THIRD PERSON’S POV

“Why are you still here?” Vladimir asked, his voice laced with impatience.

Mr. Azakura looked up calmly. “Even if I wanted to leave, I couldn’t. The entire basement was locked—seems like she made sure of it herself.” He paused, then added, “It appears she’s making… progress.”

“Progress, huh?” Vladimir murmured, nodding slowly.

Mr. Azakura took a measured sip of his tea, then looked up, his gaze sharp. “You know her plan: to die along with all her sins. But that can’t happen if her opponent is weak. She needs someone strong enough to kill her. Otherwise, she’ll destroy everything in her path.”

Vladimir’s brow furrowed. “Is that why she’s letting Ice grow stronger?”

Mr. Azakura gave a slight nod. “You know Ice—good-hearted, honest. But in war, having a good heart is a weakness. You have to be ruthless if you want to survive. Kill, or be killed.” He set his teacup down, fingers lingering over the rim. “I’ve watched Ice long enough to know… he doesn’t have it in him to kill Hyra. He’s too soft. He wants to believe she can change.”

The silence settled around them, punctuated only by Mr. Azakura’s soft sips of tea. Vladimir’s expression grew distant, his eyes clouded with guilt and curiosity.

“Tell me…” Vladimir stammered, embarrassed by the question but unable to hold it back. “What kind of child was Hyra?”

Mr. Azakura’s face softened, a hint of nostalgia creeping in. “Hyra?” He hesitated before a rare smile crossed his lips. “She was… like any other child. Spoiled, mischievous, defiant. She never wanted to study, claimed she couldn’t use it for killing. But when Conan—her Conan—told her they needed to study to count the enemies they’d take down, she suddenly took an interest.”

Vladimir’s breath caught as he listened, piecing together the daughter he’d left behind.

“She refused to take her medicine unless Conan gave it to her,” Mr. Azakura continued, a faraway look in his eyes. “At eight, she was already annoying him by insisting he be her boyfriend. Every day she’d pester him, asking if they were ‘dating.’ Conan would pretend to be annoyed, but I could see it… he secretly enjoyed every moment of it.”

Vladimir’s face softened, a strange ache in his chest as Mr. Azakura went on.

“They were inseparable. Conan was the first person she sought after returning from her first stay in the dungeon, bloodied but triumphant. She held a piece of paper—a marriage certificate with their names on it. Conan tried to resist, not because he didn’t want it, but because he wanted them to grow stronger first. But she threatened him, and he couldn’t refuse her. They became each other’s worlds, training side by side. She even bought some of my properties with my own money, and Conan didn’t stop her.” Mr. Azakura’s laugh was soft, filled with the weight of the years.

Vladimir swallowed, then cleared his throat. “But… why do you keep bringing up Takashi?”

Mr. Azakura raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. “Oh, did I forget to mention? Conan is Hyra’s life. You can’t tell her story without him. If you don’t want me to continue, I’ll stop.”

Vladimir shook his head. “No… keep going.”

Mr. Azakura’s smirk widened. “When Hyra decided to enter the dungeon again, she sent Conan away. Sent him to the Philippines, far from the path of destruction she’d chosen for herself. But they couldn’t truly separate. Hyra hacked into security feeds just to watch him from afar, sneaking photos whenever she took a jet to see him in secret. She thought he didn’t know, but Conan was well aware.”

He paused, as if savoring the moment. “To everyone else, Conan was a lively, friendly student in the Caribbean. But it was all a show. He didn’t know a single soul there, didn’t want anyone else to cloud his memories—he only had space for Hyra. Even his dream of playing soccer faded away, all because he couldn’t bear to be apart from her.”

The words hung heavily in the air, and Vladimir’s expression tightened.

“So, if she loved him so much… why did she let him die?” he whispered, voice thick with sorrow.

“To keep her weakness from being used against her,” Mr. Azakura replied, a hard edge to his voice. He set down his teacup, hands folded. “Hyra knew that as long as Conan was alive, she’d always have a reason to hold back. By letting him go, she could become the force she’d intended—a weapon with nothing left to lose.”

Mr. Azakura’s gaze softened as he leaned back, recalling a time when Hyra was just a headstrong child, wild and full of mischief.

