The temple trembled beneath the shadow of Ignaras’s wings.
The cold, black air still spread through the space from the fires that had devoured the goat heads.
Ignaras stood motionless, but his stillness was like a dagger driven into everyone’s chest.
Even breathing near him seemed dangerous.
Valerius, his long blond hair tied tightly back, with a gaze that tried to be indifferent but with anxiety leaking from behind his eyes, moved closer to Sai.
He lowered his voice, but not low enough that Sofia wouldn’t hear.
“Sai… how do you think we’re supposed to control this demon now?”
Sai shrugged.
His smiling mask, under the temple’s black light, seemed to be mocking them.
But he didn’t answer.
It was Sofia who spoke.
Without taking her eyes off Ignaras, with that strange composure of hers — the composure of someone lounging on a sofa in a room full of bombs — she said:
“Don’t worry. Just let him do whatever he wants.”
Her voice was so ordinary, as if she were saying “let the child play with his toys.”
Valerius and the other agents exchanged glances.
Even the white-masked agents, who were supposed to feel nothing, seemed to have their shoulders tensed a little more.
Sofia took a step forward.
She was now only a few meters from Ignaras.
She clasped her hands behind her back, leaned forward, like someone wanting to look at a baby sleeping in a stroller.
In a playful tone, yet at the same time so cold that the bottom of it froze over, she said:
“Let’s see what your name is, little demon?”
Several agents stepped back.
Sai lowered his voice, but involuntarily it became louder than a whisper: “Really, Sofia? You’re talking to a Prince of Hell like that? That’s cool.”
Anusha, who had been silent until now, her fingers turning the dice in her suit pocket, without lifting her gaze from Ignaras, said in a tired, bored tone:
“By the way… I think it’s time to run.”
Her voice had barely finished when the temple shook.
Not like an earthquake — like someone had squeezed the heart of the earth.
And from within Lloyd’s chest — from the very place where the heart chain was coiled around the aortic valve — a voice rose.
Deep.
Harsh.
Hollow.
“Mortal beings…”
The agents held their breaths.
“…you take the honor of summoning me upon yourselves?”
Ignaras raised his head.
His twisted horns gleamed in the black light.
His void eyes — those two holes into nothingness — rested on each of them, one by one, as if counting.
“Ask for my name…”
He raised his hand.
The red, lava-like fingers slowly opened.
“…my name is Ignaras.”
And energy was released.
Not a wave.
Not an explosion.
Pressure.
Pressure that burst out from within him, as if the air had suddenly decided to multiply its weight several times over.
The black-suited agents — those with plain white masks who never moved — this time retreated several steps.
A few fell to their knees.
One of them had his mask crack, and the burned, empty face behind it was revealed for a moment.
The ground cracked.
Cracks that started from beneath Ignaras’s feet and snaked toward the pillars like stone serpents.
Black fire burst from the cracks — not blazing, just there, as if it had always been waiting beneath these stones.
And Ignaras laughed.
The sound of his laughter was like fabric tearing.
Like a sound that, if death could laugh, it would laugh like this.
“This human’s body… is truly weak!”
His gaze fell upon his hands — the same hands that had once belonged to Lloyd, now red and lava-like.
“If I release even an insignificant fraction of my true power, this body…”
He clenched his fist.
The air around his fist rippled.
“…will be destroyed.”
He paused.
Perhaps he was thinking.
Perhaps he was calculating how much pressure he could exert without his vessel shattering.
“But… with this same weak body…”
He lifted his gaze.
To the temple ceiling.
To the stone sky that held a path to the world above.
“…I can open a gate between Hell and the world of humans.”
He took a step.
And suddenly — he stopped.
Not that he had decided to stop.
That someone had stopped him.
The muscles of his arms tensed, but didn’t move.
His legs pressed against the ground, but the flagstones beneath his feet cracked and he himself didn’t stir.
His wings tried to spread, but only the black membrane trembled and remained folded.
Ignaras’s void eyes widened — if a void can be said to widen.
The rage that rose from the depths of his being was so hot that the air around him began to burn.
“What is this?! Why can’t I move?!”
Silence.
Then — the sound of laughter.
Not a loud laugh.
A short laugh.
Familiar.
Like someone hearing a funny joke at a crowded party.
Sofia had her hand to her lips.
Her golden-brown eyes glinted.
A deep gaze, a contemplative gaze — a gaze that said, “I predicted this.”
“You can’t do such a thing without my permission, dear prince.”
Her voice was calm.
Very calm.
As if she were talking to a cat lounging on a cushion.
“If you want to kill humans, kill them. If you want to destroy the human world, destroy it…”
She took a step forward.
One.
Two steps.
Now she was so close to Ignaras that she could feel the heat of his body on her face.
“…but right now — you are under my control.”
Ignaras looked down.
At his body.
Beneath the red lava-like skin, things were glimmering.
Threads.
Semi-transparent threads, made of light, made of fate, made of the same substance as Sofia’s whip.
But this time it wasn’t a whip — it was a web.
A spider’s web.
The threads came from Sofia’s hands — from the tips of her fingers, from behind her nails, from the lines of her palms.
