[Abandoned Warehouse — Unconscious]
Darkness.
Pain.
Raven hovered between consciousness and emptiness—conscious enough to feel every broken rib, every torn muscle fiber, but too exhausted to open his eyes. His body felt distant, like it was no longer his own, just a source of dull, persistent pain.
Time lost its meaning.
he didn't know how long he'd been drifting there.
Then—a voice.
It came from a distance, muffled, as if penetrating a thick layer of water. The words were fragmented, distorted, but clear enough to be recognized.
"…three energy signatures… approaching…"
"…the Tamers…"
It was Azaelith's voice.
Her tone was tense. Urgent. Uncharacteristic.
"…we have to move him now…"
Another voice followed.
Female.
Unknown.
Calm. In control. She had a natural authority that made her words sound final without even raising her voice.
"The Tamers are always the same," she said coldly. "They'll come, investigate, find nothing, and then leave. We still have time."
There was a pause.
Even in his semi-conscious state, Raven could feel the tension hanging in the air—dense, oppressive, almost piercing.
"You don't understand—" Azaelith's voice was sharper now, almost angry.
"I understand perfectly well," the woman interrupted her without hesitation.
A silence followed.
Heavy. Full of meaning.
Then the voice spoke again, quieter—but even more dangerous.
"Besides," she said, "this was always part of the plan, wasn't it?"
The words echoed in Raven's mind.
Though he wasn't fully conscious, something inside her—a lingering instinct—was trembling.
The plan.
Before he could comprehend it—
his consciousness sank back into oblivion.
Into deeper darkness.
[Unknown Location — Waking]
Raven's eyes snapped open.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar—stone, ancient, etched with intricate carvings. Symbols he didn't recognize stretched across its surface, geometric patterns that seemed to shift when he tried to focus on them for too long. His head throbbed as if the markings resisted being understood.
He pushed himself upright—
—and instantly regretted it.
Pain detonated across his ribs, sharp and overwhelming, forcing a broken groan from his throat as his body slammed back down.
"Don't move."
Azaelith's voice came from beside him.
Not inside his head.
Actually there.
"Your healing factor is still active," she continued, calmer now. "Your ribs will fully recover in a few hours, but at the moment you're fragile."
Raven turned his head—slowly this time. Azaelith stood beside the slab, fully manifested. More solid than before. Almost physical. Her presence felt heavier, denser, and her red eyes burned brighter in the dim light.
"Where…" His throat felt raw, scraped dry. "…where are we?"
Before Azaelith could answer, another voice cut in.
"An abandoned cathedral. Repurposed for our needs."
Raven's gaze shifted.
A woman stepped into view, draped in black robes, her hood casting deep shadows over her face. What caught his attention wasn't the clothing—but the mask.
White porcelain. Minimalist. Smooth. Two eyeholes and a faint curve where a mouth should be.
Elegant.
Unsettling.
Behind her stood two more robed figures. Identical in dress, unmasked, silent. Sentinels.
The masked woman approached the slab—no, the stone altar with a thin mattress atop it. Her movements were graceful, precise, controlled to the smallest detail.
"Welcome, Raven Altair," she said smoothly. "Or should I call you Hybrid?"
Her voice wasn't threatening.
That somehow made it worse.
Raven shifted, carefully pushing himself up despite the pain. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head slightly. "Names aren't important right now. You may call me The Masked One." A pause. "Leader of the faction that saved your life."
"Saved?" Raven glanced at Azaelith.
She avoided his eyes.
That alone made his pulse quicken.
"From what?" he asked.
"From the Spirit Tamer Organization," the Masked One replied calmly, gesturing toward the cathedral entrance."They arrived at the warehouse twenty minutes after you lost consciousness. An investigation unit—Kirana Vex and her squad. Specifically assigned to locate newly formed hybrids."
She moved toward a shattered stained-glass window. Afternoon light spilled through fractured colors, painting the stone floor in broken patterns.
"They would have executed you on sight," she continued. "You know this, don't you? A demon contract is a death sentence in their doctrine."
Raven stayed silent, processing.
"Then why save me?" he asked at last.
The Masked One turned back to him.
"Because you are valuable," she said simply. "Extremely valuable. And it would be a terrible waste for you to die before your potential is fully realized."
That was a red flag.
A large one.
Raven tensed despite the pain, instincts screaming.
"Potential for what?"
She laughed softly—light, almost amused. "Straight to the point. I like that."
She stopped at the foot of the slab. "But before I answer, allow me to introduce us properly."
She extended her arms slightly, theatrically.
"We are Lucifur."
The name lingered in the air.
"An organization that predates the Spirit Tamers by centuries. We were the first to discover how to bridge the physical and spiritual worlds.""The first to form contracts with entities beyond."
She paused, letting the words sink in.
