The final bell had rung, signaling the end of another mundane school day. The air outside was thick with the lingering warmth of late afternoon, but a strange chill settled in the atmosphere as Elias Ravenscroft stepped through the school’s grand iron gates. The sky, streaked with hues of dying sunlight, cast long shadows against the towering buildings. A cigarette hung from his lips as he struck a lighter, the tiny flame flickering for a moment before the tip of the cigarette burned a dull red.

He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling into intricate patterns before dissipating into the cooling air. His attire—a dark, oversized suit—draped over his tall frame like a second skin. Though slightly loose, it moved with a strange fluidity, the fabric inscribed with nearly imperceptible occult symbols that pulsed with an eerie presence if one looked too closely. A cryptic silver pendant, cold to the touch, rested against his chest beneath his jacket, its esoteric design hinting at knowledge forbidden to most.

His face was gaunt, his pale complexion only accentuated by the deep shadows under his eyes. A man who had seen too much, thought too much, lived in the liminal space between reality and the unseen. His sharp features were carved like something out of a gothic painting, and his icy blue eyes—like shards of a frozen lake—seemed to cut through the air itself. They did not merely look at people; they looked through them, past the flesh, past the pretense, into the depths of what they truly were.

The rhythmic sound of footsteps approached from the side. Elias didn’t need to turn to know who it was. The presence was unmistakable—something that carried the weight of death itself yet moved with the grace of a predator.

The man who stepped into view was tall, lean, yet honed like a blade tempered in blood and battle. His silver-white hair, slicked back with a practiced ease, reflected the dimming light, a few errant strands falling over his sharp features. His eyes—cold, calculating—held the promise of violence, the quiet before a storm. He was dressed in dark, practical clothing, his silhouette blending into the creeping dusk like a wraith. But the true presence of danger came from the weapon he carried—a katana, its sheath deceptively simple, its edge whispered about in hushed tones among those who knew of the supernatural.

Renji stopped a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

“So, Ravenscroft… you felt that pressure earlier too, didn’t you?”

Elias took another drag, the ember glowing briefly before he exhaled a thin veil of smoke.

“I did,” he replied, voice smooth yet edged with something deeper, something weary. “This is the Witch of Despair we’re talking about. Of course I’d feel that.”

Renji tilted his head slightly, his silver gaze unwavering.

“Don’t forget our deal.”

Elias let out a short breath—not quite a sigh, but close. He tapped the ash from his cigarette, watching as the wind carried it away.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he murmured. “You want me to bring Lirael to you alive, huh?”

Renji’s expression remained impassive.

“That’s right.”

Elias glanced at him then, finally showing a sliver of curiosity beneath the usual veil of indifference.

“Who exactly is Lirael, anyway?” he asked. “I know she’s some ridiculously powerful witch and all, but what’s her story?”

Renji’s grip on the hilt of his katana tightened slightly, his gaze darkening.

“Lirael’s origins are shrouded in mystery, lost in the echoes of time,” he began, voice low, steady. “But what we do know is that she is ancient—one of the oldest and most formidable witches to have ever walked this world. Her power stretches back to an era when the veil between life and death was thin, malleable. She was once a mortal sorceress, brilliant and ambitious, but her hunger for knowledge led her down a path few dare to tread.”

Elias listened in silence, the cigarette burning low between his fingers.

“In her pursuit of power, she made a forbidden pact with something beyond comprehension, something not of this world,” Renji continued. “A cosmic entity whose name has been lost to time, a force that thrives on sorrow and suffering. She bound herself to despair itself, transcending the limitations of mortality. She became more than human, something… else. A being woven from sorrow, capable of bending emotions, twisting souls to her will. Over centuries, she mastered necromancy, not merely to command the dead but to manipulate grief itself, feeding off the despair of others to fuel her strength.”

The night had begun to settle in, the last traces of sunlight fading beyond the horizon. A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken implications.

Elias finally flicked away his cigarette, the ember dying as it hit the cold pavement.

“Well,” he muttered, stretching his neck slightly. “That certainly explains why she feels like a goddamn black hole of misery.”

“That’s right,” Renji said, his tone calm, almost nonchalant. “And soon, she’ll belong to the Sakamoto Gang. You might not grasp just how valuable she is, but we do.”

Elias didn’t react immediately. Instead, he studied Renji, his piercing gaze like ice sinking into flesh. His posture remained composed, but there was a coiled tension beneath his exterior, like a storm barely restrained. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of something unshakable, something absolute.

“It’s almost disgusting,” Elias murmured, each syllable deliberate, sharp as a dagger. “That you didn’t even mention saving Amanda.”

Renji shrugged, his smirk deepening. “Because she’s not a priority. Whether she lives or dies is of no consequence to me or my gang. All we want is Lirael.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

The words settled into the air like poison.

Then, in an instant, the atmosphere shifted.

Elias exhaled, and the very fabric of the space around them trembled. He turned fully toward Renji, his movements slow, deliberate, like a king descending from his throne to address a usurper.

Abyssal Surge activated.

The world responded.

The air grew heavier—thick, suffocating, like an unseen weight pressing down on everything. The temperature plummeted as an unnatural stillness spread through the room. Shadows darkened, stretching unnaturally, as if recoiling from the sheer presence Elias now exuded. A low, almost imperceptible hum reverberated through the floor, a frequency too deep to hear but felt in the bones, rattling the very core of those present.

The weaker-willed among them staggered. Some gasped, their breath stolen away by the crushing pressure. Others buckled under its weight, knees slamming against the unforgiving ground, their consciousness teetering on the brink.

Elias’ aura was not just power—it was an abyss, an unfathomable force that made the space itself feel smaller, as though the universe itself recognized his dominance. His eyes gleamed with something beyond human, a terrible understanding, a presence that whispered of knowledge mortals were never meant to wield.

