Tragic

Inside the warehouse of Grant's clothing store, the wiry yet muscular Taylor's eyes glowed crimson with bloodthirsty desire. He was barely being restrained by Jason, whose grip kept Taylor from charging out.

"Jason, how much longer? I'm about to lose control!" Taylor hissed, barely suppressing his urge to roar.

"Just a bit more…"

Jason hadn't finished speaking when a faint voice echoed around them, the voice of the wraith Sharron: "Go do what you want. Sharron and her people are already here. Indulge yourself one last time and lull them into complacency, so they don't pull back at the last minute."

Upon hearing this, the "werewolf" Taylor could no longer contain his lust for blood. He let out a roar, his body erupting in black fur and razor-sharp fangs within seconds.

With a punch, he shattered the warehouse door, then with a few leaps, he reached the residential part of the clothing store.

Inside the bedroom, Mr. Grant, who hadn't yet fallen asleep, instantly sensed the intense malice. He leapt up, scooping his sleeping wife into his arms and rolling them away from the bed.

In the very instant they left the bed, a shadow with savage fangs broke through the window, lunging at the spot Mrs. Grant had just vacated.

Clutching his wife, Mr. Grant rolled to the doorway, using his "Corpse Collector" strength to break the door down with one charge. He was about to make a run for it when he caught sight of the shadow vanishing and reappearing behind him in an instant.

His pupils shrank sharply. Acting quickly, he broke the wooden ring he wore on his finger—a magical item given to him by Mr. Bryan!

As the ring shattered, a strange spirit creature, shield-like in form, materialized between Mr. Grant and the black-furred creature, blocking the attack.

Though this spirit being absorbed most of the blow, some residual force sent Mr. Grant flying back. He crashed through the shop's mahogany doors, only stopping after knocking over a dozen racks in the front hall.

He coughed up blood. The injuries were only minor for a "Corpse Collector," but he wasted no time, scrambling up and running down the corridor towards the back. His wife, however, was left behind where he had fallen.

The next sight drove Mr. Grant to the edge of despair: his wife was gripped tightly in the claws of that black-furred monster!

At that moment, his daughter Jane, awakened by the noise, rushed downstairs in a panic. Seeing the scene in the hall, she screamed and collapsed, horrified.

The monster tore off Mrs. Grant's clothing with one hand and her arm with the other.

Mrs. Grant, only just regaining consciousness, screamed in agony before passing out from the pain.

...

Meanwhile, in the warehouse, the moment the werewolf lunged into the bedroom, Jason's arms twisted, his own hands wrapped around his neck, and he began to throttle himself. The pale-faced zombie's eyes held the ghostly image of a slender figure in a black gown with golden hair, skin as pale as porcelain.

Snap!

Jason's arms bent, twisting to apply bone-crushing pressure around his neck with the eerie creak of straining bones. It was the work of Sharron, the wraith, who had possessed him!

As Jason's grip tightened, seemingly about to snap his neck, the warehouse and surrounding yard filled with a deep crimson glow as moonlight poured in, suffusing everything.

Jason regained control of his body, shaking off Sharron's influence, as the spectral image of a small, soft-capped figure appeared behind him.

High above the warehouse, Steve manifested, holding a miniature "full moon" in his right hand—a scarlet full moon! It was a dark red artifact that exuded a quiet, enchanting light. Around its edge were crimson gemstones, and at its center lay a lunar symbol alongside other esoteric markings.

Sharron squinted instinctively, retreating a few steps as her intangible, ghostly form stabilized and grew weak.

Her legs gave out beneath her, and she slumped to the ground.

"The Scarlet Lunar Corona? How do you have that?" Sharron's beautiful eyes filled with surprise as she eyed Jason, who was still recovering from his ordeal. "You two have been healing quickly—so this was a trap for me."

"Indeed," Jason replied as he got to his feet with a cruel grin. "I deliberately let the Mandated Punishers injure us to appear weak and lure you into attacking."

Jason stepped toward Sharron, hand outstretched to capture her.

But a burst of golden holy flames struck him mid-step, interrupting his advance. Maric, who had been lying in wait, dashed forward, hoisted Sharron onto his back, and fled without hesitation. Realizing the trap had sprung, he knew that any delay would cost them their escape.

Despite his efforts, Maric was barely holding on. The malicious aura and maddening urges conjured by the full moon gnawed at his sanity, hampering his movements. Even so, he gritted his teeth, commanding his undead minions to momentarily hold Jason back.