“Hyra… she never cried,” he began, voice low. “Even when people around her fell—friends, allies, enemies—it was as if nothing could touch her heart. I watched her face death without a tear. But when Conan…” He paused, his expression tightening as the memory washed over him. “When she lost Conan… she nearly followed him into the grave. It shattered something in her. For the first time, Hyra broke.”

Vladimir listened, silent, a flicker of pain passing over his face as he imagined the little girl he had never truly known.

“She spent three years lost,” Mr. Azakura continued, his voice softening. “Three years of barely holding on, trying to claw her way back to herself. I would watch her sit alone in the dead of night, staring at the stars, clutching that tattered piece of paper—her and Conan’s marriage certificate. She kept it like a relic, something sacred.”

The faintest hint of a smile crossed his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “When she was a kid, she was trouble—an absolute handful. If there was trouble to be found, she was at the center of it. Climbing walls she had no business scaling, sneaking into places she had no right being in… and Conan, the poor boy, would always be dragged along for her escapades. No matter how many times he scolded her, he never left her side.”

Mr. Azakura chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Once, she convinced him to help her sneak into a restricted training room, claiming they were on a ‘mission.’ Of course, Conan was skeptical, but she dared him, said he was ‘too scared.’ Next thing I know, I’m getting reports of two children racing around the training room, Hyra giggling and dragging Conan through obstacle courses meant for soldiers. They caused chaos.”

Vladimir’s lips twitched with a faint smile, the mental image forming in his mind. “She must have been… fearless.”

“Fearless?” Mr. Azakura chuckled. “She was reckless. When she wanted something, she went after it without a second thought. And poor Conan—he was the only one who could keep her in check. But even he had his limits. One time, she challenged him to a fight just because he called her stubborn. She actually knocked him down, too, but he only laughed and said, ‘Good. Now you know how to fight back.’”

Mr. Azakura’s smile faded as he looked down into his teacup. “But losing him changed her. She didn’t cry that day, either, but something broke. Her eyes turned cold. It was as if all the light she’d ever had… was gone. For three years, she barely spoke, her laughter replaced by silence. She fought harder, pushed herself further than anyone could imagine. She became a force even I couldn’t reach.”

A long silence filled the room as Vladimir absorbed the story, a quiet ache gnawing at him. He clenched his fists, realizing what he’d missed.

“And yet… she pulled herself back,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Mr. Azakura nodded, his voice soft. “Eventually, she came back. But she was different. Colder, sharper, but… perhaps even more determined. Conan may be gone, but he left a fire in her, something fierce and unyielding.” He looked Vladimir in the eye, his gaze steady. “Now she fights as if every battle is for him, every victory a tribute to what they could have been. She doesn’t want anyone’s pity. She doesn’t want to be saved. She just… wants to keep going, for him.”

Vladimir sat in silence, absorbing the story. The weight of Mr. Azakura’s words hung in the air, but something gnawed at him, an unsettling thought he couldn’t shake. He took a steady breath, glancing up, his gaze firm.

“Where is Conan’s body, Azakura?” he asked, voice quiet but intense.

Mr. Azakura didn’t answer right away. Instead, he set his teacup down slowly, his expression unreadable. He looked down at the table, a faint smile beginning to form on his lips, one that didn’t reach his eyes. There was something unsettling about it, a glint of mystery and secrecy in his gaze as he looked up, meeting Vladimir’s stare with a piercing intensity.

The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. He didn’t say a word.

Just that suspicious, knowing smile.

ETHAN'S POV

"All of you will evacuate the civilians immediately. Do not approach Demon. Keep your distance at all costs. Her eyes are the color of blood, and you know the reason why you must stay away, right?"

"Yes, sir. She doesn't know who the enemy is," one of the underlings replied.

"Then go ahead and save as many as you can."

"ROGER THAT!"

---

The orders hung in the air like a weight, and I could feel the tension building. The countdown had already started, but Demon— she—changed the entire plan. Just like that. What was supposed to be executed in the next few months was suddenly pushed forward, and it was all too clear: something went wrong.

Demon?

I dialed his number, but as expected, it went straight to voicemail. I tried again. And again. Thirty missed calls later, she finally picked up.

“What do you need?” Her voice was lazy. She’s sleeping? In the middle of all this chaos?

