And then, his body sagged, his breathing evening out.
Bubbles stared down at Aqua, his head resting against her shoulder. His body, usually taut with tension, was now unsettlingly relaxed. The soft rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life.
Her fingers trailed through his damp blue hair, slow and deliberate. A rare moment of tenderness—if it could even be called that.
"Don't worry," she whispered, voice a lullaby of quiet reassurance. Her touch lingered just a little too long. "I'll treat you best."
Aqua stirred slightly, a faint sound escaping his lips, but he didn't wake.
A sharp knock shattered the silence, echoing through the dungeon.
Bubbles' fingers stilled. She sighed, her expression unreadable as she gently shifted Aqua's head off her shoulder and onto the cold stone floor.
His brow twitched, his body instinctively curling inward, but he remained unconscious.
"I'll be back, don't worry," she murmured.
And then, with one last glance at the broken boy before her, she turned and walked away.
the midst of the chaos.
With deliberate precision, she dusted off her black bodysuit, smoothing out invisible creases. From the shadows, her twin daggers flickered into existence, sleek and deadly, their polished edges glinting under the dim light as they spun effortlessly between her fingers.
She moved without hesitation. In the far corner of the room, a black hood and mask awaited her. The mask was smooth and featureless, a void where a face should be, save for the glint in her eyes. She pulled it on, the cool metal molding to her skin as she tugged the hood over her head. With her identity erased, she became nothing more than a shadow—a whisper of death in the dark.
She kicked open the dungeon door, the gust of fresh air brushing against her face. Each movement was fluid, purposeful, a silent rhythm only she could hear.
Before the man outside could react, Bubbles was already there. Her poisoned dagger kissed his throat, its sharp point grazing his skin—a silent promise of what awaited if he faltered.
"Why were you knocking?" she asked, her tone playful, almost teasing. But there was no mistaking the steel in her voice as crimson trickled down his neck.
The man's breath hitched, his eyes blown wide with terror.
"I... I apologize, Angel's Trumpet. The king requests your presence."
Bubbles paused, her gaze unwavering as she studied him through the slits of her mask. For a moment, she held him there, her dagger still poised. Then, with a soft chuckle, she pulled the blade away, watching as blood dripped down her wrist.
"You should've led with that," she said with casual disinterest, her voice muffled slightly by the mask but still clearly taunting. "Too late now."
With an almost bored flick of her wrist, she wiped the blood off her dagger, her actions smooth and practiced. The man's face was pale with fear, his body trembling as he dared not move.
"Have fun in the afterlife."
Without sparing him another glance, she turned on her heel, her black cloak trailing behind her like a shadow. Her boots clicked softly against the stone floor as she made her way down the corridor.
"Or maybe he's just like that," Bubbles muttered, slipping into the shadows. "I've never understood demons."
She exhaled slowly, fingers adjusting the hood of her cloak.
Moving soundlessly through the dim corridors, she melted into the shifting candlelight. People passed her, unaware of the predator among them, of how easily their lives could end with the flick of a poisoned blade.
"Isn't that what a shadow guard is?" A smirk played on her lips as she twirled a dagger between her fingers. "A threat hiding in plain sight?"
The throne room doors loomed ahead. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, her presence announced only by the sharp click of her boots against the stone floor.
"Angel's Trumpet, nice of you to arrive."
The voice was neither male nor female, neither loud nor soft—neutral, like a blade waiting to be wielded.
Bubbles stepped into the dimly lit chamber, the skeletal throne casting long, jagged shadows.
"Master."
She sank to one knee, head bowed in practiced obedience, but her fingers twitched at her sides—restless, waiting.
"Trumpet, I've known you since you were a child. I can tell when you like something—you've never been good at hiding it."
"I know, Master."
A slow, rhythmic tapping echoed through the chamber—fingers drumming against hollow bone.
"But tell me, what do we do when we like something that threatens us?"
"We destroy it."
"Exactly." A pause, heavy with meaning. "I gave you four days to tame your… pet. Because you followed orders and kept her alive, I was generous. But if you can't break him—"
A final tap. A single, decisive beat.
"Then you'll have to say goodbye."
"Master need not trouble yourself—he's obedient."
A hollow tap echoed through the chamber as fingers drummed lazily against bone.
"I hope so," the voice mused. "I may be a demon, but I'm not cruel. I'd hate to kill something you like."
Bubbles didn't flinch. "I have everything under control. Thank you, Master."
A pause. Then—
"Oh, and I've dismissed Phantom."
Bubbles didn't react. Didn't flinch. But her fingers twitched slightly at her sides.
"Noted, Master."
Master stood slowly from his throne, each movement deliberate. The hollow tap of his fingers against the skeletal armrest ceased. A sleek black panther emerged from the shadows beside him, its golden eyes locking onto Bubbles.
"Just a reminder of what disobedience means," Master said smoothly.
The panther let out a low, rumbling growl.
"Your poison has already been activated, just in case you believe your powers can save you."
A cruel smile played at his lips as he watched her reaction—or rather, her lack of one.
"Stripped of his Shadow Guard title and sold into slavery."
Bubbles remained silent.
"A noble, feared warrior... now a plaything."
Master's tone was light, almost amused.
"Phantom, bless his heart, will make a lot of women very happy."
A beat of silence. Then—
"If only he had followed orders."
His voice darkened, laced with mock disappointment.
"I told him to kill everyone in that village. Every. Single. One. But instead?"