Before he could escape, however, he felt an invisible grip seize his ankles, legs, arms, and even his clothing. All around him appeared indistinct and translucent figures: some missing limbs, others drenched in blood, burned, or bearing pallid skin.

"Hah! Maric, I thought you'd have something up your sleeve. Turns out you're just using charms from the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun!" Steve sneered from his perch above, unleashing death magic to immobilize Maric completely.

Maric's face twisted in fury as he activated another charm, summoning a clean, pure beam of warm light that descended upon the translucent figures binding him, purifying them instantly.

But the brief respite allowed Jason to shrug off the undead distraction and close in once again.

...

In the hallway, the werewolf reveled in the cacophony of screams—Mrs. Grant's agonized cries, Jane's panicked wailing. His twisted soul overflowed with a perverse satisfaction. He laughed and ripped Mrs. Grant's nearly unclothed body in half with a mighty wrench.

He licked the blood from his claws, savoring it with a deranged look of bliss.

"No! Mom!" Jane sobbed, ignoring her own terror-stricken, trembling legs. She crawled towards the werewolf, driven by a primal urge to reach her mother.

The "werewolf" grinned cruelly at the girl's helpless advance, "welcoming" her approach.

In that moment, a voice boomed in Ancient Hermes, casting the word "Blue Star" in a tone thick with fury.

Mr. Grant, devastated by his wife's death and desperate to save his daughter, had activated the "Confusion Word" brass charm he had bought at the occult gathering.

The werewolf froze, his eyes turning blank as what little reason he had dissolved into utter madness. The charm overloaded his mental faculties, driving him into total chaos.

Though brief, the charm bought Mr. Grant the precious seconds he needed. He scooped up Jane, fleeing from the monster as he pulled a copper whistle from his pocket.

Knowing he couldn't outrun the creature, Mr. Grant stared at the whistle with mixed emotions, recalling Mr. Bryan's instructions when he'd given it to him:

"Charlie, this whistle is a simplified ritual, a way to offer your soul to Death. If you're ever discovered by official Beyonders, blow it. You'll be drawn back to the realm of the gods. It's your last resort. Once blown, it will release a Demigod's aura. It has no offensive power, but it will let me know where you're in trouble… It could even attract official Beyonders to avenge you if captured by other secret organizations."

...

Drawing a deep breath, Mr. Grant's resolve hardened as he prepared to sacrifice himself to give his daughter a fighting chance. He could only hope an official Beyonder was nearby.

The beast's enraged snarls grew louder, echoing through the store. Mr. Grant didn't hesitate; he blew the whistle.

A powerful energy descended from the spirit world, blanketing the shop in dark mist, swallowing the crimson glow of the "Scarlet Lunar Corona" completely.

Looking down at his tear-streaked daughter, Mr. Grant felt his life slipping away. He muttered regretfully, "It's my fault… I should have acted when I sensed that malice last night. Jane, find Mr. Br…"

His voice faded into silence.

Jane stared wide-eyed, overwhelmed with grief and confusion, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

...

Back in the warehouse, as the black fog covered the crimson full moon, both Sharron and Maric regained their strength.

Sharron's form turned insubstantial, her blue eyes lighting up once more. She opened her mouth and unleashed a piercing shriek.

Jason's head felt like it had been hit with a hammer, his vision went blurry, his breaths tasted of blood, and his sight turned crimson. For a brief moment, all he could hear was a deafening hum, drowning out all else.

Meanwhile, Steve was still reeling from the backlash of the broken "Scarlet Lunar Corona."

Sharron and Maric didn't waste time. The black fog would soon dissipate, and the Demigod's power would surely alert the nearby St. Wind Cathedral. If they didn't leave now, they wouldn't get another chance.

Using her ghostly abilities, Sharron located Jane and the late Mr. Grant, appearing through a shattered mirror near them.

Just as the werewolf prepared to attack again, she snatched Jane and the lifeless Mr. Grant, tossing them towards Maric.

With seamless coordination, Maric caught both and darted down a prearranged escape route, disappearing into the night.

Behind them, the enraged howls of the Rose School of Thought members echoed, but none dared to follow. They couldn't risk getting caught in the path of an official Beyonder raid. It would likely draw a Demigod.

...

Meanwhile, in Hillston District, Ebner had been woken by a stirring in his spirit. Donning his coat, he found his teacher at the window, watching the distant Cherwood Borough with a solemn expression.

"Teacher, what's happening?"

"An explosion of Demigod power… nearby!"