Before the words faded, the rapier flashed like a snake—swift and fatal, its edge slicing the air with a shrill whistle.

  It was hard to fathom such power from that maimed frame, and this time his target was Eve: he wanted his lucky coin back.

  Hallucinations blurred Burton’s vision—for a moment, he couldn’t track Sabo. The girl watched Sabo approach, then raised her revolver.

  This was the "Death Knell" revolver. In Eve’s eyes, the world was equally warped by the drug, but that didn’t mean she’d sit defenseless.

  She pulled the trigger. The expected death knell did not ring.

  Eve froze, then sudden understanding hit. She wanted to scream at Burton: scumbag. The revolver had only five bullets from the start—just like the ladder incident at Phoenix Manor, he’d exploited human "common sense."

  No wonder he’d been so confident: the cylinder was empty. This wasn’t a gamble—just another con.

  The rapier grazed Eve’s cheek, its wind sharp but off-target. Sabo’s attack, weakened by blood loss and hallucinations, missed. Burton’s cane-sword pierced him instead, bursting through his chest to pin him to the floor like an executioner’s pike.

  "Eve! Don’t freeze!" Burton barked, seeming uninterested in explaining his deceit.

  Eve hadn’t grasped Burton’s plan until she heard them: panicked footsteps, dull thuds on stone, mingled with groans and whispers filling her ears.

  Below the platform, the fallen crowd rose eerily, contorting into inhuman postures, their pupils a chilling blank white as they shambled like zombies.

  "Is this… a hallucination?" Eve’s hard-won resolve faltered, struggling to distinguish illusion from reality.

  "I don’t know. All I know is we need to move." Burton lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply—the stimulant herbs sharpening his vision.

  "What about him… Burton!" Eve began, intending to ask about Sabo, but her words died as she saw the corpse twitch.

  This was beyond mortal vitality, a scene from grotesque legend. Clutching the blade, Sabo dragged himself upright, his wounds revealing pale bone, emitting only a wheezing laugh, no cry of pain.

  "Death… isn’t the end." Burton murmured Sabo’s earlier words.

  "The coin!" Eve exclaimed, realizing something.

  Sabo’s twisted body rose, his maimed hand clutching his lucky coin. Then his sinister iron mask split open, and he swallowed coin and hand whole, his jagged teeth grinding blood and bone with a horrifying crunch.

  "Is this… a hallucination?" The girl gripped her sword and gun, the only anchors to her fraying sanity.

  "Doesn’t matter," Burton said coldly.

  Before they could react, a deafening roar shook the hall, causing the entire room to tremble. Ornate chandeliers swayed violently, crystal shards clinking as they collided, dust raining down.

  It sounded like a giant stamping the earth, but then the sound repeated—Eve realized it was cannon fire.

  What was happening aboveground?

  Before she could ponder, the hall lights flickered, and Sabo’s twisted body vanished in the strobe of light and shadow.

  Strangely, the surreal horror steadied Eve. "He’s gone."

  "I see that," Burton said calmly, though an unnamable tension clung to him as he stared at where Sabo had stood.

  Then, endless footsteps echoed. When had the dance floor filled with armed guards, each wild-eyed from hallucinogens?

  The elevator. This had once been an arena; gladiators prepared in underground chambers, ascending via elevator when the crowd cheered. The guards had been hiding below.

  Chaotic gunfire erupted, bullets pummeling the platform.

  Burton fired his shotgun at the stained-glass window behind them. Glass shattered, revealing a small room beyond—exactly where Sabo had been observing them. He pulled Eve inside.

  "Eve, hold this position. They can’t reach us from below," he said, tossing her the Winchester. Burton strode deeper into the room.

  "What are you doing?" Eve asked, struggling with the shotgun’s weight—it had seemed so light in Burton’s hands.

  "Looking for clues. Sabo didn’t tell us enough." His brass mask hid his expression, but Burton had seemed off since Sabo’s disappearance.

  "And after? How do we get out?" Eve shouted, still reeling from the night’s trauma.

  "Depends on you," Burton said flatly.

