DUMM!!

A deafening crash reverberated from the east side of the house.

This time, it was not just a spiritual energy—it was an eruption of energy that bent reality itself, a surge so palpable that even ordinary humans could feel it pressing against their senses. Though the intensity was not massive, the vibration that rippled through the air was enough to send a faint tremor across the ground, making the soil beneath their feet quiver gently. Leaves shuddered on their branches, swaying as if stirred by invisible hands, and flocks of birds perched in the trees burst into the sky in startled panic.

Every single person in the garden instinctively turned their heads toward the source of the disturbance. Even the construction workers—men of hardened physiques and rugged faces, the kind who carried the aura of street fighters—were unsettled. The bravado drained from their eyes, replaced with unease and a flicker of fear.

"David?!" Vianna's voice broke the silence. Her words were little more than a breath, yet the strain in her tone betrayed her alarm. Her eyes flew wide open, breath catching in her throat. For a fleeting moment, her gaze locked with Aurielle's, but Aurielle appeared even more shaken. Her entire body trembled uncontrollably, and one of her hands flew to her lips, stifling the scream that threatened to escape.

Without a second's hesitation, Vianna shot forward. Her figure became a blur, her presence a streak of motion that sliced through the suffocating tension of the scene. To the others, she was no more than a fleeting shadow, a flicker of light that tore the silence apart.

This time, Aurielle did not restrain her. She simply clasped her hands against her chest, fingers digging into her own skin as she whispered desperate prayers within her heart—pleas that both Vianna and David would emerge unharmed.

Clarista too had turned, her eyes fixed on the direction where Vianna had vanished. The muscles in her face tightened, her gaze following as if unwilling to let her elder sister out of sight. Anxiety spread within her like wildfire.

"Sis?!" Clarista's voice cracked. Though quiet, it quivered as if seeking something to anchor herself to.

Aurielle, despite the tremors coursing through her body, forced herself to respond. She gave the faintest nod, accompanied by a fragile smile that looked more like a painful grimace. Her expression carried a silent message: trust me, believe in Vianna—everything will turn out alright.

Even so, Clarista's unease only deepened. But before panic could consume her entirely, Fani stepped closer and rested a steady hand on her shoulder. That simple touch was warm, firm, grounding—like the anchor of a ship clinging to the seabed amidst a raging storm. Clarista exhaled shakily, her tension loosening just enough to hold herself together.

Fani, however, was not lost in panic. Her expression was sharper, her brows furrowed as thoughts churned furiously behind her eyes. She was less concerned with Vianna's reckless dash and more with the underlying cause—what exactly had happened, and more importantly, what Al's response to it would be.

She had long suspected there was something unusual, something sinister about the area surrounding David's room. Even if she didn't fully understand it, her instincts told her that it was far from normal. With that thought, her head turned, eyes searching instinctively for Al.

But…

Al was gone.

"Huh?" The startled gasp slipped from Fani before she could stop it. Her face stiffened in shock.

Everyone's eyes immediately fell upon her, drawn to the sharp note in her voice. Confusion spread among them, silently demanding an explanation for her reaction.

Fani's hand rose, finger pointing in Yura's direction.

"Where's Al?" she asked.

It was only then that Aurielle and Clarista realized it too. Just moments ago, Al had been standing right there—right beside Yura, even holding onto her arm. Now he was nowhere to be seen.

"Huh? Where did that boy go?"

The most shocked of them all, however, was Yura.

She turned to her side, her gaze dropping to the empty space beside her. Her hand dangled awkwardly in the air, fingers stiff and trembling, as though they had only just released something—or rather, someone. That hand should have still been clutching Al's arm tightly.

"Al?" Her whisper carried disbelief.

Yura stumbled back half a step, her face paling. Her heartbeat thundered so loudly it echoed in her own ears. Just seconds ago, she had been certain—absolutely certain—that she had been holding onto him firmly. Yet now he was gone, slipping away without her even realizing.

Her wide, bewildered eyes darted toward Devy. But Devy merely stared blankly for a moment, then shook her head. She hadn't noticed either. Both of them quickly scanned their surroundings, searching desperately, but no shadow of Al could be found. Nothing.

Where had he gone?

Panic began to seize Yura's chest. Her gaze darted wildly, breaths shallow and uneven as if she were trying to convince herself he was still nearby. But no matter how hard she searched, there was no trace.

"Where is he? Where's Al? I swear I was holding him just a second ago, and then… then he just—"

"Calm down, Lady Yura." Devy's voice was low, steady, soothing, as she reached out to gently clasp her trembling hand.

"Devy, are you sure you didn't see? How could he slip away without me even noticing?" Yura's voice cracked with desperation.

Devy shook her head again.

