cHApTEr 15. EcosysTEms (1 of 3)

Amika wasn’t working alone. At least that was Mioray’s assumption. This armed man in the fedora was with her. It would be difficult to explain otherwise. Like, why was he standing watch on the roof and why did he shoot Mioray? Was he Restored as well, or just an ordinary human?

Between the two of them, they had done a number on Mioray. His feet were severed, there were holes through both his hands, and now he had a bullet wound in his side. Full regeneration would take a week at least, but that was nothing he couldn’t hide from his parents and friends. His feet were still sticking out of the front pocket of his hoodie, and once he put them back in place, it would take a couple of hours to reattach properly.

“Forgive me,” the man in the sand-colored coat said as he stepped closer. “I didn’t want this to happen, but Amika went ahead with it, even after being specifically told not to approach you. Now we’re in this mess, and I can’t let you get away.”

Perfect. More vague statements. It confirmed a connection between Amika and the man, so Mioray no longer doubted they were working together. But the part about not approaching him left him unsure what to make of it.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to complicate things further,” the man continued, keeping the revolver trained on Mioray. “Let’s just wait until my client gets here, deal? He’ll explain everything.”

The man really thought it was that simple. First he shot him, and now he expected Mioray to calmly wait for some mysterious client to arrive? If he wanted cooperation, he should have introduced himself and offered to talk before pulling the trigger. Knowing that Mioray could not be permanently killed did not make shooting him acceptable. Or anyone else for that matter.

Mioray detached his arm and launched it at the man. At the same moment, the revolver fired again.

Neither of them expected Hair Corpse to intervene. She had not remained idle on the rooftop of the burning residential complex. Using her hair as a spring once more, she propelled herself in a wide, unnatural arc and reached the neighboring building. To soften the landing, she drove her hair into the surface, absorbing the impact. The instant she touched down, she moved to stand between Mioray and the armed man.

The bullet struck her shoulder, while Mioray’s detached fist connected cleanly with the man’s face, knocking him to the ground.

Amika’s actions made the situation even more confusing. Why would she shield Mioray from being shot? Wasn’t that exactly what she had wanted moments ago, him to suffer? He watched her from behind as she examined her injured arm. She grasped it with her uninjured hand, lifted it slightly, then released it. The limb dropped limply, as if it no longer obeyed her. The bullet must have damaged the nerves.

That did not make her any less dangerous. Bald patches marked her scalp where the fire had burned away sections of her hair, but what remained was still more than enough to be lethal. She did not need functioning arms to pose a threat.

“What do you think you’re doing, Amika?” the man groaned as he pushed himself upright. He retrieved the revolver that had slipped from his grasp. “Why are you protecting him now?”

“You, of all people, should understand me,” she said, her anger slipping through the words. “You know I want him to myself. I don’t want interruptions, yet here you are. Care to explain, Jean?”

“I only did what the client asked,” the man replied, inspecting the revolver after the fall. “He said he wanted to surprise them. If this fella had escaped from you, the surprise would have been ruined.”

“I don’t care what he wants. This little bird here killed my husband, and I want my revenge. All to myself, you understand?”

“I do. And while you’re not paying attention, this little bird is trying to get away.”

While they argued about clients, surprises, and whatever arrangement they had, Mioray slowly crawled backward on his elbows. His plan was simple: latch onto the walkway railing and launch himself into the air again. From there, he could drop toward the street and escape by swinging above the roads. He had hoped they would be too distracted to notice him retreating, but the man in the coat kept his eyes on him.

Amika turned, her grin twisting into something uglier. Hair tentacles shot toward Mioray, wrapping around him before he could react. She flung him into the open space between her and Jean. Mioray hit the ground hard and rolled several times before finally coming to a stop.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hair Corpse asked as Mioray pushed himself up onto his elbows, fresh abrasions appearing across his skin. “I’m not finished with you.”

She began walking toward him. He noticed the remaining strands of her hair stiffening again, sharpening into spikes.

“Alright, I get your point. Let’s calm down for a second, shall we?” Mioray said, forcing composure into his voice. It was obvious he had lost the upper hand, so there was no harm in trying to sweet talk his way out of it. “Look, I’m not going anywhere. Why don’t we clear up our misunderstandings first? Let’s start with you, Amika. You think I killed your husband. His name was Herman Clopton?”

She stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Good.” He wasn’t sure what was good about it, but he needed time to think. One wrong word and she would finish him without hesitation. “Can you tell me when you last saw him?”

“I don’t know. Around a year and a half ago.”

“That was after you died and came back?”

If that was true, then Herman had not lied. He had seen his wife dead, then alive again. She had left him for reasons unknown, and he had gone searching for her. That search had eventually led him to the Order of Mercy.