  "Me?" Eve couldn’t fathom his meaning.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Burton glanced back at the hall, where hallucinogens swirled. Here, the air was clean, his mind clearing.

  "I don’t know how many guards are out there. The safest way isn’t fighting our way out—it’s making someone else rescue us." He rummaged through drawers.

  "Hours ago, I gave a street child a silver coin to deliver a letter." Seeing Eve’s confusion, he continued, "I know the Lower District’s layout. Gangs stick to their territories. I wrote our location and your name in the letter and sent it to Suyalan Hall.

  "Think about it: an anonymous letter claims Phoenix Family’s princess is in the Lower District—and she’s a Suyalan detective. If I were the sheriff, I’d lead every mounted cop here to avoid Phoenix’s wrath."

  Everything had been calculated. Ever since learning Eve’s identity, Burton had prepared this escape. Checking his watch? Waiting for Suyalan Hall’s attack.

  "Besides, verifying the letter is easy—Suyalan Hall will call Phoenix Manor to see if you’re home. If you’re not there… well, a princess could be anywhere tonight—just not here."

  Eve fired, blowing a guard’s head off, the corpse tumbling down the stairs. "You used me!"

  "It’s a win-win!"

  "Burton, you’re a monster!"

  "And the only monster who can get you out alive!"

  His cane-sword struck the wall with ferocious force. Whatever metal it was forged from, the blade was both delicate and impossibly strong, splintering the stone to reveal a dark iron door, just wide enough for a person.

  "This is all ruined!" Eve climbed through, fury in her voice—she hadn’t cried at the night’s horrors, but now tears threatened. "They’ll never let me be a detective now, all because of you!"

  "Calm down, Detective! Do you think I didn’t consider you?" Burton said, eyeing the shotgun in Eve’s hands—he almost regretted giving it to her.

  "As long as they don’t catch you, the letter means nothing. It’s anonymous, with no credibility. If you’re not found here, no one connects you to this!"

  "You said a phone call would confirm!"

  "Yes—to prove you’re not at Phoenix Manor. You could’ve been anywhere tonight—just not here."

  Even with suspicions, Eve’s status as a Phoenix heir would leave Suyalan Hall powerless.

  Burton grabbed Eve’s skirt and tore it—not in malice, but to reveal a form-fitting tactical outfit and hidden weapons beneath. The delicate princess had transformed into a battle-ready warrior.

  "We can hash this out later. You don’t want tomorrow’s Queen’s Daily headline to be ‘Phoenix Heiress Dies in the Slums,’ do you?" He snatched the shotgun, firing at guards on the platform. Their bodies twitched—high on hallucinogens, they felt no pain, driven only by primal instinct.

  A thunderous chill raced through Burton, a primal warning. He saw it: thousands of crows swirling in the hall, their cries merging into an ancient, unintelligible chant, as if a primordial entity cursed through their voices.

  All light vanished, plunging them into darkness. The sudden void reminded Burton of his second sight, where light died and shadows ruled.

  No hesitation—he shoved Eve into the hidden passage, following as the shotgun roared, briefly illuminating a horror in the dark: bloated, mutated flesh mounds, formed by melding hundreds of mangled bodies, clawing over the platform edge.

  The brief flash of light died. As Burton slammed the door, a massive impact shook it—ghastly scraping sounds, like countless nails clawing metal, and high-pitched wails piercing their ears.

  "W-what is that…" Eve’s voice was numb with terror.

  "Is it a hallucination?" she whispered, trembling.

  "Hallucinations don’t show the same vision to everyone," Burton said coldly.

  We see the same thing. The realization made her voice quiver: "You mean… it’s real?"

  Phantom and reality had fused. The stuff of legends walked among them.

  Burton didn’t answer, murmuring Sabo’s words: "Something un-touchable. Un-understandable. Un-lookable."

  He fired the shotgun again, the muzzle flash lighting the dark tunnel. Bullets punched through the iron door, blood oozing from the hot holes. Through the cracks, fleshy tendrils—slender, quivering like hair—probed into the passage.

  "Those who know either die… or go mad…" Burton’s murmur became a roar. He hauled Eve deeper into the tunnel as the door collapsed, a tide of blood and howls pouring in.