Halochassis

“Shin!” Lireina immediately rushed forward the moment she saw Shin’s fist connect with Qinglong’s face, her voice cutting through the tense air of the café. The sound of the punch echoed sharply across the room, followed by the faint scrape of Qinglong’s shoes against the floor as he stumbled a step backward. Lireina’s eyes widened with alarm, her body instinctively moving between them as if she feared Shin might strike again.

Qinglong slowly raised a hand to his cheek and rubbed the spot where Shin had hit him. It did not hurt much, and there was not even a bruise forming on his skin. Compared to the countless battles he had experienced as a Celestial Warden, the punch was nothing. Yet, the physical pain was never what mattered. Through that single blow, Qinglong felt everything Shin had been unable to say. He felt the hatred burning underneath his anger, the sorrow buried beneath that hatred, and the confusion that had slowly begun to replace both.

Qinglong steadied himself and stood upright like a man who had already accepted whatever was coming. His expression remained unusually calm, even though his cheek still tingled from the impact. He looked directly at Shin, refusing to look away or defend himself from the emotions being thrown at him.

“I know it’s fucked up,” Qinglong said quietly. His voice lacked its usual confidence, and there was a heaviness behind every word. “Seeing a person who is close to you die like that… I know how it feels like.”

Shin stood there breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling beneath his clothes as though he had just finished running a mile. The warmth of his own breath escaped between clenched teeth, while his hands trembled at his sides. Somewhere deep inside him, he desperately wanted to activate the Halochassis. He wanted the familiar weight of Azazel to surround his body, the machinery to unfold around him, and the power to drown out every thought in his head. He wanted to let his rage become something physical.

But he stopped himself.

His fingers curled into tight fists as his nails dug into his palms. The anger inside him felt like a living thing, pumping through his veins with every beat of his heart. He could almost hear the system in his mind, waiting for him to give the command, but Shin refused to say it.

“Fuck you, Qinglong!” Shin roared, his voice shaking the quiet atmosphere of the café. “Everything that happened to me… Every fucked-up thing that happened is because you killed Manny!” He stepped closer and aggressively pointed a trembling finger at Qinglong’s chest, his eyes burning with years of grief and resentment. “You took the one person who was always there for me!”

Qinglong did not move away. He simply listened.

“I had one person who was taken away from me,” Qinglong said after a moment, his voice quieter than before. His eyes lowered slightly as memories from years ago returned to him. “A very dear person. It was frustrating. I was angry. I exploded.” His fingers slowly tightened at his side, as if he could still feel the helplessness of that moment. “But… I know that it is just karma at work. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.”

The words struck Shin harder than the punch ever could.

His eyes suddenly widened, and the anger in his expression faltered as a forgotten truth slammed into his mind. For a moment, the café seemed to grow strangely quiet. Even the distant sounds of cups clinking and people moving around seemed to fade into the background.

That’s right.

Azazel had killed Qinglong’s lover right in front of his eyes.

I forgot that we are even now.

Shin stared at Qinglong, and for the first time, the hatred he had been carrying for so long began to feel hollow. He had spent countless nights imagining the moment when he would finally confront Qinglong. He had imagined his revenge, imagined making him suffer, and imagined finally finding peace after Manny’s death had been avenged.

But now that he was standing face-to-face with the man himself, that satisfaction never came.

Instead, Shin felt the same confusing weight pressing against his chest.

It was not about revenge anymore.

It was not even about Qinglong.

Shin slowly lowered his hand, his fingers still trembling as he stared at the floor. The anger remained inside him, but he no longer knew where to direct it. What frightened him most was the realization that his revenge had already consumed so much of his life. He had killed countless people, destroyed lives, and walked deeper and deeper into bloodshed because he had convinced himself that everything he did was for Manny.

Without that purpose, without his hatred toward Qinglong, what was left of him?

The thought made his stomach twist.

