The festival's warmth had seeped into my bones, displacing the cold loneliness that usually defined my existence. Standing beside Riyan while we waited for the others to return, I'd felt something close to contentment—a rare emotion for someone whose childhood had been painted entirely in shades of isolation and fear.
Riyan was talking about something enthusiastically. One of the games we'd played earlier, maybe, or the street performer who'd juggled fire with impressive skill. His voice washed over me like music, familiar and comforting in a way that made my chest feel too small to contain everything I felt.
I wasn't entirely sure what I felt, to be honest. At ten years old, the emotions were too complex to fully articulate even to myself. More than friendship, certainly. Something that made my heart race when he smiled at me with that naive arrogance, that made me acutely aware of the small distance between us as we stood side by side.
The guard assigned to watch us maintained his vigilant posture, eyes scanning the crowd with professional efficiency. Everything felt safe. Normal. Just another perfect moment in what had been a genuinely perfect day.
Then the air changed.
It was subtle at first—a shift in pressure that made my demon blood prickle with instinctive warning I'd learned to recognize. The ambient sounds of the festival seemed to grow distant, muffled, as if we'd been suddenly submerged underwater. The crowd's movement around us slowed, became strange, like we existed in a pocket of reality separate from everything else.
The guard's hand moved toward his weapon, his posture shifting from vigilance to combat readiness in the space of a single heartbeat.
Too late.
Two figures materialized from the crowd—not walking toward us but simply there, as if they'd stepped through invisible doorways. Both wore dark clothing that seemed to drink in light, their faces obscured by featureless masks that reflected nothing. The air around them distorted slightly, marking them as mana users of considerable power.
One of them gestured sharply, and I felt the snap of a barrier closing around us like a cage. The festival sounds cut off completely, leaving only the thudding of my own heart in my ears.
"Nexus," the guard breathed, the word carrying weight I didn't fully understand but recognized as genuine terror.
Everything happened with nightmarish speed.
The guard drew his blade in one smooth motion, positioning himself between us and the attackers with practiced efficiency. Steel met steel as the second figure engaged him immediately, forcing him away from us while the first maintained the barrier that trapped us like insects in amber.
I tried to move, to run, but my body refused to obey. Fear had locked my muscles in place, turning me into a statue of a terrified child. Beside me, Riyan had gone rigid, his usual confidence stripped away by the sudden violence erupting before us.
The guard was skilled—B-rank, I'd later learn, which meant he'd survived encounters that would have killed lesser fighters. His blade wove patterns in the air, each strike precise and economical. But he was fighting two opponents who moved with synchronized efficiency that spoke of countless joint operations.
The clash was brutal. Blood began to stain the cobblestones—some from the attackers, more from the guard. A dagger found his shoulder, tearing through flesh. His sword opened a deep gash across one attacker's ribs. Back and forth, give and take, a violent dance with death waiting as the final partner.
The guard managed to kill one of them. I watched the masked figure crumple, life leaving in a wet exhale that sounded too loud in our isolated pocket of reality. But his partner drove a blade into the guard's back in the same moment, the steel punching through armor and flesh with sickening ease that made my stomach heave.
The guard fell hard.
And we were alone with a killer.
The surviving attacker moved toward us with deliberate slowness, savoring our terror like it was something enjoyable. Blood dripped from his blade, leaving a trail of crimson drops that seemed impossibly bright against the gray stone.
When he spoke, his voice was conversational, almost friendly—which somehow made it infinitely worse.
"Well. This is inconvenient."
He turned toward Riyan, and I felt my blood freeze at the predatory focus in that movement. "You weren't part of the plan, Descartes heir. We came specifically for the demon girl." Those masked eyes shifted to me. "But my partner's dead now, which complicates our extraction significantly. So you, friend, are going to be our insurance policy. A hostage valuable enough that no one will dare interfere with our departure. Simple practical thinking."
The casual way he discussed kidnapping, the matter-of-fact tone as he explained how he'd use Riyan as a shield—it was somehow more terrifying than rage or madness would have been. This was a professional making tactical decisions, not a monster acting on impulse.
This is my fault.
The thought crashed through my paralysis like lightning. They came for me. Riyan's in danger because of me. Because I wanted to come to the festival. Because I exist. Because my cursed bloodline makes me valuable to these monsters.
The attacker produced a vial from somewhere in his dark clothing. The liquid inside was murky, viscous, wrong in a way that made my demon instincts scream warnings.
"Open your mouths. Don't make me force you. This will be easier if you cooperate."
My body finally obeyed me—but only to tremble uncontrollably. Tears burned my eyes, blurring the figure that approached with that terrible vial extended like poison.
I wanted to tell Riyan to run. Wanted to scream for help that wouldn't come through the barrier. Wanted to do anything except stand there uselessly while my friend was pulled into danger because of my existence.
