Tiamat.
A city of movement.
Of voices.
Of life.
And to Damian—
A city of targets.
The moment he stepped past its gates, the world changed.
Not visually.
But fundamentally.
Sound didn't just exist—
It pressed.
Footsteps echoed too clearly. Conversations overlapped into a suffocating hum. Laughter sounded distorted—too sharp, too hollow.
Every heartbeat within a ten-meter radius—
He could hear it.
Feel it.
Measure it.
Damian walked through the crowd, hood over his head, hands buried in his coat.
But his fingers twitched.
Not from discomfort.
From urge.
The city wasn't alive to him.
It was a field of breathing weaknesses.
Every person—
Fragile.
Breakable.
Temporary.
A man brushed past him.
For a split second—
His face rotted.
Skin peeling.
Eyes hollow.
A corpse walking.
Then—
Gone.
Normal again.
Damian stopped.
His gaze shifted.
A woman laughing nearby—
Her jaw hung loose.
Her neck snapped unnaturally.
Dead.
Then—
Alive.
Children ran past him—
One stumbled.
Its body dragged across the ground like a lifeless shell.
Then—
It stood up laughing.
"…Are they alive…"
His voice was barely audible.
"…or just waiting to die?"
The distortions didn't stop.
They worsened.
The deeper he walked—
The more the world blended.
Reality.
Death.
The beyond.
All layered together.
Then—
Sophie's voice.
Faint.
Broken.
"…Damian…"
He didn't answer.
"…If you lose control in a place like this…"
A pause.
Her voice strained.
"…you won't just be hunted…"
Another pause.
"…you'll be erased."
That word lingered.
Erased.
Not killed.
Not defeated.
Removed.
Even Damian paused at that.
Not out of fear—
But recognition.
There were things in this world…
That could end even something like him.
Then—
The air shifted.
Subtly.
But undeniably.
Damian's head tilted slightly.
Something unseen pressed against him.
Like a boundary.
Like a field.
Something measuring.
Something judging.
Three figures stood ahead.
Not ordinary spiritualists.
Structured.
Disciplined.
Their presence alone altered the space around them.
One stepped forward.
"You."
Damian didn't respond.
"…Your aura is wrong."
Another narrowed their eyes.
"…Unregistered contractor."
The third spoke quietly:
"…And that killing intent…"
Their hands hovered near their weapons.
Not attacking.
But ready.
Watching.
Assessing.
Damian's vision blurred.
The crowd around him faded.
The sounds dulled.
All that remained—
Were targets.
Every person.
Every movement.
Every breath.
Kill.
The thought didn't come as emotion.
It came as function.
Necessary.
Efficient.
Absolute.
His hand slipped from his pocket.
His body leaned forward—
Slightly.
Then—
More.
The world slowed.
The patrol's voices distorted.
The crowd became shapes.
Flesh.
Weakness.
Noise.
His body moved.
Without command.
Without hesitation.
And in that moment—
The city almost died.
"Damian!"
A voice cut through everything.
Sharp.
Real.
Isabell.
She ran.
Faster than before.
No hesitation.
No fear.
She grabbed him—
Hard.
Both hands gripping his arm.
Pulling.
Grounding.
"Damian!"
No response.
His eyes were empty.
Gone.
Lost in something deeper.
Something darker.
She stepped in front of him.
Blocked his view.
Blocked the world.
Her voice didn't shake.
"If you're going to kill them…"
A breath.
"…then kill me first."
Silence.
Absolute.
Damian froze.
His eyes locked onto her.
Not as prey.
Not as a target.
But something else.
Something his instincts couldn't process.
A contradiction.
He didn't care about her.
But—
He didn't want to kill her either.
And for the first time—
That broke something.
Not his mind.
Not his control.
But his certainty.
The world snapped back.
Sound returned.
The crowd reappeared.
The patrol stepped back slightly.
Tension thick.
Heavy.
Damian's hand lowered.
Slowly.
From above—
A rooftop.
Two figures watched.
Hidden.
Still.
"…He's unstable."
A pause.
"…But not mindless."
Another pause.
"…Interesting."
Damian turned.
No apology.
No explanation.
He simply walked.
Isabell stood there for a moment.
Then followed again.
Like always.
Behind them—
The patrol regrouped.
"…Report it."
"Unregistered contractor detected."
"…Unknown mark."
A pause.
"…Black crown."
Elsewhere — A Quiet Chamber
A figure stood before a wide window overlooking the city.
The report echoed through the room.
"A boy who returned from death…"
A slow breath.
"…and carries its mark?"
Silence.
Then—
A faint smile.
"…Bring him to me."
He no longer feared death.
But now—
Something far more dangerous had appeared.
Not outside.
But within.
For the first time—
Damian hesitated.
Not because he was weak.
But because something stood in front of him…
…and he could not bring himself to destroy it.
And that—
Was the beginning of something far more terrifying than death.