“That’s a pathetic excuse,” Elias said, his voice now deeper, layered with something more than sound—resonating with the very essence of his power. “You want to sacrifice a ten-year-old girl for power. How utterly disgraceful.”

Renji’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was something new in his gaze—acknowledgment.

Then he activated his own Abyssal Surge.

The change was instantaneous.

A sharp crack split the air as his aura slammed into Elias’ like a tidal wave crashing against an unyielding cliff. The pressure doubled—no, tripled. The very foundation of the building groaned in protest, the walls trembling as if the space itself was rejecting the presence of these two overwhelming forces.

Those who had barely managed to stay standing collapsed outright, unconscious before they even hit the ground. Others clutched at their heads, their senses overloaded by the sheer magnitude of supernatural weight crushing down on them. Lights flickered wildly, their filaments struggling under the unseen force.

Renji rolled his shoulders, the grin never leaving his face. His aura carried a different quality—it wasn’t a void like Elias’, but a storm. It crackled with intensity, a barely restrained tempest of raw, honed energy that threatened to consume anything weak enough to be swept away.

“In this world,” Renji said, his tone unfazed despite the hurricane of energy roaring between them, “you survive however you can. If that means sacrificing one girl to obtain a power beyond imagination, then so be it.”

The two forces clashed invisibly, yet the effects were undeniable. The space between them warped, distorting under the pressure. The room felt stretched thin, as though the sheer presence of these two beings threatened to pull reality apart at its seams.

The temperature fluctuated wildly—first suffocatingly cold, then blistering hot, shifting with the battle of their wills. The weight of their supernatural pressure became unbearable, pressing down on the very structure of the building, the ground beneath them cracking like fractured glass.

The heavy air between them hadn’t yet settled from their supernatural clash, the residual weight of their auras still lingering in the space like the aftermath of a storm. Though the violent collision of power had ended, tension remained—a razor’s edge, waiting for the slightest push to tip it into carnage.

Renji, ever the opportunist, was the first to break the silence. He exhaled slowly, as if exuding a confidence so absolute that not even Elias’ overwhelming presence had rattled him. Then, with a lazy smirk curling on his lips, he spoke.

“Don’t forget,” he said smoothly, his voice laced with amusement. “I’m paying you 500 million yen to do this. Whether you want to save Amanda or not—that’s your problem, not mine.”

With an almost theatrical casualness, Renji unsheathed his katana, the polished steel whispering against its scabbard. The blade gleamed under the dim, flickering lights, reflecting the shadows cast by the fractured space around them. He lifted it, the tip aligning precisely with Elias’ sternum, the distance between them nearly nonexistent.

“Unless, of course, you’d rather settle this here and now—right in front of your precious workplace?”

Renji tilted his head, his smirk deepening. There was something serpentine in his movements, coiled and deliberate, like a predator gauging whether its prey would struggle or submit. His voice dropped into something softer, more taunting, yet with a razor-sharp undercurrent.

“Wouldn’t that be tragic?” he mused. “Imagine the whispers, the headlines—‘The Remedial History Teacher: Not So Normal After All.’ It would be quite the scandal, don’t you think? The students, the faculty… How do you think they’d react when they find out their quiet little scholar dabbles in the paranormal?”

The words slithered into the air like venom, wrapping around Elias with an almost suffocating amusement.

Elias’ eyes narrowed. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, shadowing his expression into something unreadable. But beneath his composed exterior, the weight of his disdain for Renji was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You’re a coward, you know that?” Elias said, his tone devoid of emotion—flat, unimpressed.

Renji merely shrugged, the movement so dismissive it was almost infuriating.

“Coward? Survivor.” He corrected smoothly, his eyes gleaming with something akin to mockery. “In a world like this, anything and everything is fair game. You should know that better than anyone, Occult Scholar~”

The way he said the title—mocking yet knowing—sent a ripple of irritation through Elias.

For a moment, Elias considered his options. A part of him—his pride, his sheer hatred for Renji’s way of thinking—wanted to strike him down where he stood. To end this deal before it even began. But he knew better. He knew that playing into Renji’s game would only serve the man’s interests. Renji was a manipulator, a dealer in shadows and favors, and Elias had already been pulled into this tangled web the moment their paths had crossed.

A slow exhale. His jaw tightened.

“Whatever,” Elias muttered. “I’ll do the job.”

Renji’s smirk widened.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

With a smooth motion, he sheathed his katana, the sound crisp, final. He pivoted on his heel, his coat swaying with the motion, and began walking away, his presence slipping into the shadows as if he had never truly been there to begin with.

“You know where to find me when it’s done.”

Elias stood still, watching him go, his fists clenching at his sides. His teeth ground together, his mind warring with itself.

Damn him.

The moment Renji vanished into the distance, Elias wasted no time. He reached inside his coat, fingers brushing against a hidden glyph sewn into the inner lining. With practiced ease, he pressed it against his chest, and the symbol flared to life.

The sigil of the Tengu.

A rush of power erupted through him, raw and untamed. His body felt lighter, his muscles thrumming with unnatural energy. His veins burned with an exhilarating intensity, his senses sharpening beyond human capability. His vision expanded, his ears catching even the faintest disturbances in the air.

Then, without hesitation, he launched himself into the sky.

A violent surge of red and black energy erupted beneath his feet, cracking the ground as he shot upward like a streak of lightning. The wind howled past him, his speed shattering the air like the wings of a divine storm. The cityscape blurred beneath him, a chaotic blend of lights and shadows as he rocketed toward Long Island City.

The night stretched before him, vast and endless, but he paid it no mind.

All that mattered now was Amanda.

“Hang on,” Elias murmured under his breath, his eyes locking onto the distant skyline.

“I’m coming.”