It hurt. Gods, it always hurt. Her back was flaming split and her spine was screaming, but Evelyn clenched her jaw and beat her wings harder, dragging the Raven up into the rotting air by the shoulder. He wasn't even struggling—just twisting in her grip with that sharp glint in his lenses like he was still capable of thinking in his situation.

And that was never good. When people started thinking, they started scheming, and when they started scheming, they started killing.

She wheezed, wings fluttering, the pain of flight gnawing straight into her ribs like a butcher's hook, but she had to drop him. Had to get high enough first. Had to let go and watch the wind peel his limbs off, maybe see his coat twist round his neck like a noose on the way down.

That'd be justice. That'd be fair.

They burst out the shattered third-storey window together, rain slicking her cheeks, the mist curling round her arms. The orphanage roof loomed below, patchy, rotted, caved-in where it wasn't black with mildew. She squeezed her eyes shut and hauled him higher into the sky.

Then something cracked across the top of her skull.

She shrieked, stunned, and the whole world lurched sideways. The Raven had lifted his cane—just the blunt sheath—and clobbered her on the head

Just once would be fine, but then he did it again.

And then he did it again.

"Ack—st—stop—!"

Her grip slipped. Her hands were jelly. Her wings beat one last crooked flap before she suddenly lost all strength and dropped like a sack of butcher's scraps.

Tiles shattered beneath her.

She rolled once, twice, and came to a halt with a dry sob half-caught in her throat. She was lying flat on her side, cheek pressed against broken shingles, blood seeping warm beneath her chin. Her back felt like it'd been sawed open. Something pulsed from her shoulder blades—no, three somethings, thick cords twisting like worms, still wet and raw. Didn't matter. She couldn't think about that right now.

The Raven was on the other side of the roof, about twenty paces away. He'd hit the ground harder, but he was already propping himself up with his cane, steadying his top hat, and looking curiously at her like she was just another busted vial on his table.

She spat to the side. Her vision was swimming.

They'd really come.

Like the doctor said they would.

The Raven and the Caser had really come around after the doctor said he'd send them a 'tip letter'. They really were here to put a nice little finishing knife through her and all her hounds. Wasn't no doubt about it. Couldn't be.

So what else was she supposed to do?

Kill… them… first.

She grit her teeth, dug her filthy fingers into the cracked tiles, and clawed herself up. Legs trembling. Head burning. The acidic rain made her want to hack and cough under her muzzle-shaped mask, but the filtering mechanism was still working somewhat, so she managed to hold her cough back. She couldn't make a sound of weakness now.

Below her, in the wilted central garden surrounded by four walls of the orphanage, she heard the clanging sound of combat. She peeked over the edge of the roof discreetly and saw the Caser was there, spinning and twirling with her black umbrella like a reaper's waltz as she fended off her oversized hounds.

Her stomach turned. Not from the blood, but from the… the connection.

Every time Rags got flung back, it was like her ribs cracked. Every time Luce whimpered, her skin crawled and flaked off. Bram had a limp now, and her own leg was starting to go numb. She felt all of it. Every last hit. It wasn't just empathy anymore—it was deeper than that, tied down in her marrow and nerves, and she dropped back onto her knees and doubled over, clutching her belly.

She nearly threw up.

What… is… this?

I can… I'm a… I'm a hound—

"Oi," came the Raven's voice. "We fighting over here or not?"

Evelyn snapped her head up.

The Raven was leaning on his cane, one hand still busy adjusting his hat. It was only now that she noticed he was missing half his mask. His jaw was exposed, pale skin gleaming sickly under the acid-rain glow. What use was a mask if it didn't even cover his mouth?

Was that just his way of showing her how outclassed she was?

"But you care for those hounds, yeah?" he continued. He was talking casual. Too casual. Like they were standing in a market, like he was asking her if she wanted soup. "Who are you? Why fight so hard for them?"

She stared. Her lips trembled. She didn't answer.

"Well, I suppose you must be from this place," he said idly, flicking his gaze to the brick behind her. "The Sallow Hearth was an orphanage infamous for giving all of its children a mutt. Part of some program to teach kids responsibility, and to give them a companion they can sleep with."