She had been weaving the threads this entire time.
During the summoning.
During the talking.
During the laughing.
Ignaras shouted — his voice shook the walls:
“How dare you, mortal human?! I will burn your very soul!”
A black light shot from his eyes toward Sofia.
Sofia didn’t flinch.
The black light struck the threads and scattered, like lightning on a wire.
Sai, who had remained silent until now and was hiding behind one of the pillars, peeked out and said in a voice that tried to be calm but couldn’t:
“Prince… it’s because of the chains inside the body. She’s controlling you. It’s not really you in there, it’s…”
Anusha, without taking her eyes off the scene, said in her usual tone — tired, bored:
“Shut up, Sai.”
Sai closed his mouth.
Sofia, ignoring their words, drew even closer.
Now she could place her hand on Ignaras’s chest — on the very spot where the knife had gone in, on the very spot where the heart chain coiled.
And with a cold smile, so cold it was as if she had swallowed winter and was now spitting it out, she said:
“Then let’s make a deal.”
Ignaras paused.
The voids of his eyes remained fixed on Sofia’s face.
Something like surprise curled in his voice.
Genuine surprise.
Not for show.
“A deal?… It seems you are different from the rest. A demigod?”
Sofia smiled.
She didn’t answer.
Ignaras tilted his head slightly — the same movement Sofia had made with James in the street.
An unconscious imitation.
“You are a celestial human, and the rest of them—”
Sai tilted his head and said: “You mean us?”
His gaze locked onto Sofia’s golden eyes.
“Tell me what you want. I don’t have much time. I want to finish my work and leave this body.”
Valerius, who until now had tried to stand indifferently — hands behind his back, chest forward, chin up — suddenly felt cold sweat running down his forehead.
There was no handkerchief.
He wiped his sleeve across his forehead.
And at that very moment — an explosion.
The great gate behind them — the same stone gate with reliefs of winged beings that didn’t resemble angels, that didn’t resemble anything familiar — burst apart.
Chunks of stone were hurled into the air.
One of them struck a pillar near Valerius, and the pillar cracked.
Valerius involuntarily stepped back several paces.
His hand went to his belt — where there was no weapon because Valerius didn’t believe in weapons, he believed in physical power.
But now his hand trembled on his empty belt.
And from the smoke and dust and pieces of stone still rolling on the ground — he came.
A man without glasses.
Simple clothes.
A white shirt, slightly wrinkled.
Gray pants.
Shoes suitable for an old bookseller, not for assaulting a Comson Organization facility.
But in his hand…
A katana.
A long, slender blade, so polished that the temple’s black light glided over it and was not reflected — but swallowed.
Its hilt was of black wood that had been neither sawed nor carved — it seemed to have emerged from the heart of the tree just like that.
Valerius’s eyes went wide.
So wide that, for the first time, that ever-present self-esteem gave way to terror.
He shouted — his voice echoed through the temple and bounced back from the cracks in the walls:
“It… it’s John!”
John Lox.
The same John Lox whose bookshop in the back streets of Chicago smelled of old paper and aged leather.
The same John Lox who set aside comic books for Lloyd every week.
John stood in the middle of the organization’s underground temple, and his gaze — his gaze was no longer kind.
His gaze was sharp, cold, like the very blade he held.
Sofia, who hadn’t even flinched at the explosion of the gate, turned her head.
The smile settled on her lips — but this time it was neither cold nor predatory.
“It’s been a long time, John.”
John lifted his gaze from Sofia.
Cast it upon Lloyd’s formerly suspended body — upon Ignaras with his red skin and twisted horns and void eyes.
His gaze lingered for a fraction of a second on the chains that passed through Lloyd’s throat.
On the dried blood on his face.
On the fresh wound scar on his chest.
His voice was calm.
But calmer than any scream.
“Sofia. I’ve come for Lloyd today.”
He raised the katana’s blade.
Its tip toward Sofia.
“Give him to me… or else…”
And suddenly — pressure.
Not like the pressure Ignaras had released.
That one was raw and wild.
This one was focused.
Precise.
As if the entire weight of John’s being had fallen upon everyone’s shoulders.
The white-masked agents — those who had only retreated a few steps even when Ignaras screamed — this time fell to their knees.
Several of them collapsed to the ground and couldn’t rise.
Sai, behind the pillar, grabbed the wall to keep from falling.
Anusha stood firm, but her face had gone pale.
Tara also stood firm, but her dusty fingers curled around her oak necklace.
Valerius stepped back until he hit a pillar.
Only Sofia didn’t flinch.
Only Ignaras — with that red body and twisted horns — didn’t flinch, but the voids of his eyes remained fixed on John.
John didn’t lower the sword.
“I’ll take Lloyd by force myself.”
Sai raised his hand from behind the pillar.
Like he was answering a question in class.
In a tone that tried to be apologetic, but contained no apology — he said:
“John, it’s been a long time. Believe me, I can’t do anything from here. Do whatever you want.” Sweat dripped from beneath his smiling mask.
“Besides, the organization was supposed to…”
He paused.