“Where are you? Your copy is attacking the city.”

“I know. I see them.”

So she was close, after all.

“Why don’t you—” Before I could finish, she interrupted.

“If I attack now, your beloved civilians will get caught in the crossfire. I’ll let them panic first.” She sounded almost hiddy. “It’s fun to watch them scramble like ants trying to survive.”

Ants? She really thought of them that way.

"Where are you?"

"In the tallest building."

That was all I needed. I signaled one of the underlings to send a drone to that building. The feed came in clear, and there she was—sitting on the railing, feet swinging casually in the air. The rooftop of a hundred-floor skyscraper. She looked unnervingly calm. My blood ran cold.

*BOOOOOOOOOOM* 

"Woah! Did you see that, Ethan? The explosion! The smoke looks just like a mushroom cloud!" She clapped her hands, practically bouncing with excitement.

The nerve of her. She was enjoying this.

"Sir, five more copies have been spotted in the distance." One of my underlings spoke up.

Eight copies. Eight copies surrounding her. Clyde had told me Demon struggled to finish off just five copies the other day. What the hell would she do with eight? Especially when she’d told everyone not to interfere.

"Hey, Ethan, are you gonna watch me? If you are, make sure you record my best shots, especially my moves. There are some moves I haven’t shown you yet." Her voice was dripping with enthusiasm, and I could practically hear the smirk on her lips.

She had more moves?

"Okay, but don’t frown, you’ll ruin the shot."

“Make me look beautiful!”

“Drone cameras have no filters,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

There was a pause, then: “Then edit it first before you post it!”

She jumped, and for a second, I thought she was going to plummet straight to the ground. My heart skipped a beat. But no. She was holding onto something—like a ninja on a rooftop. She moved like lightning, with fluid, impossible grace.

“Focus the camera on her. Highlight all the best shots,” I ordered. The drone followed her as she ran with her hand at her side, and then—then—she started singing.

"Isse no se de fumikomu goorain bokura wa
Nanimo nanimo mada shiranu
Issen koete furikaeruto mou nai bokura wa
Nanimo nanimo mada shiranu"

Who does she think she is? Uzumaki Naruto?

But there was no time to waste thinking about it. Demon was a beast on the battlefield. I watched as she ran, dancing through the chaos, her laughter filling the air like the sound of a deranged child. It was madness. It was pure madness.

I could hear the explosions in the distance, but Demon didn’t flinch. She didn’t care. She was enjoying the destruction, savoring it like a meal.

The drone captured every moment—her sharp, fluid movements, her wild eyes, her scythe slicing through the air like it was an extension of herself. She was in her element, and it was terrifying.

She was a maniac.

As I watched her tear through the battlefield, it became all too clear—no one was safe. Not even me. Not even the civilians she claimed to be protecting. Because at the end of it all, Demon had one thing on her mind: destruction. And it was only a matter of time before everything she touched turned to ashes.

I clenched my fist. What was I supposed to do?

ICE'S POV

Good. She took the bait. Demon was out in the open, doing exactly what I wanted. Now, there was only one thing left.

"What’s the next step?" Claire asked, her voice quiet but steady.

"Attack the White Monarchy," I replied, my tone cold and resolute. "Make sure she has no place left to return to. Burn it to ashes."

I saw her flinch slightly, her eyes flickering with confusion. She hesitated, as if questioning my intentions. Why was she looking at me like that? Could she possibly be… worried?

"Claire, this is the only way. She’s too dangerous, too relentless. All this trouble, all this chaos—it won’t end while she lives."

She didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, I thought she was going to let it go. But then, she looked at me, eyes searching. "Can you… really kill her?"

The question hit me like a blow. Where was this coming from? Why now?

"Without a doubt."

Claire took a breath, her gaze steady but troubled. "And… if she begs you not to do it? What if she—" Her voice wavered, and she stopped herself, shaking her head as if brushing away her own fears. "Never mind," she murmured, sinking down onto the nearby chair.

Her words lingered in the air. Something was gnawing at her, and it wasn't like Claire to hold back. I walked over, my eyes never leaving her face, and gently took her hand, pressing a soft kiss against it.

"After this," I said, looking into her eyes, "let’s get married."

