On the prestigious land of Perks, where the land itself seemed cracked in a bizarre spiderweb of fissures, stood buildings whose exteriors seemed alien to this world. All was lost in the thickness of night, the gentle wind blowing silence through the quiet land.

Even the moonlight felt hesitant, brushing the ground in broken patches.

On the street, a man stood in a black, tight compression shirt with a high collar that clung to his upper body like a second skin.

Black wings the length of a human extended from his back, their gentle flaps beating calmly. Despite the movement of the wings, the man's shirt remained intact, as though deliberately tailored for them.

Above the night sky, dozens of crows circled, their darkness seeming to disappear into the darkness itself. That was where they belonged.

He was the Eyes of the Night, Liam.

Before him were five bandits. Unlike adventurers who forsook their Purpose for personal side quests, often exploring the lands or taking odd jobs, bandits abandoned their Purpose solely to rob and steal through the nights.

They were wanderers without direction, shadows without loyalty.

Moments later, the streets of Shattered Perks were bloody. Eyes of the Night engaged in a fearsome battle with the men.

His speed and command of the skies were worth watching. With two blades conjured from his own feathers, thickened to be as hard as steel, the bandits looked like ants in comparison.

He used them like mops, nearly filling the cracks on the land with their blood and corpses.

Within minutes, the five Knights, bandits of the land, lay lifeless on the ground. Their bodies were unrecognizable, as though crushed by two mountains.

But the man didn't rejoice in his victory. He stood proud, his blue eyes slightly narrowed as he stared deep into the darkness.

His posture, aura, and energy radiated authority, an unspoken declaration etched in his presence: this land is mine.

Before him emerged a bare-chested man, massive sword resting on his shoulder, approaching with a smirk.

He was the leader of the six armed bandits and an Assassin. The sneakiest of all ranks due to their individual bravery and solidarity Purposes, Assassin-ranked individuals were ones to fear and avoid.

The night belonged to them, and at their peak, they could make even the higher ranks tremble before them.

Their blades were silent, and their courage bordered on recklessness.

Yet Eyes of the Night didn't appear to be one whom a mere Assassin would threaten.

His confidence was evident, and his message was clear: this land belonged to him.

What came next after those two locked eyes was a battle that made everyone in the land fear stepping beyond their walls.

Blades clashed, and in their wake came immense destruction that spoke of their resolve.

Their speed was too intense for the naked eye to follow, their attacks deepening the cracks across the land. Even the crows halted their circling, watching silently.

Their battle stretched on for minutes, so draining that Eyes of the Night nearly lost his grip. His movements grew sluggish, the crows above retreated, and his wings nearly failed him.

But before everything could collapse, he found resolve. A resolve no one could fathom.

When his legs trembled, he forced them up, and when his body seemed to fail him, he willed it to remain still.

His presence became as overwhelming as darkness, enough to make the bandit lose his edge and attempt escape.

But wherever he went, the bruised and fatigued Eyes of the Night were there, pursuing him until the Assassin's limbs were strewn across the ground.

Even then, he showed no regret, but Eyes of the Night didn't expect that from him either, he killed him anyway.

Finally, he collapsed to his knees, his body spent from the battle alone, and his eyes closed.

***

Back in StoneHaven…

Shadow of Death perched atop the tallest building available, wind washing over him as he rested against the stone wall. Below, humanoid Chaos Eaters wandered the streets in zombie-like packs.

The corrupted air rising from them drifted upward, brushing against his skin like static. His body drew it in on instinct, a quiet trickle of power he didn't even need to think about. Perks of sitting above a walking disaster zone.

Dark Saint departed with him before dark, and Leto had yet to come back.

He was sick of Chaos Eaters. While his clones, Light and Tough, fought the Sinners below, he simply watched from his perch.

Each time one fell to his clones, a faint pulse of energy flickered through the air and slid into him. He didn't even look at it, he just let it happen.

"At least someone's working," he muttered.

He couldn't shake off the feeling that Hex, the fourth witch, was using his battles with the Chaos Eaters to improve her creation.

From the moment he'd arrived in StoneHaven, the Chaos Eaters had been evolving faster than ever.

Even their movements leaked more raw essence now, sharper and denser, like they were shedding power they couldn't control yet.

He absorbed the excess without effort. If Hex wanted to upgrade her monsters, he wasn't complaining about the freebies.

He wasn't the brightest among his colleagues, but he was the most seasoned, and everything about the Chaos Eaters' recent behavior seemed too suspicious to ignore.

Now he planned to observe: how would the Chaos Eaters react when no human actually fought them directly?

The tension in the air thickened around him, full of anticipation and fear. He inhaled, and the aura laced within it flowed in naturally.

"Better stock up," he sighed. "Humans do stupid things when they're scared."

The burden shouldn't be his alone. The land's guards, the Prince and Arlen were equally responsible for handling Chaos Eaters. But they'd made them instead.

Another chilling pulse of corrupted beings drifted up to him from below.

He absorbed it lazily. "Wonderful," he said. "They create the mess, and somehow I'm the one getting charged for cleanup."

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