A gunshot echoed through the corridor—from exactly the direction where Isaac had disappeared.
Noctis reacted instinctively. With a hard uppercut, he struck the cop in front of him, feeling bone resist beneath his knuckles. Before the man could recover, Noctis swept his legs out from under him. The body hit the floor heavily. A dry, sickening crack followed—a sound that left no doubt something had broken beyond repair. The cop lay motionless.
Noctis spared him no further thought. Whether he was still alive or not didn't matter.
He had to hurry.
Heavy footsteps approached. Two more cops appeared at the end of the corridor, their weapons already raised. Noctis dropped into a crouch, grabbed the pistol from the man at his feet, and brought it up in one fluid motion. Two quick shots rang out—aimed at their thighs. The men cried out, collapsed, losing their balance.
A brief hesitation.
Then Noctis changed his mind and shot both of them straight in the head. The fewer enemies that could come at him from behind, the better. There had to be a fourth somewhere. He didn't know where. It didn't matter. Not now.
Another shot rang out from Isaac's direction—then another.
Isaac…!
Noctis' pulse quickened. Without another thought, he dropped the pistol and moved. His footsteps echoed loudly through the narrow corridor as he rushed toward the source of the gunfire.
Damn.
Had that stubborn cop actually gotten back up and followed Isaac? Noctis' jaw tightened. He should have finished him when he had the chance. That mistake could cost him now.
He desperately hoped nothing had happened to him. In the best case, Isaac had disarmed the persistent cop and ended his life.
___
Noctis' fist hit Benedict with full force.
The cop's head snapped to the side, then sagged forward again as if someone had cut his strings. A hoarse cough tore from his throat. Blood streamed from his nose, dripping steadily onto the floor and pooling between his feet into a dark, glossy puddle. He didn't even lift his head anymore. No defiance, no glance, no resistance.
That was exactly what sent Noctis into a rage.
He struck again.
A dull impact—flesh against bone. His knuckles had long since started burning, the skin split open, but the pain meant nothing to him. He exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to control the rising tension—unsuccessfully.
Another blow.
A sickening crunch cut through the silence as Benedict's nose finally gave way.
"Ugh…" A choked sound escaped him. He curled slightly, coughing and spitting blood onto the floor. "Bastard…" His voice was rough, fractured. "Take off that damn mask already… and show me your face…"
Noctis paused. Just for a moment.
His gaze remained fixed on the man in front of him. He couldn't even say how long he'd been beating Benedict. Time had become relative—and the more of it passed, the more restless he grew.
"You do realize you'll never leave here alive if I take off the mask, right?" Noctis hissed.
Benedict snorted weakly. A bitter, almost amused sound, despite the blood running down his chin.
"You're not going to let me go anyway…" He lifted his head slightly, just enough for one swollen eye to lock onto Noctis. "So I might as well see your ugly face… before I go."
For a brief moment, everything in Noctis tensed.
If that maggot of a cop only knew how badly Noctis wanted to tear the mask off. He wanted this asshole to look him in the eyes while he tortured him. If only he knew how much restraint it took.
But the moment for that hadn't come yet.
He wanted to watch the cop's world collapse. But unfortunately, the man proved more resilient than expected.
Noctis slowly leaned forward until only a few inches separated them. Despite the swelling and the blood, he could feel the cop's gaze. Tilting his head slightly, he spoke in a calm voice:
"Let me get this straight—do you want to take another fall into the depths of your consciousness?"
___
The bloodcurdling scream of his lover made him run even faster.
A paralyzing despair spread through him all at once. His heart pounded so violently that Noctis feared it might tear through his chest.
The museum lay in darkness, but pale moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting faint streaks across the floor—just enough to make out obstacles. His footsteps echoed off the walls as he rounded the next corner.
Then he stopped abruptly.
On the floor lay an outstretched arm in white fabric. Blood soaked through the clothing, dark and glistening in the moonlight. The body behind it didn't move.
Kneeling over him was the damned cop—the man who had brought nothing but misfortune to Isaac. His upper body was bare, his breathing heavy.
Noctis' eyes narrowed.
"Damn it, Isaac… stay awake!" the cop sobbed. "Don't die… please…"
Something cold and unyielding spread through Noctis.
He stopped thinking.
In just a few strides, he reached them, drew back, and kicked the cop aside with full force. The man was hurled several meters away, hitting the ground hard, a strained gasp escaping his throat.
But Noctis barely noticed him anymore.
He immediately dropped to his knees beside Isaac. For a moment, his breath caught.
Isaac lay motionless, his face unnaturally pale, his body drenched in his own blood. A hastily applied pressure bandage was wrapped around his waist, already dark and soaked through.
Ice shot through Noctis.
No. No, no, no… please not him.
With trembling hands, he checked Isaac's breathing and pulse. Both were still there—faint, but present.
A quiet, broken breath left him. It wasn't too late. Not yet.
But the amount of blood told a different story.
"You can't give up now, Isaac…" he whispered, his voice rough with fear.
He placed a hand on Isaac's abdomen and closed his eyes briefly. Then he let his magic flow into him. Warmth spread beneath his palm as he tried to contain the internal bleeding.
"You have to fight, darling," he murmured softly. "This… this is nothing. You've survived worse."
Sweat beaded on his forehead, ran into his eyes, but he blinked it away and kept his focus. He had to at least stop the internal bleeding. The external wounds didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to do more than that anyway.
After all, he wasn't a healer—he was an illusionist.
Isaac didn't make a sound. He lay there as if he were already—
No. He couldn't think that.
"Sandman?! What happened?!"
Ash's voice practically broke through the earbud. Panic laced every word, raw and unfiltered. In the background, he thought he heard sobbing. Noctis' jaw tightened. For a moment, he said nothing, forcing his thoughts down, forcing himself under control.
Then he tapped the earbud.
"Get out. I'll check in later."
Without waiting for a response, he tore the small device from his ear and crushed it between his fingers until a faint crack marked the end of the connection.
Silence.
Only his own breathing. And Isaac's barely perceptible life.
The cop still lay on the ground, gasping, dazed.
Noctis didn't hesitate any longer. With blood-smeared fingers, he pulled out his phone and dialed Vincent's number. Every ring that echoed through the line stretched into an eternity.
"Noc—" Vincent began as soon as he picked up.
"Quiet!" Noctis snapped. "Get to the museum and bring everything you need to patch someone up. It's an emergency, so you'd better hurry."
A brief pause.
"I'll be there in about ten minutes. Come to the alley behind the museum. Moz will help you," Vincent said calmly, though his voice carried a trace of tension.
At least his brother didn't ask unnecessary questions. He recognized an emergency when he heard one.
"Make it five."
Noctis hung up before Vincent could reply.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
The cop.
The moment Noctis' eyes fell on him again, his anger boiled over. Everything had become so complicated because of this man. Because of this damn cop, Isaac had been injured—not once, but multiple times, even shot.
The cold inside him was replaced by a searing heat of rage.
How dare this bastard of a cop do this to Isaac?!
He gripped his knife and took a step toward him.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
His voice echoed through the corridor, raw with fury.
The cop flinched, scrambling back as if he could escape Noctis. His eyes darted toward Isaac.
"I—I didn't mean to—"
He got no further.
With a swift, precise motion, Noctis hurled the knife. The blade buried itself deep in the man's thigh.
A scream tore through the air.
The cop doubled over, gasping, a pitiful whimper escaping him as he desperately clutched at the wound.
Noctis' gaze remained cold.
If he heard Isaac's name from his mouth, he would do things to him that would take too much time. He needed to take him out—then get out of here with Isaac, as fast as possible.
Noctis stepped toward the cop. He also needed to retrieve his knife.
