The battlefield had gone silent.
Bob finally pulled himself free from the rubble, debris sliding off his shoulders as he rose. A deep claw mark stretched across his chest, already healing.
In the brief time he'd been out of the fight, the Hayashi Twins had finished the boss.
With their master gone, the remaining minions lost all coordination. Leaderless, they were quickly cleaned up by the remaining forces.
The battle was over.
But victory did not bring relief.
The survivors gathered near the ruins, their bodies worn, their weapons heavy in their hands. No one spoke at first. The aftermath of the battle hung over them like a fog just as thick as the one surrounding them.
Marcus shook blood from his armored hide, his movements slow and methodical. The Hounds stood behind him, bruised but unbroken, their formation intact, their losses—zero.
Noah and the Okada Family had not been as lucky. They had lost two. Their bodies lay among the fallen, their comrades standing in silent mourning, expressions unreadable but eyes heavy with grief.
Bob's crew had taken their share of injuries. Small cuts, bruises, aching muscles—they had spent too much time covering for the DMW Gang, shielding reckless fighters who ignored every warning. Sly sat on a broken piece of stone, rubbing his leg, trying to hide the slight limp in his step.
And then there was what remained of the DMW Gang.
Fourteen of them were gone.
The once-loud, boastful group now stood silent, their numbers cut nearly in half. Their usual grins were gone, their confidence shattered. They had believed numbers made them strong. The battlefield had proven otherwise.
Boss Roz, in his Fenrir Glint, sat apart from the others—his massive frame hunched low, forelegs planted firmly in the dirt. His usual bravado was gone. There was no grin this time.
Marcus stepped toward him, voice steady. "You lost fourteen."
Roz didn't look up.
"You knew the risks," Marcus went on. "But you still sent them in—no formation, no fallback."
Roz let out a low, bitter chuckle. "You think you're better than me?" He exhaled through his nose, head shaking. "You think this is on me?"
Marcus didn't flinch. "I didn't say that."
He paused.
"You didn't have to," Roz muttered. He finally met Marcus's gaze, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. "You and your government types always act like you've got it all figured out. Like you're above all this."
Selene stepped forward, her expression cold. "We didn't get anyone killed by being reckless."
Roz's fingers curled into fists. "Oh, so now you're acting like you saved us? We lost because the government sent a smaller force than we did. You had trained killers, and we had a bunch of guys who weren't prepared for what they walked into. We were set up to fail."
Selene let out a short, sharp laugh. "You set yourselves up to fail."
Roz tensed, his face twisting with something unreadable. His remaining men shifted uncomfortably, some lowering their gazes.
Bob, who had been watching from the sidelines, finally let out a bored sigh. "Still talking?"
Roz turned toward him. "What was that?"
Bob rolled his shoulder, testing a bruise on his arm. "You lost half your guys, and you still got time to point fingers? Just take the hit and move on."
Roz looked like he wanted to fight, but for the first time in a long time, he had nothing to say.
Noah exhaled, his shoulders tense. "Enough. This argument isn't going to change anything."
Marcus nodded. "We need to move. The battle's over—but the Pink Fog hasn't gone anywhere."
The remaining fighters gathered their wounded, their weapons, their dead. The weight of the battle settled over them, pressing down like an unseen force.
Sly winced as he stood, stretching his leg. "I hate to say it, but I think the Hounds were right. That was a mess."
Gabe crossed his arms, nodding. "Charging in blind almost got us crushed. We need a better plan next time."
Bob cracked his neck, eyes still on the ruins where the Crimson Count had fallen. "Nah. Next time, I just won't hold back."
Sly groaned. "You're actually impossible."
Bob shrugged. "Hey, it worked... eventually."
Gabe said nothing—just looked ahead, and under his breath, almost to himself:
"One day, 'eventually' won't be good enough."
As the group prepared to leave, Gabe stood at the edge of the battlefield, looking out into the Pink Fog stretching beyond them.
The others were caught up in blaming each other—Marcus holding Roz accountable, Roz throwing it back at the government, Bob ignoring the lesson entirely.
But Gabe? He saw it differently.
The real enemy was the fog itself.
It had taken everything from them. It corrupted the land, warped the people, and left once-thriving cities in ruins. It didn't matter who fought better or who lost more—as long as the Pink Fog remained, no one was winning anything.
But he didn't say it out loud.
Instead, he simply turned and walked with the others, leaving the battlefield behind.
The war was over.
But the fight was far from finished.
The journey back to Oyster Bay was quiet.
The five groups moved through the ruins, their steps steady but their minds elsewhere. The weight of the battle clung to them, the echoes of the fight still fresh in their bodies. Even the DMW Gang, normally loud and boastful, walked in silence.
No one spoke of the losses.
No one spoke at all.
The path ahead was swallowed by the Pink Fog, shifting lazily in the wind. But something about it had changed.