"And we will be the ones to open the gate to a new era."
Raven slowly turned his head toward Azaelith.
She still wouldn't meet his gaze.
Pieces clicked together.
"Azaelith," he said quietly."You know them."
Not a question.
A statement.
Azaelith finally looked up—red eyes meeting red eyes. Raven searched her expression. Guilt? Regret? Or just resignation?
"Yes," she admitted quietly. "I know them."
The Masked One clapped her hands once—a sharp crack that echoed through the cathedral.
"More than acquaintance, actually," she said. "Azaelith is one of our most ancient allies. Isn't that right, dear Azaelith?"
Azaelith didn't answer.
Her jaw clenched.
Something cold settled in Raven's stomach. Not pain.
Something worse.
Betrayal.
"You—" Azaelith started, but the Masked One cut in smoothly.
"Before you jump to conclusions, hear the full story."She sat on the edge of the slab—close, but not threatening. Casual. Almost conversational."Azaelith didn't betray you, Raven. At least, not in the way you think."
"Then explain," Raven said.
His voice was flat. Cold. Like it used to be—before the contract, before emotions crept back in.
The Masked One leaned back, perfectly at ease.
"Five hundred years ago, Lucifur formed a pact with several ancient demons. Azaelith was one of them. The objective was simple: weaken the barrier between worlds for… specific purposes."
She gestured toward Azaelith.
"The pact failed. The demons were sealed. Lucifur was scattered. And Azaelith was cast into the void."
Azaelith said nothing.
"For centuries, she was trapped there," the Masked One continued. "Unable to manifest. Unable to interact with the world."
A brief pause.
"Until we discovered a way to partially free her."
Another pause—deliberate.
"With conditions."
Raven already knew the answer. Still, he asked.
"What conditions?"
"A contract," the Masked One replied. "With a compatible human. One that would anchor Azaelith to the physical world—and simultaneously weaken the barrier at a specific point."
A faint smile curved beneath the mask.
"Two birds. One stone."
She stood and walked toward the center of the cathedral. A ritual circle was carved into the floor—chalk lines darkened with dried blood, intricate runes glowing faintly.
She turned back to him.
"You, Raven Altair, were the perfect vessel. An empty soul. No resistance. And with perfect timing—Spirit Tamer protections weakening due to our other operations—the contract was formed."
The mask caught the light as she tilted her head.
"As planned."
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Raven looked at Azaelith. Her form was more solid now, almost tangible. She tried to stand straight, but guilt bled through her posture.
"So I…" Raven said quietly. "…I'm just a pawn."
"Raven—" Azaelith began.
"No." His voice snapped. "Answer me. Was this all a setup? The monster at the convenience store. The spirits that hunted me. Was it all orchestrated?"
Azaelith hesitated.
That hesitation said enough.
The Masked One answered instead.
"Not all of it. The first monster was genuine—your empty soul attracted it naturally."She stepped closer."But I accelerated the process. Cornered you. Ensured Azaelith appeared at precisely the right moment."
Her head tilted, mask gleaming.
"Ensured you were desperate enough to accept the contract without hesitation."
Rage surged in Raven—cold, controlled. The kind he felt in the ring before breaking an opponent.
But now there was no outlet. No clear target.
"Why tell me now?" he asked, forcing the anger down. "Why not keep me ignorant?"
"Because," the Masked One said as she approached again, "we need your cooperation."
She stopped beside him.
"Willingly."
"The first phase is complete—the contract is formed. But the second phase requires your active participation. And for that… honesty works better."
Raven's eyes narrowed."What's the second phase?"
The Masked One didn't hesitate.
"Opening the Gate."
The words hung in the air—heavy, ominous.
She gestured toward two robed figures standing in the shadows. They stepped forward, unrolling a massive scroll before Raven.
Diagrams. Ritual circles. Symbols matching those etched into the cathedral floor.
"The barrier between worlds isn't uniform," the Masked One explained. "There are weak points. Gates. We've identified thirteen of them."
She pointed.
"To open them, we need thirteen anchors—thirteen hybrids bound by demon contracts."
Raven counted the circles. Twelve were filled.
One remained empty.
"You are the final anchor," she said. "With you, the ritual begins. The Gate opens. And what lies beyond—demons, spirits, things without names—will cross freely."
"And that's good… why?" Raven asked.
The Masked One's voice shifted—fervent, almost zealous.
"Because the current world order is a lie. Spirit Tamers claim to protect humanity, but all they do is preserve stagnation. Keep humanity ignorant. Weak. Controlled."
She stepped into the center of the cathedral, arms spread wide.
"With the Gate open, humanity will be forced to evolve. Adapt—or die. And those who survive will be stronger. Better."
"Or everyone dies," Raven said coldly.
She waved a hand dismissively.
"Collateral damage. You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs."