The gentle hum of machinery at the Brooklyn Brew construction site began to fade as Alastor stepped away, his phone pressed to his ear. Rachel's voice on the other end carried an unusual tone—urgent but not frantic, curious but measured.
"Can you meet us at the local newspaper? Emily's got something to share, and… it's better if we talk in person," Rachel said.
Alastor paused mid-step, his brow furrowing. "You mean the Tribune? Why there?"
"You'll see when you get here," Rachel replied, her tone laced with a teasing undertone. "Don't worry, it's not an ambush."
Alastor sighed but nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "Alright. Give me half an hour."
Rachel hummed in acknowledgment before ending the call. Alastor slipped his phone into his pocket, his thoughts swirling as he approached Mr. Thompson, who was crouched by the foundation frame, tightening a loose bolt.
"I've got to head out," Alastor said, his tone casual but firm.
Thompson looked up, his brow lifting in mild surprise. "Something important?"
Alastor shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Just a meeting I forgot about. Won't take too long."
Thompson studied him for a moment, his skepticism clear, but he didn't press. "Alright, kid. Just don't catch cold running around at night."
"I'll manage," Alastor replied, his smile softening. "Thanks for letting me help out, even if I'm not at full strength."
Thompson waved him off, already returning his focus to the task at hand. "Go on. Just don't overdo it."
With a nod, Alastor turned and set off into the cool Brooklyn night, his mind already racing.
The Tribune building loomed ahead, its aged facade softened by the warm glow of streetlights. Alastor stepped inside, the faint scent of ink and paper greeting him as he made his way through the quiet halls. Rachel and Emily were waiting for him in one of the small conference rooms, their expressions a mix of anticipation and unease.
"Finally," Rachel quipped as Alastor entered. "We were starting to think you'd bailed."
"Not my style," Alastor replied, his voice even as he took a seat. His sharp gaze flicked between the two women. "So, what's this about?"
Emily shifted in her seat, her fingers laced together on the table. She leaned forward slightly, her expression serious. "It's about the masked men."
Alastor's brow furrowed. "What about them?"
"They knew you," Emily said bluntly. "They stormed the bar with one purpose: to hurt you. They weren't there for the chaos or the fight. It was targeted."
Alastor's gaze hardened, though his tone remained steady. "I noticed."
Rachel, sitting beside Emily, crossed her arms. "She's right. They didn't just stumble into that bar—they were after you specifically."
Emily nodded, her eyes locking with Alastor's. "That's why I want to help. This isn't some random fight; it's bigger than that. If those men have something against you—if they're connected to anything like the cult we dealt with before—then we need to be ready."
Alastor studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "You don't even know what you're getting into."
Emily didn't flinch. "Maybe not. But I saw what they did, and I saw what you're capable of. And if they come after you again, I'm not standing on the sidelines."
Rachel glanced at Emily, then back to Alastor. "She's got a point. And she's already involved, whether you like it or not."
Alastor leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening. "Fine," he said finally. "But if you're going to help, you need to know what you're dealing with."
Emily hesitated for a beat before speaking again. "There's something else. During the fight, I saw them use something—a crystal. It was glowing, brilliant, and it created this… portal. It wasn't like anything I've ever seen before."
Rachel stiffened slightly, her mind pulling her back to her own memories of Alastor wielding the light crystal during the battle against Maltad. Though she remained silent, her unease was palpable.
"The masked men brought it out," Emily continued. "I don't know what it was, but it wasn't normal. It was powerful—and dangerous."
Alastor's gaze darkened slightly as he processed her words. "That crystal… it wasn't from this planet," he said finally, his tone low.
Emily's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
Alastor leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "It's called a light crystal. It's a creation of the Xiatrisians, a race from the planet Xiatris. The crystal's primary purpose is for fast travel—it creates portals that can transport someone across the universe instantly. That's why it's called a light crystal. But…"
"But?" Rachel pressed, her voice quieter now.
"The edges of the portal it creates are… lethal. Anything that touches them gets sliced apart. It's not a weapon, but it can be used as one in the wrong hands," Alastor explained.
Emily's jaw tightened. "And the masked men had one. How is that possible?"
Alastor shook his head, frustration flickering across his face. "I don't know. But if they had a light crystal, they might be after something worse."
Rachel frowned, her unease deepening. "Worse? Like what?"
Alastor hesitated before continuing. "The light crystal isn't the only one of its kind. There's another—the dark crystal. It's… infinitely more dangerous. Instead of creating portals, it destroys everything it touches, breaking down matter on a molecular level. Its energy could annihilate entire fractions of the universe if used recklessly."
Rachel and Emily exchanged a glance, their concern evident.
"How do you know all this?" Emily asked.
Alastor reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, glowing object. The light crystal shimmered in his palm, its edges catching the dim light of the room. Both women stared at it, mesmerized by its ethereal beauty.
"I carry one," Alastor admitted. "For emergencies. But I've kept it hidden—and safe. I have no idea how those men got their hands on one, but it changes everything."
Rachel's voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. "If they have a light crystal… could they be looking for a dark one too?"
"It's possible," Alastor said, his expression grim. "And if they are, we need to find out how they're getting these artifacts—and stop them before they find something worse."
Emily nodded, determination flaring in her eyes. "Then we start looking into recent thefts, strange events, anything that could point us toward these crystals."
Alastor nodded, though his mind was already racing with the possibilities—and the dangers that lay ahead.
The room grew still, the soft hum of the overhead lights the only sound as Emily's gaze lingered on Alastor. Her lips pressed together, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. She had come this far, pressing for answers, but now that the moment was here, the weight of the question felt almost unbearable. Still, she forced herself to speak.