Before, it had simply been a presence—a heavy, lingering force that marked the edges of what was left of the world.
Now, after seeing what kind of monsters moved through it—what kind of power hid inside it… the Pink Fog felt alive.
It wasn't long before they reached the outer perimeter of where Oyster Bay should have been.
They stopped.
There was nothing left.
The safe zone was gone—obliterated, as if it had never existed. The meteor fragment, the last thing protecting it, had been shattered, leaving behind only scorched ground and drifting ash where the core once stood.
The walls had collapsed. The streets were buried beneath debris. The buildings stood as nothing more than hollowed-out shells. No sign of life. No bodies. No survivors.
Just silence.
Noah stared at the ruins, his expression unreadable.
Marcus narrowed his eyes, scanning the wreckage, his jaw tightening.
"This isn't just destruction. This is erasure."
Selene stepped forward, nudging a half-buried slab of stone with her boot.
"It's like they were wiped off the map."
The realization settled in slowly.
Oyster Bay hadn't just fallen. It had been erased.
They had no choice but to move on.
With no safe zone to return to, they continued toward the next one, their pace steady but wary. Hours passed before the first signs of another settlement appeared—walls still intact, guards patrolling the perimeter, a functioning gate standing between them and something that at least resembled stability.
As they neared the entrance, a lone figure stood waiting.
Elias Crowe.
The ex-mayor of Oyster Bay looked different from when they had last seen him. His usual calm demeanor had been stripped away, leaving only exhaustion in its place. His clothes were dusted with dirt, his face worn from days of travel. Yet, when he saw them
approaching, his expression was unreadable, as if he had already accepted what was coming.
Marcus stepped forward first. "You made it."
Elias gave a slow nod. "I ran the moment the meteor shattered. Didn't look back."
Bob, uninterested in formalities, crossed his arms. "So, what happened?"
Elias let out a breath. "They lost their minds."
The survivors stood in silence as the ex-mayor recounted the events of that night. How the infected saw the full moon as blood-red, how the meteor fragment's glow burned into their minds, how they turned on each other first, and when that wasn't enough, they destroyed the only thing keeping them safe.
Marcus narrowed his eyes. "Before that, did you notice anything? Were they sick?"
Elias hesitated, his brows furrowing in thought. "I don't know if you'd call it sickness, but looking back now… maybe. A few days ago, some people complained of fatigue, headaches. We ignored it because aside from that, they were fine. They were even energetic at night. Then the full moon came."
Marcus exhaled. "The researchers called it the Blood Plague."
The name sent a ripple through the group.
Elias turned to him. "Blood Plague?"
Marcus's voice was steady, but the weight behind it was clear. "Yes. The whole lair of the Crimson Count is saturated with it. Just being in the area—near or far—you can get infected. It must have started when some of Oyster Bay's people got too close to the lair. Once they were infected, it spread through contact."
He continued, his tone firm. "And during the full moon, the hidden effect triggered. The same symptoms you mentioned—thirst for blood, fear of light. In their minds, the meteor fragment became the enemy." He exhaled, shaking his head. "This was only a theory before, when researchers were trying to understand the connection between Glints, Fades, and fantasy creatures. Looks like some of it was right."
Noah rubbed the back of his neck, absorbing the information. "So… the Crimson Count destroyed an entire safe zone without even stepping inside it?"
Selene didn't respond right away. Her expression stayed unreadable.
"If that really was him… then it's possible Boss-level Fades can take down a safe zone from the outside."
The thought hung in the air.
They had always known Fades were dangerous—but not like this.
This was a boundary broken.
Sly frowned. "Wait—so any boss-level Fade could do the same thing?"
No one had an answer.
The realization settled in slowly, like a weight pressing down on their chests.
Safe zones weren't safe anymore.
They were still absorbing this when a sharp burst of static crackled through the comms device attached to Selene's belt.
The voice that followed was urgent, clipped, and professional.
"Alert—General-level Fade detected in Sector A. Coordinates inbound."
Marcus's head snapped up. His eyes met Selene's immediately.
Before anyone could even react, another alert came through.
"Alert—General-level Fade detected in Sector C."
Then another.
"Alert—Boss-level Fade detected in Eastern Territory."
"Alert—Boss-level Fade detected in Western Outpost."
More voices, more locations, each one broadcasting a new disaster.
The warnings kept coming, overlapping, the voices tense, struggling to keep up.
Different places. Different sectors. Different regions.
This wasn't an isolated event.
The world was falling apart—fast.
It was collapsing —all at once, and there was no stopping it.
After the alerts stopped, no one spoke.
A heavy silence settled over the group as the last transmission crackled through the radio, each of them thinking the same thing.
Then, breaking the tension like it never existed, Bob stretched his arms over his head and let out a long yawn.
"So…" he muttered, scratching the back of his head, "what's for dinner?"
Gabe closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
"Unbelievable."