PASSAGE 7: SOLITARY PATH

Three days had crawled by since the bizarre incident at Baclaran Church. Inside the Philippine Hunter's Bureau, a tense silence hung heavy in Chairman Rosario's office. The usual bustling energy of the agency had been replaced by a suffocating quiet, punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of Chairman Rosario's fingers against his desk.

"Any updates on the rift?" he finally asked, his voice betraying a calmness that strained at the edges. Despite his efforts to appear composed, the worry etched into his features was a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

Agent Mallari, a seasoned Hunter with weary eyes, shook his head. "Negative, sir. Our teams haven't been able to detect a single trace of anima energy at the church site. It's as if… the rift never existed."

A flicker of frustration danced across Chairman Rosario's face. "So, you're saying there's no chance of the black rift reopening?"

Agent Mallari offered a sympathetic look. "That's what Dr. Hugh confirmed, sir. Even after flying in from America the moment he heard the news, his assessment remains the same. There's a zero percent chance of the black rift reappearing."

The air crackled with unspoken despair. In a fit of sudden anger, Chairman Rosario slammed his fist down on the desk, the force of the impact sending splinters of wood flying. "Dammit!" he roared, the frustration of his helplessness finally spilling over. "Please call someone to clean this mess," he instructed Agent Mallari with a sigh, his voice regaining its usual composure.

He rose from his chair and walked towards the expansive balcony overlooking the city. Leaning against the railing, he gazed out at the bustling cityscape, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within him. The weight of the missing hunters and their families pressed down on him like a physical burden. He had promised to do everything in his power to bring them home, a promise that now felt like a hollow echo in the face of the unknown.

"Alaric…" he murmured, the name catching in his throat. This young, Untouched Hunter had managed to capture a piece of his heart with his unwavering determination to support his family. Despite his lack of magical abilities, Alaric possessed a grit and spirit that many experienced Hunters could only envy.

"I hope you're still alive," he whispered, his voice laced with a heavy dose of regret. He felt a pang of helplessness, a gnawing sensation that he hadn't experienced in years. He had failed the hunters, failed their families, and failed the very city he swore to protect.

A sharp knock on the door startled him from his reverie. With a sigh, he turned and called out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, revealing a familiar figure silhouetted against the hallway light. A gruff voice filled the room, laced with a hint of amusement. "Seems like trouble follows you wherever you go, Diego."

A weary smile tugged at Chairman Rosario's lips. "Vaughn," he greeted, a sense of relief washing over him. "It's been a while."

Agony pulsed through Alaric's every step. The makeshift sled, fashioned from Kelvin's shield, dug into his shoulders and back, the rough-hewn ropes biting into his skin. Blood welled beneath the crude bindings, painting his shirt a crimson stain that mirrored the pain blooming in his muscles. Hours had bled into one another, measured only by the relentless ache in his limbs and the ever-present scrape of the shield against the unyielding path.

Years of grueling training, fueled by his determination to overcome his 'Untouched' status, had forged his body into a weapon. But even honed steel could break under relentless pressure. Despair gnawed at him, as endless as the unending path that stretched before him like a cruel joke. "How far does this damn thing go?!" he roared, his voice raw with frustration and exhaustion. He yearned for the familiar chaos of the raid's beginning, anything but this silent torment.

A ragged breath escaped his lips as he sank to his knees, the weight of the shield and his teammates a crushing burden. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the throbbing pain to subside. Just as a sliver of hope flickered to life, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the fragile silence.

Panic surged through Alaric as he scrambled to his feet. His team, previously inert, were now a convulsing mass of bodies, bound by his desperate attempt to save them. Their screams echoed off the barren landscape, a chilling symphony of terror. Fear, raw and primal, radiated from them, infecting him with its icy tendrils.

Suddenly, a glint of metal caught his eye. It was Isaac's dagger, the Reaper, held tight in Ms. Selena's hand. Their ever-composed leader, the woman who embodied calm amidst chaos, her eyes now burned with a terrifying rage. With a speed born of desperation, she severed the ropes binding them all.

The air crackled with a renewed wave of screams, but this time, they were laced with a horrifying glee. Before Alaric's numbed mind could grasp the situation, Ms. Selena, no, this twisted entity that wore her form, began a macabre dance of violence. The dagger, once used for defense, became a scythe of death, claiming his teammates one by one. Blood, hot and metallic, splattered everywhere, painting a grotesque scene on the unending path.

Alaric, rooted to the spot by a primal terror that paralyzed his limbs, could only watch in numb horror. The woman he knew, the leader he respected, was gone, replaced by a monster fueled by an unknown madness. His mind reeled, searching for an explanation, for a way to fight back. But all he found was a chilling silence, broken only by the rasping breaths escaping his own lips. In this twisted reality, he was no hero, just a terrified observer trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake from.