“That’s right,” she confirmed.

“Do you know that he became the Dismantler?”

She frowned. “No. Who’s that?”

It was becoming clear that Amika was missing crucial pieces of the story. She did not know what Herman had become, nor what role Mioray had played in his final end. If she was unaware that Herman had turned into the Dismantler and Impact Corpse, then her rage was built on incomplete information. The real question was how she had learned that Herman was dead, and that Mioray was involved in finishing him off.

He had to choose his words carefully. He was walking on a narrow edge.

“Your husband died, Amika, but he was turned into one of the Restored.”

The shock on her face answered more than words could.

“What do you mean?” she asked, uncertainty creeping into her voice. “Are you saying he’s undead?”

“Not exactly. We still don’t fully understand what being sealed off means–”

“Don’t screw with me, smartass!” she snapped, her sharpened hair lifting with a hiss. “I don’t need riddles!”

“My, my, what a lively discussion we’ve stumbled into. Don’t mind us, we’ll just quietly observe how it unfolds.”

The grating voice was unfamiliar to Mioray, just like the people who emerged from the staircase shaft – a total of four. If not for their sudden appearance, he would likely have ended up riddled with holes like a sieve. At the sight of them, however, Amika’s hair relaxed and returned to its normal state.

The first of the four, the one whose voice had cut through the tension, was a ginger man with a bowl cut. His face was long and sly, and though he was smiling, the shape of his smile was disturbingly triangular. Mioray had never seen anyone bend their mouth quite like that. The man wore an emerald-colored tailcoat with matching trousers and moccasins. He looked like a stage magician who had misplaced his top hat. Pearl earrings gleamed in his ears, adding to the theatrical impression.

Behind him, two women followed. The first, with wavy black hair combed to one side, wore a black tee with one sleeve torn off, the name of the rock band “Moneyspin” printed across the front. The shirt was tucked into a short black skirt, paired with black leggings and platform boots strapped with multiple belts. She had striped black-and-red armbands, a choker around her neck, and her left ear was pierced all along the rim with sharp metal earrings. A ring pierced her brow, and another her nostril.

The second woman was more traditional in contrast. She wore an oversized gray sweatshirt and dark blue skinny jeans ripped at the knees, along with high black sneakers. Her red hair fell to her shoulders, medium in length, and she wore simple light-brown round earrings.

Their procession was completed by a young blond man who looked about Mioray’s age, maybe slightly older. He wore a mint shirt and blue denim shorts and would have passed for an ordinary person if not for one striking detail: his eyes were covered with a black blindfold. The fabric was thick and opaque, and yet he moved with confidence, navigating the rooftop without hesitation.

“Were you just waiting for the right moment to show up?” Amika barked at the newcomers.

The man in the emerald tailcoat giggled.

“Guilty as charged,” he replied in a mischievous tone. “I was beginning to worry the right moment would never come.”

“My apologies,” Jean said, tucking his revolver back into his coat as he stepped toward the would-be magician. “I failed to keep Amika at bay. But we didn’t let this fella escape, so you can still surprise them.”

“It’s alright, Jean,” the man in the tailcoat said, resting a hand lightly on Jean’s shoulder. “The surprise is ruined anyway. She was informed of our arrival and is already on her way.”

A pale, ghostlike light illuminated his hand. Mioray’s eyes widened. The source was a jewel ring the size of a walnut set on his finger. It looked exactly like the one Erinel wore.

That could not be a coincidence. Erinel had once mentioned her ring was a gift from an important friend, another greanrip. If the man in the tailcoat wore the same ring, he could very well be that friend. He could be a greanrip himself.

Mioray knew that some greanrips, like Erinel, supervised the Restored to assist with soulwork. It was possible this group belonged to that category and had nothing to do with the Order of Mercy.

The thought eased something tight in his chest. If that were true, the situation might not be as disastrous as it seemed.

“Oof, you look terrible,” the man in the tailcoat said as he approached Mioray at an unhurried pace, clasping his hands behind his back. “It hurts just looking at you. Can someone get him some water? And Amika as well. Her new hairstyle is quite something, don’t you agree?” He giggled softly, then extended his hand toward Mioray for a handshake. “What’s your name, my friend?”

“Mioray,” he replied, uncertain whether shaking hands was wise. Still, he took the offered hand with his burnt and perforated one, keeping Amika in the corner of his vision. The strange man had just insulted her without the slightest hesitation, and he had done it so casually that it was almost absurd. As expected, her hair began to rise again, confirming that the remark had not gone unnoticed.