He looked down at the man clutching his leg.
"Did that hurt?" he asked.
Then an idea came to him. He pulled out one of the cards Isaac had designed for him and sent the cop straight into an illusion he would never forget. The man's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed. He lay on the ground, whimpering, as the nightmare took hold and began to torment him.
Noctis hurried back to Isaac and carefully gathered him into his arms. There was still a pulse. He could still save him.
Noctis felt hollow, and his hope faded with every breath. Isaac was in bad shape—and they couldn't take him to a hospital.
His only hope was Vincent.
"Hold on, darling," he said quietly. "You'll be okay soon."
The words sounded empty. Even to him.
He rose, Isaac held tightly in his arms, and kicked open the emergency exit door with force. Cold night air hit him.
Without stopping, he moved.
Faster. Faster.
Every step a race against time.
When he reached the alley, he felt it immediately.
Something was wrong.
He stopped.
His gaze dropped to Isaac's face.
Noctis could no longer hear even his faint breathing.
"…Isaac?"
No response.
His heart skipped a beat.
With trembling fingers, he searched for a pulse.
Nothing.
For a moment, the world ceased to exist.
Isaac lay lifeless in his arms.
___
He grabbed the cop by the shirt and pulled him a little closer, even though the restraints didn't allow much room. He brushed his cheek almost tenderly. The cop's blue, bloodshot eyes widened. Fear flickered in them—raw and unguarded.
Oh yes. He liked that. That was better.
"I could come up with a new scenario. Maybe a little glimpse into the future? I'm sure you're curious what will happen to your friends, aren't you? Otherwise, I still have plenty of ideas for how I can kill your Dan right in front of you."
The cop's lips trembled, as if each word had to fight its way through pain and panic.
"Fucking asshole…"
Noctis let out a quiet laugh—not loud or genuine, but a brief, cold flicker of amusement. He released him and began to circle the chair slowly, like a predator taking its time.
In his gloved hand, he idly spun one of his spider cards between his fingers, holding it up deliberately into the light.
"Tell me…" he began casually, "how is it that you're responsible for all the suffering that befalls the people you love?"
Benedict's gaze dropped to the floor, as if the weight of those words had forced it down. Noctis stopped behind him—close enough that his presence loomed like a shadow.
"I didn't kill them… no…" Benedict muttered, more to himself than to him.
Noctis leaned down toward his ear. His breath was steady, but his voice was sharp as a blade.
"Are you sure?" he growled. "Or have you forgotten what you did to Isaac?"
Silence.
No answer. Only the restrained man's quiet, strained breathing.
Noctis' hand moved to his knife.
"I can tell you exactly what you've done," he continued. "You shot him three times with your damn pistol. A grazing shot to the outer right thigh. There's a bullet lodged in his left shoulder blade, right at heart level. And with your last bullet—you signed his death warrant."
"The last shot… was an accident…" the cop murmured, barely audible.
The guilt was written plainly across his face. The last shred of patience Noctis had managed to hold onto finally snapped. In one fluid motion, he drove the knife into the cop's upper arm.
A scream tore through the silence.
"An accident?!" Noctis' voice broke, sharp and uncontrolled. "Since when do people kill someone by accident?!"
The cop gasped, struggling for air. "So he's dead…?" he asked, his voice trembling. Then he laughed—quiet at first, then louder. It sounded utterly unhinged. "Of course he is!"
Noctis ripped the knife back out of him. The cop screamed again.
His whole body trembled, his breathing came in ragged bursts, and he looked close to collapse. Still, he lifted his head defiantly and gave Noctis a twisted grin.
"You should've killed me in the gallery," he muttered. "I like pushing the people I love into the abyss. But Isaac is dead because you didn't kill me!"
For a moment, Noctis froze. Then he tore the mask from his face and hurled it aside without care.
The cop blinked, his eyes widening. "You…?" A hoarse gasp.
