Charlotte, Tabo, Astrid, and Perchance moved under the cover of darkness, slipping through alleyways and side streets after sabotaging one of the mafia's key cargo routes. They had planted false shipping manifests, figured out delivery schedules, and scattered fake intel across the network like breadcrumbs leading nowhere.

They were on their way back to Perchance's parlor when the night fractured—screams echoed in the distance, followed by the sharp, unmistakable crack of gunfire.

Astrid slowed the car instinctively. "...Did anyone else hear that?"

"Oh great," Perchance muttered, peering out the window. "Normal people hear gunshots and run the other way. But us? No weapons, no plan—and now we're driving toward it?"

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. "We need to see what's going on. If it's mafia-related, it could be important. This could give us the upper hand."

"Or get us killed," Tabo added, but he didn't argue further.

Astrid turned the wheel and headed toward the source of the noise.

As they rolled into Rodeo Drive, their headlights revealed a scene out of a nightmare. Holiday lights hung crooked and broken across the buildings. Glass storefronts had been blown open. Shattered ornaments littered the ground alongside something far worse—bodies. The street, which hours ago had been full of tourists admiring Christmas displays, was now painted red.

"Holy..." whispered Charlotte.

They crept closer.

Through the chaos, they saw her.

Edel.

She stood at the center of the street, tiger-faced mask glowing faintly under the lights, her assault rifle bucking with each shot. People screamed as they ran, and Edel showed no mercy—spraying gunfire into the crowd with mechanical precision.

Her head turned. She spotted the car.

Her aim shifted toward them.

"Shit!" Perchance shouted. "TURN THE CAR AROUND!"

Just when they thought they'd gotten away, the world around them dimmed unnaturally—like the night itself had inhaled.

Shadows warped across the street, curling like smoke, thickening into walls of ink. The darkness snapped forward—and in an instant, Edel emerged, as if pulled from the void itself. She appeared directly in front of the van, inches from the windshield, eyes glowing an eerie violet beneath her tiger mask.

CRACK-CRACK!

Gunshots rang out. The front tires exploded.

SCREEEEECH!

The van skidded violently, jerking to a halt. Glass rattled. The cabin filled with smoke and the stink of burning rubber.

Charlotte screamed, hands clutching the dash. "She's right in front of us!"

Before anyone could recover, Edel's hand plunged into the shadows again—and then she was at the door.

The handle snapped open.

She moved too fast. Too strong.

With inhuman ease, she yanked Charlotte out first, flinging her to the ground like a ragdoll. Then Tabo. Perchance tried to scramble out the opposite door, but a tether of shadow grabbed his ankle and dragged him across the pavement.

Astrid, still in the driver's seat, fumbled for anything to defend herself, but Edel was already there—ripping the door off its hinges.

The group lay sprawled before her, groaning in pain.

The ivory white mask loomed overhead.

The gun gleamed in Edel's hands.

They saw her clearly now—hair unmistakably hers, the same build, the glow in her eyes casting a violet hue over their terrified faces.

"Edel!" Charlotte cried. "Please—it's us! Don't you recognize us?"

Tabo coughed. "We're your friends!"

"Snap out of it!" Perchance shouted. "This isn't you!"

But Edel didn't answer. Her hands didn't tremble. Her breathing was steady—too steady, almost mechanical.

She raised the gun.

Dark tendrils twisted around her arm like a serpent, whispering commands only she could hear.

She stepped forward.

Then—

"STOP!"

Astrid's voice cracked.

"I'm pregnant! With yours!"

The silence that followed was surreal. Even the shadows seemed to pause.

Edel hesitated.

Her arms lowered a fraction. Her grip on the gun weakened. Her breath hitched.

For a heartbeat, she was human again.

Tabo didn't waste it.

With a shout, he surged forward and slammed his fist into her wrist—the gun flew from her hand, clattering across the pavement, spinning into the gutter.

He went in for more—swinging wild punches toward her face.

But Edel was faster.

She ducked, weaving with fluid precision. One sharp blow to his ribs—crack! Tabo winced but held his ground.

