Ashen Requiem
Chapter 70: Night Owls 04

Chapter 70: Night Owls 04

Somewhere in the rear courtyard...

The streetlamps were dead. The cameras, blind. The fugitives held their breath.

In the dark, shadows scattered, each carving its own path—branches of the same tree, splitting off into the night.

Saya and Scott crept along the northern perimeter wall, barely daring to breathe.

— "Did you see that jump back there? I’ve never run that fast in my life." Scott whispered, a wild grin tugging at his lips.

Saya didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed locked on the horizon.

A chill raced down her spine.

She looked up.

— "Someone’s flying above us."

Scott didn’t reply at first. He looked skyward too, jaw tight.

Above them, a silhouette cut through the sky like a comet poised to strike.

Then—without warning—a thunderous crack split the air.

A precise landing. Heavy. Like a guillotine slamming down.

A woman.

Tall, statuesque, with a loosely tied mane of chestnut hair and square glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, revealing eyes like steel.

Lise Aspeslagh.

Clad in a long, deep-red coat and studded leather boots, she looked like a war-born fashion model—beauty grimed by battle.

— "Well, well. Two little thieves on the run."

Her voice dripped like poisoned honey.

Saya stepped back, hands raised.

— "Professor Lise, please, it’s not what it looks like—"

— "Oh, I sure hope not. Because if it is what I think it is, then you’re neck-deep in some serious shit."

Scott tried to pull another smoke bomb from his belt.

— "Don’t even think about it."

She raised a finger.

A sharp bolt of violet energy shot from her fingertip and exploded on the ground just inches from their feet.

The ground trembled.

— "If you really think toy-store tricks will get you past me, then you’ve severely underestimated me. And I don’t like being underestimated."

With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a shockwave that slammed both students flat to the ground.

The air knocked from their lungs. Limbs frozen.

—"You’ll stay right there," she murmured, almost disappointed.

And just like that—she vanished.

---

Meanwhile...

Between the greenhouses, Shigeo and Giana were still running, boots slipping on the slick cobblestones.

— "We’re almost at the rendez-vous point." Shigeo muttered.

But then...

His earpiece crackled.

A burst of static. Then a digital screech—an electronic pop.

— "Mina? Mina, do you copy?!"

Silence.

Then a fragmented voice :

— "...Overlo—tracer detected... intercept... aaAAAGH—"

Nothing.

Shigeo stopped cold, eyes wide.

— "Shit. Someone found her."

Giana turned sharply, tense and ready.

— "We keep moving. If she’s been caught, there’s nothing we can do for her right now."

But they didn’t get far.

Another shape dropped from the sky.

Her again.

Lise Aspeslagh.

Arms crossed, expression cold, a crushed piece of plastic in her hand.

She tossed the scorched remains of a drone car at Shigeo’s feet.

— "That was... cute." she said with a smile—nothing sweet, all venom.

— "So you’re the little geniuses behind tonight’s circus? With your homemade gadgets and magic party tricks?"

Shigeo clenched his fists.

— "Of course it had to be Dante’s teacher." he thought bitterly, sweat beading on his cheek.

— "We didn’t mean to hurt anyone." He said aloud.

— "And that," Lise replied, stepping closer, "is the real problem."

— "Cutting power? In an elite academy? Sabotaging systems? Pulling others into a dangerous op? You tried to topple a tyrant and ended up waking a dragon."

She stopped inches from them.

Terrifying and untouchable.

Giana opened her mouth to speak, but Lise raised a hand—don’t.

— "What you’ve done is serious. Very serious."

But instead of attacking, she let out a breath.

— "And it was... brilliant. Flawed—but clever."

She tilted her head.

— "Unfortunately, I’m not here to hand out medals. So... follow me. No fuss."

---

For days, the walls had watched him bury himself in a lifeless routine—monitored by cameras in every corner, eavesdropped by mics sensitive enough to catch a sigh.

But tonight... the main neon light fizzled, blinked twice, then died with a soft hum.

Dante looked up without flinching.

The ventilation cut out.

Hallway lights shut down.

Cameras went dark. The little red eyes... gone.

Then—tap-tap-tap.

A soft knock at the window.

He barely had time to react.

A face appeared behind the glass. Ruby-red eyes, wild hair, a wicked grin.

— "Hey, sweetheart. Looks like the stars finally lined up tonight."

She popped the window open without waiting and slipped into the room like a cat.

She wore a stolen officer’s jacket—sleeves too long, muddy boots, and a mint gum bubble stretching between her lips.

Dante stared at her, stunned.

— "How did you—"

— "No time! You’ve got ten seconds to vanish. I’ll stall them."

— "Vanish? I haven’t done anything wrong. Running now means admitting guilt—"

— "—Innocent, noble, blah blah blah. I know your whole speech. Cute. But this isn’t a courtroom."

She stepped in close, pressed a finger against his chest.

— "Right now, you’re just the guy who’s gonna get arrested like an idiot if he doesn’t move his ass in five seconds."

— "Ginny, wait... Why were you near the council chamber? I felt your presence. Why didn’t you help Johanna?"

A beat of silence. Her eyes darkened for just a second.

— "We’ll talk. Later."

Then her smirk returned.

