In the ancient texts of Garbrandt, there are numerous accounts of fiends, terrifying beings who would go berserk and unleash their inner rage upon anything in their path. Their power was unmatched, and they were feared by all who encountered them. These fiends were said to have left a mark on the land, with traces of their blood visible in the features of Garbrandt's many citizens.

However, over time, the blood of the fiends has become diluted, and the traits that once defined their descendants have become less pronounced. While some still exhibit signs of their fiendish ancestry, such as enhanced muscularity and the occasional presence of horns, the devastating ability to transform into a secondary form that was once so common has become a rarity. Instead, the current generation of hybrids possesses incredible strength and endurance, tamer than their ancestors but still impossibly strong for their level. Beware, however, as they all still possess the ability to go berserk when provoked, showing capabilities beyond their level. Those with higher levels of fiend blood have access to a second form, which results in higher strength and endurance in exchange for a temporary loss of sanity. It functions similarly to the Berserk class.

~ From Fiend Physiology by Juno Antagonias.

"Fucking animal..." Oliver wiped the blood off his lip, carrying a stained, red dagger in his hand. He looked fatigued and slightly injured, extinguishing the red aura that overcame his body. Looking through the rubble, he found the same blade he nicked the child with.

The butcher shop had been decimated in the enforcer's ensuing battle with the part-fiend. Holes were punctured through numerous parts of the building, allowing rain to seep through and soak the butcher, who curled up in the fetal position while holding his intestines in place. Even with his superior physiology as a part demon, he couldn't keep up with the ferocity of Oliver's attacks.

"Now, before I kill you; Where's the kid?"

"Kid?" Bill asked, slightly confused. His eyes bore a mix of anger, fear, and confusion. "Bill is single. My thing does not fit in a wife."

"That's now what I-" The enforcer turned away with a clenched jaw, resisting the murderous urge welling up within him. He had done his best to mitigate the damage with the rampaging fiend, but it was difficult due to their battle taking place in a tiny butcher shop. "I don't have time for this."

It would only take a moment to kill the butcher, but judging by his state, Oliver knew the man would die soon anyway. Every second he spent here was another allowing the child to escape.

Leaving Bill to his fate, the enforcer quickly backtracked to where the bloodhound, Kelzar, was. The demihuman had suffered effects from the gas, judging by his nauseous expression and unfocused eyes.

"Oi, can you track the kid?"

"J-jist haud on a wee moment there, I'm feelin' a wee bit green aboot the gills. I think I'm aboot tae chuck ma haggis!"

Oliver observed the bloodhound dry-heaving with rising impatience. He tapped his fingers on the blades in his hand and looked around for any clues as to where the child could have gone. After giving Kelzar a minute to recover, he pushed the blade onto his face.

"This one's got the boy's blood. Use it to track him down."

Kelzar mumbled an affirmative answer, putting his nose to the weapon as they renewed their search for Bentham.

Bentham continued to run, breathing heavily as he navigated through the back alleys of Strofil South. The wound caused by Enforcer Wood's knife had been deep, shaving off his HP bit by bit. The boy looked at his health pool and knew it wasn't life-threatening, but the wound would only serve as a hindrance. Aware of the bloodhound's abilities to track, it was likely they caught the scent of his blood and would find him soon.

'I can't go. They'll find me. If the bloodhound gets an idea of where I am, he's going to...'

The sinking realization that the orphan had no place to run terrified him. He couldn't go back to the others, fearing they'd be killed by the vicious enforcer. Despair flashed across the teen's face, and he squatted low to calm himself and slow the rapid flow of thoughts in his brain.

'What would that dipshit Alvis do in this situation?'

One breath. Two breaths. Bentham opened his eyes and began tearing a chunk of his shirt, He fastened the cloth around his shoulder in an effort to stem the bleeding. It took a couple of minutes, but he eventually got the wound tightly secured using his teeth.

"Okay," Bentham talked to himself for reassurance, psyching himself up to keep on going for just a bit longer. "I need to find Chester."