“Oh, I see. You’re the one who killed Amika’s husband,” the man said with a laugh. “Yes, Erinel told me all about that. Now I understand what’s happening. When I shared the news with Amika, I neglected to mention that her husband had become undead and gone on a killing spree. No wonder she wanted to settle the score with you. If she had known the full story earlier, we might have avoided this little inconvenience.” His smile stretched wider, almost unnaturally so. “My name is Lokiel, by the way.”

Mioray pulled his hand back as if he had been stung. So this Lokiel had simply “forgotten” to mention to Amika that her husband had become a twisted killer, and that ending him had been the only option? It sounded like total bullshit, and Lokiel knew it.

He did not even try to hide it. He stood straight, almost taller than he really was, posture proud and theatrical. This outcome had clearly been intentional. He had baited Amika, letting her believe that Mioray killed her husband for no reason, knowing it would drive her into a rage and push her to seek revenge.

Amika understood that as well, and she did not appreciate being manipulated. Her hair, restless and eager, lashed out again, this time aimed at Lokiel. He was ready for it. In one smooth movement, he slipped behind the red-haired woman.

The woman gasped, then closed her eyes and held her breath. Mioray braced himself, certain she would be skewered by the incoming spikes. Instead, something strange happened. Just as the sharpened strands were about to pierce her, they curved aside and slammed into the rooftop.

As if an invisible force had pushed them away.

“Thank you, Saria,” Lokiel said with a slight bow, as though Amika’s murderous strike had been a minor inconvenience. “I truly cannot express how grateful I am to have you around.”

“Don’t, Lokiel.” The woman slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans and stepped aside. “We both know you provoked Amika. It isn’t funny, it’s escalation. We’re leaving a bad impression.”

“Why do you care?” Amika snapped. Her injured arm hung uselessly, but she remained no less intimidating. “If you’re uncomfortable, go attend a conference or something.”

“Really, Amika?” Saria tilted her head, disappointment clear on her face. “That’s the best you can do? Feeling clever now?”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Ladies, please,” Lokiel stepped between them with his arms slightly raised. He looked remarkably calm for someone who had just hidden behind one of them moments ago. “We’re not here to fight each other.”

Considering he had started it, that sentiment rang hollow.

The fire continued to flicker in the night, though it was steadily weakening under the firefighters’ relentless streams of water. Jean stood near the edge of the roof, quietly observing the scene below. Amika had somehow found a brush and was now sitting on the maintenance walkway, combing what remained of her hair with her good hand. The steady stroke of the brush competed with the crackle of the flames. From time to time she shot irritated glances at the others, perhaps hoping to spark another confrontation, but no one met her gaze, Mioray included.

Quite a Friday the Thirteenth, he thought.

He looked up at the smoke-choked sky. Erinel’s gift was gone – the mask had been swallowed by the fire, and that loss weighed heavier than his severed legs. His legs would reattach in a matter of hours, but the mask was something he could not simply grow back.

He had been too optimistic, brushing aside the comments about switching to something more practical, like a motorcycle helmet. Now, without the mask to conceal his face, he’d have to make that change.

That was beside the point. He had truly cherished the mask and the gesture behind it. It carried memories and a quiet symbolic weight. He had always taken it as Erinel’s way of showing that she cared for him. Losing it now felt uncomfortable, as if it might suggest he had not valued it enough. The thought lingered and made the waiting harder, especially since it seemed clear that everyone on the rooftop was there for one reason. They were expecting Erinel to arrive.

Saria disappeared down the staircase shaft for a moment and returned with two bottles of water, one of which she offered to Mioray. He was sitting near the maintenance curb, his feet pressed against his knees to speed up the regeneration. He accepted the bottle, though he did not immediately understand the point. It was not as if he needed hydration.

“What, you don’t know?” she asked, surprised. “Drinking water restores some of our soul energy and speeds up healing. In an emergency, that can make a real difference.”

It was the first time Mioray had heard that. No one from his circle had ever mentioned water having such an effect. If Saria was telling the truth, that explained why Lokiel had suggested it earlier. Mioray thanked her quietly, and she moved on to give a bottle to Amika.

He had not formed a strong opinion about the red-haired woman yet, but among them she seemed the most grounded. It was strange to see her alongside people like Amika and Lokiel. The man in the emerald tailcoat paced nearby, humming under his breath and swaying his head from side to side as if to a tune only he could hear. When Amika took the bottle, he could not resist making another remark about her burnt hair. She responded with a glare sharp enough to cut, but said nothing.

A tug at the sleeve of his unburnt arm drew Mioray’s attention. He turned and found the pierced woman crouching beside him. Moments earlier she had been speaking with the blindfolded man, and Mioray had not noticed her leaving his side and approaching him.

