Orel reached the cabin and saw smoke climbing up its chimney. The curtains blocked the view, yet a dim light emanated from inside. Before he could approach, however, a light turned from around a tree.

Orel hid as fast as he could. Not because of the sight of light but the sound of footsteps.

A manly voice angrily mumbled something to himself.

"You there!" He yelled. "Come out!"

Orel did not know what to do. He kept himself quiet and stood still.

"Come out, or I will call the police." The man took out his radio.

The order made Orel's mind before he could. He stepped out to the open, yet the man was not there.

"Huh?" Orel walked forth, seeing a pair of footprints walking off from the window.

He only needed to trace a few of them until he noticed the blood. After a few drops, the blood painted the snow red, and the trail went into darkness, where a body lay limp, still bleeding from its neck.

The corpse sprung into life. It lifted its pale face, groaning something, yet its voice was gone, only coming up as bloody gurgling. It tried to reach Orel with its hand yet lacked the strength to keep it up.

Orel's leg gave, and he fell on his bottom to the snow. He looked at his hand, painted red from the snow, and was left staring at it. Something about the snow slowly melting in his open palm, flowing down the grooves and along his wrist, hypnotized him. He could only stare at his arm with empty eyes as the cold feeling of violence entered his mind without asking for permission. For some, it could spark anger toward the aggressor to fulfill retribution for those who have fallen. Others dive into despair, unable to move and reject reality itself. Orel, however, felt nothing seeing the blood of an innocent flow. It meant nothing to him. He had never sought violence or death against anyone, much less against himself, yet at the moment, the thought tempted him. It made him not smile or scowl; it merely presented him with the option.

His thoughts were interrupted by an explosion of laughter from inside.

"Take that and that! Yeah, you all dying tonight, fellas!" A shrill yet oddly familiar voice laughed with vigor.

Orel carefully peeked from the window. Though the shades made viewing difficult, he could make out a figure sitting in the center of the room next to a lit fireplace on the western wall.

He took out his radio and called in. "Norman, I think I found him."

"Good, but I think something weird is happening here, so it might take a while for me to get there. Do you think you can handle it?"

"I'll try my best." Orel nodded.

"I'll come right after I'm done here. Hang on until that."

"Sure." Orel hung up.

Orel sneaked to the door and carefully tried the knob. To his surprise, it opened. Creaking it open, he glimpsed inside and saw a small kitchen with an open door leading to the next room. He could hear Fynn talking to someone on the phone with some noise in the background. It gave an excellent cover for him to sneak inside.

"Dan, something came up," Fynn said with the phone between his head and shoulder. He needed both hands on his portable console.

"What is it? I am trying to concentrate on my Flares." Daniel said.

"The guy you told me to take out just took down half of my Boogeymen. It ain't a problem as I keep the drum beating." Fynn glanced at the small drum on the ground. Pieces of bones kept bouncing on the membrane, creating an odd yet hypnotizing rhythm.

"Good. Keep it up."

Orel listened to the conversation and reiterated his plan. If what the two said was true, he would only need to destroy the drum.

"Also, I saw a rather large man approach the location. He is not part of the official participants either." Daniel continued.

"Do we take him out too?"

"Let me watch the situation for now. Gives more time for you to restock."

"Okay." Fynn munched on some snacks.

"Anything else to note?" Daniel asked.

"You said I can take out anyone coming close to the cottage?"

"Yes?"

"The Flares and Boogiemen took one out. Should I drag him inside or what?"

"No hurry. We will take care of it later."

"Alright."

"I will keep you on the tabs from my side. Call me if anything comes up."

"Sure, see you, bro."

Daniel ended the call without saying anything.

Stepping on the dusty rug, Orel made his way through the kitchen. That was until he noticed the shadow drawing from the fireplace and the doorframe inside the kitchen. He crouched still, thinking of what to do.

A tiny mouse scampered from a drawer onto the ground, not noticing Orel's presence. It smelled a few crumbs of food in the warm light of the door and scuttled towards it. Grabbing a tiny piece, it dug its teeth into it and crumbled it inside its cheeks.

"Damn mice, eating my chips," Fynn grumbled by himself.

Suddenly, a skeletal hand emerged from the shadow and grabbed the mice. It threw the mice into the fireplace and descended back into the shadows. The mice squealed, but only for a moment. It did not take long to be indistinguishable from the black coal, though the stinging smell of burning flesh and fur lingered in the air.

Orel shuffled a bit closer to catch a better look at Fynn, yet as his foot pressed against the wooden floor, it creaked ever so slightly.

"Who's there?" Fynn put his portable console on the ground.

Orel stepped back, and yet again, the floor squeaked.

"Don't try to get away!" Fynn grimaced.

"What?" Orel whispered under his breath.

"That voice," Fynn made a face. "You're that kid?"

"How can he hear me?" Orel tried whispering the quietest he could.

"I've always had a hearing," Fynn answered with a grin. "I thought I heard another rat on the call."

Fynn raised his hand. "Art of Bodach: Dark arms." He chanted.

