The figure held a weapon pressed into Gilgamesh’s back as he faced forward—his eyes covered by a white blindfold, his stance calm and collected. Around them, hundreds roamed the neon city, yet the lights did not illuminate the four. They remained unseen.

  “May I speak?” Gilgamesh’ voice slipped out like an old man’s cough. His caramel skin bleached by the moonlight.

  “Go on.” The holder of the weapon said, harmonised and anonymous.

  The lights dimmed around them. Spectators—faceless, flickering—turned to look.

  “There were three of you, how is there just one weapon to my back then? Who’s the one holding the weapon and do you know who I am?” His head slightly tilted, before being hit— painfully.

  “Don’t question, move or die— your choice.” The individual’s voice was harmonised— in order for the true identity to be unknown.

  “Do you believe in a real world?”

  “I don’t need senseless bullshit right now, just take us to Medea.”

  Gilgamesh’s hands sank into his pockets as he chuckled. “God exists because of what? Humanity’s desire to be controlled and contained. Look around—the people here, hundreds of them—and yet, not a single place of worship. These ‘Gods’ aren’t divine, only facades. Have you ever seen a Saint lead a sermon, or an Angel guard a defenseless child? Their stunts are illusions.

  Religion is obsolete—no longer needed to socialise humanity. It’s forgotten. Left to rot.

  But with it gone, what remains? Your morals—warped. Morals don’t need religion, but without it, you’ve lost your compass. Tell me, where is your heart? When was the last time you felt the weight of another life? How many have you robbed from seeing their families again—or even the night sky?

  Look above. Beauty shines on us, but you’ve stolen the stars from countless eyes. Out of greed. Out of avarice. Out of pride. So tell me—how many souls have you silenced?”

  He turned, facing Saraline—the wielder of the blade.

  Her expression was blank. Emotionless. Eyes faded, body still. The sword wavered near her leg. For a moment, she seemed lost. Then, slowly, she blinked. Her pupils spiraled. A crooked smile slithered onto her face.

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  “Keh?”

  Then—

  “Aha. Ahaha. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

  Her laughter tore through the silence, echoing down the alley. Dara and Psylaiso stood still, arms crossed, watching. Saraline turned back to Gilgamesh—mad joy in her grin—and raised her sword to her face.

  She slashed the air.

  The illusions shattered. The neon crowd dissolved like mist, leaving only a handful of real people behind—shaking, terrified. Saraline’s gaze passed over them without pause, landing back on Gilgamesh, who simply frowned.

  “What a shame,” he muttered, eyes falling to the ground.

  “Care for what?” Saraline’s voice sharpened. “I cared before, and look where it got me. Labeled a failure for an entire tenure—and now I’m expected to be a hero? A hero for what?”

  Her tone cracked. Her breathing quickened.

  “I said once I was a mistake. I fell from divinity’s peak and crashed into the dirt like a fallen angel—and that’s truth. But now? I’m going to save the world. Not mankind. Not all mortals deserve saving. When you ask how many I’ve killed—I say many.

  Those people ruined others, haunted them, poisoned their skies. I kill because their night deserves to be beautiful again. I am retribution, not a false idol like the Imps. I am resistance—a true hero.”

  The glass beneath her feet cracked. Tiny bubbles glowed beneath it. She flicked the ground with her thumb; it sang like a bell. Her eyes glistened as she raised her blade to the heavens.

  Light flared—bathing her in white, her smile widening into a spiral. Her emerald pupils spun in manic orbit.

  A true spiral.

  “You say ‘no one deserves saving’—who decides that?” Gilgamesh lifted his head. Saliva dripped from his lips.

  “I do,” she said.

  The smile.

  That smile.

  A true spiral.

  It spread to the others—contagious. Psylaiso scratched her cheek; the mania rippled through her.

  “You speak as if God loves us, he departed from us because we will taint God with our sin. He is correct in this matter, he needs to despise people like us. All of humanity as we are disgusting. A creature not born even from God, I am a spawn of a false idol as you say— I was born with only one purpose, contain or kill my love.” She tapped her temple with her index, “Why would I ever submit again? Religion has died now and left the true nature of mankind; mania.” The slime flicked up her ring finger, an artificial fake wedding ring glimmered before she morphed it back to normal.

  “I am born with insanity, a monster born with me— Rallio, he comes out and he killed; an urban legend; enough backlash being an Invalian survivor’s child. I’m a hero now, a hero protecting the weak from scumbags.” Dara smiled, her eyes were covered by her glasses. “Be a useful merchant and lead us to the lord, we are on business and do not need to be pestered by useless people who come around then don’t fulfil their duty.”

  “Do you understand who you are antagonizing? This may impact your surviv-”

  “Now walk us to Medea. I’m tired of your rhetoric.” Saraline interrupted, swinging her sword at Gilgamesh’s blindfold, cleanly shaving it off his face.

  “Je bent nogal dom.”

  Gilgamesh turned back around hastily, covering his eyes with his hands as he rushed forward, running away— still leading to Medea’s castle.

  “A foreign language? Wait, how?” Saraline’s eyes widened.

  “Didn’t Ezekiel create one standardised language?” Dara giggled.

  “He must know about the old world!” Psylaiso clutched her hands into a ball.

  “Chase that bastard!”