Chapter 13 Dread

The bar's lively atmosphere shattered with the echo of a gunshot. Conversations halted mid-sentence, drinks frozen halfway to mouths, and every gaze turned toward the source of the sound.

Just a few feet behind Cassy, a man staggered, his hand pressed to his chest. He wore a long gray trench coat, and his slicked-back, oily black hair caught the dim, flickering lights above.

Handsome in a strangely unsettling way, he resembled a dandy resurrected from a bygone era, utterly out of place amidst the smoky, cramped bar.

A low chuckle escaped the man's lips as he lifted his hand, revealing smooth, unmarred skin beneath his shirt.

Cassy's eyes widened as the metallic clink of a bullet reached his ears. It fell to the floor, rolling to a stop in front of him, harmless and spent.

"You thought it would be that easy?" the man sneered, his voice like nails scraping across glass, sending a chill down Cassy's spine.

Cassy's confidence wavered, his mind racing. A relic capable of stopping a bullet at this range? You're taking the piss, surely.

The man's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

"Nest? Or perhaps Purity?" he taunted, his voice dripping with mock curiosity.

Cassy tightened his grip on the gun, buying time as he scanned the room, noting the patrons edging toward the exit. If he was dealing with Nest or Purity, where was the other one?

They rarely worked alone. His thoughts flitted briefly to Maple. What would he do in a situation like this?

"Oh, you know us? Fame is truly a heavy burden," the man cooed. "Now that you've identified us, are you going to squirm like a worm on a hook? I'd prefer it if you did." His grin widened into a vicious smile.

"I'll come with you," Cassy said slowly, his voice steady. "Just let everyone here leave."

But his mind spun. How had they found him so precisely, pinning him down to nearly the exact street of the office? This had to be more than coincidence. This was happening far too soon.

"Good, good," the man replied, satisfaction dripping from his tone. "Put down the gun and place your hands on your head."

Cassy raised his gun slightly, feigning compliance, and glanced toward the counter. If they were truly Nest or Purity, they wouldn't bother with this charade.

These are hunting dogs from the Sleeping Forest. They don't waste time or care about making scenes. Reminds me of a certain someone.

A quiet sigh escaped him. Maple, are you there? Wake up. Please.

"Hands. Now," the man barked.

Cassy let his adrenaline take over as his consciousness receded.

He wasn't the best in high-stakes moments, but he knew someone who was. Maple surged forward, taking control with the calm, predatory air of someone accustomed to chaos. His eyes sharpened, a dangerous gleam replacing Cassy's usual uncertainty.

"Eat shit," Maple spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "You're neither of those little hunters you're so proud of."

He glanced down at the revolver Cassy had armed them with, eyeing it like a new toy. At least the kid picked up something useful, Maple thought, lips curving into a smirk.

Sizing up the man in front of him, Maple noted the trench coat, the slick hair, and the bullet-stopping charm. An artificer, perhaps? A relic capable of withstanding gunfire wasn't common. Explains why he talks so much. No bite to back it up.

In a blur, the man whipped out a crude, homemade SMG, unleashing a deluge of bullets. The shots rang out, ripping through the smoky haze and splintering wood around Maple.

Maple raised a hand, almost nonchalant, as if welcoming death. The air shimmered, rippling like an invisible curtain that solidified before him. Bullets met the ethereal shield and clattered to the floor, spent and useless.

"Are you done yet?" Maple's voice was laced with mockery. With a flick of his wrist, the shield lunged forward, slamming into the man and knocking him back several steps.

Before the man could recover, Maple leveled the revolver, squeezing off three shots in quick succession. The first bullet shattered the glass behind the man, sending shards raining down. The next two found his knees, driving him to the ground.

"You shouldn't have clutched your chest after the first shot," Maple sneered, watching the man's face twist in agony. "So tragic. You really thought you were something. You're nothing more than fodder."

Despite the pain, the man managed to remain standing, knees buckling yet refusing to collapse entirely. Maple almost admired the tenacity. Almost.

Desperation overtook the man's face. Thinking Maple was a priest, he hadn't returned fire, yet his logic abandoned him. He aimed again, fingers trembling as he pulled the trigger.

But Maple barely moved, sidestepping with an ease that made his approach even more terrifying.

He rolled low and fired an icy projectile from the revolver mid-air, a javelin of freezing energy that impaled the man's rifle arm.

The gun slipped from his grasp, still firing erratically, riddling the ceiling with holes.

"Tch," Maple growled under his breath, irritation flashing across his face. All I wanted was to put this piece of trash down without revealing too much. Now Cassy's in danger. We're in danger.

Finally, the man's injuries overtook his pride, and he collapsed onto the floor, defeated. An artificer stripped of his relics was a pitiful sight.

Maple approached him slowly, cracking open the revolver and letting the empty shells fall, each clink magnified in the eerie silence.

He watched the man scramble, the smell of fear mingling with smoke and spilled liquor. His nose twitched in disgust.

"Please. I'll tell you everything! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" the man stammered, eyes wide with terror.

Maple smirked, grabbing the man by the throat and lifting him effortlessly. "Ah, but the thing is," he whispered, as if sharing a private joke, "I don't have anything to ask trash like you."

With a brutal swing, he threw the man across the bar counter, smashing his face into the row of glass bottles.

He dragged him down the length of the counter, the glass cutting deep as blood painted the wood beneath. The man slumped into a heap at the end, whimpering, blood pooling around him.

Maple picked up a bottle, admiring its label for a brief moment before smashing it over the man's head. Spirits seeped into the wounds on his face, and he screamed in agony.

"Oh? But I thought you were going to tell me something," Maple mocked, his voice almost musical. "Go on, speak up."

"They're comi," the man choked, cut off mid-sentence as Maple drove the broken bottle neck deep into his chest.

"What was that?" Maple laughed softly, his tone polite, as though enjoying a play.

With a flick of his wrist, he withdrew a knife, the blade flashing in the dim light as he traced it along the man's throat. The man's eyes locked onto it, a twisted relief flashing in his gaze, as if death would be preferable to another second under Maple's gaze.

Maple didn't stop there.

With a swift motion, he sliced through the man's neck, the head dropping to the floor. Before it could hit the ground, Maple delivered a powerful kick, sending it across the bar, splattering blood and brain matter against the far wall.

He stood over the mutilated body, his expression one of quiet frustration, like a child denied his favorite toy.

Reaching down, he rifled through the man's pockets. A few pounds and a fake ID. Nest Fairmont, as if such a transparent cover would fool anyone. Cassy might fall for it, Maple thought with a sigh. Idiot.

Unable to resist, Maple plunged the knife once more into the lifeless body, savoring the warmth of fresh blood coating his hands.

"I guess the fun's over,"