Her eyes went wide.

She'd never said that. Nobody had told him that.

"You stayed behind, didn't you?" he said. "After the old director died a few years back. After they shut the doors. You stayed behind to look after the leftovers, 'cause no way in hell anyone's gonna take care of all those mutts by themselves."

He was poking into her mind. Into things she hadn't said aloud in years.

How does he know all that?

That made her panic. She bared her teeth and snarled. It didn't sound human—more like an animal cornered in the dark—and her wings shot out behind her, twitching, trembling, stretching wide despite the pain. The cords in her back flared and her spine screamed again. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think straight.

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He pointed his blade down into the garden, still leaning against his cane.

"You happy now?" he said, voice level. "Mutating those mutts, stitching them up, and pumping them full of whatever you're using yourself to keep your head from splitti—"

"That ain't it!" she snapped. He raised an eyebrow. She clutched her arms to her chest, shaking and wheezing. Her tongue felt heavy. "That doctor said… said he'd fix 'em. Fix all of 'em. Said once I kill you both, and once I stop the hunters from comin', he'd make 'em normal again. That he'd… he'd make 'em right."

The Raven tilted his head, still not moving. "What doctor?"

She swallowed hard.

"The one who's been treatin' me and my hounds," she whispered. "The only one who knows how."

Then she blinked. Her vision went red. Her blood was hot enough now.

"That's why… I can't lose," she snarled, breathless. "If I die, he won't come back. My hounds'll die. I ain't gonna let that happen."

And then, with a sudden motion, she darted forward. Her wings flared out, sending a gust of air that whipped at the rain. She was fast—faster than she had ever been before—but the Raven was just barely able to catch up. With a flick of his wrist, his cane swung in a sharp arc, knocking her off balance just as she was about to reach him.

She growled, trying to right herself, but the force of his strike sent her sprawling back into the roof on the far opposite end. Screeching to a halt, her hands dug into the cracked tiles beneath her, raking across the stone, the sharp edges biting into her fingertips. Her nails tore free, the sensation sending a rush of pain up her arms, but there was no time to focus on that. No time for pain.

I thought this before, but… can he see me in the dark?

Does he have night vision or something?

With a tilt of his head, the Raven looked to some empty space next to him and then spoke, voice casual as if they were exchanging pleasantries.

"You've got some sort of Fly Class, huh?" His gaze flickered back to her. "Where'd an orphan brat get that?"

A cold shiver skittered up her spine. Eyes flicking to the side herself, she glanced at the familiar, damning glow of her status interface.

[// STATUS]

[Name: Evelyn]

[Grade: E-Rank Wretch-Class]

[Advanced Class: Horsefly]

[Passive Mutation: Skimmer Wings]

[Swarmblood Arts: Bloodrush Vector]

[Aura: 104 BeS]

[Points: 0 vBe]

[Strength: 2, Speed: 2, Toughness: 1, Dexterity: 2, Perceptivity: 2]

[// MUTATION TREE]

[T1 Mutations | Cutting Labellum] 15P

It was information she'd never let anyone see, but even if the Raven couldn't see it, he was no fool. He'd surely figure her class out soon enough. He was far too sharp. Far too perceptive.

Gripping her sleeve, her fingers fumbled as she retrieved the small bioarcanic knife the doctor had given her, the chitin-plated blade cool in her trembling palm. Her hands shook violently. She could barely hold it. She'd never held a weapon with an intent to hurt before, but… this was it.

Her very last chance.

Kill him.

Kill him now!

She shot forward once more, wings vibrating with brutal force. The air tore around her as she drove herself toward him again. This time, her knife sliced through the space between them—its edge biting into the chitin-plated fabric of his coat—and the blade sank in, drawing a thin, slow line of blood.

A rush of triumph surged in her chest, brief but intense. She pulled down her mask just enough to lick the blood off the knife. The iron tang flooded her senses, and instantly, a fire ignited inside her. Her world snapped into sharp focus. Her vision went a shade darker, bloodshot eyes blazing brighter with renewed energy.

