Chota found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
For a moment, his vision blurred—not from injury, but from the sheer confusion of it all. One second he was in control, surrounded by his people… and now, somehow, he was here. Cornered. Powerless.
But it wasn't the gun that unsettled him.
It was the man holding it.
Chota swallowed, forcing his voice to steady.
Chota: "Who are you… and what do you want?"
Mahone didn't respond.
In the dim orange glow of the penthouse, his brown eyes reflected faintly through his glasses—cold, distant, unreadable. There was no urgency in him. No emotion. Just quiet certainty.
Then the door opened.
Edmund stepped inside, stopping briefly as he took in the scene—the bodies scattered across the floor, the silence, the aftermath of something clean and efficient.
Edmund: "…Looks like you went easy on them,"
He said dryly.
The sarcasm barely landed.
Chota's attention snapped toward him, frustration flaring.
Chota: "What the hell is going on here? Who the hell are you two punks?!"
He pushed himself to his feet, his massive frame rising to tower over Mahone. He turned slightly toward Edmund as well, trying to reassert control, to reclaim dominance over the room.
Or at least create the illusion of it.
Without warning, he lashed out—
His hand struck the gun, knocking it clean out of Mahone's grip. It clattered across the floor.
Chota stepped in closer.
"If you don't start talking right now,"
he said, his voice hardening,
"I can't promise you a quick death."
Mahone didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Behind his glasses, his gaze remained locked on Chota—steady, unwavering.
Edmund shifted slightly, ready to step in—
Mahone: "Don't,"
Mahone said quietly.
He took a small step forward, his posture still relaxed, his voice calm.
"Don't get ahead of yourself."
There was a brief pause before he continued.
"We're here under his orders."
Something shifted.
Not visibly, not physically—but it landed.
The atmosphere in the room changed, like a pressure drop before a storm. For Mahone and Edmund, nothing felt different.
For Chota—
Everything did.
Chota: "…Uhh…"
His voice faltered.
"What are you talking about?"
Mahone's eyes didn't leave him.
Mahone: "He sent us,"
he said, his tone even.
"After you."
Silence followed.
Chota's heartbeat pounded violently in his chest, loud enough that it drowned out his thoughts. The confidence he had just moments ago began to crack, piece by piece.
Mahone stepped just a little closer.
"So I'd be very careful about what you do next."
Chota's breathing grew uneven.
Chota: "Y-you're bluffing," he snapped, though the conviction wasn't there anymore.
"Why isn't he here then? If he wanted something, he would've come himself!"
His voice rose, unstable.
"He said I work for him now!!"
The words came out rushed, desperate—less like a threat, more like a plea for reassurance.
Mahone studied him in silence for a second.
Then, almost casually—
Mahone: "I think we know what would happen if he was here."
The question dropped like a hammer.
Chota froze.
His face drained of color, his eyes widening as something surfaced in his mind—a memory, sharp and violent. Whatever he saw, it wasn't just fear.
It was terror.
The kind that doesn't leave.
Behind Mahone, Edmund frowned slightly, glancing between the two.
Edmund (thinking): "I have no idea who he's talking about…"
His gaze returned to Chota, watching the way his posture collapsed, the way his confidence had completely vanished.
"…But it's working."
Chota forced himself to breathe.
Slow.
Controlled.
Even though his chest still felt tight, he straightened his posture, trying to regain what little composure he had left.
Chota: "So…"
he said, forcing a weak smile.
"What can I do for you two?"
Mahone: "The boss doesn't trust you."
He didn't waste a second.
The words landed immediately.
"He knows about your connections with the Red Moon… and he wants everything you know."
Chota blinked, confusion flashing across his face.
Chota: "What…? That's nonsense."
He shook his head, trying to dismiss it.
"He already knows my only connection to the clan was through the Second Blade—Amon Kurogane."
A short, nervous chuckle escaped him.
"As a Blade himself, he should already know that."
Mahone: "Are you questioning him?"
His eyes sharpened slightly.
Chota stiffened.
Chota: "No. Not at all."
A beat.
"I'm just saying… there's no reason not to trust me."
Mahone said nothing at first.
He simply watched him—studying every twitch, every breath, every flicker of hesitation.
Then Edmund stepped forward, folding his arms.
Edmund:"What about your foreign connections?"
"Does the name Crusher ring a bell?"
Chota: "What about him?"
His expression shifted—subtle, but noticeable.
Mahone spoke again, his tone calm but deliberate.
Mahone: "The boss wants to know why the Second Blade trusted you with delivering the Nitchtronian artifact to him."
