Deep underground.
"Mr. C, do you need me to... to bring another sacrifice over?"
In a cellar spanning over 200 square meters, a cross-shaped object leaned against one wall, concealed by a black curtain that obscured its true form. Below the cross, amid blood and flesh scattered across the floor, stood a makeshift sacrificial altar constructed from wooden planks and crates. Atop the spread carpet, large chunks of deep red unidentified matter dripped down—some slightly wriggling, as if possessing a life of their own.
The surrounding candles flickered without any breeze, threatening to extinguish at any moment and take away what little light illuminated this bizarre underground chamber.
On the sacrificial altar, elevated about one meter from the ground, a man in a black robe with his face hidden turned to face the timid questioner standing several meters away. The latter, despite the summer heat, wore a leather jacket with two pistols holstered at his waist. Yet these weapons offered him no courage against his fear. Seeing the black-robed man turn, he retreated until his back pressed against the wall.
"No need. They're very weak, of little use. You may go."
The leather-jacketed man reacted as if granted amnesty, nodding hastily before carefully navigating around the blood and flesh beside the altar to exit through a small side door.
If the carnage on the ground had belonged solely to some unfortunate previous sacrifice, he wouldn't have been this terrified.
Through his years working in this business, he had encountered all manner of human monsters—those who delighted in others' pain, believers in folk remedies like blood baths, individuals with abnormal fetishes. Who purchasing slaves could have good intentions?
The true source of his horror was that most of the bloodstains and flesh chunks strewn across the floor belonged to "Mr. C" himself, the figure standing at the altar.
Before leaving, he glanced back. Mr. C remained with his back to the door, head raised toward the curtain-covered object against the wall—the cross. Perhaps it was time to find an excuse to transfer to another city... nearby Tingen, perhaps, or somewhere offshore...
As strange sounds continued behind him—soft things falling to the ground—he shrank his neck and quickly ascended the stairs, desperate to escape this place.
Angel and Rupert caught the body of the leather-jacketed man who had emerged from the cellar only to immediately collapse unconscious.
"This should be the last one," Rupert said in a low voice.
Around them lay the differently-dressed "Sleeping Beauties," scattered across the ground. With this man from the cellar, they counted exactly five.
Clement, crouched beside them, opened his eyes and removed his hand from his temple. He examined the leather-jacketed man he had hypnotized using his "Nightmare" ability.
"He just came up from the cellar. Underground, besides over twenty slaves kept for sale, only one extraordinary individual remains—someone they call 'Mr. C.'"
"Time was too short to gather more information. But we must prepare to face an evil and unusually capable extraordinary being."
Clement's expression was troubled, hinting at disturbing visions from these people's dreams.
Mr. C... A codename within their organization?
Angel, watching the "Nightmare" practitioner stand unsteadily, drew her weapon "Bloodthirst," rotating the cylinder to load a "Phantom Phosphorus Eruption" bullet.
Since there's only one enemy below, I'll greet him with black flame.
Clement pulled a sealing artifact from his trench coat pocket—"2-031," the Heralding Hand—and handed the glove to Rupert Norman before raising his own revolver.
"Put on the sealing artifact. Let's meet this 'Mr. C.'"
The flesh I placed on the other two... I can no longer sense them!
Mr. C furrowed his elegant brows and raised his head toward the statue of the Creator. Even through the curtain, he could feel the Lord's gaze upon him.
But what about the others? What's happening to them?
To avoid being picked off by Enmat Harbor's official Beyonders, he had placed portions of his own flesh on the individuals overseeing the sugar factory in the western district and the clinic in Durang district.
Despite being separated by several kilometers, this connection allowed Mr. C to vaguely sense their state—whether alive or dead.
But just minutes ago, the two pieces of his flesh had lost connection after experiencing a burst of extreme cold and spreading fatigue.
This meant they had either removed his flesh through some method or had already perished.
Did they accidentally expose themselves in the city? Or did the official Beyonders act sooner than anticipated?
His own injuries remained unhealed. Had he known this would happen, he wouldn't have been so selective about accepting more slaves as sacrifices...
Mr. C abandoned his hesitation. He removed the hood of his black robe, revealing his concealed face—handsome yet androgynous. If not for his short yellow hair, barely an inch long, he could easily have been mistaken for a woman.
This beautiful face contorted as he opened his mouth and vomited a dark red, squirming blood clot. Before it could escape him, Mr. C snatched it up, kneading it like putrid mud in his palm as he approached the curtain-covered cross.