Instead of answering, Noctis drove the knife into the cop's thigh.
If he'd had the time, he would have killed him back in the gallery. But Isaac had been in danger—and every second wasted might have cost him his life even then.
He knew it was his fault Isaac had been shot.
Noctis yanked the blade free again. Over and over, he stabbed into the cop, choosing spots that wouldn't kill him. For now, it was enough that he suffered.
He didn't even stop when the cop's head fell forward against his chest.
___
"I'm going to kill him," Noctis hissed, his voice tight with strain.
"Noc, get a grip," Vincent shot back, just as tense, without taking his eyes off Isaac.
"Then do something already! Can't you see he's dying?!" Noctis snapped.
Vincent exhaled slowly.
"He's stable for now, okay?" he said, preparing his equipment as quickly as possible to operate on Isaac.
Several blood bags and IV lines were already hooked up to him. Everything was flowing into his system as fast as it could—the transfusions in particular had to reach his bloodstream immediately. Noctis even pressed on the bags, forcing the blood through, desperate to get it where it was needed.
Isaac was pale. Not just pale—lifeless. His skin had taken on the color of cold wax.
Noctis was losing him, and there was nothing he could do about it.
And they only had those four units. Noctis had no idea when—or if—more would come. A deep despair settled in. It wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough to save him. On top of that, no one else had Isaac's blood type.
Panic crept in, cold and unstoppable.
"It's not enough blood—what if he—!" Noctis burst out, then bit down hard on his lower lip, cutting himself off.
He couldn't—wouldn't—say it out loud. He didn't want to see him like that again. His hand trembled. Never in his life had he been this afraid. He looked at his brother—the only one who could save Isaac.
His gaze searched for Vincent, clinging to him like a last anchor.
"Help him, Vin…"
His brother's hand rested briefly on Noctis' shoulder before he reached for the disinfectant.
"I'll save him. Whatever it takes," Vincent said, pulling on gloves. "And someone will be here any moment with more blood."
Noctis let out a shaky breath. His brother still looked incredibly tense, and his expression promised nothing good. If Vincent lost his composure, things were truly dire. The sight only made Noctis more uneasy.
His gaze drifted back to Isaac.
His chest tightened instantly.
Isaac's ribcage rose and fell irregularly. Too shallow. Too slow. Dark bruises spread beneath his skin—marks from the resuscitation. Noctis knew he had broken his ribs doing it.
But what else could he have done?
He had needed to bring him back.
No matter the cost.
The door burst open.
Moz rushed in, out of breath, a box under his arm. "Boss! The blood's here!"
A barely audible exhale escaped Vincent. Without looking up, he cut away the soaked pressure bandage from Isaac's abdomen and immediately began disinfecting the wound.
Moz set the blood units down and hastily pulled off his sweater.
"By the way, the cop's tied up in the basement. Still seems to be stuck in dreamland."
No response. Vincent's entire focus was on Isaac.
"Moz. Disinfect your hands. Gloves. Now."
Moz obeyed, though he cast a brief, skeptical glance at Isaac. "Is it just me, or does he look worse than before?"
Noctis let out a sharp scoff. "Get out, Moz."
"Noctis…" Vincent warned without looking up.
"What? You seriously want to let that idiot anywhere near him?!"
Moz spun around. "What the hell is your problem?! I want to save him just as much as you do!"
"Get it together!" Vincent shouted at both of them.
Silence.
For a moment, Noctis and Moz looked at each other, equally startled.
Then Moz frowned. "Uh… is he even breathing?"
Noctis' heart seemed to stop. His gaze snapped to Isaac's chest—which wasn't moving.
"No… not again…" Noctis muttered tonelessly. He felt paralyzed.
Vincent didn't hesitate for a second. His expression hardened. "Noctis, out. You're in my way." Then, sharper: "Moz, stop standing there like an idiot and draw up the damn adrenaline!"
