After the activation of the emergency isolation system, the orbital station “Helios” turned into a steel labyrinth. All doors, corridors, and elevators — everything was locked. No one could escape. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel[f]ire.net

The reason for this was Alex, who had taken full control of the station.

The “Helios” workers found themselves cut off from each other in small groups — some in technical rooms, others in their quarters, and some trapped inside elevators. His words, broadcast through the speakers — “No one will leave Helios alive” — kept echoing in their minds, crushing their sanity.

Some, barely holding back panic, cursed Handsome Jack — after all, he was the one responsible for their predicament. Now they felt like fish on a cutting board, waiting for the butcher to raise his knife.

But the Hyperion soldiers weren’t about to surrender. They gritted their teeth, tightened their grip on their weapons, and prepared for battle, convinced the enemy was just a group of well-armed raiders who had somehow infiltrated the station. None of them had any idea what they were truly about to face.

Combat and cargo robots suddenly froze, as if time itself had stopped for them. Security systems stopped responding. But the soldiers hadn’t realized it yet.

One group, trapped in a long metal corridor, formed a circular defense. The red flashing alarm light illuminated their tense faces. The silence was unnatural — so thick that everyone could hear not only their own breathing but also that of the person next to them.

In that silence, where even a step echoed through the walls, fear began to take root in their minds. It felt as if the darkness itself whispered in their ears: “You will die here… every one of you…”

Finally, with a hiss, one of the doors began to slide open. Metal screeched. The soldiers instantly raised their weapons, aiming into the gap. Behind the door lay another corridor — dark as the abyss.

“Frank, go check it out,” ordered the commander, keeping his eyes fixed on the opening.

“Commander, maybe Ramirez should go? Last time you sent me, a Skag almost gutted me!” grumbled Frank, casting an irritated look at the officer.

“That’s an order, Frank. Ramirez is busy trying to restore comms. Move it.”

Frank exhaled loudly and glanced at the technician still fiddling with the control panel, pulling out wires from a metal box. With a resigned sigh, he raised his rifle and slowly moved along the wall, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Something about all this felt wrong. Since when did Pandora’s bandits get smart enough to hack Helios systems? he thought, creeping closer to the door.

The commander motioned for him to scout the corridor. Frank turned on his flashlight, pointing the beam at the wall. The light cut through the darkness, revealing only rusty pipes and swirling dust. He quickly stepped through the doorway, pressed against the opposite wall, and scanned the area again.

“Clear…” he muttered under his breath and took another cautious step forward.

“Report, Frank,” came the commander’s voice from behind.

“Looks clear, sir…” Frank began, but then froze.

Something flickered in the depths of the corridor — a swift, barely visible shadow, as if the darkness itself had moved.

Frank snapped his rifle up, staring into the void. His heart pounded in his chest. The beam of the flashlight trembled in his shaking hands.

“Frank, come in. What’s happening?” the commander demanded, his tone tight with unease.

But Frank didn’t answer. He heard something behind him — a faint, wet sound, like bare feet moving across metal. Slowly, he turned his head… and saw it.

A creature straight out of a nightmare: a thin, elongated body, skin crisscrossed with pulsating crimson veins, deranged eyes, and a mouth full of needle-like teeth. It stood inches away, breathing directly into his face.

Frank wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. The air froze in his lungs. A trickle of dark, metallic-tasting blood dripped from his mouth. From the outside, he seemed fine — only his head twitched slightly.

“Frank, don’t tell me you got scared of your own shadow!” shouted one of the soldiers, Flint, with a mocking grin.

“Flint, shut it,” barked the commander, frowning. “Frank, report! What the hell is going on out there?”

But Frank… no longer answered.

But Frank never answered, and that started to irritate the Commander. Before he could shout a single word, the soldiers saw blood gush from Frank’s mouth. He twitched violently, fell to his knees—and in the next moment, his head rolled across the floor with a dull thud. The Commander’s face froze in sheer horror.

Frank had died so fast that no one even realized what had happened. His decapitated body collapsed right after, and within seconds, a wave of panic swept through the ten-man squad.