He reached out with his clean hand and lifted the curtain—
The top of the cross came into view, followed by legs and a body bound in chains.
As the entire curtain fell away, it revealed a fully naked male giant tied upside down to the cross. The giant stood about three meters tall, with a unique vertical single eye and dried blood covering much of his body.
It appeared to be a vividly lifelike statue!
Mr. C approached the cross, clutching that handful of flesh, preparing to praise the Lord he believed in.
Suddenly, a cry erupted from behind him—louder, more hoarse and desperate than anything he could have uttered.
"AAHHH!"
"AAHHH!"
Rupert Norman's mouth stretched wide, a tremulous cry tearing from his throat.
His face twisted beyond recognition, eye sockets stretched to their limits, the corners seeming to tear as blood-tinged tears streamed from his bulging eyes.
Despite the shout drawing Mr. C's attention to the door, Angel forced Rupert's contorted head down, directing his gaze away from the cross statue.
They had all underestimated the sealing artifact "2-031"'s influence on its user!
According to the "Heralding Hand"'s instructions, before activating the artifact's Beyonder ability by snapping fingers, its influence merely made the user overly confident, potentially leading to rash decisions—even fearlessly challenging invincible enemies.
But Rupert had directly activated spirit vision in a place of unclear danger—far beyond what Angel and Clement had anticipated.
When Angel, using dark vision, saw Mr. C pull down the curtain to reveal the strange statue, Rupert's self-assured muttering came from behind her.
"Hmph, cultist tricks. Let me use spirit vision and see what's really there."
With one hand holding his gun and the other—wearing "2-031"—touching the corner of his eye, he activated his ability.
Wait... that's too dangerous!
Whether in official Beyonder documents or street knowledge, all warnings were clear—opening spirit vision in an unknown, potentially supernatural location was among the riskiest actions possible.
Angel hadn't time to stop him. Rupert had already activated spirit vision and looked toward Mr. C and the cross with its hanging figure.
In an instant, his eyes widened, corners tearing, bloodshot eyeballs bulging as if witnessing hell itself—as if staring into the abyss.
Drawn by Rupert's agonized cry echoing through the cellar, Mr. C turned sharply toward the door.
BANG!
A gunshot cracked through the darkness. Blood erupted from Mr. C's shoulder, yet he barely reacted—merely shrugging as if struck by cotton, the spilling blood seemingly belonging to someone else.
But taking hits without retaliating wasn't his style.
With a wave of both hands, air surged beneath his black robe—instantly extinguishing every surrounding candle.
The cellar plunged into absolute darkness.
Click.
Clement lowered his gun, eyes searching the pitch-black space. As a Beyonder on the "Sleepless" pathways, he retained some vision in darkness—but the cellar had become impenetrably black. He couldn't even see his own teammates clearly.
As for using spirit vision himself? Rupert's condition was warning enough.
"Can you see anything?" he whispered to Angel.
She had just pinned the trembling, nearly catatonic Rupert face-down. Hearing Clement, she activated her dark vision to scan the cellar—only to see bloodstains and flesh pieces scattered across the floor.
"He disappeared after extinguishing the candles. Likely used some extraordinary ability."
Unable to visually locate their enemy, Angel drew her sidearm—another six-shot revolver with smaller caliber—and fired into the open space. After discharging the first demon-hunter bullet, she aimed at the center of the cellar and fired her sole "Phantom Phosphorus Eruption" round.
The bullet struck the ground, exploding into a zone of flickering phosphorescent light. Though insufficient to illuminate the entire cellar, the area near the entrance became visible again—floor and ceiling previously shrouded in blackness now perceptible. The scattered flesh fragments gleamed with faint yellow phosphorescent outlines.
Among the scattered yellow glow, a small patch of fast-moving shadow proved incredibly conspicuous.
"There!"
Without Angel needing to point it out, Clement had already raised his weapon. They fired several shots at the rapidly approaching shadow.
Bang! Bang!
Bullets struck where the shadow moved, sending stone fragments flying, blasting craters into the ground. But the shadow itself remained untouched—behaving like a true shadow rather than physical matter.
In an instant, the shadow reached Clement's feet.
Like something transforming from two dimensions to three, the shadow surged upward from the floor. Clement managed only half a step backward before a slender, clean arm extended from the darkness—five fingers shaped into a claw, reaching for his face.
It was Mr. C!