He exhaled slowly, as if savoring the words.
"He had to play hero for a little girl and her brother."
The panther shifted, tail flicking lazily.
"I imagine they hate him now. After all, he did slaughter their parents."
Master chuckled.
"How... interesting."
"Anyway, Angel's Trumpet, keep your boy toy in check. He shouldn't bark up the wrong tree."
Bubbles didn't flinch, but her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
Master leaned back against the skeletal throne, his tone light—almost amused. "I'd hate to see him end up like Phantom."
The black panther at his feet let out a low growl, sharp yellow eyes locking onto her.
"Now, take care of Hades," Master added lazily, stretching. "His fur needs scrubbing."
Bubbles inclined her head. "Yes, Master."
Hades growled again.
She exhaled softly. As if today hadn't been exhausting enough.
****
Turning to her side, Alexia flicked away her blonde—yes, blonde—hair, her golden eyes squinting in irritation.
"This is still so weird."
A small voice broke through her thoughts.
"Brother, are we really going to be happy without Mom and Dad?"
Alexia groaned.
The hundredth time. It's been the hundredth time. At first, it was pitiful. Now? Just annoying.
"Brother, is the City of Dawn safe?"
"Brother, the nice old man said we should run. Why are we still going?"
"Brother, is Mom and Dad alive? Are they sleep-dead or real dead?"
"Brother. I'm scared."
Alexia sat up and glared at the large man beside her.
"For the love of Lugus, comfort your sister. Please."
Michael shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, little girl. Mina, don't be scared."
Silence.
Alexia blinked.
Mina blinked.
Alexia turned back to the child, then back to Michael, completely deadpan.
"…Yeah. That should fix everything."
Mina sniffled.
Alexia sighed, rubbing her temples. "Try again and, I don't know, actually comfort her this time?"
Mina's brown eyes shone as she turned to look at Alexia.
"Pretty older sister, can you answer me? Brother Michael is acting like Sila." Mina said, lifting the worn out bear.
Beside her, Michael visibly deflated. His whole body relaxed as he let out a relieved sigh, as if he had just survived death itself.
Alexia side-eyed him before looking down at the child. She smiled.
"Of course I can."
Michael should have stopped her right there.
"First, yes, the City of Dawn dislikes tribes. You might die."
Mina's face drained of all color. Her grip on her teddy bear tightened.
Michael's eyes shot open.
"Second, your parents are probably gone forever. Dead. Six feet under."
A single tear slid down Mina's cheek.
Michael lunged forward, scooping her into his arms as if that would physically protect her from the emotional trauma bomb Alexia just dropped.
Alexia took a breath.
"Third—"
"OKAY, WE GET IT! PLEASE STOP!" Michael practically yelled, his voice cracking as he shielded his devastated sister.
Alexia shrugged. "Hey, she asked."
" Why are you going to the city of Dawn?"
Michael didn't answer right away. Instead, he exhaled sharply, pressing his hands over Mina's ears before turning to Alexia.
"What other choice do we have?" he snapped.
His voice was rough, strained—like he was holding something back.
"I might look responsible, but I'm not. We have no money. No food. Demons destroyed our village, and they're raiding the ones around it. Mina is five. I'm just thirteen."
His voice cracked on that last part, but he pushed forward.
"What else can I do?"
The words came out quieter this time—less like anger, more like desperation.
Like he wasn't yelling at Alexia anymore. Like he was just pleading for an answer he didn't have.
But there wasn't one.
Mina was still watching him. So he swallowed back his emotions, straightened his shoulders, and forced himself to look strong.
Silence settled between them.
Alexia, for once, had nothing to say.
She just shrunk into her seat.
"But you're still going to die, though," Alexia murmured.
Michael sighed, loosening his grip on Mina. His voice was quieter this time.
"I might be D-rank but I have B rank potential… maybe someone will take us in."
There was no confidence in his words. No conviction. Just hope grasping at straws.
Mina beamed, completely missing the weight in his tone. "Yeah! Brother Michael is awesome!" She lifted Sila like a battle trophy. "When naggy Karen was bullying me, he just—WAM! And then—BAM!" She swung Sila wildly, nearly smacking Michael in the face.
Michael barely reacted. Just stared ahead, like the exhaustion was finally winning.
"You should've seen it, pretty sister," Mina continued, big brown eyes full of pride. "Then maybe you'd be happier."
Alexia stared.
Michael stared.
Even Sila seemed to judge.
"…Right," Alexia muttered.
Michael let out a slow breath, rubbing his face. "You know what? Screw you."
Alexia raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
Michael let out a humorless laugh. "You waltz in here with your 'I know everything' attitude, talk like you're untouchable, and then just casually announce my death?" He threw up his hands. "You couldn't even sugarcoat it? Like— 'Oh no, Michael, I think the odds are against you.' Or 'Hey, at least you'll go down fighting!' Nope. Just— 'You're gonna die though.'"
Mina gasped dramatically. "Brother Michael said a bad word."
Michael ignored her. "I'm trying to keep us alive. And yeah, maybe that means putting our fate in the hands of strangers. But what else can I do? We have nothing."
Alexia's smirk faded just slightly.
"…Fine," Michael muttered, glancing at Mina. "I won't curse anymore. But just know—I'm thinking it."
Mina giggled, swinging Sila again. "Brother Michael is so cool."
Michael sighed, looking up at the sky like it held all the answers.
"…Mina, please."