uncomfortably, his legs uncrossing as he pushed himself away from the wall slightly. His fingers twitched at his sides, the faintest hint of tension showing in the way his muscles tensed. “I did…” he said quietly, his voice low and strained. He glanced away, his eyes distant, as if he was looking at something far beyond the dungeon walls. “She had a son, though. With someone else.”
Arata’s expression softened, his body relaxing as he listened. He straightened his back slightly, his hands resting loosely in his lap. “Her husband and son passed away in an accident,” Lance continued, his voice growing even quieter, almost as if the words themselves weighed heavily on him. His legs shifted, his feet scuffing slightly against the stone floor, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides.
Arata’s breath caught in his throat, the sadness in Lance’s words sinking into him. “I see…” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. His fingers curled slightly in his lap, his body still as he absorbed the weight of Lance’s confession.
“I was the reason the accident was caused…” Lance’s voice cracked, the tension in his body becoming more visible. His hands clenched and unclenched, his jaw tightening as he continued. “I was driving the truck recklessly, leading to my death—and me crashing into the building where those two were at the time.”
The room seemed to grow colder with each word, the weight of guilt and regret hanging thick in the air. Arata looked up at Lance, his eyes filled with a mix of sympathy and sorrow. He offered a small, sad smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His lips pressed together as he considered his next words, his body still, his legs folded beneath him in quiet contemplation.
Lance noticed the smile, his brow furrowing in confusion. He shifted slightly, turning his head toward Arata, his body tensing as he asked, “Why are you smiling?”
Arata’s gaze softened further, his expression distant yet gentle. “You remind me of someone,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet warmth. His hand reached up absentmindedly to rub the back of his neck, his fingers brushing against the rough fabric of his shirt. “An uncle who used to be nice to me when I was a kid… I can’t remember his face or name, though.”
Lance’s expression softened slightly, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed his features. He looked away for a moment, his body still tense, but there was a hint of something else beneath the surface—something that lingered in the quiet exchange between them. “I see…” Lance said, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was a subtle hesitation in his tone, a flicker of vulnerability that he quickly tried to hide.
Arata's gaze remained fixed on Angela, his brow furrowing slightly as confusion flickered across his face. His arms were crossed loosely in front of him, fingers tapping lightly against his arm as he processed her words. His leg shifted slightly, his foot dragging along the ground as he leaned forward, the motion revealing his growing sense of curiosity. "Anyways, you said something about Travis Loverheart?" he asked, his tone cautious but intrigued. His eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to recall the name. “Isn’t he one of the commanders?”
Angela stood calmly, her posture poised and steady. Her hands rested at her sides, fingers twitching ever so slightly as she considered Arata’s question. Her head tilted to the side, and a small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “He is someone I know,” she began, her voice soft but firm, “and your dad knew.”
At the mention of his father, Arata’s expression changed. His arms slowly dropped to his sides, his fingers curling into loose fists as confusion clouded his features. He blinked, his body leaning back slightly as if distancing himself from the sudden revelation. “My dad? What?” His voice wavered, his legs shifting, his feet planting firmly on the ground as if bracing himself for the weight of Angela’s words. His hands hovered near his waist, fidgeting slightly, betraying his growing uncertainty.
Angela’s expression remained calm, her gaze unwavering. She nodded gently, her hand raising slowly to emphasize her point. “Yeah, Wolf knew Travis,” she said with quiet certainty. “They were close friends.”
Arata’s lips parted slightly, his breath catching in his throat. He turned his head slightly to the side, his brows furrowing deeper as he tried to make sense of the connection. His body tensed, muscles stiffening, as he struggled to piece together the puzzle in his mind. Hiro, the man he considered his father, knowing someone like Travis Loverheart? It didn’t make sense. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides, the tension in his body palpable.
“I’m sure he’ll help us,” Angela continued, her voice steady, though there was a subtle undertone of conviction that made Arata hesitate. She stood tall, her feet firmly planted on the ground, her posture relaxed but strong. Her eyes gleamed with a quiet confidence, as if there was no doubt in her mind about what she was saying.
Arata’s gaze flicked back to her, his confusion still evident, though now mingled with a hint of skepticism. His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “How are you so confident?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he tried to understand the source of her assurance. His body remained tense, his feet shuffling slightly against the cold stone floor as if seeking stability.
