# Chapter 5: Orpheus Must Die!

  ## I. The Prey and the Hunter

  The Lower District…

  Ah, the poor Lower District—now nothing more than a savage arena, where the earth shook beneath the people’s cries and the hunters’ unblinking stares. Every heart beat to the same rhythm: the march of a war between titans. What a war!

  For a brief, yet eternal, moment, Zack—the Thunder Emperor—lost focus. His eyes, hypnotized by the colossal vision of the blood-tinted sun, wavered. His body relaxed, his guard slipped. Little did he know that, in that very instant, he had become the prey.

  Amid the shadows of the houses, stealthy as an ancient predator, Orpheus glided. His footsteps were the wind. His body, pure silence. He was a wolf hidden in the mist, and his quarry—Zack—did not even realize he was trapped.

  And then… the moment shattered.

  In a voice as low as a whisper of death, he invoked:

  — Technique Level 4 – Orpheus Must Die…

  His eyes widened, pupils slitting into predator’s slits. Scarlet veins leapt across his skin, branching like a cursed oak. His hair bristled into a crown of quills—a storm of thorns.

  And then… he became weightless. Light as a restless butterfly on the winds of chaos. His cloak—long, black, undulating—took on the form of wings. From above, Orpheus looked down… not as a man, but as a sentence.

  Zack felt it.

  Oh, yes. The air… the very air seemed to implode. Pressure crushed his bones, and however he searched, his eyes could no longer find Orpheus. Zack’s spiritual perception, bound by humanity, failed—the crowd below, the shouts, the echoes—they all blurred his senses.

  Then, in one final gesture, he closed his eyes.

  And dove.

  He dove into the essence. Into the invisible pulse of all things.

  The world revealed itself not as light or sound, but as pure vibration. And there…

  — A leaf on a tree fifty kilometers away trembled…

  — The water in the well at the district’s heart rippled…

  — A cry. A child’s first sob rent the fabric of silence…

  — The frantic beating of a butterfly’s wings…

  And it was then, precisely there, in that slightest shift of the wind… that Zack found him.

  — “I found you… old friend.”

  In a second that felt infinite, two gods collided. That display of strength, technique, and will was more than a battle. It was a living sculpture of absolute power—a sad statue carved not from stone, but from the clash of thunder and blood.

  ## II. The Dance of Light and Shadow

  Orpheus soared above, a tempest incarnate, readying the decisive strike against Zack.

  In a voice that shook the heavens, he unleashed his supreme technique:

  — “Technique: Quantum Reverberation!!!”

  The blade of his Scarlet Katana dripped living crimson, iron and blood merging into a spectacle of color. Each arc of Orpheus’s swing painted the sky with incandescent strokes—he, the artist of chaos, set the firmament ablaze.

  From below, Zack roared:

  — “Black Moon!!”

  He spun on his axis, sword raised like a whirlwind of shadows. His body twisted at such velocity that his bones seemed to melt into vapor.

  — “Technique: Maximum Collision!!!” Zack thundered, and the sky answered.

  Lightning leapt from the clouds, slamming into Black Moon in a cataclysm that ignited the night. Sparks flared like black and red fireflies, illuminating the poor district which, for the first time, awoke under its own fierce light.

  In unison, Zack and Orpheus bellowed, fusing Shadow Energy and Crimson Flame into a single explosion of power:

  — “RED SUN on one side… VOID’S DARKNESS on the other!”

  Their faces transformed: Orpheus’s veins pulsed like living embers, his pupils aflame. Zack saw the reflection of his own face, etched with ebony scars and crackling lightning, rising like a living shield around him.

  For a timeless moment—

  …

  …

  …

  — The collision!!!

  And then they laughed.

  Zack unleashed a booming laugh, the weight of ages lifting from his shoulders. Orpheus returned the sound—pure, sonorous joy, a delight he had not felt in years.

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  Side by side, hovering above the chaos, they halted the final clash, containing the tempest before the world could burn.

  Orpheus laid a hand on Zack’s shoulder.

  Zack placed his hand on Orpheus’s shoulder.

  Their laughter echoed, reaching those hiding in the alleyways.

  The crowd and the hunters erupted in deafening applause. Those who remained seated rose to their feet, cheering—they knew they had witnessed a moment of legend, something they would never see again.

  And so, beneath a sky painted in war and fellowship, two emperors celebrated the victory of their union over the fury of the Void.

  ## III. Epilogue of the Crimson Dawn

  High above, Zack’s devastating energy dissipated like dawn mist. The clouds tore open in fiery rifts, and the sun’s final playful glow emerged before vanishing at the horizon. A crimson light flooded the district, transforming it into a cozy sanctuary, warm with affection and hope.

  Exhausted, Zack plummeted in free fall, striking the ground with such speed that it might have shattered him—if not for the timely catch.

  Orpheus, equally spent, felt his form revert to human flesh. His eyes closed, and a smile of mission accomplished curved his lips as he drifted downward like a leaf on the wind.

  The "Boy", ever vigilant, sprinted forward and caught Zack at the last instant, preventing him from crashing to the earth.

  “YOU OLD FOOL,” he sighed, a satisfied grin on his face.

  K, seeing her brother and friend fall from the sky, dashed to cradle Orpheus in her steady arms. Both stood safe, anchored by the love of those who cared.

  Hunters and townsfolk, swept up in emotion, formed a circle of cheers and applause. Their names rang out like a victory hymn—a tribute to those who dared to defy the darkness itself.

  ## IV. Prologue to a New World

  The Void stirred once more. The dark mist—woven from forgotten sighs—spread across the human realms.

