Zachary and Cole walked toward room C13.
Their heads were lowered, not out of shame—but because neither of them really knew what to say.
The hospital hallway stretched long and quiet before them, the sterile scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.
Their footsteps echoed faintly against the polished tile floor, each step sounding louder than it should have, like the building itself was listening.
The farther they walked, the heavier the silence became.
They passed by patients along the way.
Some sat in wheelchairs, being pushed slowly by nurses, soft conversations filling the spaces between footsteps. Others lay on stretchers, their faces calm… or tired… or empty.
A few smiled weakly at loved ones beside them, while others stared ahead with hollow, unfocused eyes. One man laughed.
Another cried quietly. The contrast made the air feel strange—alive, yet suffocating.
Cole glanced sideways.
He tilted his head slightly, studying Zachary's face.
There was something off. Zachary's eyes weren't just focused—they were sharp, distant… almost irritated.
Like his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
Like something was bothering him, and he didn't want to say it out loud.
"You okay?" Cole asked, his voice softer than usual.
Zachary didn't answer immediately.
"…Yeah," Zachary paused for a moment, "...Yeah"
A weak smile formed on his face—but it didn't reach his eyes.
They stopped in front of a door.
C13.
The label was simple. Plain. Cold.
Both of them stood there for a few seconds without moving. No words. No signals. Just silence stretching between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Then, without saying anything, Zachary pushed the door open.
Cold air greeted them instantly.
The morgue.
It was quieter than the hallway. Too quiet. The kind of silence that pressed against your ears until even your own breathing sounded loud.
Rows of metal compartments lined the walls, each identical, each holding something that used to be alive.
They stepped inside.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like invisible rules that were implemented.
They began searching.
Zachary crouched slightly, scanning the labels one by one. Cole moved beside him, tiptoeing without even realizing it, like making noise would somehow be disrespectful.
Their eyes moved quickly across the names—unknown people, strangers… until—
"Found him," Cole said.
His voice was quiet, but it still echoed.
Zachary walked over immediately.
They stood in front of the compartment.
Hunter Blake.
For a moment… neither of them moved.
Then Cole reached forward.
The small metal door creaked open, and a wave of cold air rushed out, brushing against their faces. Their breath became visible almost instantly, faint white clouds forming with every exhale.
The temperature felt wrong. Too cold. Too still.
Together, they pulled.
The metal tray slid out slowly, the sound of steel scraping softly against its track.
On top of it lay a body, completely covered with a clean white sheet. The fabric was smooth.
Undisturbed. Only the feet were visible at the end—pale, motionless.
Zachary reached forward.
His hand hovered for a second.
Then—
He lifted the cloth.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Blake's face was revealed.
Still.
Silent.
Expressionless.
The same person who had complained… laughed…
fought beside them just a week ago—was now lying there without a single sign of life. No movement. No breath. Nothing.
Zachary knew Blake hated him, but…he was still his teammate.
Cole didn't say anything.
He just stood there.
Watching.
His chest rose and fell quietly, but his eyes… his eyes didn't move.
Zachary stared.
Longer than he needed to.
Then—
His fingers brushed against Blake's arm.
It was unintentional.
But the moment it happened—
A black circle formed beneath the body.
Zachary's eyes widened.
"…!"
Dark tendrils began to rise from the circle, slow and unnatural, wrapping around Blake's body like something claiming it. The air shifted.
The temperature dropped even further. The shadows felt heavier.
Cole stepped back slightly.
"What the—!?"
Zachary didn't move.
'…It's the same,' he thought.
The same black circle.
The same presence.
The same thing that summoned Barnacle.
The tendrils tightened.
Then—
Blake's body sank.
Not physically—but like it was being pulled into something beneath reality itself. Within seconds, the entire body disappeared into the darkness.
Gone.
The circle faded.
The tendrils vanished.
Like nothing had happened.
Silence returned.
Then—
A screen appeared in front of Zachary.
-[Congratulations! You have gained a new ability]-
-[The Eye Of Sensibility]-
-[The Eye Of Sensibility is an ability that senses one's emotions and feelings towards the user, differentiated by 4 known colors]-
-[Black – Hatred towards the user]-
-[Light Orange – Neutral and fixed emotions towards the user]-
-[Dark Orange – A deep bond towards the user]-
-[Purple – Deep emotional feelings towards the user]-
-[It costs 0 mana points to use]-
Zachary stared at it.
His eyes moved slowly across each line, processing the information one word at a time. The ability felt… different. Not destructive. Not physical. Something else entirely.
He turned his head.
Slowly.
Toward Cole.
"…Activate?" he muttered under his breath.
Then—
Cole's body lit up.
A faint glow surrounded him.
Light orange.
Zachary's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed it.
Neutral.
Stable.
But—
Cole looked at him.
Confused.
Not because of the glow—he couldn't see it.
But because of Zachary.
Because of what just happened.
Because Blake—
Was gone, spiritually, and physically
"…Zachary," Cole said slowly.
His voice was different now.
Not panicked.
Not loud.
Just… uncertain.