The entire crew—Rei, Hinata, Josuke, Raiden, Hiro, Sama, and Fumiko—gathered at Hinata's house on Sunday, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation. The scent of fresh food filled the air as they lounged in the living room, the low hum of a kettle boiling in the kitchen adding to the cozy atmosphere.

  Josuke flopped onto the couch, groaning as his muscles protested. "I swear, my arms are still sore from those damn buckets." He massaged his biceps, wincing at the lingering pain.

  Raiden smirked, sipping his tea, the steam curling between them. "That's what happens when you fight inanimate objects, Josuke." His voice carried a hint of amusement that didn't quite reach his eyes.

  Hinata chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "At least he's making progress."

  Fumiko crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Maybe, but at this rate, the buckets will start training him instead."

  Laughter filled the room as Sama leaned back, shaking his head. "This is the most peaceful we've been in weeks." His voice carried the weight of their recent struggles, making this moment of respite feel all the more precious.

  As they laughed, Hiro twitched his nose, his gills flexing slightly. A scent—faint, almost indistinguishable—drifted in from outside. His brow furrowed as he tried to place it. Burnt metal? No... blood?

  His fingers curled slightly, unease tightening in his chest. He glanced at Raiden, then at Rei. Could it just be their lingering killer instinct from last night's training?

  He exhaled, trying to shake off the feeling—until his gills flared independently, picking up something he couldn't ignore. A shift. A disturbance in the air that made his skin prickle.

  Then—everything changed.

  The shift was instant. The air pressure dropped, creating a vacuum-like sensation in their ears. A faint rustling outside was barely audible through the sudden silence.

  Hiro's instincts screamed danger, his heart hammering against his ribs.

  "Rei, MOVE!" Hiro shouted, lunging forward with desperate speed.

  The glass exploded inward, the shards catching the afternoon light as they scattered like deadly diamonds. A blur of motion followed through the new opening. Hiro barely registered the glint of the blade before instinct took over—he lunged, shoving Rei aside with all his strength.

  The impact came instantly. The dagger sank into his ribs with sickening ease, a searing heat spreading through his torso. His breath hitched, his vision tunneling for a second as he stumbled backward. Blood dripped onto the wooden floor in uneven splatters, each drop echoing in the sudden silence.

  While the pain was intense, Hiro felt his body already responding, cells multiplying rapidly at the wound site. He'd regrown entire limbs before—a simple stab wound, while temporarily debilitating, wasn't life-threatening for someone with his regenerative capabilities. Still, the suddenness of the attack had caught him off guard.

  Sylvester grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming like those of a predator. "Oops. Wrong target. Oh well." His voice was casual, almost playful, as if discussing the weather rather than a failed assassination.

  The room froze in shock, their previous laughter now a distant memory.

  Hiro stumbled but remained standing, his body already beginning to heal. Blood still dripped from his wound, darkening his shirt, but determination kept him upright. Within seconds, the bleeding had slowed as his regenerative abilities kicked into high gear.

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  Sylvester's grin widened as he tilted his head, studying Hiro with mock admiration. "Persistent, huh?"

  He let the silence hang for a second, savoring the moment before taking a deep breath—his chest expanding grotesquely, stretching his clothing.

  Then, with a satisfied exhale, he spewed a massive arc of acid mist across the room.

  Furniture and walls began melting instantly, the air filling with the stench of burning fabric and wood. The acrid smell burned their nostrils and throats, making their eyes water.

  Rei barely dodged, his body flickering for a brief second, vanishing and reappearing further away. He didn't even process what had just happened—only that he had moved too fast to understand, his heart pounding with confusion and fear.

  As realization dawned, a heavy weight settled in his chest. They were here for him. Again. And now his friends were in danger because of it. The thought twisted in his gut like a knife—sharper, in many ways, than any physical wound could be. Why do people keep getting hurt because of me?

  Raiden's usual composure wavered momentarily, his blind eyes widening at the sudden assault. A seasoned fighter by necessity, he'd faced numerous threats before—but always on his terms, never in what should have been a safe haven. Despite his shock, his training kicked in, and electricity began crackling along his skin as he prepared to defend himself. Frontal assault, acid secretion, mobility-focused... His analytical mind began categorizing the threat even as his hands formed lightning spears.

  Sama reacted next, his hands forming intricate summoning symbols, fingers dancing through the air with practiced precision. "We need cover!"

  A massive Nephilim materialized behind him, towering over them all. Its wings spread wide, feathers gleaming with otherworldly light as they formed a protective barrier. Sylvester's acid attack splashed harmlessly against it, hissing and steaming upon contact.

  The creature's second ability activated, its body pulsing with energy as it absorbed the attack's force into itself.

  Sama's mind raced, cataloging each new detail with cold precision. Two assailants at minimum. The goggled one secretes acid—effective at both range and close quarters. Highly mobile, likely relies on speed over strength. The other one... His eyes narrowed as he studied the second figure's bone-like protrusions. Calcification abilities. Almost certainly a close-combat specialist. This is a coordinated attack, not random violence.

  Sylvester clicked his tongue, irritation flashing across his face. "Well, that's inconvenient."

  He chuckled, stepping back slightly. "Man, you guys sure are jumpy. But hey, I didn't come alone." His voice carried a sing-song quality that made the threat all the more menacing.

  A slow, deliberate sound—like bones grinding against each other—filled the silence.

  A tall, lean figure stepped through the wreckage, his skeletal armor shifting with each movement, scraping against itself with an unnatural sound. His fingers flexed, and the bones along his knuckles cracked outward like blades, extending with purpose.

  The air around him felt heavier, suffocating. "Enough theatrics," he muttered, his voice cold and mechanical. "Rei must die today. No exceptions."

  The group turned as another presence stepped into the broken room—a tall, lean man covered in jagged, skeletal protrusions. His arms were reinforced with sharp, blade-like bone extensions, his spine shifting as additional armor formed along his back with audible clicks and cracks.

  Josuke felt his entire body go numb with terror. His limbs felt like lead, his brain refusing to process what was happening. This wasn't a training exercise or a controlled environment—this was real violence crashing into their lives without warning. His mouth went dry, and for a moment, he couldn't even remember how to summon his own ability. I can't do this. I can't do this. I'm not ready for this. The thought pounded in his head like a drum, drowning out everything else.

  Fumiko's perfectly composed demeanor shattered in an instant. She'd trained for combat her entire life, pushing herself to excel in everything to meet her parents' exacting standards. But theory and practice were worlds apart. The suddenness of the attack, the reality of the danger—it hit her like a physical blow. Her fingers trembled as she tried to form summoning symbols, her mind racing. If I panic, everyone else might panic too. I have to stay calm. I HAVE to. She forced herself to take a deep breath, her perfectionist instincts kicking in even as fear threatened to overwhelm her.

  Sylvester smirked, stepping aside with theatrical flair. "Meet Bone. He doesn't talk much, but trust me, he's worse than me."

  Bone cracked his neck, his body adjusting as his Concept, Calcify, activated with a sound like breaking chalk.

  The room tensed. This wasn't just an attack.

  This was an execution.