Smoke hissed from shattered plaster as Howard rose from the debris, blood smeared along the wall behind him like a crimson sigil.
The weight in his limbs dragged with every step, not from fatigue, but from the foreign blood that seeped through the walls—Sami blood, dense and ancient, carved into spells older than cities.
The creature before him—no, thing—tilted its head.
Its form shimmered between shadows and flesh.
White Aslan fur rippled with muscle, Lupo ears twitched at every breath, and behind its sunken eyes and horns was the unmistakable glint of a Nachzehrer.
And it spoke, its voice like chains rattling under water.
"Where… is Yan Yansheng?"
Howard didn't answer.
The building behind him wasn't empty.
He could hear the distant breathing of civilians—pinned behind crumbled columns, huddled beneath shattered archways.
His blood had already soaked through the foundations, casting protective wards along what remained of the support beams.
When the creature dashed forward, the world warped.
A pulse—silent, invisible—shattered the marble under its feet. The tiles repelled outward like they had been flung by a god's wrath. Repulsive Arts.
Howard gritted his teeth and threw himself aside as an unseen force smashed into his side, hurling him through a reinforced pillar.
Cracks splintered out like a spiderweb. His ribs screamed.
Still, he stood.
The creature didn't give chase immediately. Instead, it watched him—calculating. Gauging.
He blinked. Focus. Analyze.
The repulsion was not constant—it was channeled through bursts, likely linked to its movements.
A wave when it dashed. A spike when it struck. A trap when it paused.
Too fast. Too strong.
Another pulse.
Howard's body skidded across the ground, blood spattering behind him.
The air howled with pressure.
He couldn't win—not like this.
As the building began to tremble again, foundations aching under the stress,
Howard's expression darkened. If this kept up, the structure would collapse. There was no more room for caution.
A whisper ran through his lips. A sigil flickered behind his eye.
"Fine," he muttered, tasting iron.
"Let's see if you can digest this."
****
The creature lunged forward again, its movement blurred by the repulsive shockwave bursting off its heels.
Cracks spidered outward from each step, the ground erupting beneath its advance.
But Howard was no longer in retreat.
"Blood Crescent."
His voice rang like tempered steel, and in an instant, a crimson black arc traced the air—a blade of blood and force condensed from the sharpened edge of his own life essence.
His sword, forged from coagulated crimson and veined with arcane scripture, clashed head-on with the beast's next strike.
BOOM.
The shockwave shattered windows across the block.
A crater split open beneath them.
The creature snarled, its monstrous arm caught in the curve of Howard's blade. Sparks flew—not from steel—but from the sheer force behind each art.
The creature reeled back, snarling, then surged in again, spinning with another pulse of repulsion that blew the nearby rubble into dust.
"Gutter Fang."
Howard vanished—then reappeared mid-air, blade glowing like a scarlet star.
His body twisted, descending with a spiraling cut that slammed into the creature's shoulder.
The beast roared—its repulsion triggered automatically, sending a wave of kinetic backlash into Howard's body.
Bones cracked, but Howard held firm, digging his sword deeper into the pulsing flesh.
"Sword against pulse, steel against pressure—" he whispered through gritted teeth.
The creature jerked, catching him with a backhand enhanced by an outward repulsive burst.
Howard's body was hurled into a nearby wall—stone shattered, a coughing gasp escaping his lungs.
But his eyes… they still burned with crimson defiance.
"Blood Dragoon."
In a single breath, Howard burst forward again, blood erupting from his back like wings—momentum magic fueled by sheer will and sacrifice.
His blade met the beast's repulsive strike again, but this time he pivoted, letting the pressure push past him as he carved across its torso in a sweeping cleave.
The beast stumbled.
Then it roared—a burst of raw Arts, not channeled, but instinctual.
The surrounding street caved inward, gravity distorted by the sheer violence of the release.
Howard stood inside it.
Bruised, bloodied, but unbent.
"Ruin Fang."
He drew a sigil in the air with his fingertip—a rune of anchoring, absorbing the creature's next repulsive pulse and chaining it to the earth below.
The beast faltered—its own momentum turning against it.
Howard took the moment.
He dashed in—an afterimage trailing behind him—and with a surge of speed carved deep into the beast's chest.
His blade dug between ribs, slicing across its core.
Blood sprayed.
The creature howled, clawing at him—but Howard leapt away, breathing hard.
It wasn't over. Not yet.
But now they stood on equal ground.
Sword and blood against pulse and hunger.
Howard's grip on his weapon only tightened.
Howard's transformation and the devastation that follows:
The beast's grin widened as it watched Howard's body crash through walls, glass, and reinforced stone like a broken doll.
Debris rained across the district. His body was torn apart—shattered into pieces, only a bloodied head lying amidst the rubble, barely clinging to consciousness.
"You're too weak," the creature growled, stepping through the dust cloud, its form a blur of hunger and malice.
Its fur bristled, becoming like barbed needles. And then, with a twisted grin, it raised its palm.
The air shifted.
No—collapsed.
Gravity twisted, warping space as an incomprehensible pressure surged from the creature.