Angela stepped forward, her movements graceful yet deliberate. She extended a hand, palm facing upwards, her fingers spread slightly as if offering him reassurance. Her expression softened, though there was an unwavering determination in her gaze. “You have my absolute protection,” she said, her voice carrying an air of finality. Her eyes met Arata’s, the intensity in her gaze making it clear she meant every word. “You won’t be harmed, no matter what.”
Arata inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling as he processed her words. His shoulders, which had been tense moments before, slowly relaxed. He exhaled with a long, drawn-out sigh, the sound echoing softly in the quiet dungeon. His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, loosened as he ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it in frustration. “Got it,” he muttered, his voice low, as he tried to ease the tension in his mind. He forced a weak smile, though it was accompanied by a heavy sigh, his body slumping slightly as the weight of the situation settled over him once more.
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His feet shifted, the soles of his shoes scraping lightly against the stone as he leaned back against the cold wall behind him. His eyes lingered on Angela for a moment longer, searching for any hint of doubt in her face, but finding none. With another sigh, he pushed himself off the wall, standing a little straighter, though his movements were slower, as if carrying an invisible burden.
The room remained still, the quiet hum of tension filling the air as Arata tried to absorb the revelations surrounding him.
Uriel's eyes narrowed, his posture straightening as a cold shiver ran down his spine. His gaze flicked toward the shadows behind them, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his weapon. "I sense... a bunch of strong people around us," he muttered, his voice tense. His shoulders tensed, every muscle in his body coiled as if preparing for a fight. His fingers flexed around the grip of his sword, knuckles whitening under the pressure.
Lance, standing nearby, turned sharply on his heel, his expression hardening as he scanned the dimly lit dungeon. His feet shifted in the dirt, a slight scuffing sound filling the silence. "Hex... They're here," he said with a low growl, his hands clenching into fists by his sides. His normally composed face twisted with a mix of frustration and worry. His jaw clenched tightly, and his weight shifted uneasily from one leg to the other.
Elio, already slouched against the wall, gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright with a wince. His legs were shaky, and his body felt heavy with exhaustion, but the rising tension forced him to remain alert. “This is bad,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes darted around, searching for an escape route. “We’re already in bad shape... How the hell are we going to run away from them?” His arms hung loosely at his sides, fingers twitching anxiously as his gaze flickered to the others for reassurance.
The Queen, standing at the center of the group, took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with deliberate calm. She closed her eyes briefly, gathering her energy before stepping forward. “I will teleport us,” she said, her voice firm but strained from the healing she had done moments ago. Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides, the remnants of magical energy sparking faintly at her fingertips. “Can anyone give me a place we can go to?”
Arata, who had been pacing slightly, his feet dragging along the dungeon floor, stopped in his tracks. His brow furrowed as he considered the options. “How about this Travis Loverheart’s place that Angela spoke of?” he asked, glancing toward Angela with a questioning look. His hands found their way into his pockets, and his shoulders slumped slightly as the weight of the situation pressed down on him.
The Queen’s eyes flickered open, her lips pressing into a thin line as she turned toward Arata. “Alright,” she said, her voice calm despite the turmoil around them, “but I don’t know where it is…” Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, the stress beginning to show in her rigid posture.
Angela stepped forward without hesitation. Her movements were graceful but purposeful as she approached The Queen. Without a word, she raised her hand and gently pressed her palm against The Queen’s forehead. The touch was light, but it sent a soft ripple of energy through the air. Angela’s eyes softened, her expression focused as she transferred the knowledge directly to The Queen. "I do," Angela said quietly, her voice steady as she pulled her hand back. Her legs were steady, feet planted firmly on the ground as if she had no doubt in what was about to happen.
The Queen nodded, her eyes briefly fluttering closed as the information sank in. She inhaled deeply, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as the destination became clear in her mind. “Everyone, hold onto me!” she called out, her voice urgent yet controlled. Her arms spread slightly, the magical energy already beginning to gather around her, swirling faintly like a soft breeze.
Uriel moved first, his legs carrying him swiftly toward The Queen. His hands reached out, gripping her arm firmly but respectfully. His muscles were tense, his stance wide as if preparing for whatever came next. Lance followed suit, his movements sharp and precise. His hand clasped The Queen’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he stood close, the weight of the moment settling heavily on him.
Butter, still weakened but no longer in immediate danger, limped forward, her steps slow and careful. Her body swayed slightly with the effort, but she managed to grasp The Queen’s other arm, her fingers wrapping gently but tightly around the fabric of The Queen’s sleeve. Her chest rose and fell heavily, but she held on, determined to keep pace.
