**The Weight of Loss**
The crystalline walls of the *Crystal Pace* shimmered back into existence as Apo's *Frozen Realm* colpsed, the transition marked by the sound of a thousand shattering icicles. In the center of that cavernous hall, where prisms of light once danced across cut-gss surfaces, a broken man knelt amidst a consteltion of shattered vials. The faint medicinal scent of spilled elixirs mixed with the coppery tang of blood still fresh on Guan Lan's knuckles. His fingers, usually so steady when wielding the Lightning Draconic Sword, now trembled like autumn leaves as they clutched empty potion bottles - their delicate necks slick with his sweat and tears. Each sob that wracked his frame sent new tremors through the gss-littered floor, the tiny fragments tinkling like macabre wind chimes in response to his grief.
Across the city, in the Akatai Headquarters' soundproofed office, Director Yu Hang's porcein teacup - a delicate piece from the Ming dynasty collection he so prized - cracked with a sound like a gunshot. Amber liquid seeped through his fingers, the heat barely registering as an inexplicable chill ran down his spine. The dark oolong pooled on his mahogany desk, its surface reflecting Qin Hong's widened eyes and Bel's suddenly pale face. The air grew thick with unspoken dread; in their line of work, such omens never boded well.
"We'll continue another time," Yu Hang said abruptly, his voice rougher than the fine silk handkerchief he used to wipe his hands. His gaze drifted to the floor-to-ceiling window, where unnatural storm clouds gathered on the horizon, their purple undersides flickering with silent lightning. "Mission protocols remain unchanged: you have full operational discretion." The dismissal hung in the air, its uncharacteristic curtness more telling than any briefing.
---
### **The Return of the Thunder King**
The automatic doors of the Wynroth HQ's medical wing hissed open to reveal Sisi waiting in the antiseptic-white corridor, her pink nurse's uniform cshing cheerfully with the grim atmosphere. "Guan Lan! You're back—" Her cheerful greeting died mid-sentence as she took in his ashen complexion, the way his usually immacute bck trench coat hung limp with melted snow, how his fingers trembled violently as he pressed the *Frostheart Core* into her small hands. The crystal pulsed with unnatural cold even through its insuted case, frosting her fingertips instantly.
"No outings without my permission," he murmured, his voice stripped of its usual resonance, brushing past her with the mechanical gait of a marionette whose strings had been cut. The fluorescent lights overhead highlighted new streaks of silver in his hair that hadn't been there yesterday.
"*Sutton.*" The name cracked like a whip in the sterile hallway.
The guardian spirit materialized from the floral wallpaper, his rabbit-like ears twitching at Guan Lan's hollow tone. The usual mischievous glint in his vertically-pupiled eyes dimmed as he took in his master's state.
"Watch her." Two words, heavy as tombstones.
Sisi grabbed his sleeve, the fabric damp and icy. "Where are you going?" Her voice hitched at the deadness in his eyes.
"To drink." The automatic doors swallowed him whole, leaving behind the scent of ozone and blood.
---
### **Drowning the Pain**
The *Norton Tavern's* familiar embrace of aged whiskey and polished oak did nothing to soothe Guan Lan's shattered nerves. Behind the bar, Shan looked up from polishing a crystal highball gss, her crimson nails catching the low light as she took in his disheveled appearance. The usual crowd of after-work drinkers had instinctively cleared a five-foot radius around his chosen stool, their conversations continuing in hushed tones punctuated by nervous gnces.
"*Dragonfire.* Neat." His voice scraped like gravel over gss.
She slid him the drink without comment, watching as the amber liquid trembled in its gss. He downed it in one convulsive swallow, the 120-proof liquor failing to erase the memory imprinted behind his eyelids: Apo's smile as the light left his eyes. The gss hit the bartop with a crack.
"*Bigger.*"
When she brought a heavy-bottomed tumbler, he snatched the entire 3,000 bottle of 30-year single malt instead, tilting it to his lips with the desperate urgency of a man trying to drown himself from the inside out. Shan was across the bar in an instant, her manicured nails digging into his wrist hard enough to draw blood as she wrestled the bottle away. "*Stop this.*" Her breath smelled of mint and nicotine.