"B-but…!" Noctis started.
And yet he couldn't move. Frozen in shock, he watched as Isaac had to be resuscitated again. His throat felt dry as a desert, his eyes burned as if doused in alcohol.
Only when a tear ran down his cheek did he register Vincent shouting at him.
"Noctis! Out!" Vincent snapped. "Send Lucy in!"
Mechanically, he stepped back, nearly stumbling out of the room, staggering down the hallway until he reached Lucy's door—Vincent's personal secretary. Abruptly, he told her that her boss needed her.
Then he sank to the floor and waited—until he couldn't bear it anymore.
Slowly, he lifted his head. His gaze turned empty, cold.
There was someone responsible for all of this.
And that someone was sitting in the basement.
___
"Hey, that's enough," someone said suddenly behind him. "You're really going to kill him."
A hand settled on his shoulder, and a moment later, the person had disarmed him in a swift motion, the knife now in their hand—the one he had just been about to drive into that damn cop.
Noctis spun around and shoved Vincent's hand off him roughly.
"Then you heal him!" he snapped. "So I can beat him again and again!"
Vincent didn't answer right away. He just looked at him for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh.
"Don't you care how he's doing?"
The tone hit harder than any slap.
All at once, Noctis' chest felt hollow, as if everything inside had been torn out. The anger that had carried him moments ago collapsed in on itself. Slowly, he turned toward his brother, searching his face for an answer he was afraid to face.
His lips pressed tightly together.
Of course he wanted to know.
There was nothing in the world that mattered more to him than Isaac's condition.
And at the same time, he was terrified of the answer.
Vincent's clothes were covered in blood.
Noctis' gaze caught on it, unable to look away. The dark red burned into his thoughts, turning his hands cold.
He swallowed hard.
The anger was gone. All that remained was raw, paralyzing fear.
"…Is he alive?"
Vincent nodded slowly, visibly exhausted.
"The night will be critical," he said quietly. "But if he makes it through, he has a chance."
Noctis' breath hitched.
"Couldn't you heal him?" His voice was barely more than a tremor.
Vincent shook his head. "He's too weak. I can only stimulate his cells once he's more stable. Before that, I'd kill him rather than save him."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Vincent suddenly pulled him into an embrace.
"You told me yourself how tough he is," he murmured. "Isaac will make it."
Noctis clung to him for a brief moment—almost desperately—only to shove him away again the next second. The lump in his throat was so large that words failed him.
Vincent gave him his usual grotesque smile. "Go to him. Leave the cop to me."
"Thank you for saving him…" Noctis said before turning away and hurrying to Isaac as fast as he could.
Behind him, he could still hear Vincent mutter a quiet curse.
"He really did a number on you, didn't he, my pretty one," Vincent said. "Let's put you back together next."
Whatever followed, Noctis didn't hear anymore.
He pushed the door open. His gaze fell on Moz, who was in the process of clearing away the equipment they had used for the operation. Noctis walked in and ignored him completely. He only had eyes for Isaac, lying still in the bed. They had placed an oxygen mask on him and at least cleaned the blood from his skin. His white hair was still clumped together, stained reddish.
But Noctis didn't care. If Isaac made it through the night, he would wash him properly the next day—and every day after, until he was better.
He sank down beside the bed, took his lover's hand, and simply looked at him.
It was warmer than before. A quiet sob escaped his lips.
Isaac was alive. Somehow, his brother had managed it—without magic.
For a moment, Noctis gave in to the relief and let the tears fall.
He didn't know how long he sat there until Moz finally cleared his throat behind him. Noctis glanced over his shoulder and noticed an armchair placed right behind him.
"He… won't wake up anytime soon. You should sit," Moz said, then left without another word. He had even brought a blanket, water, and something to eat.
Noctis didn't know what to say. It was too late for a thank you anyway—Moz had already left the room.
So he sat down in the armchair, held Isaac's hand, and waited.