It was an existential crisis that reached far deeper than simple regret. Shin suddenly felt as though someone had stripped away the one thing that had given his life direction and left him standing on an empty road with nowhere to go. He had spent so long painting his entire world with anger that he no longer knew what the world was supposed to look like without it.

He had become nothing more than a blank sheet of paper waiting for someone else to write on it.

He no longer had any reason to hold onto this anger, yet he continued pushing forward. He continued fighting, continued killing, and continued paving his path through carnage even after the reason for doing so had begun to disappear.

And now, Shin was angry at himself.

His jaw tightened as he looked away from Qinglong. He wanted someone to blame. Anyone. He wanted to place the weight of everything that happened onto another person’s shoulders so that he would not have to carry it himself.

But there was no one left.

He could not blame anyone.

Shin clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned pale. His shoulders trembled as he turned his back on Qinglong, refusing to let anyone see the expression on his face.

“Wait, Shin!” Lireina shouted.

Her chair scraped against the floor as she hurried after him. Shin did not answer. He simply continued walking, his footsteps growing farther from the table with every passing second. Lireina quickly followed behind him, her concern written plainly across her face as she tried to keep up with his heavy, hurried steps.

Soon, only Croft and Qinglong remained inside the café.

The silence between them was painfully awkward.

Croft glanced toward the doorway where Shin and Lireina had disappeared, then looked back at Qinglong. The faint smell of coffee and freshly baked pumpkin pie still lingered in the air, but neither of them seemed particularly interested in their food anymore. Qinglong remained standing for a few seconds before finally releasing a tired breath.

Croft sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Well, you can’t just expect him to forgive you. Just give him time.”

Qinglong looked toward the doorway, his expression softening slightly. After everything Shin had said, he could hardly argue with that. He forced a small smile, although there was little happiness behind it.

“Figures.”

Croft watched him for another moment before her usual mischievous expression slowly returned. She then stretched her arm across the table and casually held out her hand, as though the emotional disaster that had just unfolded had nothing to do with her.

“Since we’re already here,” Croft said, “you can continue your apology with me by buying me an expensive cup of coffee and some pumpkin pie.”

Qinglong stared at her outstretched hand for a moment.

Then he slowly looked at the half-eaten slice of pumpkin pie sitting on the table.

After everything that had happened, somehow, that was the part that made the least sense.

“If that is what you want,” Qinglong said, giving Croft a tired look before finally sitting down again.

Qinglong bought the cup of coffee and slice of pumpkin pie as requested, and the two eventually settled at a quiet table tucked away from the other customers. The café’s garden-like atmosphere surrounded them with thick green leaves, small flowering plants, and vines crawling along wooden trellises. A gentle breeze passed through the greenery, carrying the earthy smell of soil and the sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee. For a strange moment, the world felt peaceful, almost completely disconnected from the bloodshed and chaos happening outside.

Croft took another bite of her pumpkin pie, enjoying the soft sweetness of the filling and the flaky crust before washing it down with coffee. Qinglong remained quiet for a while, staring into his cup as steam slowly curled upward from the dark liquid. Eventually, he decided to break the silence.

“I’m surprised that you decided to stay,” Qinglong said. He glanced at Croft from across the table, his expression carrying genuine curiosity. “Aren’t you scared of me? You know, for attempting to murder you.”

Croft continued eating as if the question were nothing particularly important. She slowly swallowed her bite before looking at him.

“Are you still going to?”

“Nope,” Qinglong said immediately.

“Well, I don’t care anyways,” Croft replied with a shrug. She casually took another sip of her coffee, then glanced at Qinglong with a faint smirk. “But Lena gave you a beating, huh?”

Qinglong touched his cheek at the reminder, remembering the force behind Lireina’s attack and the anger burning in her eyes. Despite his immense strength as a Celestial Warden, he had not expected her to hit him with that much emotion behind the blow.

“Can’t deny that,” Qinglong said.