He twisted, then snapped a roundhouse kick toward her head. Edel stumbled, caught off guard.

Tabo pressed in, sweat condensing on his brow. He fought with practiced strikes—disciplined, grounded, clean—a true martial artist. Edel, in contrast, was wild and animalistic—fast, brutal, unpredictable. Her movements struck like a tiger: swift, efficient, vicious.

Their styles clashed violently.

Tabo landed a solid punch to her forehead.

CRACK!

The sharp sound echoed down the ruined street. The tiger mask splintered at the cheek—a spiderweb of fractures blooming beneath the impact.

Tabo recoiled, staggering back.

"Dammit."

Blood dripped from his knuckles. The mask hadn't just cracked—it had punished him for it.

Before he could react, Edel's hand shot out like a vice—grabbing his wrist.

With unnatural strength, she hoisted him off his feet and slammed him to the ground.

THUD.

The air was driven from his lungs. Pain flooded his body.

Tabo gasped, struggling beneath Edel's boot. It pressed harder into his chest. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

She raised her arm.

The final blow was coming.

And then—

A figure materialized between them, cloaked in rippling shadow.

Iscar.

His eyes, visible behind the carved bone mask, were glowing faintly—like coals in a deep forest.

He didn't charge her.

Instead, he raised one hand.

A thin mist curled outward, spiraling between him and Edel.

She tensed. Her stance shifted.

Illusions. Dozens.

A split-second later, ten Iscars surrounded her in a loose circle, each one whispering different chants, moving at different angles—some close, some distant, all flickering with falsehood.

Edel snarled and lunged at the nearest one—

Her fist passed through empty air.

The illusion burst like fog, and another Iscar attacked from behind—only for him to vanish too.

"Don't waste your strength," echoed Iscar's real voice from above.

She looked up.

He was standing on a twisted column of shadow, weaving his hands through the air like a puppeteer.

Distraction magic

Tendrils of semi-solid illusion coiled around her ankles and wrists—not to hold her, but to slow her movements, confuse her senses.

Edel spun, slashing the bindings apart with a shriek of raw magic.

But the moment she did, she faltered.

Her breathing hitched. Her eyes widened.

She saw her.

Karina.

Standing just behind one of the false Iscars—lit by soft, holiday light.

Her smile was quiet. Her eyes, full of warmth.

"Edel?" Karina whispered. "What are you doing?"

Edel froze.

Her fists trembled.

Her stance faltered.

Her voice caught in her throat—"Kari—?"

Reality snapped. The image of Karina dissolved, replaced by another barrage of illusions.

A hundred whispers echoed through the street, pulling Edel's attention in every direction. Every breath she took seemed too loud. Every shadow looked like a threat.

Iscar stepped forward from the real world now—one hand still weaving spells, the other outstretched, fingers glowing.

"You're not just a weapon," he said softly. "You're not this."

Edel growled, shaking off the confusion. The glow in her eyes flared again.

She hurled a bolt of raw shadow at him.

He deflected it with a mirrored barrier, ricocheting the energy sideways—straight into a wall of his own illusions, which shattered spectacularly in a blinding flash.

He was already moving again.

This wasn't brute force.

This was a dance.

Edel struck again—and again, her fists hit nothing. She twisted to face Iscar—but he was already behind her, casting from the side, shifting between real and unreal.

The longer it went on, the more her frustration showed. She wasn't used to being outmaneuvered.

But she was still faster. Stronger, given Senyum's magic.

Her next strike grazed his shoulder—just enough to draw blood. The illusion cracked at the impact, revealing the real Iscar beneath.

He staggered back, pain etched across his face.

"Fine," Edel hissed. "Let's end it."

But then—sirens cut through the dark.

Tires screeched across pavement. Floodlights exploded into view.

LAPD. FBI.

Dozens of them. Too many.

Iscar didn't flinch.

But Edel turned—just enough.

She looked back one last time—at Tabo, still writhing. At Astrid, clinging to her stomach. At Iscar, breathing hard, arms still raised.