From the dark corridor, a thin, withered hand covered in dark veins slowly reached out. It grabbed Frank’s leg and yanked his corpse into the darkness. A moment later came the sickening, wet sound of flesh being torn—like someone devouring raw meat with ravenous hunger.

When the grotesque chewing finally stopped, the lights in the corridor began to flicker unnaturally. The red emergency lamps—the only source of light—flared and dimmed erratically, as if the station itself was losing its mind. Then, in the next instant, everything was swallowed by absolute darkness.

A chilling cold swept through the air. Frosty vapor poured from the soldiers’ mouths.

“Turn on the flashlights. Now,” the Commander ordered, his voice firm but low.

The clicks of switches sounded almost in unison. Beams of light cut through the darkness and focused on the open doorway… and then everyone froze.

On the floor, walls, and even the ceiling—hung creatures. Their bodies were twisted and emaciated, their skin marked with red, pulsating veins. Shreds of clothing clung to them, a haunting reminder that they had once been human. Their faces—if those could still be called faces—were elongated, eyeless, and filled with only one thing: an unending hunger.

“C-Commander… who are they? I don’t like how they’re looking at us,” one of the soldiers whispered, his weapon trembling in his hands.

“It doesn’t matter who they are!” the Commander barked. “They killed one of us. Fire! KILL THESE MONSTERS!”

The first shot rang out—and in that instant, the creatures pounced. They moved with inhuman speed. The soldiers barely had time to react before the shadows descended upon them with shrieks and howls.

The Commander was the first to fall—ripped apart in seconds. Blood sprayed across the men behind him. Panic erupted. Gunfire, screams, cries of agony… then silence.

When the lights flickered back on, the corridor had turned into a slaughterhouse. Blood coated the walls, floor, and ceiling. Mutilated remains were scattered everywhere. Of the entire team, only one survived—technician Ramirez. He had been lucky: in the chaos, someone shoved him, he hit his head against the wall, and blacked out. The wendigos, hunting only moving prey, simply ignored him.

When Ramirez woke, the metallic stench of blood filled his nostrils. He slowly opened his eyes—everything was blurry, his ears rang. As he tried to move, his hand brushed against something warm and sticky. He turned his head… and realized his palm was resting on the Commander’s half-eaten head, its eyes empty and staring.

Terror surged through him. His heart pounded wildly. His vision cleared—and he saw everything. Torn bodies, chunks of flesh, blood dripping from the walls… He gagged and vomited. But before he could catch his breath, footsteps echoed behind him. Slow. Heavy.

And then—a faint melody. A calm, almost casual whistling, horribly out of place amid this carnage. Ramirez turned his head.

A man was walking down the corridor—dressed in a black coat, jeans, and a dark shirt. He whistled softly as he moved, his gaze cold and detached, as if he were just taking a stroll through the park.

“Oh…” the man drawled with a faint smirk, noticing the lone survivor. “Looks like someone got lucky tonight.”

Their eyes met. Ramirez trembled, gasping, his hand frantically searching for his weapon. Panic clouded his mind. It took him a few moments to realize why that voice sounded so familiar—he had heard it not long ago, echoing across Helios itself, announcing that the station had been taken… and that everyone on board was doomed.

Ramirez’s fingers found the grip of his pistol. He yanked the weapon out, aimed at the approaching man, and fired. The roar of gunfire drowned out his own heartbeat. But not a single bullet hit its target.

A faint, almost mocking smile appeared on the man’s face. When the magazine emptied and the pistol clicked dry, the stranger took a step forward. Then another. Slow, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.

Trembling, Ramirez began to crawl backward until his back hit the cold metal wall. There was nowhere to run. The man crouched down directly in front of him.

Ramirez shut his eyes, bracing for death. But… nothing happened. Driven by desperate curiosity, he cautiously opened his eyes—and met the gaze of the strange man. His irises were unreal, impossibly bright, almost alive, gleaming in the dim light.

Ramirez’s heart pounded so violently he feared it would burst from his chest.

“W-w-w… who are you?” he stammered, unable to look away.