The attacker's hand clamped around my jaw with bruising force, fingers digging into pressure points that forced my mouth open despite my best efforts to resist. The vial tilted, and liquid fire poured down my throat.
The taste was indescribable—bitter and sweet and fundamentally wrong, like drinking corruption given physical form. It burned its way down, and immediately my vision began to swim. The world tilted sideways, vertigo crashing over me in waves that made standing impossible.
Through rapidly dimming vision, I saw the same process repeated with Riyan. Saw him choke and gag as the liquid was forced down his throat. Saw his eyes roll back as consciousness fled.
He crumpled like a puppet with cut strings.
I'm sorry, I thought desperately, reaching toward him even as my own legs gave out. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I should never have wanted to come here.
Then darkness swallowed everything.
The mana barriers dissolved simultaneously—the combat isolation and the sound dampening both collapsing as the Nexus operative's concentration shifted to extraction rather than containment. The festival's ambient noise crashed back into existence like a physical force.
Screams erupted immediately from every direction.
The crowd had been flowing around the invisible barrier like water around a stone, subconsciously avoiding the space without understanding why. Now they could see what that space contained: two guards' bodies sprawled in pools of blood that looked almost black in the dim lighting, two unconscious children, and a masked figure cradling both young victims with disturbing gentleness.
Panic spread through the festival like wildfire. People stumbled backward, parents grabbing their children and fleeing. Some froze in shock, unable to process the carnage. A few brave souls started forward, perhaps thinking to intervene—
The Nexus operative moved with inhuman speed.
One moment he was surrounded by potential obstacles. The next, he'd cleared the immediate area, both children secured in a carry that suggested extensive practice at abduction. His path through the crowd was a study in brutal efficiency—people fell aside or were knocked down, their interference dismissed as irrelevant.
Festival security responded within seconds, but seconds were lifetimes for someone trained in extraction operations. By the time armed guards converged on the scene, the operative was already disappearing into the labyrinth of side streets that branched off from the main festival grounds.
Behind him, he left chaos.
The festival's celebration had transformed into pandemonium. Families fled toward exits in stampedes. Security tried to establish perimeters while simultaneously calling for backup. Medical personnel rushed to the fallen guards—one clearly dead, the other clinging to life by threads.
And in the washroom area where they'd gone seemingly ages ago, Livia Descartes and Fera Starlight emerged with their guard escort, confusion on their faces at the sudden disruption.
That confusion transformed to horror when they reached the location where they'd left their friends.
Livia's scream cut through the chaos like a blade. High and sustained and broken in a way that spoke of world-ending grief. The guard with them went pale, immediately understanding the tactical nightmare unfolding.
The heirs of two great families—the Descartes and the Zeus bloodlines—had been taken.
Word would reach their families within the hour. By morning, the entire continent would know that Nexus had succeeded in a brazen daylight kidnapping of highly valuable targets.
The organization that haunted the nightmares of hunter associations and government agencies across the world had struck again. And this time, they'd captured prizes beyond mere monetary value.
A demon-blooded child—potential vessel for their twisted experiments in creating artificial devils.
And the Asura Prince—heir to a family whose resources and reach made them near-untouchable, now leverage against interference.
The Nexus operative disappeared into shadows, his cargo unconscious and helpless, while behind him the festival grounds transformed into a crime scene that would dominate headlines for months to come.
Somewhere in the chaos, someone found the presence of mind to activate emergency communication arrays. Messages began to race toward the Descartes Estate and Reyas Academy, bearing news that would shatter families and ignite a manhunt of unprecedented scale.
At the Descartes Estate, Cris Descartes received the news with his characteristic cold expression—but those who knew him well would have seen the minute tightening around his eyes, the slight tension in his shoulders. He issued orders with mechanical precision, mobilizing family resources with the efficiency of a general preparing for war.
At Reyas Academy, Principal Rai Zeus was in her office when the message arrived. The cigarette fell from her lips, burning a hole in the expensive carpet that she didn't even notice. Her expression transformed from shock to something that made the messenger instinctively step back—raw, primal fury mixed with fear for her daughter.
Within minutes, she'd begun mobilizing every resource at her disposal. The Academy's entire security force. Personal contacts across multiple hunter guilds. Favors accumulated over decades of building influence.
Someone had taken her daughter.
And they would learn exactly why people feared the name Zeus.
But none of that mattered to the children being carried into darkness.
For Riyan and Raven, lost to drug-induced unconsciousness, a nightmare was only beginning.
When Raven would eventually wake—hours or days later, she couldn't tell—it would be in darkness. Cold stone beneath her, the smell of damp and decay, the sound of dripping water echoing in what felt like a vast space.
And beside her, she'd hear Riyan's breathing. Unconscious still, but alive.
They were alone together in the dark.
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