She couldn't read or figure out how to control her interfaces, but the doctor had told her that her Swarmblood Art was a bloody one. Whenever she drank blood from a living being, her speed and strength against that person in particular would increase by fifty percent. A single-target Art. A high-speed, high-risk magic. But it was all worth it. She darted back in, slashing again and again, zipping past him with such speed that the air around her seemed to crack. Each cut and each strike made her feel more detached, more untouchable, but her senses raced in sync with her flying body.

The Raven could barely keep up. Slashes he could block with his blade and cane, he did, but those were two out of ten slashes. The other eight she carved into him, a death by a thousand cuts, and for her part, she felt… alive.

Healthier than she'd ever been.

She whipped around him again, her momentum pushing her to circle back for another strike. This time, she aimed to take him off his feet—to end it. Her wings snapped with the force of her charge, propelling her toward him with the intensity of a storm, and she was determined to send him tumbling off the roof.

But then, without warning, his voice cut through the rain.

"Your name is… Evelyn, isn't it?"

Her breath hitched, her wings faltering mid-beat. His words struck like a jolt of ice, and her speed slowed just for a moment, her wings fluttering weaker as doubt began to creep in.

Then the Raven whirled around to face her, his lenses glowing with a sickly mix of green and red.

"Gotcha"

In one swift motion, he clutched both his blade and cane in his left hand, then shot his right hand out at her.

There, wrapped around his gloved hand, was…

… A flower?

Before she could react, he pressed his pinky finger to his palm, and in an instant, the flower roared. The flower exploded in size, its jaw-like petals unfurling with terrifying speed, and then it lunged at her.

From a tiny plant to one easily matching her size, the massive, snapping jaws shot five meters forward and clamped around her torso with ferocious force. Her waist immediately flared in pain. She tried to pull away, her wings flapping frantically, but it was too late.

The flower's grip was inescapable.

Her world spun violently as she was ripped from the air, her body jerking as the Raven twisted and the giant man-eating flower yanked her down into the central garden three storeys below.

She cried out as she slammed chest-first into the earth, her vision a blur of wet garden and dying plants. Pain exploded through her body, her breath stolen by the crushing weight of the fall. She wheezed, trying to catch her breath, but… it was impossible. The world around her spun in a haze of pain and confusion.

What… was that?

Before she could even attempt to get up, the Raven landed beside her, his dark figure looming above her like a shadow. His cane stabbed into the ground, pinning her right sleeve to the soil, while his blade did the same to her left sleeve as he knelt over her.

A twisted grin stretched across his face, as if savoring her defeat.

"Exorcist! Do your thing!" he shouted.

Without hesitation, the Caser disengaged from the hounds around her and dashed next to the Raven, kneeling next to him. Then she raised black umbrella into the air, snapping it open like a deadly weapon, and she thumbed a button on the handle.

The umbrella started spinning rapidly, the edges whirling with vicious speed, but the spin wasn't the main focus. It was the dome of thin, poison-green blood droplets that began spiralling outwards, coating the air in a thick circle around them, and Evelyn's hounds—her only hope—were pushed back by the barrier of blood, unable to get close.

Her heart pounded in her chest, panic surging through her veins. Her hounds couldn't help her. She was alone.

Shit!

What do I—

As if to seal her fate, the Raven suddenly jabbed a strange syringe into her neck. The cold fluid spread through her veins, draining her strength, and her limbs grew heavy. Her body felt as though it had been hollowed out, leaving her paralyzed.

The world around her grew dim.

She managed one last desperate movement: looking up at him as he loomed above her. His pained, though deranged ear-to-ear grin sent a chill through her spine—but the familiarity of it clawed at her mind.

"It ain't at all ideal to do open-air surgery in a wet garden like this," he remarked casually, "but it's field operating time."

The cold gleam of two small scalpels that magically appeared in his free hands made her stomach churn, but she couldn't focus completely on them.

Where had she seen that wicked, dastardly smile before?

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