Cyrus abruptly stepped back, his eyes darting to Leora . her expression was inscrutable, leaving Cyrus unsure of her intentions. A wave of unease washed over him, and he decided a hasty retreat was his best option.
"I-I guess I'll take a rest then. Good night, Leora," he stammered, rushing into the building before anyone could object. Once inside, he leaned against the wall, exhaling a sigh of relief. "I escaped death," he muttered to himself. "She might have simply thrown me over that balcony."
As Cyrus wandered through the building, his nose caught the dense aroma of food, drawing him towards the kitchens. The air was still warm from the heaters, carrying the lingering scents of the evening's meals. To his surprise, he found Prid there, devouring his food with robotic precision. The bodyguard's movements were meticulous and repetitive, devoid of any visible emotion.
Prid looked up from his plate, his piercing gaze locking onto Cyrus. "You aren't from the lion canine, right?" he asked, his voice flat.
Cyrus shook his head, serving himself a cup of tea. "No, I'm new," he replied, curiosity piqued by Prid's question.
Prid's expression remained unchanged as he continued, "We're both bites, to a certain extent we're family. Be careful of those from the lion canine. Those women are evil, you wouldn't know when you've fallen for those eyes." With that ominous warning, he stood up and moved towards the exit.
Cyrus froze, his mind racing. He wasn't stupid; he had already noticed something off about their eyes in his first few encounters with Leora. But now, he realized, he didn't feel it as much anymore. Or was he already too deep into it? His brow furrowed as he juggled these troubling thoughts.
"From which canine are you?" Cyrus called out, desperate for more information.
Prid paused at the door, his hand on the handle. "The panther canine," he replied, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "I wouldn't be shocked if you don't know. Thanks to your new friends, I'm the last of my kind." With that, he pulled the door closed behind him.
Cyrus, driven by a mix of curiosity and concern, followed after Prid. "What do you mean?" he asked, hurrying to catch up.
Suddenly, Prid stopped short, causing Cyrus to crash into him from behind. "What's wrong with you?" Cyrus cursed, holding his nose in pain. But his irritation quickly turned to alarm as he saw Prid's eyes flicker, a dark gray energy blooming around him as his canines flashed. The bodyguard let out a thunderous roar that echoed through the corridor.
Before Cyrus could react, a blinding light cut through the darkness. A figure materialized, its voice ringing out with chilling authority. "For illegal selling of Karmic ore mines, as executioner of the bureau, I condemn you all to death." The newcomer waved his blade, and the very fabric of reality seemed to split open.
Prid's magic surged forth, his palm clashing with the light. A spiral of energy bloomed in the corridor, shattering light bulbs upon impact. In the chaos, Cyrus caught glimpses of their attacker – a figure dressed in a strange, sleek black attire, wielding a sharp blade and two Desert Eagles holstered at his waist. Most striking was his mask, a metallic visage adorned with Roman numerals on both sides of the jaw. His dark eyes flickered as he dashed forward with inhuman speed.
The battle that ensued was swift and brutal. Prid morphed into shadow, attacking from behind, but their assailant – Nemesis, as Cyrus would later learn – moved with preternatural speed and efficiency. In a matter of seconds, a flurry of parries and strikes left blood staining the walls. Nemesis whipped his blade down, the blood on it drawing a beautiful, terrible arc on the ground. Prid staggered backward, a gruesome wound blossoming on his chest.
"Run!" Prid gasped, turning to flee in the opposite direction. Cyrus, understanding all too well that he stood no chance against this formidable opponent, didn't need to be told twice. He dashed after Prid, heart pounding in his chest.
But escape would not come so easily. Cyrus felt a shadow rush past him, and suddenly he was airborne, a sharp pain lancing through his body as he smashed into the ground. Gripping his thigh, he felt hot, sticky blood spilling between his fingers. Nemesis loomed over him, blade raised for a killing blow.
In that moment of desperation, Cyrus's survival instincts kicked in. He thrust out his hands, casting a levitation spell. A shimmering blue bubble enveloped Nemesis, ripples of lightning coursing through it. With a wave of his hand, Cyrus sent the bubble – and Nemesis – hurtling backward.
Staggering to his feet, Cyrus limped towards the open door where Prid waited. "Fast!" Prid yelled, urgency clear in his voice.
Cyrus pushed himself to move as quickly as his injured body would allow. The wound wasn't deep, but for some reason, it felt as if his very skin was on fire. He gritted his teeth against the pain, sweat trickling down his face as he struggled forward.
Behind them, Nemesis landed with impossible grace. In one fluid motion, he sheathed his blade and drew his Desert Eagles. Magic pulsed around him as a sparkling dark red energy bloomed. Placing the guns together, he fired.
Cyrus felt the immense power rushing towards him. He turned, eyes widening in horror as he saw the blast separate, multiplying into a barrage that filled the entire corridor. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he desperately waved his hand, conjuring a magical shield to protect himself.
The impact sent Cyrus flying backward. Using the momentum, he managed to dash through the doorway just as Prid slammed it shut. The building shook as blast after blast collided with the door, each impact causing it to curve inward ominously.
Gasping for breath, Cyrus turned to Prid. "Weren't we supposed to be in a separate space? How could they find us here?"
Prid shook his head, his own breathing labored. "I have no idea. It's impossible to use any magic portal to teleport in here as it's an independent space. I need to find Marko and leave immediately." Without another word, he rushed through another exit, leaving Cyrus alone and uncertain.
With no better options, Cyrus followed after Prid. The corridors were now a scene of chaos and carnage. Guards fought desperately against the relentless onslaught of bureau agents, their blades flashing in the dim light. Those who tried to flee were cut down by precise shots, their bodies crumpling to the floor as blood flowed freely.
Still wounded and growing weaker by the moment, Cyrus moved carefully, evading the fighting as best he could. Prid had vanished, leaving him to fend for himself. Leaning heavily against the wall, Cyrus felt his vision begin to blur. He bit his lip hard, trying to stay conscious through sheer force of will.
"Why is it not healing?" he cursed, attempting to cast the healing spell he had learned from Neno. But to his dismay, nothing happened. The wound was closing, but at this agonizingly slow rate, he feared he would bleed out before it could fully heal. He needed to find Leora, and fast – only she could help him now.
Pushing himself forward, Cyrus staggered through another door, only to find himself at the edge of a swimming pool. "Wrong door," he muttered, turning to leave. But before he could take a step, a powerful force sent him crashing into the water, dyeing it red with his blood.
As he struggled to orient himself in the churning water, a dark figure dashed into the pool, strong hands wrapping around his throat. Cyrus fought desperately, his chest tightening as precious air escaped his lungs in a stream of bubbles. His strength ebbed away with each passing second, the world around him growing dim as he sank deeper into the blood-tinted water.
In that moment, suspended between life and death, Cyrus's mind raced. He had come so far, survived so much – was this how it would end? As consciousness began to slip away, he made one last, desperate attempt to break free, his body fueled by the primal instinct to survive. But would it be enough?