The world seemed to sway around Tyler as Monica recited the spell. Her voice, firm and charged with palpable energy, cut through the air like a dark melody. Each word left her mouth with the precise cadence of an experienced practitioner, and her eyes glowed with an intensity that betrayed the power she was summoning.

Suddenly, an invisible force grabbed Tyler and yanked him. It was as if the very fabric of reality bent and dragged him against his will. His stomach churned, and he felt a dizziness that made his knees almost buckle. He closed his eyes, trying to contain the nausea, but the sensation didn’t subside. When he finally opened them, the sight before him was completely different.

They were now standing in front of an old, time-worn house. The dark wooden walls, soaked by years of rain and neglect, seemed to lament in silence. The facade was gloomy, and the slanted roof was covered in moss that glistened under the cold moonlight. A slightly ajar door swayed in the wind, emitting a low, persistent creak that sounded more like a lament.

— Thanks for bringing us... — Tyler murmured, trembling, as he tried to steady his feet on the ground. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to ward off the cold night air that seeped through the thin fabric of his gray hoodie. The discomfort wasn’t just physical; a deep unease seemed to emanate from the shadows around the house.

Monica, on the other hand, seemed untouched by the oppressive environment. Her posture remained upright and confident, as if the heavy atmosphere couldn’t reach her. Her black leather jacket reflected the moonlight faintly. She took a few steps toward the door, her firm hand turning the rusted handle without hesitation.

— No drama, it seemed urgent — she replied, her voice pragmatic, the tone she always used when she wanted to maintain control of the situation. The creak of the door echoed through the house like a sinister warning, and Tyler felt a shiver run down his spine.

Monica entered first, her determined steps muffled by the aged wooden floor. Then she stopped abruptly, her outstretched hand freezing in mid-air.

— Hey!

Monica’s shout made Tyler’s heart race. He looked where she was staring and saw the figure on the hallway floor. It was Amelia, lying in a disordered heap like a broken doll. Her pink hair was tangled and dirty, and her skin was so pale it seemed to reflect the faint light coming through the open door. Tyler couldn’t move; it felt like an invisible hand was holding him in place.

Hyan, however, reacted quickly. He knelt beside Amelia, his knees hitting the wooden floor with a dry, desperate sound. His trembling fingers cradled her face gently, trying to find any sign of life.

— Amelia! — he called, his voice filled with urgency and fear.

The girl’s eyes opened slowly, but they were dull, almost empty. Her breathing was weak, irregular, and every word she tried to form seemed like a colossal effort.

— My dad... he... — she whispered before falling silent again, her head tilting slightly to the side.

Monica stepped closer, her steps firm and resolute. Though her expression was cold and controlled, Tyler noticed something different in her eyes: a concern she was trying to mask. She walked past Hyan and Amelia, her gaze fixed on the shadows ahead in the hallway.

Then, a figure emerged from the darkness. Tall, misshapen, with limbs too long to be human, the man before them seemed twisted and corrupted by some malevolent force. His skin was gray and wrinkled, like burnt paper, and his hands ended in sharp claws that gleamed in the faint light. His eyes, two white, blind orbs, glowed with an almost tangible malevolence.

Tyler tried to swallow, but his throat felt blocked. A knot of terror formed in his stomach.

— What... — he murmured, but his voice came out as a thread. — Is happening...?

— Her father is turning into a Void — Monica said, her voice grave and controlled.

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Now Tyler knew what that meant. And he had faced creatures like that before, but seeing the transformation process in someone who had once been human was something he would never forget.

— Get back! — Monica shouted, raising her hand.

She began to recite a new spell, and Tyler recognized the words before she even finished.

— Arcanum Evocattio, Petalis Rosae!

A vibrant red light enveloped Monica, bathing her in a glow that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. When the light faded, she was clad in armor that looked like it was made of metallic petals, sharp and deadly. The sword appeared again in her hand, its hilt adorned with thorns that seemed ready to tear through anything in their path.

— He’s not your father anymore, girl... — Monica said, looking at Amelia with a solemn but unshakable tone.

The Void lunged forward like a storm of shadows, each movement accompanied by a guttural sound that seemed to come from all directions at once. Its claws, black and twisted, slashed through the air with a deadly hiss before clashing against Monica. The force of the impact made her stagger, but she stayed on her feet, a defiant glint in her eyes even as blood began to seep from a deep cut on her arm. The crimson liquid stained the wall beside her, forming chaotic trails that mixed with the dust in the air.

Tyler was petrified, his muscles tense as if his entire body had turned to stone. He watched, helpless, as Monica narrowly dodged a second attack, her shout echoing through the dark, damaged walls.

— Damn it...! — she roared, her voice filled with pain and anger.

The air seemed to vibrate around them, heavy with the oppressive presence of the creature. And then, in a moment that seemed frozen in time, Hyan moved.

Tyler only realized what was happening when his brother stepped between Monica and the monster, his posture suddenly imposing. The change in Hyan was almost palpable, as if something inside him had awakened.

— Arcanum Evocattio, Dormientium Gladius! — His voice erupted, clear and powerful, echoing like thunder. He didn’t seem like the same person who had been hiding in his brother’s shadow until now.