He took another sip, allowing the bitter warmth of the coffee to linger on his tongue. However, his eyes soon drifted toward Croft, and his expression gradually became more serious.

Something was wrong with her.

Qinglong had expected Croft to be afraid of him. She had every reason to be. He had attempted to kill her, and she knew exactly how dangerous he could be. Yet, she was sitting across from him as though they were simply two acquaintances having coffee on an ordinary afternoon. There was no trembling in her hands, no nervous glances toward the exit, and no hesitation whenever she spoke.

It was almost as though Croft no longer had the will to live.

Qinglong stared at her for a moment longer before finally asking the question that had been bothering him.

“So, what happens now?”

Croft raised an eyebrow.

“What happens what?”

“I just confessed my crimes,” Qinglong said, his voice becoming more serious. He placed his cup down on the wooden table, the soft clink of ceramic breaking the peaceful atmosphere between them. “I admitted to killing Professor Emmanuel Gagarin. You have my admission of guilt right there. Are you going to arrest me?”

Croft leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. She looked toward the surrounding greenery for a moment, seemingly considering the situation from every possible angle before answering.

“Well, it’s true that you just admitted your guilt,” Croft said. “But Empyrea is so chaotic right now that I doubt we’ll even get a budget to arrest a Celestial Warden like you.”

Qinglong gave a faint, humorless smile.

“It’s because you need us more than ever.”

He looked down at the coffee in his hands, his reflection distorted across the dark surface. The current state of the Celestial Wardens was hardly a secret to anyone involved in the conflict.

“Only Alexander, Lireina, and I remain out of the seven Celestial Wardens,” Qinglong continued. “You have bigger fish to fry. The remaining Halochassis are still out there.”

Croft stared at him for a few seconds before giving him an unimpressed look.

“Sometimes, I forget that you’re actually smart sometimes,” she said dryly. “Like a broken clock that can be right twice a day.”

Qinglong raised an eyebrow at the insult but did not bother responding.

“There are two more Halochassis,” Croft continued. She tapped one finger against the side of her coffee cup. “Azazel and Samael.”

Qinglong’s expression immediately hardened at the mention of Azazel.

“Azazel is mine.”

His voice was quieter this time, but there was something dangerous underneath it. His fingers slowly tightened around the cup, and the warmth of the coffee seemed to disappear beneath the sudden tension in his hands.

“You can have me arrested later,” Qinglong said. “But I want to settle my score against Azazel first.”

Croft simply shrugged. She lifted her coffee to her lips and took a slow sip, seemingly unaffected by the murderous determination in Qinglong’s voice.

“I don’t care as long as all the Iron Bandits are dead.”

The words were delivered with such casual indifference that Qinglong paused. Croft’s eyes remained on her coffee as though discussing the weather rather than the deaths of dozens of people. The peaceful garden surrounding them made the statement feel even colder.

Qinglong eventually lifted his own cup and took another sip.

The bitter taste spread across his tongue.

Then, without warning, his mind returned to the beach.

The peaceful café.

The sunlight reflecting off the ocean.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore.

He remembered sitting there with his girlfriend, enjoying what should have been an ordinary day. For a brief moment, they had been able to forget their duties as Celestial Wardens and simply enjoy each other’s company. The smell of the sea breeze had mixed with the aroma of food from the nearby stalls, while sunlight glittered across the surface of the water.

Then came the gunshot.

Qinglong’s fingers stopped moving.

His eyes became distant as the memory replayed itself inside his head.

The bullet tore through his lover.

One moment, she was sitting beside him.

The next, her body was destroyed into tiny red fragments before his eyes.

He remembered the shock. The disbelief. The sudden emptiness that had swallowed his entire world. He remembered trying to react, only to be overwhelmed by an enemy who moved with terrifying precision.

And then he remembered the technique.

A variant of Gun Kata.

The movements were familiar. Far too familiar.

It had looked almost as though the technique had been copied from Lireina.