From under his open palm, a dark blade with a jagged edge conjured itself. He swiftly turned his hand and grabbed it before it could fall to the ground.

"Ready or not, here I come." Fynn stepped into the kitchen.

Fynn crossed to the room with the knife in hand, yet it was empty. The door was still shut, yet Orel could not have gone anywhere. Fynn looked around, confused. Then he heard something—soft breathing, right next to him. His eyes turned to the open door covering one of the corners. A sinister smile crept on his thin lips as he took hold of the doorknob and slowly began turning it toward himself. His head and knife peeked around.

Orel's head sprung right next to his. Fynn was startled for merely a moment, and unfortunately, he could not prepare for what happened next.

"Eggs on toast!" Orel yelled from the top of his lungs to Fynn's ear.

"Aah!" Fynn slapped his hands against his delicate ears, dropping the knife.

Orel crept past him in the moment of disarray into the living room. Fynn was quick to follow, with a rather large vein growing on his forehead.

"Are you trying to make me deaf or something? Who the hell yells right into someone's ear?" Fynn clicked his tongue, trying to clear his tinnitus.

"Think twice before telling someone about your weaknesses," Orel answered.

"Well, smartass, what are you going to do now?" Fynn conjured another blade. "In case you didn't notice, there ain't another door to run out of."

"I didn't come here to run. I'm here to take you out." Orel said while searching his pockets.

"Ehe, ehehe, ahahaha!" Fynn laughed, barely holding onto his knife. "Oh, woe is me! How am I going to bare against a kid?"

Orel took out a silver coin. "All I need is this."

"A coin? What are you going to do with that? Pardon me with a bribe?"

Memories flooded Orel's mind.

"You said you could teach me to shoot like you," Orel said at the dinner table in the trio's last house.

"You were serious about that?" Norman said between sips of coffee.

"Yeah! It looked so cool!" Orel said with sparkling eyes.

"Hmph, sure. It takes practice, but I can teach my Norman Shoot Style." Norman threw a coin in the air. "With some mana applied, you can take on some weaker targets. As long as you have the change, at least."

Orel held the coin between his thumb and middle finger and snapped. Fynn smiled, for he knew he could protect himself with Ward. His smile dropped as soon as he realized Orel wasn't aiming for him but the drum.

"Wait, No!" Fynn gasped.

The shot missed, hitting the floor next to it. Instead of bouncing off, the coin lodged itself into the wood like a bullet.

"The next one is not going to miss." Orel took out another coin.

A shadow emerged from the shadow of a nearby couch touched by the light of the fireplace. Orel quickly dodged into a corner but dropped the coin to the floor.

"Don't try to play with me." Fynn's expression wavered between a frown and a smile. He stepped forth with wide steps thanks to his long legs. "Stay there so I can gut you like a rabbit."

Orel stayed confident. He took another coin and aimed at Fynn. Unfortunately, Fynn managed to dodge it and walked ever so close. Finally, he stood before Orel, towering over him.

"You missed." Fynn carved the wall down to Orel's head with his knife. "Now, what are you going to do?"

Orel tried to reach his pockets, but Fynn gripped his hand tightly. "No, you don't. Playtime's over."

Orel looked up at Fynn's grim expression. "You're right, for you."

A particular smell reached Fynn's nose. The smell of something burning. Fynn turned his head to investigate. His eyes bulged as his tongue jumped out of his mouth. The rug was burning with the drum and console on it. The coin Orel shot was never meant for Fynn but to get the burning wood out in the open.

"Nooo!" He screamed as he saw the fire lick the drum and console. He released his grip and ran to rescue at least one of them.

Orel used the moment and escaped to the kitchen.

Fynn kicked the console out of the flames and grabbed the drum. Huffing and puffing to get the fire die out from its edges, he barely saved it. Or, that was until Orel shot a coin right through its membrane.

Orel had already run outside before he could hear the roaring anger. He sprung into the woods as fast as possible, his only objective being to get as far as he could from the man.

He only stopped when he saw a lightning bolt roar down from the sky.

"What was that?" He watched in awe, taking out his radio. "Norman, what's happening?"

"Oh, Orel. What happened? Are you alright?" Orel asked, huffing and puffing.

"I'm fine. I took out the guy, but what's happening there?"

"Something is going down on Ándras' end. I'm going there right now."

"I'll come too."

"...Sure. We can think of tactics after that. Take care."

"You too." Orel turned his radio off.

Elsewhere, a silent battle ensued, where the two warriors circled each other with caution, one more than the other.

Ándras observed the polearm, ensuring he would not accidentally step inside its range. Isao stood in his pose while keeping himself towards Ándras. Both measured which one would attack first.

Seeing the fire lit in his eyes, Isao prepared that Ándras would bounce. His intuition would prove correct.

Ándras clenched his fist as he rushed forwards. Isao had no mercy swinging his blade to cut his opponent's hand. However, he pulled the weapon back immediately. He noticed Ándras' other arm was ready to take hold of the spear, even if it meant sacrificing the other. Those who did not care for their well-being were always the hardest to fight against.