Her eyes flared—glowing and unreadable.

Then—

CRUNCH.

Her boot came down on Tabo's arm, twisting the bones.

He screamed.

And with a last surge of shadow—she vanished.

Gone like a ghost.

Leaving behind a broken man, a shattered team, and a city slowly waking up to the monster it created.

------

The din of sirens and shouted commands swallowed the night. Floodlights swept over broken glass and spilled Christmas lights, revealing the team huddled beside the wrecked van and a moaning Tabo clutching his mangled arm.

An FBI SUV pulled up, agents fanning out with weapons drawn. From the front stepped a young man in a crisp suit, eyes sharp but kind—Special Agent Jaxon Brioni. Behind him strode a steely woman, Agent Mireille, her posture rigid, gaze hard.

Brioni made his way to the group, holstering his pistol. He offered Charlotte a measured look.

"Agent Brioni, FBI," he introduced himself quietly. He glanced at Tabo's arm, then back at Charlotte, Astrid, Perchance, and Iscar. "Can you confirm... was that Edel Monclerchanteau we just saw?"

Charlotte swallowed, voice trembling. "Yes. It was her—her hair, her clothes, the eyes. No doubt."

Mireille stepped forward, arms folded. "She slaughtered innocent civilians—shots on Rodeo Drive. We have to neutralize her. Dead or alive."

Perchance shook his head. "No! She's been under magic. She wasn't herself."

"She's dangerous," Mireille snapped. "Magic or not. We can't afford sympathy for someone who just turned a holiday street into a massacre."

Brioni didn't flinch. "With respect, Agent Mireille, if this is magical coercion, then lethal force guarantees we lose our only chance to save her. She could snap out of it once the influence breaks."

Mireille's eyes narrowed. "And how many people die while we wait for her to maybe recover?"

Charlotte stepped in, voice rising. "You don't understand—she was with us just days ago. She was kind. Protective. She left for something... and when she came back, she was like this. She's possessed."

"You know her personally?" Mireille asked sharply.

"Yes," Charlotte said. "And I know she wouldn't have done this if she was in control."

Mireille fell silent, her gaze hard and unreadable as the wind whipped through the broken ornaments around them. Then, quietly:

"This isn't a debate." She turned her eyes on Brioni. "Edel Monclerchanteau is a hostile entity. She's exhibited superhuman capabilities and used shadow-class magic. We treat her as a Masker. Eliminate on sight."

The group erupted.

"You can't—"

"There has to be another way—"

"She's not a monster!"

Mireille raised a hand, silencing them. "I've made my decision."

Brioni clenched his jaw, every instinct screaming against the order. But he knew pushing her here would only cause conflict. He forced a stiff nod.

"Understood," he said tightly. "I'll coordinate with tactical for engagement."

Mireille offered no further glance, already pressing her comm: "Teams Alpha and Bravo, establish perimeter. No mercy. No live capture. Priority one target is Masker Edel Monclerchanteau."

Brioni watched her disappear into the crowd of agents, a leaden weight settling in his chest. Sirens still howled in the distance. Overhead, a drone buzzed like an angry insect.

He turned to the group—Charlotte kneeling by Tabo, clutching his broken hand; Astrid pale and hollow-eyed; Perchance trembling, his fingers still faintly glowing.

Then—movement in the shadows.

Brioni flinched and reached instinctively for his pistol.

"Wait!" Charlotte cried, holding out her arm. "That's Iscar. He's with us. A rogue Masker—he helped stop her."

Brioni hesitated, eyes locked on the figure in the dark. Iscar remained still, face unreadable beneath his cracked mask.

Slowly, Brioni lowered his hand, though his body remained tense. "Noted. But I'll be watching you."

Iscar gave a faint nod.

Brioni turned back to the group. His voice dropped, calm but resolute. "Listen carefully. We're not letting her die."

Charlotte looked up sharply, hope lighting her features. "You mean—?"