Terror turned Alaric to stone. Every muscle in his body locked up as he witnessed Ms. Selena, a whirlwind of crimson fury, butcher his team. The urge to flee clawed at him, but his legs refused to obey. The woman he respected, the unwavering leader who always prioritized their safety, was now a grotesque parody of herself, drenched in the blood of their fallen comrades.

Finally, she stopped, gasping for breath, a predator pausing between kills. Yet, her bloodshot eyes darted towards Alaric, reigniting the embers of her murderous madness. With a blood curdling shriek, she charged, the dagger glinting in her hand like a grim reaper's scythe.

The primal fear that had paralyzed him shattered. Adrenaline surged through Alaric, jolting him back to life. He lunged backwards, narrowly avoiding Ms. Selena's initial slash. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs as he scrambled back, desperately searching for an escape.

Adrenaline pumped through Alaric's veins, turning his sluggish limbs into pistons of pure survival instinct. He weaved and dodged Ms. Selena's attacks, a desperate dance with death. "Ms. Selena! Snap out of it! This isn't you!" he roared, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. But his pleas bounced off her like pebbles against a fortress wall. Her eyes, once filled with steely resolve, now burned with a cold, alien madness.

One misstep, a misplaced foot on the unforgiving path, and Alaric found himself sprawling on his back. Time seemed to slow down as Ms. Selena, a phantom of her former self, lunged at him, the dagger gleaming like a malevolent crescent moon. With a surge of raw instinct, Alaric threw his hands up, catching the blade in his bare palms.

Pain. A searing white-hot sensation exploded across his hands, the bite of steel a harsh counterpoint to the adrenaline coursing through his veins. But the dagger held. Instead of finding its mark on his forehead, the point was locked in a brutal tug-of-war. Grimacing, Alaric pushed against the weapon with all his might, muscles screaming in protest.

Across from him, Ms. Selena strained with equal intensity, her face contorted in a mask of psychotic fury. The woman he respected, the leader who had always led them through countless dangers, was now a distorted reflection, a puppet controlled by some unseen malevolent force.

Desperation clawed at Alaric's throat. He roared out Ms. Selena's name, a desperate plea that echoed through the desolate landscape. "Snap out of it! This isn't you!" But his words were like whispers in a hurricane, drowned out by the storm raging in her eyes.

He fought with everything he had, a frantic dance against a whirlwind of murderous intent. "Remember the rifts, Ms. Selena!" he shouted, hoping to spark a flicker of recognition. "Remember prioritizing our lives! We fought together, all of us! Even though I was an Untouched, you never let me feel less! Wake up, Ms. Selena!"

A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. As it landed on Alaric's own tear-streaked face, a flicker of despair flickered across Ms. Selena's deranged expression.

"Alaric... please," she rasped, her voice barely a whisper. "Save me. Something's in my head, controlling me. I... I don't want to hurt anyone. Please, Alaric... just kill me. Save me from this."

The pain in her voice, the raw vulnerability, momentarily loosened Alaric's grip on the dagger. It was a hair's breadth that cost him dearly. The Reaper lunged forward, a silver streak aimed at his head. With a desperate twist, Alaric barely dodged the fatal blow. The tip of the blade, however, found its mark, a searing slash across his left eye.

A scream ripped from his throat, raw and primal. In a surge of adrenaline, he lashed out with his leg, connecting with Ms. Selena's chest. The force of the kick sent her flying, her head hitting Isaac's shield with a sickening thud. As darkness threatened to engulf her, unconsciousness finally claimed her.

Alaric, gasping for breath, clutched his bleeding eye. Pain throbbed in his hands, a constant reminder of their desperate struggle. He fumbled for his handkerchief, pressing it against the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

With trembling hands, he secured Ms. Selena, binding her arms and legs. Though fear and pain coursed through him, a spark of determination flickered to life. "I know it wasn't you," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "You're a good person, Ms. Selena. And that's why I'll do whatever it takes to get us out of here. For both of us."

He hoisted Ms. Selena onto his back, the weight a heavy burden on top of his own injuries. Gripping Isaac's dagger tightly, he cast a weary gaze at the seemingly endless path. It stretched before him, a solitary ribbon of hope in this twisted reality.

"We'll find a way out, Ms. Selena," he whispered, a promise heavy with his own doubt and exhaustion. "I owe you that much."

With a heavy heart and a body screaming in protest, Alaric pressed forward, a lone figure burdened by responsibility and the faint hope of finding their way out of this solitary path.