Cheese was by her side in an instant, his own hand reaching out to support Butter even as he grabbed onto The Queen’s robe. His usual lightheartedness was replaced with a grim determination, his lips set in a thin line as he steadied both himself and Butter. His legs shifted as he balanced their weight, ensuring neither of them would fall in the critical moment.
Arata, Elio, Jennifer, and Angela moved together, their steps hurried but synchronized. Arata's hand found its place on The Queen's back, his grip firm as he exchanged a glance with Elio. Elio, though weary, managed a weak nod, his fingers brushing against The Queen’s other shoulder as he held on. Jennifer wrapped her arm around Arata, her legs steady, though her gaze remained vigilant for any sudden attack.
Angela, the last to join, reached out and placed her hand lightly on The Queen’s head once more, her body tense but her expression serene. Her stance was wide, her feet firmly planted as the energy around them began to swell.
In that moment, The Queen’s eyes glowed softly with the power she was summoning. Her body stood tall and firm despite the weight of everyone holding onto her. Her arms slowly lifted, and the air around them crackled with magic, a soft hum vibrating through the ground beneath their feet. The dungeon walls began to blur, the world around them swirling into a haze as the teleportation spell took effect. The Queen’s legs remained strong, her posture unyielding as she focused all her energy on transporting the group to safety.
With one final surge of power, the dungeon disappeared around them. The cold stone floor beneath their feet vanished, replaced by the unknown destination that awaited them.
Arata's expression grew serious as he stood tall, his hand resting on his hip. He glanced toward Jennifer, his eyes soft but filled with resolve. The weight of what he was about to say hung in the air, and he took a deep breath before speaking. “Jennifer, you stay here…” His voice was calm, yet it carried an undeniable authority, the tone of someone who had already made a decision.
Jennifer blinked, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Her head tilted slightly, and she shifted her weight onto her back foot. “What?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as her lips parted in surprise. Her hand instinctively reached up, fingers brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as her confusion deepened. She took a small step forward, her body leaning toward him, searching his face for an explanation.
Arata turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with quiet intensity. His shoulders squared as he prepared to explain. “You are still not a suspect,” he said, his tone firmer now. His hands came up in a soft gesture as if to reassure her. “We are all criminals in Hex’s eyes, but you… you’re still clear.” His fingers brushed the air in front of him, punctuating his words as he spoke.
Jennifer stood still, her posture stiffening as she absorbed his words. Her hand fell to her side, fingers curling slightly as she processed what he was saying. Her lips pressed together, the confusion on her face replaced by a mix of concern and curiosity. She straightened her back, her feet planted firmly on the ground as she waited for him to continue.
Arata leaned in closer, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes flickered with a spark of determination, and his voice dropped to a whisper, his breath brushing against her ear as he spoke. His hand hovered near her arm, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the tension between them. Jennifer's heart raced slightly as she listened intently, her body still except for the subtle rise and fall of her chest.
When he finished speaking, Jennifer's eyes widened for a brief moment, her lips parting in quiet realization. A smile slowly crept onto her face, her body relaxing slightly as the tension between them eased. She let out a soft breath, her shoulders lowering as she absorbed the full weight of his plan. “I knew it…” she said with a quiet chuckle, her voice filled with admiration. Her hand came up to rest lightly against her chest, her fingers brushing the fabric of her shirt as she gazed at him with warmth. “You’re still the same genius, Aru.”
Arata straightened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes softening as he met her gaze. “That’s just what I have in mind,” he replied, his voice light with a hint of playfulness. His hand casually brushed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture when he was feeling just a little bit embarrassed by praise. His feet shifted slightly, a casual stance that belied the seriousness of the moment.
Jennifer’s smile lingered as she watched him, her body now fully relaxed, the earlier confusion fading away. She took a small step forward, her hand reaching out to lightly tap his arm, a playful gesture. Her legs shifted to a more confident stance, her eyes still holding that gleam of admiration as she looked at him.
Arata gave a soft chuckle, his weight shifting to one leg as he met her playful gesture with a light nod. His hand dropped to his side, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of his pants, a subtle reflection of the ease that had returned between them. The moment of tension dissolved into quiet understanding as they stood there, united by the plan they both knew had to succeed.