Ándras made quick jabs that forced Isao to dodge and deflect. Isao seemed to focus on defense, hoping to tire Ándras out. However, the glee in Ándras' eyes made him tense up. Ándras saw his opportunity rise. He swung his fist wide from the side. It was far too slow to hit, yet something felt off.

Isao stepped back with cation. As he did, a strange wave of heat passed him like a flaming torch. Ándras was fuming vapor like a hot spring. Isao could see the snow melting around Ándras' feet in mere seconds. He could feel the energy emanating from within him. Instead of becoming tired, Ándras only became more fired up as the fight ensued, lengthening it had no meaning. Isao made the bold decision to end it before Ándras became too powerful.

Isao made a series of stabs at Ándras. Ándras could barely dodge the repeating attacks by backing down. With a single silent step forward, Isao stretched his arms at the end of his strike. Ándras was unfamiliar with fighting, only standing his ground with instincts and reflexes. It would not help with Isao's finishing move.

Ándras stepped back, sensing the strike coming. Isao made the pole circle around with the blade obscured in the movement. The motion made predicting his next strike hard and dodging near impossible.

It happened in an instant. The blade sunk into Ándras' flesh, making him fall limb. Isao pulled the glaive out, letting the body fall to a praying position. He swiftly whiffed the blood off from the edge onto the white snow. He made a prayer with his hand and walked towards the cloth to conceal his weapon before leaving.

"No demon can survive without a heart. It is a shame to see a brave man fall without reaching the truth." Isao said with a sense of melancholy.

Isao walked away, but after only a few steps, he felt immense heat from behind him. He turned to face a sight that made him speechless. The body stood still for a while, with large amounts of vapor pouring out from the skin's surface and openings in the body. The snow melted in a large area around the body into puddles of water that soon started bubbling. The blood around Ándras, bleeding to the ground, burst into flames like gasoline. The dark hair drooping down rose as a great pillar of fire.

Ándras' head started tilting. His hands gripped, and the legs stood up. Isao was speechless. The heat seared Isao's skin and made him lose his coat. Underneath were vibrant saffron yellow robes and large prayer beads around his neck. He kept his white hood on to save his face from the immense heat, though the effort was nigh worthless.

Ándras stood up with a sinister smile that of a devil. Isao was right that what he faced was not an ordinary man, but the truth was more frightening than he could imagine. While flames covered Ándras' body, the grey fire-resistant overalls withstood the heat and encapsulated the living inferno, turning cherry hot. His sleeves fumed out flames while a collar of fire emerged from the neckline.

"What type of devil are you?" Isao stepped back.

Ándras opened his mouth, where a burst of steam escaped. "I do not know what I am, man or not, but I understand now that my heart is unlike any other." Ándras' smile disappeared. "One day, it will devour me, but until then, I will let it burn."

"Only a fool would curse his soul." Isao gritted his teeth.

"In the end, I will atone for my sins. This vile spell, yes, I remember. I called it Quiet Ember."

"I will devour your soul, be it devil's or man's, and it shall become my strength." Isao formed a praying gesture.

"Then give it your all. I won't last too long, and neither will you." Ándras took a pose. It was not his usual style but a honed battle stance with the hands ready on the sides and legs wide apart.

Isao performed a series of gestures before touching his blade with a single finger. With that touch and release, a current coursed through the metal so that blue sparks hit nearby trees and set some of them on fire. Lightning that intense could kill with a single zap, but Isao was safe from the current.

The dry field burst into flames. The heat from Ándras caused flames to erupt on his side while lighting sparkled blue on Isao's side. The two colors clashed, battling over supremacy. As both men lunged forward, they put everything behind their strikes.

The convex edge of the Naginata crackled with lighting striking the air until the light turned purple. The bright sparks were nothing like before, as one strand cut a tree in half. Isao clenched his face to keep the current in control, only to release it at the last possible second.

Ándras clenched his fist tightly. The veins on his hand surfaced like giant snakes under his skin. He charged the fist with fire and heat enough to combust even the fire-resistant sleeve of the overalls. The heat gathered to one singularity and released like an erupting volcano.

Animals with keen senses had fled the scene a moment prior. Those watching from the shadows closed their eyes instinctively and looked away. The winner would be the only one able to tell what happened. Others would be either blind, deaf, or dead.

Ándras' flames spiraled around his arm towards his fist. "Rising spire!"

"Radiant purple!" Isao swung his weapon, and the wooden rod bent like a small branch.

The point of impact resulted in a flash of light brighter than any star in the sky. A split-second wave of energy erupted, causing the weakest-rooted trees to fall over like matchsticks. Bolts of lightning channeling from the ball of plasma split the trees left standing. Simultaneously, a flaming spire rose to the dark sky, piercing the clouds. The ground trembled around them, reverting the landscape to a barren field as it grumbled. The two fighters created an armageddon in that spot in a storm of fire and lighting. Those who had no idea what was happening and those aware of it were brought equally wordless by sight. Norman was perhaps the closest encounter with the incident. His face turned pale upon the flash of light and the sonic boom. After the roar had passed through, silence ensued throughout the forest. A sudden sense of danger left everyone still as if the world had just ended.