The Orbital Ring hummed with the sound of a thousand boots on metal.
Kael walked through the station like a ghost—unnoticed, unremarkable, just another young hunter with hollow eyes and a borrowed coat. The ceiling stretched impossibly high above him, a web of steel and light, warning beacons flashing in steady rhythm. Red. White. Red. White.
He kept his head down. Hands in pockets. Headset around his neck, dark and silent.
Other hunters moved past him in waves—some laughing, some grim, some already bleeding from hunts that had gone wrong. The air smelled of ozone and sweat and the faint metallic tang of dried blood.
He reached a stall near the eastern arch.
The vendor was an old woman with silver eyes and fingers like twigs. She sold maps, skins, quills—the primitive tools that still worked in Mystical Eraland, where chips went dead and tech became useless.
Kael placed a few credits on the counter.
"Animal skin. And a quill."
The woman's eyes studied him for a moment—longer than he liked. Then she nodded, sliding the items across the metal surface.
He wrote quickly.
Low Sacred Giant Armadillo — Rocky Hills.
The words were small. Neat. Unremarkable.
He folded the skin and slipped it into his pocket.
Across the station, a commotion rippled through the crowd.
Hunters parted like water around a stone. Heads turned. Whispers spread.
Kael looked up.
A gang of hunters marched through the station, their boots striking the metal floor in unison. Behind them, suspended by cables and raw muscle, hung a massive beast—a golden-armored bull, its hide gleaming like polished sunlight, its horns still dripping with black blood.
Low Sacred rank.
The hunters who carried it moved with the swagger of men who had conquered something ancient. Their armor was dented. Their faces were streaked with grime and gore. And they grinned.
"Of course, this won't be a big deal for Lion's Dude gang," one hunter muttered, his voice thick with envy.
"Yeah!" another added. "And the worst part is—it's just one of his best gangs. He wasn't even part of the hunt."
A third hunter shook his head slowly. "Mennn. Everyone knows that guy is a hunter god. No one can oppose him. No one wants to."
Kael's eyes followed the golden bull as it passed.
Lion's Dude.
The name settled in his chest like a stone.
He'd seen what Lion's Dude's hunters did to people. What they did to anyone who stood in their way. The gang was a pack of monsters wrapped in scars, butchers with weapons and smiles.
But Kael wasn't afraid of them.
He was afraid of the armadillo.
The mother beast. The one he'd used. The one he'd manipulated into slaughtering Droller's entire gang—and the hunters he'd been sent with. He'd watched it crush bodies into paste, had seen its rage burn through the clearing like wildfire.
And now it was still out there.
Wounded. Grieving. Hungry.
Kael's jaw tightened.
He couldn't leave it alive. It was too dangerous, too unpredictable, too connected to him. If anyone discovered what he'd done—how he'd used the beast as a weapon—his carefully constructed facade would crumble.
He needed to finish it.
But he couldn't do it alone.
Lucky me.
He looked across the station.
A new gang was trooping in.
Clif and his squad.
The most influential hunters in the Survey Corps. High-tier. Well-funded. Armed to the teeth. Clif himself was a legend—a Mutated Class hunter who'd survived more dungeon raids than most hunters saw in a lifetime.
Kael watched them approach.
Clif walked at the front, broad-shouldered and confident, his black coat billowing behind him. His gang followed in tight formation—twelve hunters, all geared, all ready.
Kael's fingers brushed against the folded skin in his pocket.
All I need is a break.
He moved.
Not fast. Not slow. Just... present. A figure in the crowd, moving with purpose but no urgency. He angled toward Clif's gang, weaving between hunters, his footsteps silent on the metal floor.
Closer.
A hunter bumped his shoulder—muttered an apology—Kael didn't stop.
Closer.
Another step.
Then—
SHREK!
The sound cut through the station like a blade through silk.
Seven heads fell simultaneously.
Blood sprayed across the metal floor. Bodies crumpled. Heads rolled—some still blinking, some frozen in the last expression they'd ever wear.
The station went silent.
Hunters froze mid-step. Conversations died in throats. Even the vendors stopped moving, their hands suspended above their wares.
Kael looked up.
A figure stood at the center of the carnage.
Shanyuan.
The most feared Mutated Class hunter in Geotequar. Black coat. Black mask. A katana in his hand, half-drawn from its sheath, gleaming with blood that hadn't even begun to drip.
He hadn't even fully unsheathed it.
His eyes swept the station—cold, empty, unimpressed. Like he'd just swatted flies.
Everyone parted.
The crowd melted away from him, boots scraping against metal, bodies pressing against walls. No one wanted to be near him. No one wanted to look at him.
Shanyuan moved forward.
His coat flapped in the wind.
The blood on his blade caught the light.
And then he was gone—disappearing into the crowd like smoke, leaving nothing behind but seven bodies and a silence that stretched like a held breath.
The station erupted.
Panic. Screams. Hunters scrambling to call for help, to drag the bodies away, to pretend they hadn't seen what they'd just seen.