Outside the room, the hallway echoed with the muted sound of footsteps as the group of 11 Ringmasters moved in perfect coordination, their forms already transformed into their elemental states. Each one wore their respective spandex, marked with unique symbols that reflected their mastery. The leader, clad in red phoenix-like spandex, stood at the front, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings as his hand rose to signal the others. With a simple flick of his wrist, the team spread out, forming a semi-circle around the door, their movements calculated and precise.
The red-clad Ringmaster raised his hand again, this time making a series of quick, deliberate hand signals. Each member of the squad nodded in response, their postures straightening, ready for the next move. Muscles tensed, and eyes focused, their synchronization flawless as they prepared to breach the door.
A sharp inhale, then the door was kicked in, splintering under the force. The sound of the door breaking echoed through the room as the Ringmasters flooded inside. Each step they took was cautious but firm, their boots hitting the floor in a rhythm, spreading out to cover every inch of the room.
Inside, the air was heavy with the aftermath of battle. The dim light barely illuminated the scene, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. Jennifer stood alone, her legs trembling beneath her as she swayed slightly, trying to maintain her balance. Her chest rose and fell in labored breaths, her body exhausted from the events that had transpired. Vamby, the small bat-like creature, fluttered weakly around her, his wings barely managing to keep him in the air as he clung to her shoulder like a shadow of his former self.
Jennifer’s lips parted, her voice barely more than a whisper as she spoke. “Sorry, they all escaped…” Her eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open, her body giving in to the overwhelming fatigue. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed, her body crumpling to the ground in slow motion, with Vamby tumbling down with her, his small wings flapping helplessly as he tried to hold onto her shoulder.
One of the Ringmasters, the one in red spandex, clicked his tongue in frustration. His eyes narrowed as he looked around the room, clearly disappointed. “Tsch!” His voice was sharp, filled with irritation as his fists clenched tightly by his sides. His body was tense, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath the spandex as he processed the scene before him.
As his eyes moved toward the center of the room, they landed on Divine’s lifeless body sprawled across the floor. The once-powerful figure lay there, motionless, her form twisted in death. The red Ringmaster’s expression shifted, a flicker of emotion crossing his face as he took a step forward, his hands lowering slightly as if the weight of the sight before him had momentarily stilled his anger.
“Sheena…” he murmured under his breath, the name slipping from his lips with a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. His posture stiffened as the familiar name stirred something deep within him. He swallowed hard, his throat tightening, and his gaze lingered on the body for a long moment. “I never expected that you would reappear…” His voice was quiet, filled with an emotion he tried to suppress, but it leaked through in the way his shoulders sagged just slightly. “…And that too…Dead…In front of me…”
From behind him, a familiar voice broke through the silence, strong and authoritative. Jeremy Taylor stepped into the room, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the scene. His presence immediately commanded attention, his eyes locking onto the dead body of Divine with cold precision. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tightness in his jaw that betrayed his inner thoughts.
Jeremy’s voice was steady, but there was a clear edge to it as he issued his orders. “Take the dead body and examine her.” His eyes shifted to Jennifer’s unconscious form, lying limp on the ground, her chest still faintly rising and falling. “Take the kid and treat her.” He glanced at Vamby, who still fluttered weakly above her, his little body shivering with exhaustion, before his attention returned to his squad. “Everyone else, find out where these people went.”
The Ringmasters sprang into action, their movements quick and efficient. Two of them moved to Divine’s body, lifting her gently but firmly as they prepared to carry her out. Another Ringmaster knelt beside Jennifer, his hands carefully slipping under her arms as he hoisted her up, cradling her limp form with practiced ease. Vamby flapped unsteadily, trying to stay close, his small form struggling to maintain flight.
Jeremy’s eyes narrowed as he stood tall, his gaze hardening with determination. His fists clenched at his sides, and his voice came out sharp, filled with the weight of authority. “I want Ryuki Arata and Elio Ryan caught, along with their Undergrounder friends.” His hand twitched slightly, the tension in his body evident as his mind focused on the task at hand.
The squad of Ringmasters moved swiftly, their boots thudding against the floor as they dispersed to carry out his orders. The room, once filled with chaos and violence, was now quiet, save for the fading sounds of footsteps as the squad disappeared into the corridors. Jeremy remained still for a moment, his eyes lingering on the spot where Divine had fallen, a storm of emotions swirling beneath his calm exterior.
