By the time they reached the Third Ring, the air had changed, thicker, colder, carrying the heavy scent of damp soil and decay. Before them loomed a massive iron gate, twisted with bone-like patterns that seemed to shift in the dim light.

The Collector's Hand stepped forward and pressed its palm to the gate. With a low groan, the metal parted, opening into a vast, shadowed cemetery beyond. Graves stretched as far as the eye could see, carved into uneven stone and earth, marked by crooked tablets that glowed faintly with sickly blue runes.

Before letting them in, the Hand turned to Renny and Myla.

"Prepare," the Hand said in its low, flat tone. "If you open grave… and soul zombie wake, take remnant first, then force soul back to grave. Only then will it stop."

Myla swallowed hard, her grip tightening around Renny's arm.

The Hand continued, "Place each remnant in cup. When full, return to gate. I will be waiting."

Renny gave a curt nod. "Got it."

Without another word, the Hand stepped aside, its white eyes dimming to slits as it gestured toward the open cemetery.

Renny and Myla exchanged a quick look, and stepped through the gate. It closed behind them with a dull clang, sealing them inside the graveyard of souls.

Inside was a thick, rolling fog that clung to the ground like smoke. The air was heavy, every breath cold enough to sting the lungs. And everywhere, every direction Myla turned, there were graves. Endless rows of them. Some carved from stone, others half-buried in soil, a few cracked open as though something had already tried to crawl out. The faint runes etched on their surfaces pulsed weakly, like dying embers.

Renny slowed to a stop, eyes scanning the expanse. "Well," he muttered, "looks like we've got options." Then he turned to Myla. "Now would be a good time to bring out your weapon."

She nodded, lifting her hands. Her weapon was a pair of paralytic needles, one mounted on each wrist. Each was half the length of a sword, sleek and narrow, with handles that gripped her forearms like bracers, their ends tapering into gleaming spikes. Whenever the tips struck flesh, the punctured area would go numb and lock up instantly, paralyzed for several breaths before releasing.

A very cunning weapon, Renny thought. Precise, cruel, efficient, and most fitting for a bearer of the Damaruk's mark. Suffering and chains, distilled into form.

He reached behind him, drawing his own weapon — the fracture dagger.

"So," Myla asked, glancing around at the rows of graves. "Which one do we start with?"

Renny folded his arms, scanning left and right with mock deliberation. "Hmm…" Then he lifted a finger and began quietly, "Eenie, meenie, miny… moe." He stopped, pointing toward a grave sitting slightly apart from the rest, one with a cracked lid and faint blue mist leaking from the seams. "That one."

Myla sighed. "Really? That's how you'll choose?"

Renny shrugged, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. "What? Not bad to be random sometimes." Motioning toward it, he said, "Go on. Open it."

She blinked. "Wait... me?"

He shrugged. "Your contract, not mine. You want Muralen's key, you do the digging."

Myla groaned under her breath, adjusting her glasses as she approached the grave. "You're unbelievable."

Renny drove his dagger into the ground and leaned one hand against its hilt, eyes fixed on her as she worked. The soil gave under her strikes like softened clay, each scoop sending faint echoes through the mist.

As she talked, her tone carried that mix of wonder and disbelief. "Digging's not that bad," she said, pausing to catch her breath. "Can't believe how strong I am now. It still feels surreal... how a woman can be this strong. Maybe Earth would've been better if that kind of strength existed. Is this how it feels to be a man there? Doing things like this with ease?"

Renny tilted his head. "You're asking the wrong person that."

She blinked at him. "Why?"

"I was sick all my life," he said simply.

Her digging slowed, the air between them heavy for a moment. "I'm… sorry."

He gave a dry chuckle, looking away. "Don't be. Sympathy from a demon doesn't mean much."

She frowned. "Why not? We're practically the same, just enhanced and stuck somewhere worse."

Renny's gaze didn't leave the half-dug grave. "For us to be chosen as demons," he said evenly, "means we must have been very bad people on Earth. Normal people who do bad things and end up here become limbomites. Then there are the ones you see wandering the city, trapped in their own misery. But as for demons," He glanced at her. "We were handpicked by another demon, chosen as worthy to corrupt souls. Such people aren't normal, Myla."

She stopped digging, eyes narrowing slightly. "So… is that how you look at me?"

The wind rustled faintly through the dead grass.

Renny lowered his gaze to the grave. "That's how I see every demon."

"Oh." The word came small, barely above a whisper, and for a moment, her usual brightness dulled.

She pressed the shovel down again. A dull thud answered her. The coffin. Myla exhaled, stepping back with a grimace. "Ugh… I can't believe we actually have to touch that."

Renny shifted his stance. "Go on."

She hesitated, then crouched, fingertips trembling slightly as she gripped the coffin lid. The wood groaned open, and before she could react, a decayed hand shot out, clutching her throat.

Myla gasped, frozen, staring into the hollow eyes of the corpse as it dragged itself upward.

In the blink of an eye, Renny's dagger flashed. The zombie's wrist split cleanly, the severed hand still clutching Myla's throat as he yanked her back. She stumbled into him, gasping, while the creature hauled itself from the coffin, skin gray, jaw hanging loose, its one good hand dragging through the dirt… then began to regrow, bone and sinew threading out like roots reclaiming soil.

Myla's breath hitched. "You've got to be kidding me."

The zombie shrieked, a wet, hollow rasp, before lunging forward.

Renny stepped in front of her. "Go scrape the remnance," he said, voice steady. "Leave this one to me."

Myla hesitated. "Are you sure? I can..."

"The mission," Renny cut her off, slashing as he spoke, "is to get the remnant. Before I send it back into the coffin, you need to have it."

Their eyes met for a heartbeat, then she nodded and turned toward the open grave.

Renny intercepted the creature mid-charge, his dagger fracturing through its chest. The zombie collapsed, only to shudder and rise again. He tore through it once more, each strike buying Myla seconds, each resurrection slower but angrier.

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