“You’re insane. You’re actually insane. We’re going to die as roasted meat up here.” Claire kept ranting as she dragged the heavy rifle case up the emergency stairs of the half-collapsed parking structure. She was out of breath, her face smeared with ash from the sudden volcanic fallout drifting down over Vegas. “Shut up and climb,” Oliver ordered from above. He was already on the rooftop, lying prone along the edge of concrete so hot it could fry an egg. The sight below was the definition of a localized apocalypse. A thick purple magical fog blanketed the city square, hiding the massive battle from ordinary human eyes. But for Oliver and Claire, who possessed “Sight,” the fog was transparent. At the center of the square, Wrath, the Fourth Sin, was rampaging. He was no longer the two-meter-tall man Oliver had seen in the warehouse earlier. He had entered Phase Two. His body had expanded into a four-meter fire giant, skin of molten magma forming natural armor. The obsidian

The old church was silent. An unnatural silence. Outside, separated only by brick walls and a rusted iron fence, a four-meter fire monster waited patiently to burn them to ash. But in here, the atmosphere felt like a library abandoned for a hundred years. Thick dust floated in the air, illuminated by moonlight filtering through shattered stained glass. Claire collapsed onto the front pew, her breathing still ragged. Her chest rose and fell violently, her eyes darting to every dark corner, afraid Wrath might suddenly break through. Her right hand still gripped Oliver’s Glock, but her trembling made the gun clatter softly against the wood. “We’re… we’re safe?” Claire’s voice cracked. “He can’t get in, right? Ver? Answer me!” No reply. Claire turned around. Oliver stood in the center aisle beneath a massive wooden cross that leaned at a crooked angle. He was busy. Not searching for an escape route. Not checking his wounds. He was busy… straightening his clothes. He brushed

The invitation was heavy. Not just metaphorically, but literally. The card from The Seven Sinners was forged from a solid slab of gold, engraved with laser-etched magic, its edges sharp enough to slit a throat. Oliver sat on the dented hood of the stolen Mustang, parked on a sand ridge overlooking the Strip. Desert wind lashed his face, tugging at the bow tie he had carefully retied. Below, in the middle of the neon ocean of Vegas lights, stood something unreal. The Glass Pyramid. It was not the ordinary Luxor Hotel. This was its dark mode counterpart. Twice as tall, built from pitch-black obsidian glass that swallowed moonlight whole. No searchlights shot into the sky from its peak. Only a deep violet aura pulsed from within, like the heartbeat of something colossal. “Council headquarters,” Claire muttered. She tightened the laces of her tactica

Splash. The freezing saltwater stabbed into Oliver’s skin like a thousand icy needles. Dark. Thick. He had just fallen ten meters into the shark tank beneath the shattered glass floor. Above, the muffled echoes of explosions and Greed’s furious roars bled through the water. But down here, another sound dominated. The slicing of water by sharp fins. Swish… swish… Oliver held his breath. His weakened lungs protested, but he forced his diaphragm to lock in the remaining oxygen. He opened his eyes in the stinging saltwater. Probability Sight automatically shifted into Sonar Vision mode. The black ocean transformed into a glowing green topographic map. Three red shapes shot toward him. [Mutant Void Shark] [Speed: 60 km/h] [Target: Oliver’s Left Leg] The first shark opened its jaws. Its teeth churned like rotating chainsaws. Oliver did not panic. His emotio

The Kennel was quiet again. But this time, the silence felt different. Not peaceful. It was the kind of silence that hangs in a hospital waiting room after a doctor steps out with a grim expression. Alice lay on a makeshift operating table, an old metal dining table covered with sterile blankets. Multicolored magical IV lines were inserted into her thin arms. Her chest rose and fell slowly, steady, but her eyes remained closed. Coma. A side effect of the execution chair’s poison and the trauma of falling into a shark tank. Claire sat beside her, gripping her sister’s hand tightly. She was no longer crying. She had run out of tears at the Glass Pyramid. Now she was just a tired guardian statue. In the dark corner of the room, Oliver sat alone in O’Neil’s rocking chair. He studied his left hand. The bandage Claire had wrapped earlier had been replaced with a proper medical dressing. It was neater now, but the shape was still wrong. There was empty space where his ring finger shoul