"Alastor," Emily began hesitantly, her voice quieter than usual. "There's… one more thing. I need to know about Derek. About what happened to him—and what really went down when you saved Rachel at the warehouse."
Rachel's head turned sharply toward Alastor, her arms crossing over her chest. Her expression remained guarded, but her eyes betrayed a mix of emotions: curiosity, hesitation, and something deeper—concern. The tension in the room thickened, the silence stretching as Alastor avoided their gazes, his hand brushing over the edge of the table.
For a long moment, he didn't answer. His jaw tightened, and his eyes dropped to the light crystal still in his hand. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to fill the room. "You want the truth?" he asked, his tone low but steady.
Emily nodded, her fingers curling into fists against her lap. "I need to know," she said softly.
Alastor glanced at Rachel, who gave him a subtle nod. Her expression softened, silently urging him forward. He exhaled deeply before speaking again, his voice measured but tinged with something raw.
"Derek… didn't make it," Alastor said finally. "He was killed three years ago. By you know who—Levanzo."
Emily's breath hitched, her chest tightening as the words settled over her. Her eyes widened, a mix of disbelief and dawning horror creeping across her face. "Killed?" she echoed, her voice trembling. "By… Levanzo?"
Alastor nodded, his grip tightening on the crystal. "Levanzo wasn't what you'd think, though. He wasn't human. He's… a Zateran—a shapeshifting alien from the planet Zatera."
Emily's eyes darted to Rachel, who remained silent but attentive, her lips pressing into a thin line. Alastor continued, his voice steady despite the weight of his words.
"Zaterans are capable of shifting into anything they come into contact with—people, objects, animals. Levanzo's real name is Maltad. He's… not just a shapeshifter. He's a manipulator. And three years ago, he was running the Eclipsed Order cult. He used his position to lure people in, and once he had them… he consumed them."
Emily's face paled. "Consumed them?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alastor's expression hardened, his eyes darkening as he nodded. "Maltad built a machine that let him… absorb the energy of those he captured. Their life force, their essence—it gave him power. Made him stronger. Derek… he didn't survive. He was one of Maltad's victims."
Emily's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes glistening as she processed the revelation. Rachel, who had remained quiet, finally spoke, her voice soft but firm.
"It happened at the warehouse," Rachel said, her tone measured. "Maltad was there, running the cult, manipulating everyone. Alastor fought him, but Maltad… he was relentless. Alastor used the light crystal to get rid of him—to teleport him somewhere far away. And then the cops came, and the cult members were arrested."
Emily's gaze darted between them, her breathing uneven. "But… why? Why would this Maltad—Levanzo—do any of this?"
Alastor's expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing his face. He hesitated before speaking, his voice quieter now. "Because of me," he admitted. "A long time ago, I did something terrible. Something I can't undo. Maltad had… loved ones. People he cared about. And I..." His voice faltered, his jaw clenching. "I took them from him."
Rachel's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't interrupt. Emily remained frozen, her mind reeling as Alastor continued.
"That's why he hates me. Why he's so determined to destroy everything connected to me. He doesn't just want power—he wants revenge. And… he has every reason to."
Emily's hands trembled, and her voice was barely audible. "So… this is all because of that? Because of you?"
Alastor's gaze dropped to the table, his jaw tightening. "If it wasn't for my actions back then… Derek might still be alive. Maltad's hatred wouldn't have consumed him, and he wouldn't have started the cult. I'm… I'm sorry, Emily. For everything."
Emily stared at him, her breath hitching as tears welled in her eyes. For a moment, she didn't respond, her mind racing. But then she reached across the table, her hand brushing lightly against his.
"Alastor," she said softly, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her chest. "This isn't just on you. Derek didn't die because of you. He died because Maltad chose to hurt him. I know you blame yourself, but… you've been carrying this alone for too long. Let it go. Please."
Alastor's eyes flicked up to meet hers, something unspoken passing between them. Rachel watched silently, her own expression softening as she absorbed the weight of the moment.
Emily took a shaky breath, her gaze unwavering. "I won't pretend this doesn't hurt. Knowing Derek's really gone… it's going to take time to process. But I also know that you did everything you could to stop Maltad. And you're still fighting to protect people—just like you always have."
Alastor's lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his gratitude clear in his eyes.
Rachel broke the silence, her voice steady but carrying an edge of caution. "Maltad might not be gone for good," she said. "If those masked men are connected to him—or if they're trying to bring him back—we're in serious trouble."
Emily nodded slowly, her gaze distant. "And Derek…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "He's really gone."
Alastor's expression softened, his gaze meeting hers. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "If I could've saved him… I would have. But I couldn't."
Emily swallowed hard, her throat tightening as she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Thank you," she said after a moment, her voice trembling but sincere. "For telling me. And… for everything you've done. I get it now—why you're so guarded. Why you don't… open up."
Alastor didn't respond, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Emily turned to Rachel, her voice steadier now. "I'm sorry—for all the pressure I've put on you. For… shoving questions at you and pushing when you weren't ready to answer."
Rachel gave her a small, understanding smile. "You had a right to ask. And now you know."
Emily nodded, a faint determination flaring in her eyes. "This just gives me more reason to help. To figure out who those masked men are, what they're after, and how to stop them."
Alastor and Rachel exchanged a glance, the unspoken bond between them clear. As the room settled into a tentative calm, the weight of the conversation lingered—a reminder of the burdens they shared, the secrets they carried, and the battles yet to come.