She stepped out of the shed, her thoughts still tangled, only to come face-to-face with a diabolist in a merged state. His stance was defensive, his sharp gaze locked onto her.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" the man demanded.
Eva arched a brow, unimpressed. "I'm part of the Hoods. No need to be so tense."
"Nice try, but I'd know if the Hoods were operating here," the man shot back.
Eva tilted her head. "Oh? And how exactly would you know that from your hiding spot?"
The diabolist visibly stiffened, his face flushing in embarrassment. "I wasn't hiding," he insisted, a little too quickly.
"And I'm actually a donkey," Lydia's voice cut in as she approached.
The man straightened. "Miss," he greeted stiffly.
"Scram," Lydia ordered without breaking stride.
He hesitated for half a second before nodding and hurrying away. Eva watched him go with mild amusement before turning her attention to Lydia, who was now regarding her with scrutiny.
"Which one are you?" Lydia asked, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. The illusion concealing Eva's true form made it difficult for her to tell.
"The root," Eva answered plainly.
Lydia's expression shifted in recognition. "Oh, Eva." A pause. "What are you doing out here?"
Eva folded her arms. "An idiot on my side almost got herself killed, so now I'm patrolling alone."
Lydia chuckled. "An idiot on my side did the same."
Eva smirked faintly. "Speaking of which, why aren't you with Max? I thought you never left his side."
A small smile played on Lydia's lips. "I've got to make sure the area's safe, don't I?"
Eva didn't reply. She simply watched Lydia for a moment longer before shifting her gaze back toward the darkened landscape.
***
Justin and Chester stepped into the conference room, their movements brisk yet measured. Across the long table sat two men with identical features—long white hair, piercing gray eyes, and an air of effortless authority.
Kael leaned back in his chair, observing them with a frown. "Did you forget your manners?"
Chester straightened immediately. "Apologies, sir."
Justin, on the other hand, rolled his eyes. He never understood why roots showed such deference to the angels. Fear? Respect? Either way, it irritated him.
"We think we might have found your sister," Justin said, cutting to the point.
That got their attention. Both men sat forward, their expressions sharpening.
"Go on," Rael prompted.
"We're not completely sure," Chester admitted. "The Hoods use illusions to mask their identities, so we couldn't get a clear look."
"But it's most likely her," Justin interjected.
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly. "What happened?"
Justin crossed his arms. "She transferred some kind of white energy into a girl, and she woke up."
Kael's gaze remained steady. "And?"
Justin blinked. "And what?"
Kael's tone was patient but firm. "Is that everything?"
"Oh," Justin said, scrambling for more details. "Right. Uh, in their merged state, they had long white hair, and… there was this holy aura about them. Definitely different from a normal diabolist."
"Long white hair?" Kael murmured to Rael, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest of his chair. A rare flicker of excitement crossed his otherwise indifferent expression. "It just might be her."
Rael, however, remained composed, his sharp gaze fixed ahead. He didn't share Kael's optimism. "Were they paid?" he asked, his tone steady.
"Yeah. Six million," Justin answered.
Kael and Rael exchanged a glance, and almost simultaneously, their expressions dulled with disappointment.
"It wasn't her," Rael said flatly.
Justin frowned, confusion crossing his face. "No, you don't get it. The energy they gave off—it felt just like yours. It was the same kind of holy power."
Kael let out a slow, measured breath. "Some roots can mimic our power," he said, his voice carrying a tinge of distaste. "They gain more strength by making deals with beings known as demons."
Chester stiffened beside Justin, his brows furrowing. "You're saying they're actually making deals with those beings?"
Rael gave a small nod. "Yes. Unfortunately, they are." He leaned back in his chair, his piercing gaze unwavering. "But doing so isn't without consequence. It always leaves a mark—a deformity, a corruption of some kind. That's how you can tell them apart."
Justin clenched his fists, scoffing in irritation. "So that's how they did it. And here I thought they earned their way to the top five with real skill. Turns out they were just taking shortcuts, selling themselves to demons."
Kael exhaled, unimpressed. "Yes, yes. Complain on your way out." He gave a lazy flick of his wrist toward the door.
Chester, sensing they had overstayed their welcome, straightened his back. "Understood, sir." He grabbed Justin's arm before he could argue further and began pulling him toward the exit.
Justin muttered under his breath but didn't resist. As the doors closed behind them, Kael's fingers stilled against the armrest.
***
Kryvos sipped his smoothie lazily, swirling the straw between his fingers as Castor vented his frustration on Darius. The room was dimly lit, casting harsh shadows on the cold, cracked stone floor.
"Do you understand what could have happened if she died?" Castor's voice was sharp, laced with barely restrained fury as he pressed his boot harder against Darius's face.
Darius groaned, his face battered and bloodied, his breath ragged. The slitted pupils of his snake-like eyes flickered with fear. "I—I'm sorry, sir," he wheezed, barely managing the words.
"Shut up!" Castor snarled before delivering a brutal kick to Darius's ribs, sending him sprawling across the floor.
Kryvos let out a sigh, shifting in his seat. "Castor, calm down. What matters is that she's still alive," he drawled, tilting his cup slightly to examine its contents.
Castor turned toward him, slow and deliberate. Kryvos barely had time to react before a sharp, searing pain coursed through his body. His limbs twitched involuntarily as a dark, creeping force gripped his insides, forcing thick, black blood to dribble from the corner of his mouth.