"Boros called me his *pitiable* student," Guan Lan rasped, his breath a toxic mix of alcohol and despair. The words came out mangled, as if his tongue had forgotten how to shape them properly. "Was he right?"
"Of course n—"
"*Then why?!*" The roar shattered nearby bottles, sending shards skittering across the cquered bar. Patrons scrambled for cover as the hanging lights swung wildly, casting monstrous shadows. "*Why did Apo choose death over coming home with me?!*" His fist came down on the bartop, the reinforced mahogany splitting with a sound like a bone breaking.
Shan moved with preternatural speed, vaulting the bar to pull him into an embrace. His body felt both feverish and chilled beneath the trench coat, vibrating with barely-contained lightning. She held him as his anguish soaked into her silk blouse, knowing words were useless here—this was a wound only time could scar over. The bartender discreetly activated the "private event" sign, ushering out the remaining customers with free drink coupons.
But time was a luxury they couldn't afford. The war against Illya's faction was accelerating, and Wynroth needed its Thunder King whole.
"*Do you want to see him again?*" she whispered directly into his ear, her lips brushing the shell of it.
Guan Lan went preternaturally still, the alcohol-flush draining from his face.
"*The Revival Heart.*"
His hope curdled instantly, repced by a sneer that didn't reach his dead eyes. "A puppet without a soul. *I know that trick.*" His fingers traced the old scar over his heart—a souvenir from the st time he'd fought a reanimated corpse.
Shan's lips curved as she produced a business card from her cleavage, its edges gilt with real gold leaf. "*Have you ever tried the real thing?*"
The silence stretched between them, thick with the scent of broken alcohol and the muffled sobs Guan Lan could no longer contain. Then—
"*Worth a shot.*"
---
### **The Deal with the Devil**
Downtown Saichi City's gleaming skyscrapers gave way to an architectural anomaly—a traditional Han-style compound nestled between steel-and-gss towers like a pearl in a robot's grip. Vermilion gates stood sentinel before gray-tiled roofs, their swooping eaves adorned with carved qilin guardians whose gemstone eyes seemed to track visitors. The raked gravel garden's wave patterns remained undisturbed by the city's perpetual smog, protected by some unseen barrier.
Their host was considerably less refined.
"*J-Teacher*," the rotund man introduced himself, his sausage-like fingers toying with a jade bracelet worth more than most cars. His beady eyes, nearly buried in folds of flesh, lingered on Shan's thighs with the entitlement of a man who'd never been punched hard enough. "Resurrection services are *weekdays only.*" A gold-capped tooth fshed as he chuckled at his own joke, his multiple chins wobbling.
Guan Lan's smile didn't reach his eyes, which had begun crackling with barely-contained lightning. "How about *overtime pay*?"
The negotiations ended abruptly when Guan Lan's irises became pure white, arcs of electricity leaping to the antique chandelier overhead. The bulbs exploded in a rain of gss, plunging the room into momentary darkness save for the blue-white corona surrounding Guan Lan's clenched fists.
Minutes ter, they stood in the moonlit courtyard as J-Teacher wheezed through his instructions, his earlier bravado repced by the nervous sweat staining his silk shirt:
"Focus on the deceased's face... voice... *final moments.*" His jade bracelet clinked as he positioned himself behind Guan Lan, the scent of sandalwood and decay wafting from his pores. "*This will hurt.*"
Purple energy coalesced into a cwed hand—*five obsidian nails* elongating like scalpels, their surfaces etched with necrotic runes that hurt to look at directly. The air itself seemed to scream as the fingers twisted into existence, each joint popping grotesquely as they flexed.
***CRUNCH.***
The sound of ribs splintering echoed off the courtyard walls as the talons punched through Guan Lan's back, erupting from his chest in a grisly fountain of blood. Shan screamed as Guan Lan convulsed, his life essence siphoned into those grotesque talons in glowing crimson rivulets. The cws *pulled*, stretching toward the empty air as if grasping for something—
—or *someone*—
—beyond the veil of death. The gravel beneath their feet began vibrating, then lifting as an unnatural wind swirled through the courtyard, carrying whispers in a nguage not meant for living ears.