Her panic only deepened. How could someone like Al vanish—vanish so cleanly—that even Devy, whose perception surpassed most others, had failed to notice? The cruel, sharp-edged aura that usually clung to Yura seemed to melt away, replaced by an unguarded rawness, a nervous fragility that was rarely seen.

Clarista and Aurielle both witnessed it—the sight of Yura, genuinely panicked, genuinely worried for Al's well-being. An odd weight pressed against their hearts. They had never expected someone of Yura's caliber, someone so proud and ruthless, to show such unfiltered concern for a boy they themselves still struggled to fully accept as family.

That unexpected sight unsettled them, stirring discomfort they didn't know how to process. In the end, however, they set it aside. Their brother David's safety loomed as the far greater priority in their hearts.

Meanwhile, Devy and Fani—both fully aware of Al's strength—came to their own conclusion. Al had likely taken matters into his own hands.

Fani's eyes shifted toward the eastern side of the estate, the direction from which the energy disturbance had emerged. Her instincts urged her to move, to rush toward it, but with so many people present, it would be impossible without drawing suspicion. Her eyes narrowed instead, as though trying to pierce through the walls with sheer willpower alone, desperate to glimpse what lay hidden within. But the distance was too great; she saw nothing.

Devy, on the other hand, showed no outward sign of distress. Her lips twitched with the faintest smile, calm even amidst the mounting panic. She knew Al's strength—knew it enough to believe that such a small disturbance could hardly pose a real threat to him. Yura, standing beside her, fidgeted anxiously, her eyes pleading for Devy to act, to do something. But she knew. Of course she knew. There was no way Devy would reveal her strength here, not before all these people.

---

A few moments earlier—

The instant Al felt the tremor, his entire body tightened. A dull roar had shaken the air, but more than the sound itself, it was the peculiar shift in energy that drew his attention. He could still sense the lingering wave pulsing from David's room. Yet the blast that followed did not originate from that same dark surge, though its structure carried a disturbingly similar formula.

Al narrowed his eyes, every nerve straining as though his body were preparing for an unpredictable threat. What unsettled him even more was the fact that another energy signature was moving—sliding toward the western wing of the house. It darted like a shadow sprinting through the darkness, chaotic and fast. And close behind it, several strong presences gave chase—most likely Dedy and Uncle Acok.

Without hesitation, Al slipped free from Yura's grip. His movement was so subtle, so delicate, that not a single person noticed the moment her hand was no longer holding his arm. To the eyes of others, it was nothing more than the brush of a passing chill, a fleeting whisper of cold wind.

By the time anyone might have realized, Al had already vanished—weaving unseen toward the group of construction workers. His true target was one of them—the same worker who had tried to pick a fight with him earlier.

Al's speed was at its peak, yet impossibly silent, cloaking him in a veil of invisibility. Before the man could blink, Al's arm had wrapped around him in a suffocating grip, and in the next instant the world shifted.

The worker's surroundings changed in a blink of an eye. Just a fraction of a second ago, he had been standing amid the scattered tools and beams of the construction site. Now, without warning, he was pressed against the western wall of the house.

"Huh? What—what's happening?" he stammered, voice trembling. His head whipped left and right in frantic confusion. Beads of cold sweat rolled down his temple, while his knees quivered under the weight of fear he could not understand.

From behind, unseen, Al smiled. It was not a warm or gentle smile, but a thin, cutting grin—like a predator that had finally cornered its prey.

And then—

WHOP!

The man's body jolted upward before he even realized someone was behind him. Al lifted him as though he weighed no more than a sack of grain, carrying him effortlessly to the second-floor balcony. His motion was soundless, ghostly, broken only by the faint tremor of the glass window as their bodies slipped inside.

"Wh-what is this? Who are you?" the man blurted out in sheer panic. His eyes bulged wide, his voice cracked and high with terror. It was as if he had been dragged into a nightmare he could not wake from. He tried to twist his body, to look over his shoulder, to see the one who had taken him—but his muscles would not obey. His body had betrayed him.

In less than a heartbeat, they arrived. From the balcony, Al's blood-red eyes swept the battlefield below. There, unmistakably, was the figure of David's shadow soldier—the same one that had once stalked Al, following him all the way to school. The phantom-like being was now darting desperately, pursued by Uncle Acok, Dedy, and several Virellano bodyguards. But there was something different this time.

The shadow's energy was no longer the same. It had spiked violently, an abrupt surge of power that now surpassed even Uncle Acok's level. Yet the energy was unstable, raw, threatening to collapse under its own weight.

Al's gaze hardened. His dimensional eyes flared to life, glowing with a crimson radiance that burned like a hellish flame, cutting through the layers of darkness. With that sight, he could see clearly—the shadow soldier's strength was not natural. It was borrowed. Forced into his body from an unknown source, like fuel poured into a vessel too fragile to contain it.

At that very moment—

BOOM!