"I'm going after her. Quietly. Off the grid. Non-lethal measures only. I'll stop the FBI from hurting her—whatever it takes. I believe she can still be reached."

Astrid's voice was barely a whisper. "You'd go against your own agency?"

Brioni's jaw set. "If saving Edel requires going off-book, so be it."

Charlotte stepped forward, eyes shining with fresh resolve. "Then we're with you."

Iscar stepped into the light, voice low and grave. "Edel is under Senyum's hold. He's not just controlling her—he's feeding on her, twisting her grief and pain. She's not gone, just buried beneath him."

He paused.

"But there's something else. Karina Margiela—her memory cracks the hold. When I used an echo of Karina against her, Edel faltered. Her emotion towards her is stronger than Senyum's grip. It's not much, but... it might be the key to bringing her back."

At the name, Astrid stiffened. Her stomach twisted with something sharp and hot—resentment, shame, jealousy. Why Karina? Why not me?

"Karina Margiela. If we get her to talk to Edel, then..." Jaxon Brioni started. "I'll see what I can do.

Charlotte clasped his arm. "Please—don't let them kill her."

Brioni met her gaze and nodded. "I promise you—Edel comes back alive."

There was a beat of silence before Charlotte leaned in closer. "There's something else you need to know. The mafia—Reaper Records on Melrose. That's where they operate from. A music label's just the cover."

Jaxon's brows drew together. "You're sure?"

Charlotte nodded firmly. "They kidnapped us once. Locked us up in the back rooms of their label—Reaper Records. Their leader's a woman named Ebony. Edel managed to squeeze out the names of two others before everything spiraled—Greene and Rhett. She got the intel herself."

Jaxon absorbed that, committing each name to memory. "Ebony. Greene. Rhett."

"Since Edel left," Charlotte continued, "we've been sabotaging them—disrupting shipments, leaking data, whatever we could manage. But now? They're after her too. Or... they were. The mafia's working with the Maskers."

Jaxon's eyes narrowed. "They're allied?"

Charlotte nodded grimly. "And if Edel's under Masker control... they're probably using her as a weapon. Everyone's after her now. She's in the center of it all."

Jaxon let out a slow breath, processing it. "Damn. That's a storm if I've ever seen one." He looked around at the group—wounded, shaken, but holding strong. "Reaper Records, mafia, Maskers... got it."

Then, with a small, tired smile, he added, "You can call me Jaxon. No titles. We're in this together now."

He glanced down at his notes, then back at them, sincere. "Thanks for the intel. It's more than I expected—and it might be exactly what we need to bring her back."

------

Erica had been glued to the news, even when she knew it was pulling her away from her schoolwork. Every new headline hit like a punch to the gut: a new Masker spotted, one never seen before and lethal—and this time, all signs pointed to Edel, from the hair to the purple eyes behind the mask.

The footage was grainy, chaotic, and bloody. The figure moved with an eerie desire for bloodlust, and the internet was ablaze with certainty: It's her. It's Edel.

Erica couldn't stop watching. Couldn't look away.

The city was on edge. No one wanted to go outside anymore—not even Erica, and she was a homebody to begin with. Schools had moved classes online again "until further notice," and the streets were hollow echoes of what they once were.

She had planned to go to the mall this week—just to try on a few outfits, maybe pick out something for the gala. But now even that felt dangerous. The gala was only two days away, and she still didn't have a full outfit.

She scrolled through online shops, cursor hovering over dresses, but the thought of showing up in the wrong outfit or sticking out among Karina's elegant crowd made her stomach twist. Would anyone even go? Would the gala still happen?

And beyond the nerves... there was Edel.

She wanted to help Edel. That had always been the plan. But now, with the news painting her as a blood-soaked Masker, Erica didn't know what to believe. Was Edel really gone? Was there anything left to save?

Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, shaking slightly.

Still... if Karina was going to be at the gala, she had to go. She needed answers. She had to know if there was still a way to help Edel—even if it meant risking everything.

Erica closed the laptop slowly, heart hammering.

She would go to the gala.

Even if the city was falling apart around her.