A scarlet light enveloped his body, and when the transformation ended, he too was clad in imposing armor, heavier and more brutal than Monica’s. Wielding a colossal sword, he didn’t hesitate to attack, charging at the Void with a courage Tyler didn’t know he had.

Tyler’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his lungs burning as sweat dripped down his face, staining his torn black shirt. He was crouched amidst the wreckage of what had once been a living room, the faint light from the dangling bulbs casting trembling shadows that danced on the blood-stained walls. His eyes were fixed on the scene before him, as if time had slowed down. Hyan, with trembling hands, drove the massive sword into the chest of the man before him. The blade, dark and enormous, seemed too heavy for him, his muscles straining as he held it with all his strength. The impact reverberated through the room, a dry, deep sound mingling with a grotesque grunt—half human, half beast.

— How... did you...? — Tyler stammered, the shock in his voice barely masking the terror in his eyes. The air was thick, saturated with the metallic smell of blood and burnt flesh. He tasted the bitter tang of adrenaline mixed with the dampness of sweat running down his neck, his jaw clenched.

Hyan didn’t respond immediately. Gasping, he pulled the blade back with effort, the metal screeching as it came free with a sickening, wet sound. The purple liquid dripping from the sword glistened under the flickering light of the lone bulb hanging from the ceiling, each drop tracing grotesque patterns on the destroyed floor. The weapon seemed fused to his hands, despite their trembling. He held it as if it were his only connection to reality, as if without it, he were nothing.

The mutilated body before him gave one last spasm. In a desperate move, the creature—or what was left of it—lunged forward, its claws extended in a final attempt to destroy what it could. But Hyan was quick, spinning with force and driving the blade in once more. The strike ended with a dull thud, and the monster fell motionless, the purple blood spreading slowly, like a dark tide, covering the floor and walls around it. The room now felt like a tomb, a mix of death and destruction.

— Thanks, rat two — Monica murmured, leaning against the wall, her breathing heavy and ragged. Exhaustion was clear in her hunched posture, her damp hair sticking to her forehead as blood slowly flowed from a deep wound on her arm. She seemed like a shadow of what she had been moments ago, her eyes still burning with the fury of the fight, but her body trembling, unable to bear more weight.

Hyan looked at her for a moment, panting, before turning his gaze to what he had done. The body before him was more than a victim. It was Amelia’s father. Tyler’s eyes were also fixed on the fallen figure, but they quickly shifted when the purple liquid touched his feet, spreading across the floor with a hissing sound. The metallic, putrid stench of twisted flesh invaded his nostrils, making him fight back the urge to gag. He stepped on a piece of broken glass, feeling the sharp pain, but even that couldn’t pull his attention from the grotesque scene before him.

— When... did you learn that? — Tyler asked, his voice filled with disbelief, the terror still reflected in his eyes.

Hyan adjusted his glasses with an automatic gesture but didn’t answer immediately. His raised chin tried to mask the trembling in his hands, his torn clothes reflecting the violence of the moment. He seemed fragile, almost childlike, despite the monstrous weapon in his hands, and Tyler felt a pang of confusion and sadness as he realized that, even armed to the teeth, Hyan was still just a lost child in the middle of a nightmare.

— Now... — he murmured, the attempt to sound casual undone by the hesitant tone. His eyes avoided Tyler’s, his shoulders slumped as if the very idea of being alive was a burden.

Tyler narrowed his eyes, but before he could press his brother further, Monica intervened, arching an eyebrow, her sharp gaze catching something in the air. But the moment was interrupted by a cry of pain.

— You... monsters! — Amelia screamed, her voice hoarse and broken. Tears streaked her face as she fell to her knees beside the body, dirt and blood mixing on her face, her hair tangled and dirty. — You killed my father!

Tyler felt his stomach churn. The weight of the pain in Amelia’s words was almost physical, like a punch to his chest. He tried to speak, tried to explain, but the words died in his throat. The pain on the girl’s face was a distorted mirror of everything they had lost, and the terrible smell of torn flesh and purple blood made it impossible to think. He looked at her, his heart heavy with guilt, but the horror of the situation kept him from moving, from trying to console her.

— Amelia... — Tyler took a hesitant step, stumbling over the debris, his shoes soaked in blood and dirt. — He wasn’t your father anymore...

— Mom…! — She pulled away from the body with a sharp sob, dragging herself to her mother. Marisse, leaning against the remains of a destroyed cabinet, looked more like a corpse than a survivor. She was pale, her eyes lifeless, and her body barely supported the weight of her own bones. Amelia wrapped her arms around her, her tears mixing with the dust and blood that covered the room, while her mother, almost motionless, seemed distant from the reality around her.

Monica, still trying to staunch her own wound, looked at Tyler with a mix of impatience and determination, blood seeping between her fingers, but her expression was unyielding.

— Come on, rat one. — Her voice was harsh but weak. She was visibly exhausted, her eyes half-closed, but her order was clear. — See if you can perform an Evocattio.

She pointed at Amelia and Marisse, the gesture almost casual, but the weight of the suggestion was inescapable. Tyler’s gaze followed Monica’s motion, observing the two figures now enveloped in an impossible tragedy.

— We’ll need to erase their memories... of all this.