  Eyes transformed into symbols of power—fury, passion, horror—each hue bearing its own destiny. From the depths of the Soul world emerged irrational beasts and sentient creatures, forged in fear.

  And beyond all, rose the **Red Continent**—a nightmare empire where none dared to tread.

  Thus, a new chapter opened: the world of Soul had only just begun its symphony of light and shadow.

  *** Echoes on the Red Road

  The dust of In Medias Res settled slowly behind them, a gray veil over the still-fresh wounds of battle and forced reconciliation. The departure had been silent, almost furtive, under the watchful eyes of Alf and the few hunters who remained. Four hooded figures moved like specters against the dying dawn light filtered through the eternal mist: Zack, Orpheus, K, and, disconcertingly, the Boy.

  He had insisted on going. A stubbornness that sounded strange in his usual quietness, or perhaps a raw fear of being left behind in that nest of shadows. Zack had yielded, not out of conviction, but from a paralyzing lack of safe alternatives and an uncomfortable feeling he couldn't name when looking at the boy. Leaving him felt wrong, but taking him was dragging him into the heart of the storm. The weight of this choice added to the invisible chains, to that persistent emptiness in his chest.

  The red road, so named not for the color of the soil but for the blood that frequently stained it, snaked out of the lower district, a treacherous path swallowed by the Void's mist. Here, far from the relative (and illusory) safety of the makeshift walls, the Void's presence was palpable, a constant pressure in the ears, a cold that seeped into the bones and seemed to resonate with the very chill emanating from the sword on his back.

  "Keep formation," Zack's voice was a low growl, almost lost in the oppressive silence. "Orpheus, right flank. K, left. Boy... stay close."

  The Boy, wrapped in a cloak too large for him, moved with an almost unnatural quickness, his eyes fixed on Zack's back, a passive observation that was hard to decipher. There was a calculated distance between them, a barrier Zack instinctively erected, repelled by something he didn't understand. In a moment of hesitation, he turned, his hand almost reaching out, but he recoiled, a shiver running down his spine. "Watch your step," was all he managed to say, his voice harsher than intended.

  Orpheus, walking with feline lightness despite the tension, cast an inquisitive glance at K. "Our leader and his... peculiar paternal instincts," he murmured, the usual irony tinged with something else. K responded with a frown, her gaze on Zack laden with a concern he seemed incapable of accepting.

  The first hours were marked by a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of their steps and the indistinct whisper of the mist. But the quiet was a lie. Soon, the first signs of danger emerged. These weren't the usual mindless monsters. They were different. Twisted creatures, with multiple limbs and eyes that gleamed with a malignant intelligence, lurked in the shadows, moving with disturbing coordination. A swift, brutal ambush tested the group's cohesion. Zack and Orpheus fought side-by-side, a lethal dance of shadows and scarlet flames, while K protected the flank. The Boy, huddled behind a rock, watched not with childish terror, but with a focused, almost analytical attention that made K shudder when she noticed it.

  "They're thinking," K panted after the confrontation, wiping black ichor from her blade. "I've never seen them act like this."

  "Milos," Orpheus replied, his red eyes scanning the mist with suspicion. "Or his influence is corrupting even the beasts."

  That night, they camped in a tight circle, the fire crackling low, a precarious island of light in the devouring darkness. The Boy fell asleep first, or seemed to, curled up near K, but his eyes opened slightly in the shadow when he thought no one was looking. Orpheus stood guard, tense. Zack, unable to rest, sat apart, his hand hovering over the cold hilt of Black Moon. The sword seemed to pulse under his proximity, a hungry resonance that made him nauseous.

  He closed his eyes, seeking a non-existent moment of peace, and sleep dragged him into a familiar abyss. He saw his farm, the golden sun, his wife's smile... but the image fragmented, rotted at the edges. Her face contorted into a mask of silent agony, the Golden Eyes becoming black holes that sucked him in. A voice, which was and wasn't hers, hissed in his mind, cold as the blade's steel: "The song... never ends... as long as you remember... as long as you feel..."

  He woke with a start, choking, heart hammering against his ribs, cold sweat drenching his brow. The sensation wasn't of a nightmare, but of an intrusion, of something being torn out or suppressed within him. Black Moon lay beside him, impassive, but he could feel its oppressive weight, its chilling satisfaction. The warning wasn't about the Void; it was about the sword itself, about the darkness he carried.

  Two days later, exhausted and tormented by a growing sense of unreality, they reached the ruins of the old watchpost. The place was too quiet. A sense of desecration hung in the air. Strange markings, symbols none of them recognized, were carved into the walls, pulsing with a faint, sickly energy.

  "This isn't the work of common soldiers," Orpheus murmured, discomfort evident in his voice. "It's ritualistic. Void energy, channeled... wrong."

  Inside the main structure, they found the horror. Remains of Void creatures, dissected and rearranged in grotesque patterns. Broken alchemical equipment. And, in the center of the room, a summoning circle burned into the floor, still emanating residual heat and the characteristic stench of corrupted magic.

  "Milos wasn't just passing through," Zack stated, his Black Eyes scanning the scene, a nauseating sense of déjà vu assaulting him. "He was... looking for something. Or preparing the ground."

  K found a scorched fragment of parchment. "It talks about... harvesting echoes... amplifying resonance..." Her voice faltered. "Zack, whatever Milos is doing, it seems connected to this profane energy."

  The realization hung between them, heavy as the mist outside. The hunt had become something more sinister. Milos wasn't just a mercenary; he was a pawn, or perhaps a master, in a much more dangerous game, its rules dictated by the Void itself. And they, especially Zack, felt as if they were being pulled toward the center of a board designed by madness.