Qinglong’s breathing slowly became heavier. His eyes widened as another connection formed inside his mind.

His girlfriend had died in almost the exact same manner as Professor Emmanuel Gagarin.

His heartbeat grew louder in his ears, drowning out the quiet sounds of the café around him. The leaves rustling in the breeze, the distant conversations of customers, and the clinking of utensils all seemed to fade into nothing.

Then came the final memory. That nightmarish crimson stare.

Qinglong’s expression slowly changed as the pieces finally began fitting together, and for the first time since sitting down, the peaceful café no longer felt peaceful at all.

Qinglong could put two and two together. He had always been good at connecting seemingly unrelated details, especially after years of fighting alongside the Celestial Wardens. The memories of his lover’s death, Professor Gagarin’s death, Lireina’s Gun Kata, and that horrifying crimson stare were all pieces of the same puzzle.

But Qinglong had one major flaw.

Once he believed he had found the answer, he was far too quick to run with it.

His eyes narrowed. The conclusion suddenly felt obvious to him.

“Shin is Azazel,” Qinglong said.

Croft immediately spat out her coffee.

The dark liquid sprayed across the table, and she coughed violently as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. A few drops landed on the pumpkin pie sitting in front of her, completely ruining the peaceful little breakfast she had been enjoying.

“What?”

Qinglong remained completely serious. There was no hesitation in his expression now. His mind had already locked onto the conclusion, and every suspicious detail seemed to reinforce it.

“That boyfriend of Lena’s…” Qinglong’s eyes narrowed further as he stared toward the entrance of the café, where Shin and Lireina had disappeared moments ago. “He is Azazel. He is the mastermind of it all.”

Croft stared at him in disbelief.

For several seconds, she simply looked at Qinglong as though she were waiting for him to realize how ridiculous what he had just said sounded. The peaceful atmosphere of the café had completely vanished for her. The gentle breeze, the greenery, and the smell of coffee were all still there, but none of it mattered anymore.

“Do you have proof?”

“No.”

Qinglong answered so quickly that Croft’s expression became even more irritated.

“But it’s what my instinct tells me,” he continued. He leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying absolute confidence despite the complete lack of evidence. “Think about it. The timing. The deaths. The Gun Kata. The way Azazel behaves. Shin’s connection to Lireina. Everything fits.”

“Everything does not fit,” Croft snapped.

Qinglong frowned.

He genuinely believed that he had discovered the truth. To him, the clues were too convenient to be coincidence. His mind was already constructing a chain of events that connected Shin to Azazel, then Azazel to the Iron Bandits, and finally the Iron Bandits to everything that had happened to the Celestial Wardens.

Croft suddenly pushed herself away from the table and stood up. The legs of her chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor, drawing a few curious glances from the nearby customers. Her expression had completely changed. The casual amusement she had shown earlier was gone, replaced by anger and disappointment.

She slammed both hands against the table.

The cups rattled from the impact, and a small wave of coffee spilled over the rim of Qinglong’s cup.

“I thought you had changed, Qinglong!”

Her voice cut through the café, loud enough to make several people turn their heads. Qinglong remained seated, staring up at her with a mixture of confusion and irritation.

“You just admitted what you did to Shin,” Croft continued, her voice trembling with anger. “You said you understood what it felt like to lose someone. You said you accepted that you had done something terrible.”

She pointed directly at him.

“And now, the moment you see a few similarities, you immediately decide that Shin is Azazel?”

Qinglong opened his mouth to respond, but Croft did not give him the chance.

“You are still the sickest bastard who wants to ruin the people close to you!”

Her words hung heavily in the air.

Qinglong’s expression hardened, but Croft was already turning away. She grabbed her belongings from the table and stormed toward the café’s exit, her footsteps becoming sharper with every step.

“Croft,” Qinglong called after her.

She stopped for half a second. But she did not turn around. Then she continued walking.

The café door opened, allowing a brief gust of outside air to enter before it closed behind her with a soft chime.