Richard froze at the factory's exit, clarinet in hand. Burrows' voice—"Richard…"—echoed in his head, low and bitter. Post-Mortem Nen, born from a dying grudge. His wound throbbed, aura nearly spent from the fight. Facing something stronger than Burrows now? Bad timing.
A faint shape flickered ahead—a phantom, Burrows' aura twisting into form, rushing him. Richard acted on instinct, raising the clarinet. Crazy Sonata's power stirred, not to play but to pull. A sharp tug, like a vacuum, yanked the phantom into the clarinet's tip. It vanished, leaving silence.
Richard blinked, a spark of clarity hitting. "Sonata… it can trap Post-Mortem Nen?" he muttered. The clarinet felt heavier, humming faintly. He tucked it away, too drained to test it now. Trouble could wait—he needed rest.
He left the factory behind, slipping into the city's maze of neon-lit streets. A cheap hotel loomed ahead, its sign half-dead. Richard checked in, ignoring the clerk's stare at his torn clothes. In his room, he ate a quick meal—stale bread, tough meat—keeping his aura low with Ten. Safe, for now.
After eating, he pulled out the clarinet. A faint glow pulsed inside, and he focused, testing his Hatsu. A wisp of aura drifted out—Burrows' Post-Mortem Nen, reshaped. No hatred, no grudge. Just power, tied to Richard's will. A shadow of Burrows formed, eyes blank, waiting.
"Bullet," Richard said, voice firm.
The phantom's fingertip sparked, aura coiling into a Nen bullet. Boom! It punched through the room's wall, leaving a clean hole.
Richard's lips twitched. "Not just Sonata," he said. "I've got his Emission now."
Burrows' ability—raw aura shots, like Razor's throws—was his to command. Two Nen powers in one fight. Anros, the traitor who'd killed the Vellucci family and hunted Richard, wasn't ready for this.
Anros slammed a fist on his office desk, papers scattering. The room—high above the city, all glass and steel—felt too small for his rage.
"Useless!" he roared at his men. "A kid slips through, and you've got nothing?"
His crew stood silent, heads down. A young guy, braver than most, spoke up. "Lord Anros, we can't reach Burrows. He might be… like the others."
Anros' face darkened. "Burrows? Taken out by that brat?" He paced, eyes glinting. "No. Someone's helping him—a friend of his father's, maybe. Find out. Hire killers, pay what they want."
"Yes, sir," the young guy said, backing off.
A soft sound drifted in—a clarinet's notes, light and clear. It should've been soothing, but Anros felt a prickle, like static on his skin. His men shifted, uneasy, eyes twitching.
"What's that?" Anros snapped, glancing out the window. The street below was chaos—people screaming, clawing themselves, fighting like animals. Blood streaked the pavement.
The notes grew sharper. Anros' men changed fast—eyes red, faces twisted. One smashed his fist into another's jaw. A second rammed his head against the wall, grunting. They turned on each other, beasts in suits.
Anros drew his gun, heart racing. "Snap out of it!" he shouted. No response—just snarls. He fired, bullets dropping them one by one. Blood pooled on the floor, the notes still ringing.
He kicked the door open, stepping onto the office balcony. The street was a graveyard—bodies strewn, all mad, all dead. The clarinet's song lingered, cold and deliberate.
A figure stood on a rooftop across the street, clarinet in hand. Richard.
Anros gripped the railing, knuckles white.
"You," he growled.
Richard stopped playing, eyes locked on him. "Anros," he said, voice flat but heavy. "Been a while."
"What did you do?" Anros shouted, voice cracking. "What is this?"
"What I had to," Richard said, stepping closer to the roof's edge. "You betrayed them. Killed them. Hunted me. Felt good, didn't it? Being the big man?"
Anros' face twisted, rage and fear mixing. "You'll pay, you little—"
"Pay?" Richard cut him off, voice like ice. "Your family paid. Ryan, Alice, Mei Li—they're gone. Everyone on this street, too. Except you."
Anros froze, breath catching. "You're lying," he whispered, but his eyes darted to the carnage below. His hands shook, gun slipping.
Richard raised the clarinet, notes starting again—slow, controlled. Crazy Sonata hummed, but he held it back, letting Anros feel the weight. "I want you to know," he said. "To feel it before you break."
Anros roared, raising his gun. "I'll kill you!"
Richard's eyes didn't waver. "Try."
The notes sharpened, and Anros' scream joined the city's silence