“Let me taste your blood,” she said flatly.

Mioray blinked. “What?”

“Let me taste your blood.”

“No.”

“Why not?” she frowned. “I’ll give it back.”

He had no idea how to respond to that. These people are crazy, he thought. The realization struck him that, in that moment, he would rather have faced Impact Corpse again than sit here surrounded by them. Because of them, he had no choice but to stay put and wait for his feet to reattach. His breathing was easing, which meant his lungs were recovering. The bullet that had lodged in his side had already been pushed out by the closing wound as the torn flesh was slowly knitting itself back together. It was the holes in his palms and the burns on his right arm that would take the longest to heal.

“Kiriya, stop creeping him out,” Saria called out, turning toward them. “Why would you think that’s appropriate?”

“I’m sorry, Saria, I tried to explain it was a bad idea,” the blindfolded man said.

“Well, keep a better eye on her next time,” Saria replied dryly as she grabbed Kiriya by the choker and pulled her away from Mioray. She addressed the blond man as if the blindfold were irrelevant, though it clearly blocked his vision.

“Let me go, you dumb bitch!” Kiriya shouted, struggling against her grip.

“Now that’s the spirit,” Lokiel said, clapping lightly. “See? This is fun. We’re having fun! Why does everything have to be so dull? Being dull is practically the same as being dead, so we might as well stay lively while we can.”

“You can have your fun,” Amika muttered. “One of these days I’m going to kill you, Lokiel. Mark my words.”

“I’ll be delighted to see you try,” Lokiel replied with a wink.

He then crossed over to Mioray and sat down beside him.

“Mioray, my friend, why are you so gloomy?” Lokiel asked, though he did not wait for an answer. “A change of scenery is always refreshing.” He glanced around as if admiring the view. It felt staged, much like everything else about him. With smoke thick in the air and fire still flickering below, there was hardly anything worth observing. “I was truly looking forward to meeting you and your friends. It’s a shame you spoiled my surprise. You warned them, didn’t you? Doesn’t matter, I forgive you. It’s only fair after this little misunderstanding between you and Amika.”

It was difficult to keep a straight face. Lokiel spoke as if he were doing Mioray a favor, forgiving him for something he had not even done. In reality, this entire situation had started because of Lokiel. If anyone should have been apologizing, it was him.

“You’ll forgive me too, right?” Lokiel added, as if he could hear what Mioray was thinking.

As if, Mioray thought to himself.

So now Lokiel expected him to feel bad for not playing along? Like refusing to forgive made Mioray the unreasonable one. If Lokiel wanted forgiveness, he could have at least shown some remorse. But who was Mioray kidding? This had been Lokiel’s plan from the beginning. Of course he wasn’t sorry for what happened.

“Are you a greanrip?” Mioray asked instead.

“I am indeed. You’re sharper than you appear.”

Mioray ignored the comment.

“Why did you come to Reques City?”

“Oh, didn’t Erinel tell you?” Lokiel feigned surprise, lifting a hand toward his mouth. “She said she needed assistance with guiding the souls of the dead.”

Was that the truth, or just another one of his lies? As far as Mioray could tell, there was nothing wrong with soulwork.

“What about the place you came from?” Mioray pressed. “Aren’t there souls there who need guidance too?”

“We came from a bigger city than this one,” Lokiel replied lightly, “but we cleared it out. And there are others who can handle the business while we’re away.”

“The business?”

“Yes. Everything becomes business if you treat it that way, my friend,” that unnatural triangular smile bent across his face again. “From what I hear, your group hasn’t been especially efficient. It’s no wonder. You had a serial killer to deal with, then you lost one of your own, and you have a child among you, and most of you are still trying to keep your boring lives together as if you never died.”

That was uncalled for. Mioray clenched his fists, fighting the urge to respond physically, but before he could, the blindfolded man shifted, his posture sharpening.

“She’s here,” he said, stepping closer to Lokiel. “They’re climbing the stairs.”

With the blindfold covering his eyes and smoke thick in the night air, there was no clear way to see inside the building. How could this guy possibly know that Erinel had arrived? Mioray tried to make sense of it, searching for some trick he might have missed, but nothing came to mind. Maybe he wasn’t truly blind, though the blindfold looked thick enough to block any light. It wasn’t as if someone could simply “see” by other means, right? Then again, after everything Mioray had witnessed last year, dismissing the impossible felt wrong.

The thought faded the moment Erinel stepped onto the rooftop. Mioray’s stomach tightened. She wasn’t smiling the way she usually did. Her hazel eyes had taken on a yellow tint, like leaves losing their warmth at the end of autumn, and a deep crease marked the bridge of her nose.

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