He was his only chance of getting out of here safely. Damien was already halfway across the city, with no other way of contact. The problem was that nobody knew where the illusionist was, having stated he'd be back to check in on them by night's end.

Deciding there was no other option, he would have to reach base as quickly as possible and hope the man was there. He didn't know how long it would take to reach the house before the gangsters found his location, but it would be enough time to inform his compatriots about the current situation and respond accordingly.

Whatever Bentham could do alone was limited, but he knew he and his friends would be stronger together. At the very least, he could warn them and allow the others to escape before they got caught.

'...I just wish Damien realized that as well.'

Taking one step forward into the main streets, the boy kept a close eye on everybody around him. The mental fatigue that came with hypervigilance was understated, as it wasn't just the Twilight Bandits whom he had to watch out for. Such was the nature of Garbrandt.

He glanced over the crowd, making sure there were no unwanted figures following him. Bentham slipped into the narrow streets at a brisk pace, knowing he wasn't far from home.

His body hurt. His head felt like it was spinning. The fear and adrenaline surging through his veins made him flinch at any movement toward him. The teen pressed on, becoming more and more familiar with the surroundings the closer he got to home.

"There!"

A voice cut through the rain and made Bentham snap his head to the source. Both the men chasing him, looking slightly worse for wear and with infuriated expressions, took one step and Bentham bolted.

"Huntah's Prey!" The bloodhound shouted, being audible despite the considerable distance between him and the child.

Warning! You have been marked as the Hunter's prey.

Your movement speed has been decreased by 50% for 5 seconds.

His legs felt like lead. It was more severe than before. Combined with the built-up fatigue from being chased, Bentham fell and could only watch as Enforcer Wood got closer and closer. His cheek lay on the muddy ground, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Resignation flashed across his face, along with grim determination. He knew they'd use him to find out where Damien was hiding.

'Ha! Even if I did, they'd just kill me afterward. I won't make it worse for them.'

As Oliver Wood's hands drew closer to his prone body, the orphan closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

shh-KRACK!

The sound of glass shattering occurred, followed by muffled screams.

Bentham reopened his eyes only to see Oliver taking a step back, his face covered in a sticky, white substance with fragments of broken glass stuck in between. Instinctively, he placed his hands on the mysterious, goopy liquid and quickly came to regret it as a soft hissing sound occurred while the substance began to harden. The subtle outline of the enforcer's mouth in the shape of an 'O' could be seen as he stumbled to the floor, beginning to suffocate.

"Bentham! What the fuck!"

Alvis appeared like a ray of light in the darkness, helping his fellow orphan up off the ground. They walked together, hobbling towards the house while the bloodhound watched the enforcer paying for his services slowly suffocate to death.

"You...Wha-what the hell did you throw at him?"

"Magic glue. Takes a few seconds to harden into something harder than steel." Alvis said nonchalantly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being chased. "He won't be getting up after that."

Bentham breathed heavily, barely able to stay conscious after the emotional rollercoaster he just went through. Tears formed on the corner of his eyes, and he released several sobs as they retreated as fast as they possibly could.

"Come on! Cry when we get home!" Alvis pressed urgently. His scarred upper lip twitched, feeling a sense of urgency. His eyes widened upon seeing a red aura overtake the shaggy-haired man, thrashing around on the floor more violently than ever. Oliver Wood was yet to be put down.

In a painful and monstrous display, the enforcer ripped his right hand off his face, revealing a portion of his mouth and allowing oxygen back into his airways. His skin was torn, and his gnashing teeth and apoplectic voice could be heard from dozens of meters away.

"GET THOSE KIDS! NOW!"

The bloodhound didn't seem eager to disobey, nodding his head and chasing after the two children. They didn't know how strong he was, but it was clear the demihuman was too much for them to handle. Alvis shoved Bentham away toward the direction of their home.

"Go! Grab the others!" The brown-haired boy whipped out his mithril dagger, at the bloodhound with a grim look on his face. "I'll hold him off."

