Tristan paused as he felt a gentle tug on his shoulder. The voice behind him filled him with a torrent of conflicting emotions all at once. He swallowed hard before slowly turning to face the young woman standing behind him.
"Is something wrong, miss?" he asked, deliberately lowering the pitch of his voice until it became deep and utterly unrecognizable.
She wore a mask, yet Tristan knew exactly who she was. Her voice... her presence... even the smallest of her habits betrayed her identity. Whenever Amelia grew suspicious, she would unconsciously rub her thumb against the side of her index finger. It was such an insignificant habit that most people would never notice it, but Tristan always had.
"Have you happened to see a crimson-haired boy within the past few days?" she asked.
"Yes, I have. In fact, I saw him earlier today. A remarkably disrespectful individual, if I may say so myself," Tristan replied, silently thinking of Benjamin.
Despite finding himself in an incredibly uncomfortable situation, Tristan maintained his composure. He couldn't afford the slightest mistake. A single slip of the tongue, a familiar mannerism, or even a subtle change in expression could expose his true identity to Amelia. That was something he simply could not allow—not until they had made contact with the Ripper.
Claire slowly walked over before gently wrapping both of her arms around Tristan's arm.
"Honey, let's dance. The music is wonderful, and I'd be terribly disappointed if we didn't enjoy at least one dance together," she said in a soft, endearing voice.
Just as Tristan and Claire began walking away, Amelia called out once more.
"Tristan... it's you, isn't it?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Please... just answer me."
Tears slowly welled within her eyes.
Tristan glanced toward Claire. It was obvious what he wanted to do. Every instinct urged him to turn around, remove the disguise, and reassure Amelia that he was standing right there before her. But Claire wouldn't allow it.
Claire silently shook her head while tightening her embrace around his arm, stopping him from revealing his identity.
Amelia slowly reached out toward Tristan, her trembling hand stretching toward the back of his suit, desperate to grasp him before he disappeared once more.
But before her fingertips could reach him, a scream echoed throughout the ballroom.
A loud...
Blood-curdling scream.
Amelia immediately sprinted toward its source. Tristan and Claire exchanged a brief glance before following close behind.
The three of them rushed toward the center of the grand hall.
There, they witnessed a horrifying scene.
A man wearing a grotesque plague mask stood over the body of a nobleman. Metallic claws extended from each of his fingers as they slowly dug into the man's abdomen. With horrifying ease, he tore the nobleman's entrails free, staining the pristine white marble floor a deep crimson.
As he withdrew his blood-soaked claws, his masked face slowly turned toward a young girl seated in a wheelchair.
Without uttering a word, he raised one bloodstained claw and pointed directly at her.
Fresh blood dripped steadily from its razor-sharp tip.
His breathing grew increasingly rapid. Increasingly unstable.
The nobles nearest to him instinctively took several cautious steps backward.
Then panic erupted.
The elegant ballroom descended into complete chaos as terrified guests trampled over one another in a desperate attempt to escape.
Amidst the confusion, the iron-clawed man lunged toward the helpless girl.
He moved like a predator stalking wounded prey beneath the cover of night.
As he closed the distance, his metallic claws extended even farther, each blade gleaming beneath the chandelier's light as he prepared to tear her apart.
Tristan instinctively looked toward Amelia.
She moved with the speed of a cheetah and the grace of a butterfly.
Star Energy surged throughout her body as she reached into her Celestial Forge. Brilliant blue particles gathered around her right hand before condensing into the elegant form of her rapier.
The instant the weapon fully materialized, she arrived before the attacker.
Steel collided against steel.
Her rapier clashed against his metallic claws, the impact sending brilliant sparks flying across the ballroom.
As Amelia exchanged blows with the masked man, Tristan noticed something peculiar.
The fingers on the man's right hand twitched. Only slightly. Yet it was enough. Tristan's eyes immediately shifted toward a banquet table standing several meters away. The silver utensils resting upon it had begun to move.
Knives.
Forks.
Spoons.
Each one trembled before slowly lifting into the air. Without warning, they shot toward Amelia like a deadly storm of steel. With her back turned to the attack, she never noticed the incoming projectiles.
Tristan acted without hesitation.
He loosened his tie as he leapt directly into their path.