— "Unless you’d rather chat with the inspectors—gag in your mouth, cuffs on your wrists. Is that your kink or something? Hm? Naughty boy."

— "Ginny..."

— "Two seconds. Don’t make that sad biblical painting face. Go play the martyr somewhere else."

She snapped her fingers.

A small red summoning circle flared beneath Dante—and in an instant, he was gone, sucked into it like ash in a breeze.

Teleported somewhere else.

Ginny remained.

She blinked once. Then sighed.

Her voice dropped. Lower, wearier.

— "You’re too good for this world, Dante. It’s gonna kill you."

She walked over to the bed, pulled the covers up as if someone still lay there, and slipped under them, mimicking the slow, rhythmic breathing of a sleeping inmate.

A surveillance mic crackled to life.

Ginny smiled, eyes closed.

— "Nighty night, gentlemen. Your little test subject’s fast asleep."

---

Somewhere in an alley...

— "Ow... damn it..."

Dante dropped out of the summoning circle and crash-landed in a trash can, his spine folding at a questionable angle, a soggy newspaper slapped across his face.

Above him, the red glyph vanished in a puff of burnt magic.

He rolled to the side, breath caught in his throat, muttering :

— "Thanks, Ginny. Really. Next time maybe warn me if I’m landing in a pile of chicken bones..."

He staggered upright, adjusting the collar of his jacket and running a hand through his grease-slicked hair.

Still dazed, senses buzzing, he scanned his surroundings.

Modern architecture laced with old stone. Paved alleys, high streetlights.

No doubt—he was still in Almeris.

Probably the Old Quarter of Almeria.

Three centuries of rebuilding, and the same old buildings. Same water leaks. Same rats the size of housecats.

— "Almería..." he muttered. "Or what’s left of it."

The city hadn’t really changed. Elegant on the surface—filth behind the paint.

From the main street, voices drifted in.

Dante crept to the edge of the alley, shoulder pressed to stone, peeking out.

Two officers. Armed. Black uniforms. UrbanSecurity insignia glowing on their sleeves.

One lit a cigarette. The other squinted at the sky.

— "You think they’ll blow up another school?"

— "Don’t know, man. But I’m not riding the central metro lines anymore. That last attack was a bloodbath. Eraser’s losing it..."

A wasp-shaped drone buzzed above, clicking and scanning the streets with infrared beams.

Then—another voice rang out :

— "Thief!"

A man burst into view at the intersection, flour-covered apron flapping, waving his arms like a deranged scarecrow.

Chasing after a barefoot girl sprinting with a hunk of bread clutched tight.

She ran like a street cat—nimble, frantic.

Oil stains on her face. Dress in tatters. Knees scraped raw.

— "Stop her! Dammit!"

Dante’s jaw tightened.

The officers snapped to attention, raising their weapons.

— "Halt! Stay where you are!"

They caught up to her in seconds—slammed her down, knees digging into her back.

— "Ow! That hurts, sir..."

Black boots struck her face again and again. The bread rolled away—crushed.

A torn sack revealed a red-hot branded cross scar on her shoulder blade.

— "What the..."

— "Shit," one officer whispered. "That’s... Eraser’s mark."

— "She’s gotta be a terrorist. Or a sympathizer’s kid."

— "A slum rat tattooed like a damn insurgent. We’re bringing her in."

— "Terrorist... or just born on the wrong side of the wall?" Dante thought.

He froze. His blood boiled.

He didn’t agree with everything Eraser did—but this?

Beating a starving kid over bread?

That wasn’t justice. That was uniformed cruelty.

He spotted the trash can he landed in.

Grabbed the metal lid. Took aim.

Then hurled it—full force—at the drone.

It struck dead-on. The bot exploded in sparks and melting plastic.

The officers jumped back.

And as they turned—a masked figure stepped from the shadows.

Brown paper bag over his head. No holes.

Hands in his pockets.

He stopped a few paces from them.

— "This is your job? Beating up kids over bread? Is that why your moms pushed you into police school?"

The officers blinked.

One raised a pistol.

— "Who the hell are you?! You can’t even see through that stupid bag!"

— "Don’t need holes to take you down," Dante said calmly. "But you might need holes in your pants when I’m done."

The cop fired.

Dante tilted his head slightly. The bullet flew past harmlessly.

— "Was that a blank?" He yawned. "Pathetic."

In a blink, Dante vanished.

Then—A kick to the jaw sent one cop flying.

A spinning sweep dropped the other like a sack of bricks.

The bread landed at his feet. He picked it up, gently approached the trembling girl.

— "Come on. Let’s get out of here before reinforcements land."

He picked her up carefully. She didn’t speak at first—shocked, bruised, broken.

The baker froze in place, too scared to move.

Dante leapt. One jump—and they soared into the sky.

The little girl’s eyes went wide. Her mouth opened—

Then she giggled. Pure and bright.

— "We’re... we’re flying?!"

— "We’re jumping really high. Same difference."

— "Are you a superhero, mister?"

— "...Nah. Just a guy with a paper bag on his head."

She laughed again, clinging to him.

— "What’s your name?" he asked, placing the bread in her arms.

— "Meera."

— "Good. Meera...show me the way home."