His gaze fixed on the rest.
On Valerius, on Anusha, on Tara.
On the agents collapsed on the ground.
“…end the chaos in about two months or less. So if I stay here — I’ll die. Goodbye.”
And he vanished.
He didn’t run.
He didn’t turn into mist.
One moment he was there, the next moment his place was empty.
No footsteps.
Not even a breath.
Nothing.
Valerius stared at Sai’s empty spot.
He blinked.
Looked again.
Still empty.
Thoughts stormed through his mind: “Sai really ran away… that idiot… wait…”
He turned his gaze to the other side of the temple.
Where Anusha had been standing — empty.
Where Tara had been standing — empty.
No trace, no sign, not even a single braided black hair, not even a die fallen on the ground.
Only the cold, cracked flagstones.
Valerius’s breath quickened.
More sweat ran down his temple.
“Anusha and Tara… where did they go?”
And then — Sai’s words echoed in his mind.
Words he had said hours ago, when they were preparing for the summoning.
In that usual joking, carefree tone: “The Comson Organization is finally going to introduce its presence to the world. No more secrecy, no more breeding farms, no more annual sacrifices of a million… It’s time we all knew who’s really pulling the strings.”
Valerius turned his gaze back to Ignaras.
Ignaras stood.
Calm.
Too calm.
A prince who, minutes ago, had been screaming and threatening to open the gates of Hell — was now silent.
Not moving.
Even his breathing had calmed.
Valerius calculated in his mind.
Fast.
Cold.
Like a machine mapping out its last chance of escape.
“Strange… why is the Prince of Hell so calm? I thought he’d have destroyed everything by now… wait…”
His eyes locked onto the invisible threads running from Sofia’s fingers to Ignaras’s body.
“…Does that mean Sofia is so powerful that she can even control the Prince of Hell? That means… she really is a demigod. I thought she was just joking.”
He exhaled.
He made his decision.
“…I have to run. Report this to the organization.”
He hadn’t even lifted his shoe when John’s voice echoed through the temple.
The air was cold — colder than when Ignaras had been summoned.
But John’s gaze was colder than that cold air.
He stepped forward.
His footsteps on the flagstones, heavy and measured.
He had lowered the sword, but his fingers on the hilt were still white from the pressure he was exerting.
“You really used a child for your purposes?”
He gave a bitter smile — a smile that deepened the wrinkles around his eyes.
“The organization… is the same as ever.”
Sofia started to answer.
She opened her lips — but John no longer waited.
He raised his empty hand.
A simple movement, like calling someone over for lunch.
And from the shadows — from beneath the pillars, from behind the cracks in the walls, from amidst the very smoke left from the burning of the white-robed men — two beings leaped out.
Specters.
Not specters of the dead.
Specters with twisted horns, like goats.
Their eyes were yellow, pupil-less.
Their hands longer than normal, their fingers thin and sharp.
They made no sound, didn’t breathe — they only moved.
They ran toward Ignaras.
Sofia immediately moved her hand to her belt — where the whip of threads was coiled around her waist — but John no longer waited.
The sword leaped from its sheath.
A rasping sound that, in the temple’s silence, was like a brief roar.
And at the same moment — fire.
Orange flames ringed the blade, not as if the sword had caught fire, but as if the fire had always belonged to this sword and had only just remembered.
John moved.
Fast.
Not humanly fast.
In the blink of an eye — he closed the distance between himself and Sofia.
The sword rose — again that same simple movement — and the tip of the blade stopped, precisely a few centimeters from Sofia’s throat.
The fire on the blade subsided.
As if it were holding its breath.
But the blade cut only air.
Sofia’s body — one moment there, solid, standing — turned to mist.
A mass of gray particles that scattered through the temple’s cold air.
Several meters away, near one of the cracked pillars, the mist compressed again and Sofia stepped out of it.
Her hair was disheveled.
Her breathing — for the first time — was slightly faster.
But the color hadn’t drained from her face.
The smile was still on her lips, only this time smaller, more cautious.
John lowered the sword.
The fire around the blade died.
But the readiness didn’t leave his shoulders.
With sarcasm — cold and short sarcasm, like ice dropped into a glass — he said:
“So this is your new ability?”
He spun the sword around his finger, like a tired cowboy.
He aimed it at the sheath, but hadn’t sheathed it yet.
“It seems you’ve made good progress…”
He fixed his gaze on Sofia.
No longer a threat, no longer sarcasm.
“But don’t forget, Sofia…”
He took a step forward.
Not fast, not slow.
The step of someone certain the other party won’t move.
“…you are five thousand years old. You have a thousand times more experience than I do…”
He ran his hand over the sword.
The blade gave a thin sound beneath his finger — a sound of satisfaction.
“…and you’ve learned several times over how to run away.”
Silence.
The mist still swirled in the corners of the temple.
The black fire still burned beneath the cracks in the ground.
Ignaras still stood, motionless, but his void eyes had moved from Sofia to John.
Sofia took her hand off her belt.
She didn’t draw the whip.
She kept the smile.
And the temple sank into silence — a silence heavier than any scream.
To be continued…