Reaching into his Celestial Forge, he summoned Promise Keeper.
Dark, obsidian-black particles swirled around his hand before gradually manifesting into the familiar blade.
The instant it solidified, Tristan swung the flat of the weapon with flawless precision, knocking every flying utensil harmlessly aside.
Without another thought, he ripped the Mimicry Fake from his face.
His crimson hair spilled free, olive skin and brown eyes as well. There was no longer any disguise.
Only Tristan.
Both Amelia and the Ripper paused, their battle momentarily interrupted.
Tristan stepped between them, extending one hand toward the masked killer.
"You've already taken one life," Tristan said firmly. "Is that still not enough?"
The Ripper spoke, his voice deep, rasping, and utterly devoid of humanity.
"It is never enough."
Without another word, he lunged toward Tristan.
His claws expanded even farther as they shot toward Tristan's eyes, their polished silver stained by the fresh blood that still dripped from their edges.
Yet Tristan remained perfectly calm.
The instant the claws entered striking distance, he raised his left hand.
Just as he had during his sparring match with Killington...
An invisible hand materialized before him.
It caught the Ripper's wrist mid-strike.
The invisible construct was born from the old woman's ability—the power to manifest unseen constructs.
Following her death, Tristan had claimed that power through his Necromancy, transforming her into one of his shadow soldiers.
His invisible hand tightened around the Ripper's claws. Then, with overwhelming force, Tristan hurled him across the ballroom. The masked killer crashed through a lavish dining table, splitting it clean in half. Silverware, shattered dishes, and extravagant cuisine exploded across the once-pristine floor.
As Tristan calmly began walking toward the fallen Ripper, Amelia suddenly stepped in front of him.
For only a brief moment, she frowned. Then she wrapped both of her arms around him. Tristan immediately understood. He could feel every emotion flowing through her trembling body.
Fear.
Relief.
Worry.
Pain.
And beneath all of them...
Happiness.
A deep sense of guilt settled within Tristan's heart. Without saying a word, he gently wrapped one arm around her in return. For a brief, fleeting moment, the chaos around them seemed to disappear.
Then...
A cold, sinister laugh echoed throughout the ruined ballroom.
The Ripper slowly rose to his feet, using the shattered remains of the table to steady himself.
His once bloodstained suit was now covered in dust, fragments of wood, and shattered porcelain.
He casually brushed at his clothes, attempting to clean the fabric.
"Do you have any idea how much this suit cost?" he asked with genuine annoyance.
Tristan stepped away from Amelia.
The brief moment of peace vanished.
The Ripper cracked his neck with a sickening series of pops before flexing each of his ten metallic claws. His body leaned slightly forward as he slowly advanced. Each claw scraped across the polished marble floor. Sparks followed every step. His plague mask concealed whatever expression lay beneath it.
Amelia immediately rushed toward the girl in the wheelchair and the young boy standing protectively infront of her.
"Get somewhere safe," she ordered.
The pair hurried away without hesitation.
Amelia then returned to Tristan's side, never allowing her eyes to leave the approaching Ripper.
"So..." she asked quietly, "why are you here?"
Tristan briefly glanced toward her before taking several measured steps toward the masked killer.
Every movement was deliberate.
Calculated.
He refused to provoke another unnecessary clash before saying what he needed to say.
"I am the Noura Zori," Tristan declared. "A member of the Clock Work Path. I have come to recruit you. Our goals are similar. Join us, and together we can achieve everything we seek."
The Ripper stopped walking. His breathing became increasingly erratic. Almost animalistic. Slowly, he tilted his head before shifting his gaze toward Amelia.
"You claim to stand against the nobility..." he rasped. "Then why protect that one?"
One metallic claw slowly rose.
Its sharpened tip pointed directly at Amelia. Tristan looked back at her for only a brief moment. He quietly shook his head before facing the Ripper once more.
"Because..." Tristan said, his voice unwavering, "she's important."
The Ripper began to laugh. It was a horrific sound. A laugh so twisted and unnatural that it churned the stomach of everyone who heard it.
The laughter continued for several long moments...
Before abruptly stopping.
"Then our goals are not the same," he said.
His ten metallic claws flexed once more.
Then, without another word, he exploded forward, launching himself straight at Tristan.