The clouds above spiraled, pulled into the maelstrom of pure repulsion gathering in its outstretched hand.
Howard felt it. His mind screamed.
He had to protect the civilians—there were still people in the building behind him.
But he was too slow.
The energy reached critical mass, compressing, then—
BOOOOM.
A titanic explosion tore through the city block.
Buildings crumbled, and windows shattered miles away.
The epicenter was obliterated. Howard's body was flung like a meteor through several structures, reduced to shreds.
Only his head, burnt and battered, remained half-buried in cracked stone.
And then—
Heat.
A pulse. Subtle at first.
The ground beneath him began to melt.
The rubble glowed red, warping, liquefying.
The air turned blistering, oppressive. Even the beast took an instinctive step back.
Howard's head rose.
Floating.
Crimson eyes glowed like dying stars. Lines of heat traced through the ground, forming scorched spirals around him.
Then came the flesh—regeneration, but not of the human kind.
A skeleton, wreathed in flame, reconstructed itself.
Muscle and sinew spiraled upward in coils of ash and smoke, pulling together in unnatural rhythm.
Skin, now black and armored with burning scales, wrapped his frame.
Metallic horns curved backward from his skull, gleaming with molten veins.
His once soft features were hidden behind a form that exuded nothing but pure, destructive divinity.
His long dark hair whipped behind him, unaffected by gravity, as if moved by the air itself in reverence.
Howard opened his eyes again.
He was not just a Lupo now but also a Sarkaz.
He was also as well a Hybrid.
The beast froze, uneasy.
Then—from the fire beside Howard, a weapon began to form.
A massive bow.
The limb tips, forged from superheated crimson alloy, cracked in the sunlight.
Its string was a line of pressure so dense it made the air hum. He gripped it with reverence.
"Sorry, unfortunately I am not that well fitted as a swordsman," he muttered.
The beast moved fast—faster than sound. It blitzed toward him, claws extended.
Too late.
Howard was already in motion—a blur of heat and fury.
The bow was drawn, and the moment the string bent back, the world around them howled.
Molten energy gathered in a blinding arrowhead, its light so intense the surrounding ruins began to melt.
FWOOOOOSH.
He loosed.
The sky shattered.
The arrow rose into the heavens like a burning comet—then split the clouds, igniting the air around it.
The explosion that followed could be seen across the entire city.
A fiery pillar pierced the clouds, and for one breathless moment, the night turned to day.
***
The soft drip of the ceiling pipe echoed in the dim apartment. Shadows pooled in the corners, broken only by the flickering light of a wall-mounted television.
Hoshiguma sat silently, her jade eyes fixed on the unconscious figure bound to a chair in the center of the room.
Yan Yansheng.
The ropes were tight, his breathing shallow but steady.
Her arms remained folded, her mind torn between caution and concern. Every so often, she glanced at the clock.
A knock echoed from the entrance.
She rose instantly, fingers brushing the hilt of her weapon just in case. But as she opened the door, her eyes widened.
There stood Howard, barefoot and wearing nothing but an oversized white shirt that barely hung off his smaller, still-feminine frame.
His long black hair clung to his neck, still damp from the heat that hadn't yet left him.
Scales shimmered faintly across his cheeks and collarbone, though they seemed to be fading with time.
Without a word, he tossed a body forward—a pale, lithe figure with long white hair and Lupo ears.
It was the Hybrid, now in his humanoid form. Cuts and bruises marked his skin, and he looked barely alive.
He had recovered from the final arrow.
"Living," Howard said with a breath, collapsing onto the couch like a rag doll.
"Mostly."
Hoshiguma blinked. "...You walked here dressed like that?"
Howard waved her off lazily.
"A woman just blew up half a district. Nobody noticed a slightly effeminate girl dragging a corpse."
She rolled her eyes, heading to the small fridge tucked near the kitchen counter. "Drink?"
"Yes. Anything cold and fizzy, please."
She pulled a chilled bottle from the bottom shelf and tossed it his way. Howard caught it without looking, cracking it open with a flick of his thumb and taking a long sip.
"So…?" she asked finally, sliding down into the chair across from him.
He exhaled.
"So much happened I'm not even sure I can explain it all," he muttered, voice hoarse and worn.
"Let's just say Lungmen won't forget this night."
He grabbed the remote from the table, switching on the television.
Emergency News Bulletin.
A burning crater. Dust. Sirens. Drones circling a mountain-sized hole.
"At 1:34 A.M. today, an unknown explosion devastated the outer industrial sector of Lungmen.
Reports suggest an unidentified Arts user may be responsible. The cause is still under investigation…"
Hoshiguma let the silence hang.
She turned her gaze toward the unconscious Yan Yansheng, then back at the strange man.
"Should we begin now?"
Howard stared at the screen. Then shook his head.
"No. We wait till he wakes up." He yawned.
"I'm too damn tired. I can't even turn back into a man right now."
Hoshiguma gave him a long look. Her voice was unusually soft.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
Howard looked at his arm—cracked skin, faint embers glowing beneath.
"…No," he said. "But I'm alive."
And with that, he let his head fall back against the cushions.