"I'm truly sorry to hear that," Kalan said.
"It's no wonder your pain broke your soul and turned you into a demon. You must have loved her deeply."
In truth, there had been far more to mourn than that alone.
The one thing that had allowed Alastair to keep standing was the belief that he could still bring Grace back—that he could return her soul to her body and complete the soul implantation ritual.
But it was the repeated failures, one after another, that had pushed him over the edge.
No—perhaps his soul had already broke the moment she died.
What remained of him was nothing more than stubborn will and refusal to let go.
"What was her name?" Henry asked.
Alastair had just parted his lips to answer—
—when the soul he had sent to trail Maya vanished from his senses without warning, as if it had been erased from the world itself.
"Damn it!"
He clenched his jaw, his expression twisting into something terrifying as he jerked upright.
The three who had been drinking with him jolted in alarm.
"What happened?" Simone asked, rising as well.
"Everyone—get to the airship. Now.
Vera. King. Carla. To the airship!" Alastair roared.
His voice thundered through the zealots' stronghold.
Without waiting, he strode out and stood by the airship, waiting.
"What happened? Did you get news about Hyde?" Carla asked.
Kalan shook his head.
"The soul I planted on Maya disappeared," Alastair said.
"As if she vanished from this world."
"Could Maya have destroyed it herself?" Simone said.
"She is a soul wielder as well."
"Impossible," Alastair said.
"The soul I sent was of a higher order. Someone at her level would never even perceive it."
"Then how did it disappear?" King asked.
"I believe she has crossed into another dimension," Alastair said, his jaw tightening.
"That is why I can no longer sense it."
Everyone froze.
"You mean…" Carla began.
"They likely rendezvoused with Hyde," Alastair finished.
"And he opened a gate to wherever he is now."
He clenched his fists.
Damn it. I miscalculated.
I should have followed her myself instead of wasting time dealing with those zealots.
I failed to consider the possibility that Hyde might not be in this world at all.
If that gate has closed completely… and Hyde does not reappear—what then?
Alastair took control of the airship himself, replacing King at the helm. He pushed the engine to its absolute limit.
His power surged unchecked.
Soul power flooded the airship, pressing down on everyone aboard.
"Whoa—hey! Calm down, idiot demon!" Vera shouted.
"Don't release your power like that! We're all gonna die first!"
Alastair shot her a look so cold and merciless that Vera darted behind Carla.
At that moment, his fury burned too hot to tolerate her usual insults. If she said one more word, he might kill her—despite not wanting to.
"Vera," Carla warned. "Don't provoke him. He's furious."
"O-okay…" Vera muttered.
Alastair no longer paid attention. He focused on forcing the airship forward.
..........
At last, they reached the final point where Alastair had last sensed the tracking soul—deep within the desert, about one hundred and fifty kilometers south of the zealots' stronghold.
He brought the airship to a halt and leapt down, craning his neck toward the sky.
This was the place.
The sensation was unmistakable—the residual trace of a spatial gate that had closed not long ago.
He recognized it well.
He had been dragged across worlds by such gates twice before.
Meanwhile, Kalan—still on his phone—spoke up.
"My intelligence division reports that the last location where Hyde and Elijah were detected by satellite was here, three days ago. After that, they vanished without a trace."
He continued, his tone darkening.
"And minutes ago, a female demon hunter with black hair and brown eyes—approximately seventeen or eighteen years old, about 150 centimeters tall—along with a silver-haired demon woman with green eyes, roughly 170 centimeters tall, appeared here and disappeared as well."
He held out his phone.
"These are the images."
Alastair took the device.
His hands trembled as he stared at the screen—rage and despair twisting together until he crushed the phone in his grip, reducing it to dust.
Kalan went still.
The fury inside Alastair surged beyond restraint.
He had chosen the wrong piece—and the entire game had collapsed.
"This can't be happening!" he roared.
He shot skyward, power breaking loose.
Black wings tore their way out from his back—vast, jagged, and shadowed—forged from condensed demonic energy.
They spread wide across the desert sky as he unleashed his full force upon the spot where the gate had once existed.
BOOOOM!
The desert shook.
"Alastair—stop!" Carla shouted.
"No matter how much power you use, you can't reopen a gate like that! It requires spatial and temporal arts! As far as I know, only Hyde can do that!"
Alastair knew this all too well.
A thousand years ago, he and Grace had been dragged into another world by a mysterious gate while he fought to save her from a curse that would kill her within days.
That world had no experts capable of lifting such a curse.
He had gone mad with desperation—hurling his power again and again at the place the gate had brought them through.
His rage had nearly torn that world apart—
yet the gate never opened.
And then Grace died.
He remembered that agony.
The fury. The madness. The helplessness of watching the woman he loved slowly die, unable to save her.
Worse still, she had died protecting him—taking the curse meant for him upon herself.
Now, he stood in the same place once more.
Even knowing his power could not reopen the gate, he could not stop himself from lashing out.
Even if this world were destroyed.
Even if everyone died—
He didn't care.
"Alastair! Stop!" Carla shouted again.
"This won't help! Let's think of another way!"
Alastair froze.
He turned toward her.
Carla met his gaze—her eyes steady, unwavering.
There was no terror in them.
No despair.
Nothing like the looks he received when he unleashed his full power.
He exhaled slowly.
With visible effort, he drew the raging power back into himself.
The black wings dissolved into smoke, fading from existence as he forced himself into calm once more.
"Do you have another plan?" he asked, landing beside her.
His voice was controlled—
but it still carried the tremor of anger he hadn't suppressed.
"Not yet," Carla's voice remained steady.
"But I'll find one. How much time do you have left?"
Alastair narrowed his eyes.
This woman is strange.
She wasn't afraid of him.
No—perhaps she was. But she chose to suppress it, focusing instead on doing her job as best she could.
And for the first time in a long while—
He listened.