An explosion ripped through the air as Uncle Acok's strike collided with the empowered shadow. The blast shook the room, rattling windows and hurling waves of blue light across the estate.

The shadow retaliated immediately. Though its technique was crude and ordinary, the sheer density of energy behind it was terrifying. A single blow was strong enough to knock back a martial artist of Uncle Acok's caliber. The air itself shuddered from the impact, dust erupting outward in violent waves. The shadow's laughter rang sharp and triumphant, thick with arrogance.

"You talk too much for someone who's only using borrowed power," Al murmured coldly.

With that, he tightened his grip on the worker he still held—and flung him like a projectile straight at the shadow soldier.

BUGHHH!!

The collision was brutal. Flesh slammed against shadow, bodies crashing into each other before being hurled into the inner wall of the Virellano estate. The impact cracked stone, split plaster, and sent fragments raining down. The echo of the crash thundered through the night, pressing against the air until it felt heavy with violence.

Oddly enough, the brutal collision eased Al's simmering irritation—both toward the insolent worker and toward the lurking spy who had once trailed him like a leech.

Al exhaled softly, his lips curving in a faint, satisfied smirk. His eyes, however, never wavered from the shadow soldier. The creature's power was peaking rapidly, its aura pulsing with chaotic rhythms like a time bomb counting down to detonation.

His gaze flicked briefly toward Uncle Acok and Dedy. Both men were battered, blood marking their lips, their chests rising and falling with labored breath. Yet in their eyes, the fire of determination had not dimmed. They would endure. They would fight. It seemed, at least for now, that the two of them were enough to keep the unstable shadow at bay.

Al's eyes then drifted farther east, toward the other side of the mansion. The glow of lanterns reflected in his crimson irises, painting him as a lone phantom prowling between light and dark. He could feel it—another presence, another disturbance stirring from that direction.

This was his chance. A perfect opportunity to uncover more about David's secret shadow army—especially the one currently rampaging, its evil waves contaminating the night.

And with that thought—

Al was gone.

Silent. Undetectable. Nothing remained but a faint trace of cold wind, a whisper in the night that even Uncle Acok, standing only meters away, failed to notice. To them, it was as if Al had never been there at all.

---

Meanwhile, inside David's room…

David had just stepped into his chamber—a space that carried the impression of modern luxury but was layered with subtle antique touches. A chandelier swayed faintly from the ceiling, its light scattering restless shadows across the walls. The outlines of classical furniture seemed to dance in distorted shapes, as though welcoming the arrival of something deeply unnatural.

Bookshelves trembled violently, several porcelain ornaments tumbled from their places and shattered across the floor, and even the chairs scraped backward as if shoved by invisible hands. The curtains flared and whipped in wild, uncontrolled motions, giving the room the feel of a storm that could not be seen, only felt.

At the center of this chaos stood three figures cloaked entirely in black. They faced one another, forming a circle, their hands raised as they channeled streams of power toward the space between them.

Dark energy shimmered and stretched like veins of glowing ink, crawling through the air. Each pulse of their whispered incantations caused the black light to throb and coil around their bodies, wrapping them in a living cage of power. The oppressive aura made the wooden table creak under strain, and the crystal glasses upon it rattled violently until, one after another, they toppled and burst into shards.

Suspended at the heart of their ritual was a humanoid figure, long black hair whipping madly in all directions as if pulled by an unseen maelstrom. Her form floated against gravity, her body convulsing with uncontrollable tremors under the combined force of the three cloaked figures. Her robes fluttered in the storm of energy, her skin beginning to glow pale, almost translucent, as though light itself was trying to burst out from within.

Her eyes were wide and vacant, pupils drowned in blinding light. Her mouth hung open in a twisted scream, a cry that resonated like the wail of a beast caught between agony and fury. The sound ricocheted off the walls, fusing with the cacophony of shattering glass, splintering wood, and falling objects, weaving together a suffocating symphony of chaos that pressed against the chest like a heavy weight.

The three cloaked figures strained desperately to contain her, their own bodies shaking as though on the verge of collapse. Veins bulged against their temples, sweat poured freely beneath their hoods, dripping from their jaws to the floor. Every fiber of their being fought to hold the raging energy back, but the torrent that poured from the central figure was relentless. Cracks spiderwebbed across the wooden floor, fragments splintered upward, and the air inside the chamber spun violently, twisting into a miniature cyclone that tore at everything around them.

"Kareezaa…!"

David's voice ripped through the din, hoarse yet thunderous, fueled by a blend of fury and desperation. His feet carried him forward in a half-step, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles whitened. His eyes trembled as he stared into the bedlam, powerless yet unwilling to retreat.

The chamber of David had become a scene of absolute bedlam, a battlefield of energy spiraling far beyond mortal control.

And even as this madness consumed the room, Al was drawing near. His approach toward the storm would mark the beginning of something far greater—an upheaval that none of them could yet predict.

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