But in the chaos—
Kael made his move.
His hand slipped into his pocket. Pulled out the folded skin.
Then, in a motion so quick it was almost invisible, he dipped it into Clif's coat pocket.
The fabric rustled.
The skin disappeared.
And Kael withdrew his hand, stepping back into the crowd like nothing had happened.
Perfect.
He glanced at Shanyuan's retreating figure.
So that's what a true Mutated Class can do.
Crucify stirred in his skull. Warm. Pleased.
"Woah." The voice was high-pitched, almost reverent. "Wasn't that cool?"
"Hmm." Kael turned away. "Besides, those guys had been troubling him too much."
Sigh.
He walked toward the exit, hands back in his pockets, face blank.
"It's time to get going."
News spread like wildfire.
Within hours, every hunter in the station knew about the skin. The Low Sacred armadillo. The location that had mysteriously appeared in Clif's pocket.
Clif had interrogated every member of his gang.
Who put this here?
Was it you?
Don't lie to me.
But no one confessed. No one had seen anything. The skin had simply... appeared.
Clif stood in the center of his squad, turning the folded skin over in his hands. His face was hard. His eyes were cold.
"Someone wants us to hunt this beast."
One of his lieutenants stepped forward. "Boss. This is obviously a trap."
"Obviously." Clif's voice was flat. "But whoever set this trap—they know what they're doing. A Low Sacred armadillo, wounded, grieving? That's a kill worth the risk."
He pocketed the skin.
"Prepare the squad."
MID-SPIRES — KLEY'S DISTRICT
Rain fell in sheets across the city.
It was a different kind of rain here—clean, chemical, filtered through the atmospheric processors that kept the Mid-Spires livable. It smelled like metal and ozone. It gleamed on the streets like liquid glass.
Keith stood at a showglass, his red hair soaked and plastered to his forehead.
His hands were deep in his green raincoat pockets. His eyes were fixed on the display—row after row of headsets, gleaming under soft lighting, their price tags glowing in neat digital numerals.
He wanted one.
Badly.
He'd wanted one for years—since before the coma, since before the explosion, since he was just a kid watching his brother race and dreaming of music that could drown out the world.
But he didn't want to ask Calvin.
He didn't even want to speak to Calvin.
The thought made his chest tighten.
His head hung low.
Tap.
A palm rested on his shoulder.
Keith spun around.
Kael stood beside him, wearing a long black hoodie, his headset around his neck—the one Calvin had fixed for him. His face was calm. His eyes were distant.
He stared at the showglass in silence for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
"Did you know the best remedy in the world... is music?"
His voice was low. Flat. Like he was speaking more to himself than to Keith.
"No one knows it. But it's true."
Keith swallowed. "What do you mean?"
Kael turned to look at him.
"I knew you were different. From the first day I saw you."
He walked into the store.
The door slid open with a soft hiss. Inside, the air was warm and dry, scented with something faintly floral. Kael moved through the aisles with purpose, his eyes scanning the displays.
He grabbed a headset.
Sleek. Black. Glowing at the edges.
He slid his ID pay card across the teller machine.
Beep. Transaction approved.
Keith's eyes widened. "Whoa—"
Kael turned back to him.
"No need to be surprised."
He placed the headset onto Keith's head.
It settled against his ears like a second skin.
"Your headset is the one on my neck." Kael gestured to the battered device around his own neck. "Calvin gave it to me. It's been... a source of joy. So I decided to buy you one. As a thank you."
Keith was silent.
He stared at Kael, his heart beating faster.
Something was wrong. He knew it. The way Kael moved, the way he spoke, the emptiness in his eyes—it all pointed to something broken, something hidden.
But he didn't make a move.
He didn't flinch.
Just let the silence stretch.
"Thanks," he finally muttered.
He connected the headset to his chip. A soft chime echoed in his ears. Then—music. Electronic. Pulsing. A beat that seemed to match the rhythm of his own heart.
He hummed softly.
Kael tilted his head. "You listen to funk music?"
Keith nodded.
They both remained silent for a moment. The rain tapped against the store's window. The neon lights bled across the wet pavement outside.
Then Kael spoke again.
"Be prepared."
Keith turned off the music.
He rose his head slowly. His red hair fell across his eyes.
"For what?"
Kael gazed at him.
His eyes were narrowed. Empty. Flat in a way that made Keith's skin prickle.
He didn't answer.
Just sighed.
Rose to his feet.
And walked away.
The cold wind blew through the open door. Strands of red hair flapped against Keith's forehead.
He swallowed hard.
Watched Kael's figure move further down the pavement—away from him, away from the store, away from everything, his black hoodie blending with the rain and the neon and the night.
High-tech cars buzzed past on the EL road, leaving trails of blue light.
Keith stood there.
One hand pressed to the headset.
The other clenched into a fist.
And he watched Kael disappear into the city that didn't care.
End of Chapter Nineteen.