I watched Claire’s face soften as she looked at me, her hand still in mine, fingers laced together. In this moment, surrounded by the quiet tension of our plans, her presence felt like a grounding force in my chaotic world. She was my safe haven, a promise of something beyond all the bloodshed and battles.

"Really?" she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. "You still want to—"

"Marry you?" I finished her sentence, a soft smile creeping onto my lips. "Yes, more than anything."

As I held Claire’s hand, her warmth grounded me. This moment—just the two of us in a fleeting silence—was the only calm I had left amid the storm I was stirring. Yet, as I looked into her eyes, a memory slipped into my mind unbidden, and I couldn't shake it.

Hyra.

The memories of her came crashing back, vivid and undeniable. Back then, before I knew who she truly was. Before I knew that the sweet girl I fell for would one day become the menace known as Demon. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the memories were so clear—her laughter, the way her eyes would light up when she talked about her dreams, as if her world was full of innocence. We’d spend hours talking about anything and everything, dreaming of a life far from the conflicts and betrayals that marked our reality.

I remember the way I loved her, truly loved her. There was a sweetness to our bond, a simplicity I hadn't felt with anyone else. She wasn't Demon then. She was just Hyra—a girl who seemed so normal, so pure. Her smile would make me forget the weight of the world, and I’d imagined a future with her… a future that could have been mine if I’d never known the truth.

The thought of that past—of who we once were—made my heart ache. It was bittersweet, that small flame of love I’d held onto, now flickering under the harsh truth that she had become something dark and unrecognizable. I had to remind myself that the woman I once loved was gone, replaced by the ruthless force I had to confront.

Claire’s voice brought me back to the present. "Ice?" she whispered, her eyes searching my face, sensing the change in my expression.

I looked back at her, trying to focus on her features, her warmth. "It’s nothing," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just… memories."

She gave me a gentle smile, squeezing my hand. "You don’t have to carry them alone."

Her hand remained in mine, a quiet reminder of the life I could still choose, a future free from the chaos that followed Hyra like a storm. I looked at her, studying every detail of her face, her soft, steady eyes, the small curve of her smile. This moment felt fragile, like glass waiting to shatter. Maybe she sensed the weight of my silence, the way my mind drifted, because she leaned in close.

“Whatever it is you’re holding onto,” she murmured, “you can let it go, Ice. You don’t have to carry it.”

Her words were gentle, reassuring. But how could I explain what I’d once felt for Hyra? How could I describe the person she was, or the dreams we’d shared? They were just memories now, ghosts of a past long since twisted by betrayal and bloodshed.

My grip tightened around Her hand. “It’s not that simple,” I said, my voice low. “There was a time… when I thought I could save her. That I could be the person to pull her out of whatever darkness she’d fallen into. But… Hyra chose her path. She chose this.”

The admission felt raw, the truth like an open wound. But it was the reality. Hyra had walked away from that life, from me, and embraced her role as Demon.

Claire’s face softened, a flicker of pain crossing her expression. “Do you still love her?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut. I didn’t answer right away; instead, I looked down at her hand, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. "No," I finally replied. "The girl I loved… she doesn’t exist anymore. She’s just a memory."

But even as I said the words, I felt the lingering echo of that love, a dull ache that hadn’t fully faded. Claire must have sensed it too, because she sighed and leaned her head against my shoulder, letting the silence settle between us.

And then, just as the moment grew soft, my mind snapped back to the mission.

Hyra was out there, unleashing chaos like only she could. She’d baited me into this, made me attack her stronghold, the White Monarchy, knowing full well what it would mean. She had chosen destruction over redemption, and she had forced my hand. If she wanted a war, I would give it to her.

I turned back to Claire, my eyes hardening. “We have to end this. No more hesitations.”

She nodded, but there was a sadness in her gaze. “I know,” she whispered.

My heart was a battlefield of its own, torn between the memory of Hyra and the woman beside me now. But I steeled myself, forcing down the emotions that threatened to surface.

As we left the room, heading toward the frontlines, Claire stayed by my side, a steady presence in the storm. And though Hyra’s shadow lingered, I knew that when the time came, I would face her—not as the girl I once loved, but as the enemy she had become.

And when it was over, I would finally be free to build a future with Claire. If we both survived this.