Without another word, Jeremy turned on his heel, his movements smooth and deliberate as he strode out of the room, his mind already racing with plans for what would come next.
Somewhere in the dimly lit streets of London, the cold night air cut through the silence as Arata, The Queen, Angela, Uriel, Lance, Butter, Cheese, and Elio suddenly found themselves inside a spacious, upscale apartment. The smell of fresh linen and expensive cologne clung to the air. Standing before them, bathed in the golden glow of low-hanging lights, was a man—tall, lean, and well-built, dressed in nothing but a towel loosely slung around his waist, barely covering his privates. His wet hair clung messily to his forehead, and droplets of water trailed down his well-defined chest, glistening in the soft light.
His sharp, angular features gave him a striking, almost model-like appearance. His strong jawline was accentuated by a shadow of stubble, and his deep, piercing blue eyes squinted in confusion as they scanned the strange group standing in his living room. His muscles tensed slightly, as though prepared for anything, but his stance remained somewhat relaxed, leaning casually against the arm of a plush leather chair. He stood barefoot, his posture effortless but commanding, radiating a natural charisma.
"Ah…Ah…" He stammered at first, his voice tinged with disbelief, his accent unmistakably British. "What the hell… Who the hell are you all?" His brows knitted together in a mixture of shock and curiosity, though he quickly regained his composure, his hand gripping the edge of his towel instinctively, pulling it tighter.
Arata took a small step forward, his eyes glinting with a hint of apology, though his posture remained firm. His fingers scratched the back of his head awkwardly as he glanced around the luxurious apartment before locking eyes with the still-damp man. "Hi, sorry to invade your privacy, but this wouldn’t happen to be Travis Loverheart, would it?"
Travis’s lips twitched slightly, a look of skepticism passing over his face. His wet hair fell into his eyes, and he casually pushed it back, revealing a sharp, confident smirk. "I am…" He tilted his head, his gaze flickering over the odd assortment of people in his living room. "But who the hell are you?" His voice was smooth, with a hint of amusement, as though this bizarre situation was just another odd occurrence in his life.
Before Arata could respond, Angela stepped forward, her eyes focused on Travis, her expression serious yet calm. "The son of the previous Wolf. I’m sure you remember me, right? Travis Loverheart, or more specifically, Cupid, one of the Ancient Ring holders." Her voice was steady, though there was an underlying weight to her words.
At the mention of his alias, Travis’s smirk faded slightly, his posture straightening as he crossed his arms over his chest. His body language shifted from casual indifference to attentive recognition. He stepped forward slowly, the towel swaying loosely around his hips, his eyes narrowing as he studied Angela’s face.
"Angela…," he muttered under his breath, his tone thoughtful. "Son of Wolf…," he repeated, rolling the words over in his mind, as if trying to connect them to distant memories. His eyes drifted toward Arata, the smirk returning, though this time it was more subdued, almost intrigued.
“I see…” His voice lowered, and a glint of something like understanding sparked in his eyes. He took another step toward Arata, his bare feet padding silently on the hardwood floor. His posture was relaxed but commanding, every movement carrying an air of confidence, almost as though he was performing for an unseen audience.
He chuckled softly, his voice rich and smooth, and shook his head in mild disbelief. “Interesting…” His eyes lingered on Arata, sizing him up, as if weighing the importance of this moment. Then, with a subtle, almost charming smile, he extended a hand to the younger man, his grip firm but not forceful. “So let’s talk, son of Wolf…”
There was a brief pause, a shared moment of understanding between them, as though a silent conversation passed between their eyes. Travis’s grip lingered for a second longer than necessary before he pulled his hand back and let it rest on his hip.
“I’ve been waiting for you for the past 15 years,” Travis added with a slight tilt of his head, his voice softer now, almost introspective. His eyes momentarily clouded with memories, though he quickly snapped back to the present, his easygoing smile returning as he glanced around at the rest of the group.
Arata’s gaze softened slightly, his lips curving into a small, respectful nod. There was an unspoken understanding between him and Travis, a shared recognition of the weight of the past that hung between them. As they stood there, amidst the luxury of Travis's apartment, the tension in the room eased slightly, but the air was still thick with anticipation.
With a final, almost playful smirk, Travis gestured for them to follow him. “Shall we? I know a more comfortable place for a long-awaited conversation.” His towel barely held in place as he led them deeper into his home, his every movement fluid, his charm undeniable.