"Don't think I forgot that you're also at fault," Castor said coldly. His gaze held a quiet menace, his presence suffocating.
Kryvos spat blood onto the floor, his breathing uneven. "Enough, I know." His tone was still laced with irritation, though the pain in his body made his movements sluggish. He wiped his mouth, smearing dark streaks against his sleeve. "Since she's so important, why don't you just keep her here?"
Castor's eyes darkened, but his rage seemed to settle into something more calculated. "It's complicated," he muttered. "Besides, she's well-protected right now."
"I'll say," Kryvos muttered, swirling what remained of his smoothie in the cup. He glanced up at Castor with a sharp look. "Why didn't you tell me she was around her?"
Castor's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Why? Were you scared?" His tone was teasing, but his gaze held a flicker of something more—curiosity, perhaps.
Kryvos scoffed, leaning back against the chair. "Scared? Hardly. Her diabolist is weak," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But that doesn't make the situation less dangerous." His green slit-like eyes glowed faintly as he studied Castor's reaction.
Castor didn't respond, nor did he seem particularly concerned. Instead, he turned his attention back to Darius, who was still sprawled on the floor, his breathing uneven. His bruised body trembled as Castor took a step toward him.
Panic surged through Darius's expression, and in desperation, he blurted out, "Mask wasn't on our side!"
Castor froze mid-step. His smile disappeared, replaced by a sharp, calculating look. "What?" His voice was low, dangerous.
Darius swallowed hard, pushing himself up slightly. "Mask attacked and nearly killed Lorraine. But she—she was the one who actually finished Lorraine off," he said quickly, hoping the information would be enough to divert Castor's wrath.
A strange silence settled over the room. Castor's expression darkened as he mulled over the information. "Strange," he murmured. "I thought we had a deal." His fingers flexed slightly at his side, a faint crackle of energy sparking around them.
Darius let out a slow breath, believing—hoping—he was finally off the hook. His shoulders slumped slightly in relief.
Then, Castor spoke again.
"Go and tell Melanie that you're the reason her daughter got sent to hell. And no matter what she does to you… you are not allowed to fight back. Or resist."
The blood drained from Darius's face.
A cold, sinking dread filled his gut as the weight of Castor's words settled in. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He knew better than to beg—it would only amuse Castor more.
Kryvos took a lazy sip of his drink, watching Darius pale. "Well, that's unfortunate," he mused, though there was no real sympathy in his tone.
***
Eva stepped out of the shower, the warmth of the water still clinging to her skin as she quickly dressed, ensuring that the crack-like marks on her back remained covered. For an old mansion, the plumbing was surprisingly good.
She sat on the edge of her bed, patting her damp hair dry before standing up and heading to check on Jane.
Stepping into the room, she crossed her arms and quirked a brow. "I see you're still alive."
Jane, who had been resting against the pillows, smirked as she sat up. "Why? Were you worried?"
Eva scoffed. "No. I just realized I don't own any funeral outfits. Do me a favor and hold off on dying until I buy some."
Jane chuckled. "You won't need to. I don't plan on dying anytime soon."
Eva rolled her eyes. "At this rate, I wouldn't be so sure."
Before Jane could respond, Peter stormed into the room, his expression tense with frustration. "Are you two seriously joking about this? She almost died!" His voice carried an edge of anger, though the concern beneath it was unmistakable.
Eva and Jane exchanged a glance before turning back to him, unimpressed.
"What's his problem?" Eva muttered to Jane, completely ignoring Peter.
Jane shrugged. "No idea. It's not like he's the one who almost died." She rolled her eyes, clearly unfazed.
Peter's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. "Jane, this isn't funny."
Noting his frustration, Jane sighed, relenting just a little. "Alright, alright. We were joking, Peter. I'm sorry for being reckless and putting myself in danger."
"I told you this would be dangerous. We're never splitting up on missions again," Peter said firmly, his frustration clear.
"Peter, I made a mistake this time, but it won't happen again," Jane countered, keeping her voice level.
Eva, sensing an argument brewing, leaned casually against the wall, fully prepared to enjoy the show.
"So you're saying you'll continue putting yourself in danger?" Peter pressed.
Jane exhaled sharply. "Everything we do is dangerous. I'm just saying I'll be extra careful."
"Like you were today?" Peter shot back.
"Point to Peter," Eva remarked from the sidelines.
Jane gritted her teeth. "I already admitted I wasn't careful, and I already apologized. I'll take better precautions next time."
"Negative point to Jane," Eva added with an amused smirk.
Peter let out a frustrated sigh. "You don't have to. I can protect you."
He paused the moment the words left his mouth, realizing how they sounded.
"Idiot," Eva muttered under her breath.
Jane's eyes narrowed. "Oh? So you're saying I need the protection of a man?"
Peter groaned. "That's not what I meant. I'm saying it's safer if we stick together. You know what I'm trying to say."
"No, I don't," Jane deadpanned.
Peter stared at her, his patience thinning. "You—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply before throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Fine. You win. Go ahead and risk your life." With that, he turned and stormed out of the room.
Eva chuckled, turning to Jane. "Nicely done. Playing the feminist card—completely shifted the attention away from you almost getting yourself killed."
Jane grinned smugly. "I have lots of experience with that."
"I'm honestly surprised he didn't see through it." Eva smirked, then tilted her head. "Though... you do realize you just lost your chance to stick close to him during missions, right?"
Jane froze, her expression shifting as the realization sank in.
Eva shook her head. "Idiot."