That did it.
A flicker of irritation crossed Chota's face.
Chota: "Listen…"
he muttered.
"I know he's a foreigner and just became the Seventh Blade, but these are things he should already know."
He exhaled sharply.
"After all… he replaced Crusher when he joined the clan."
Mahone slowly took a seat.
He crossed one leg over the other, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with unbothered ease. Smoke curled upward toward the ceiling as if the room belonged to him.
Mahone: "He doesn't care about what he should or shouldn't know."
A pause.
Mahone's gaze locked onto Chota again—but this time, there was something deeper behind it. His mind was already connecting the pieces.
Crusher.
The artifact.
The infiltration.
The fear.
Everything aligned.
Then—
"Tell us everything."
A beat.
"That's what Levi wants."
Checkmate.
Chota froze.
The name hit harder than anything else.
Chota: "…The Wrath Boy…"
His voice came out almost as a whisper.
Any remaining resistance collapsed instantly.
From that moment on, there was no hesitation left in him—only fear.
And obedience.
He spoke.
He told them everything he knew about the Blades, about the internal structure of the Red Moon, and about the agreement between them and a mysterious Demon faction from Nitchtron—one he didn't fully understand himself.
Chota: "And I don't know what Rumbler has to do with any of this,"
Chota admitted, his voice strained.
"All I know is… they took him to Nitchtron."
The room fell quiet.
Mahone and Edmund exchanged a brief glance.
No deception.
Just stress.
Fear.
Truth.
Without another word, Mahone stood and began walking toward the door. Edmund followed closely behind.
Chota: "Wait!"
He called out, panic creeping back into his voice.
"What happens now? I told you everything—I swear, my loyalty is with him! Only him!"
Mahone didn't turn.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the same device he had used earlier.
Mahone: "You have a good night."
He pressed the button.
A sharp pulse surged through the chip embedded in Chota's neck. His body stiffened—then collapsed onto the couch, unconscious.
Down in the streets
The night air felt colder.
Mahone and Edmund walked side by side along the sidewalk, the distant noise of the city blending into the background.
Edmund: "…We've got a lot on our plate now."
He let out a breath and then glanced at Mahone.
"I gotta admit—that little improv back there? Making him think we were working under his boss…"
A small shake of his head.
"That was smooth."
A beat.
"How did you figure out it was the same Levi Crusher mentioned?"
Mahone: "Everything connected once he said he was a foreigner."
Edmund: "Yeah… that tracks."
He exhaled slowly.
"But now we know that 'nobody' Crusher talked about…"
"…is actually one of the highest ranks in the Red Moon."
"That means the rest of them are at least Leviathan level."
Mahone gave a slight nod.
Mahone: "Yeah."
A pause.
"Kid made quite the impression."
He glanced ahead.
"Having a Yakuza boss that scared… you don't get that without being something else entirely."
Edmund: "Not gonna lie… the way he reacted?"
He let out a quiet chuckle.
"Even I felt that a little."
Silence followed for a moment.
"So what do we do about Rumbler?"
Mahone: "Unfortunately…"
His expression shifted—just slightly.
"I think we're already too late."
Edmund frowned.
"Whatever they're doing… it's already in motion."
He looked ahead, eyes focused.
"Nitchtron is out of our jurisdiction. Even Fighters would need a galactic warrant to act."
"We don't know exactly where he is, and we have no proof. Just the word of a gang leader."
Edmund clicked his tongue.
"Damn it…"
A beat.
"But what does Rumbler even have to do with the artifact?"
"Why take both?"
Mahone thought for a moment.
Mahone: "Maybe they want him to use it."
Edmund's eyes widened slightly.
"He's a Tier-A Seraphim… just below Archangel level."
"With that artifact… he could reach it."
"That's the only logical conclusion."
Edmund frowned.
Edmund: "Then why take him to Nitchtron?"
Mahone: "My guess?"
His voice lowered slightly.
"They're trying to do something to his body… something Earth technology can't."
A pause.
"Turn him into something they can control."
Edmund exhaled sharply.
Edmund: "…That's bad."
"If Rumbler goes rogue in another territory, it breaks the treaty."
A beat.
"That could start a war."
Mahone nodded.
Mahone: "I know."
His voice remained calm—but heavier now.
"That's why we report this to the Commander-in-Chief immediately."
"We need to understand exactly what we're dealing with."
They kept walking.
Faster now.
The mission was complete.
But the truth they uncovered—
Was far worse than they expected.