Chapter 185: “That face—priceless.”
The night sky above Sector Twelve burned orange.
The gate pulsed like a wound in the air, jagged edges glowing red. From it, monsters poured—wolves with too many eyes, hulking brutes with claws that shredded steel. They tore through the streets, smashing into buildings, crushing cars flat beneath their weight. Screams filled the air, mixed with the thunder of collapsing towers.
Hunters fought back, but it wasn’t enough.
"Hold the line!" a captain roared, blood streaming down his cheek. His sword gleamed with aura as he cut into a beast’s throat. Black blood sprayed across the cracked asphalt. He staggered, coughing, his knees shaking.
Behind him, the squad was in ruin. One hunter dragged himself forward with one arm, his other gone. A girl barely old enough to fight tried to charge a wolf, only to be swept aside, her blade skittering useless into the shadows.
A massive brute swung down its claw, and the captain leapt in front of her, blocking with both hands. The impact shattered the ground, forcing him to his knees. His teeth clenched. His arms trembled.
"We’re done," one hunter rasped, coughing blood against the ground. "We can’t stop them..."
The words spread like fire. The line broke.
The monsters surged forward.
The captain lifted his blade again, ready to cut until he fell—
But the monsters stopped.
Not slowed. Not hesitated. Stopped.
Their claws hovered inches from flesh. Their teeth bared, frozen mid-snarl. Eyes glowed faint, then shifted—turning away from the hunters.
The captain blinked, chest heaving. "What...?"
The wolf before him growled low, but then it turned, its body twisting back toward the gate. The brute that had pinned him straightened, nostrils flaring, before lumbering back toward the red glow.
One by one, the horde shifted.
The hunters stared, too stunned to move. The monsters ignored them, each turning back to the gate. The wolves ran first, then the hulks, then the smaller beasts crawling over rubble. Their steps shook the streets again—but this time, they left.
The girl who had fallen lifted her head weakly. "Why... why are they going back?"
No one answered.
The captain staggered to his feet, blade still trembling in his grip. He watched as the last of them disappeared into the red wound. The gate pulsed once, like a heartbeat—
And vanished.
The street went silent.
The hunters stared at empty space where death had stood a breath ago. The captain dropped his blade, his voice breaking low. "...Gone."
It wasn’t only Sector Twelve.
In Tokyo, a colossal gate had opened above the Sumida River. Beasts with wings of bone had rained fire across the city, shredding bridges, burning towers. The Self-Defense Force had been pushed to retreat, their artillery useless against the tide. Hunters bled across the docks, their numbers cut in half within minutes.
But mid-flight, the beasts froze. Their wings beat once, then faltered. As if something called them, they circled back. Their cries echoed like thunder as they dove into the gate. The wound closed, leaving only smoke and silence.
In New York, Times Square burned. Hunters fought alongside soldiers, their bodies broken, bullets and blades glancing off the swarm of reptilian giants pouring out of the shimmering rift at Broadway’s heart. People screamed in the subways, crushed under rubble. The monsters roared and pushed forward—
Then stopped.
Heads turned as if hearing something. Their eyes dimmed. They turned back, crawling into the rift in silence. The gate folded in on itself, flickering out. Only firelight remained, no trace of the hole that had birthed the invasion.
It happened everywhere.
Paris. Cairo. Lagos. Rio. Seoul.
Every gate that had torn the sky apart, every breach that had spilled nightmares into streets—closed. Not sealed, not shattered by hunters, but vanished. As if they had never been there at all.
At a command center deep underground, screens flickered with reports from across the globe. Operators spoke in voices half-stunned, half-panicked.
"Sector Twelve... gate gone."
"Tokyo gate disappeared. Confirmed."
"Paris reports all monsters retreated before closure."
"Cairo—same."
"Every gate... they’re all shutting."
A general leaned forward, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp with disbelief. "That’s impossible. Gates don’t just vanish."
"They did, sir," an operator said, her hands shaking over the keys. "Every last one."
Silence settled heavy across the room.
In the ruins of Sector Twelve, the hunters gathered what was left of their squad. The young girl knelt beside the broken captain, pressing cloth against his wounds.
"They’re gone," she whispered, almost afraid to believe it.
The captain stared at the empty street where the gate had stood. His voice came hoarse. "...No. They’ll be back. Gates don’t close for free."
In New York, a hunter leaned against a crumbling wall, his arm broken, blood dripping into his eyes. He laughed weakly, shaking his head. "What the hell was that? Monsters with mercy?"
Beside him, his partner lit a cigarette with trembling hands, dragging in smoke like it was air. "Mercy? No. Something called them. Pulled them back."
The first man spat blood onto the rubble. His voice lowered. "...Then whatever called them... is worse."
In Paris, a priest stood in the wreckage of a church, the roof torn away, stained glass shattered. He clutched a bloodied cross in his hand, his breath trembling. Around him, survivors whispered prayers, half thanks, half fear.
The priest closed his eyes, his voice breaking low. "...The gates vanish, but the shadow behind them remains."
On Earth, people crawled out from ruins, looked to skies suddenly quiet. Some wept, some laughed, some screamed into silence. Cities smoldered, streets flooded with blood and ash, but the monsters were gone.
Gates closed.
Like they had never been there.
Silence lingered where chaos had been.
But silence was never peace.
It was only the pause before the next storm.
Thorne Estate — night.
Candles guttered in the high rooms, throwing faces into relief. Eron stood over three figures tied to chairs — Reia, Silas, Vyn — his shadow long across the floor. He watched them with a slow smile, like a cat with a cornered bird.
"So the gates closed," he said, voice casual, as if reading the morning paper. "Lucian did something. Got stronger. That true?" He turned to look at Reia, then at the others, amusement in his tone. "Will it be enough to stop Mark, I wonder?"
He stepped closer, fingers trailing over the rope at Reia’s throat without untying it. "One of you slipped through me. She’s running now, but not for long. I’ll find her." He leaned in until the candlelight showed the hard line of his mouth. "And when I do... I want Lucian to watch. I want him to see you fall."
His smile widened, not kind. "That face—priceless."