Before the orphan could sacrifice himself to buy some time, a black mass of shadows leapt onto the gap between the two, stopping the bloodhound in their tracks. Bentham's mouth hung open in shock as he realized what appeared before his eyes.

A canine made of shadows. With unearthly white eyes and a threatening growl, Maxwell bared its fangs against the hooded figure.

Alvis' eyes sparked in recognition, and he called the dog's name. "Max!"

"How the hell did you get here?! Where's Damien?" Bentham asked the dog.

It gave him a small glance, before kicking the mud out from underneath its feet and spraying chunks of dirt on the two. Alvis spit out a glob that got in his mouth and covered his face, giving the dog an incredulous look.

But the canine only gave him a nonchalant glance. He barked and leaped forward, stopping Kelzar in his tracks as it tried to resume the hunt. Using his forearm as a shield, the bloodhound screamed and punched the ethereal animal in frustration.

"Git off me, yeh grangy mutt! I'll have ye' scalped!"

Alvis quickly realized the dog's intent, grabbed Bentham, and continued to run. The injured orphan looked at the dog protecting them and also understood it was buying time to get them to safety. Bentham hoped it was a sign Damien was closeby.

From a distance, the battle between dog and half-dog took place. But further in the back, the rising, blood-red aura of the enforcer continued to grow and so did his struggles. The sounds of his screams as his skin split and his flesh was torn only served to hasten the orphans' retreat.

Much like the other inhabitants of Strofil South, the orphans ran and made themselves scarce. They made it to their base in record time. Alvis banged on the door and was allowed in immediately. As soon as he entered with Bentham, he shouted for them to shut the door as tightly as they could.

"We don't have much time. Those two were looking for Damien, and any moment now they'll be-" The injured orphan explained breathlessly. He looked frantic as he searched the surroundings for the illusionist.

An ear-shattering impact could be heard as something struck the metal door. Bentham paled. The impacts began to move, from the absurdly thick door to the walls surrounding it. Despite knowing the concrete surrounding them was over four inches thick, fortified by clay for insulation purposes, the children all shrunk back as several attacks struck the wall, but none successfully broke through. A brief pause outside gave way to a few seconds of tense silence before a rage-filled scream signaled another onslaught.

Seeing the younger children terrified, Alvis attempted to rally them together and created a strong front. He knew there was little they could do other than wait for Chester or Damien. They had no other exit out of the house. Standing tall and swallowing down his nervousness, he ordered them around.

"Sheila, set up your traps. Jacky, heat up some oil and make sure you're ready to throw it. Grab whatever weapons you have. We're not going down without a fight. GO!"

Having something to do, rather than waiting for the inevitable seemed to ease their anxieties somewhat. As the group of children dispersed in an effort to defend their home, Bentham whispered to Alvis concernedly.

"Do you think we should try to dig from underneath us to escape? Make a hole and get out of here?"

The boy shook his head. "It's solid ground underneath us. We don't even have a shovel."

Their preparations took a few minutes. In that time span, Sheila reset several traps throughout the house, all aimed at the doorway. Other children held up pots of boiling oil, teaming up to input mana into their magic-powered stove. Several carried weapons and trinkets, stolen from their previous expeditions or gifted by the two adventurers. The entire house was on lockdown, with the orphans bearing expressions as though they were gearing up for a war.

From outside, the attacks ceased. The tempo had slowed down, but Alvis didn't dare assume the gangsters just upped and left. The silence only served to put him more on edge. The grip on his mithril knife turned his knuckles white, and beads of sweat fell down his face.

Alvis wiped it off, but realized something was amiss. It was getting far too hot. His skin was tingling, and the heat was picking up at a pace that couldn't be blamed on bodily function. He looked at the boiling pots of oil a few children carried, knowing it wouldn't be enough to raise the temperature of the house like this.

Before he could voice out his concerns, an acrid, bitter smell caught his attention. It permeated the air, growing more intense with every passing second.

Smoke seeped through the small gaps in the door, and the realization that there was a reason for the gangsters being quiet outside struck Alvis like a punch to the gut.

"FIRE!"