“I’m Alex,” the man replied calmly, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “The same voice that announced: Helios is under control. No one will escape. And you—who are you?”

“I… I’m Ramirez. Just a technician. Please… let me go. I don’t want to die…” he mumbled, gasping for breath.

Alex let out a quiet sigh, resting his cheek on his hand and wearing the most innocuous expression he could muster.

“Ramirez, do you know the difference between killers, serial killers, and me?”

“N-n-no…” he whispered, shaking his head frantically.

“You see, killers take one or two lives. Serial killers—ten, maybe fifteen—until they get caught. But I…” Alex tilted his head slightly, his smile widening. “I kill in batches. Entire crowds.”

His face remained calm, even genial. But his eyes reflected an abyss. One look at him and Ramirez began trembling uncontrollably.

“P-please… have mercy…” he rasped, feeling his chest tighten.

“Sorry, Ramirez,” Alex said softly, rising to his feet. “But as I said, after Helios was taken, no one survived.” He stepped aside. “And… don’t look back. That’s my last piece of advice to you. Maybe then it won’t hurt as much.”

Ramirez froze, his body unwilling to obey. But humans are simple creatures. Tell them not to look, and they inevitably will. He slowly turned his head. At first, he saw only his shadow. Relief washed over him… but it didn’t last. Dozens of red eyes opened across the shadow. They stared directly at him—hungrily, furiously, ravenously.

“N-n-no…” Ramirez whispered, but it was too late.

Thin, pale hands covered in red veins shot out from the darkness. They grabbed him, clawing into his body, and before he could scream, dragged him down into the blackness.

Ramirez’s scream echoed down the corridor—and then ceased. The last thing he saw before being swallowed by darkness was Alex’s back, slowly dissolving into the dim light.

And then all was black.

Alex didn’t even turn around—he knew Ramirez would look back anyway, to see what awaited him. From the thick shadow trailing behind, Zhang Ya emerged. Her cold hand slipped into his, and they walked side by side, not saying a single word.

Every step Zhang Ya took on the metallic floor of the corridor left a bloody trail, a crimson streak stretching behind her like a sinister train. As they passed through the many sections of Helios, Alex was glad he had disabled Navi’s fairy-drone broadcast in advance. This spectacle—was the last thing the girls in his family ever needed to see.

Everywhere lay the mutilated bodies of soldiers and Hyperion staff. The air was thick with the stench of blood and ozone, and the walls seemed to have absorbed the screams, still echoing in their ears. And as if ten Wendigos weren’t enough, Zhang Ya unleashed other creatures from the Red City. They turned the orbital station into a true carnival of death.

It looked like a scene from the movie The Cabin in the Woods, where all the monsters break free from their underground cages—only here it was not underground but in the depths of space. From every corridor and hall came screams of fear, gunfire, and choking cries.

A soldier ran out of one of the laboratories, firing wildly behind him, not paying attention to where he was going. But he hadn’t even taken a few steps when long, black tentacles, like the branches of a dead tree, shot out from the darkness behind him. They wrapped around his body and yanked him back into the room.

Passing by, Alex caught a glimpse of Slenderman—a tall, mutilated figure whose branches pierced the soldier’s body. The tentacles entered through his eyes, mouth, ears, and chest—controlling him like a lifeless puppet. Slenderman lifted his faceless head and, noticing Alex and Zhang Ya, slightly bowed in respect to his Queen and King.

Alex paused for a moment, wondering if Bison would get jealous. After all, his tormentor had found a new victim, and Bison’s jealousy might not tolerate competition with this new prey… whom Slenderman was torturing with particular enthusiasm. The thought struck Alex as slightly amusing, and he quietly smirked.

They reached the elevator leading to the upper levels—where Handsome Jack’s office was located. When the elevator finally arrived, Alex grimaced: a flood of blood poured from the open cabin, mixed with body parts and entrails.

But it wasn’t the blood itself that made him uneasy.

It was who was standing inside.

Before them stood a figure straight out of a nightmarish circus, forgotten by time. A clown. Its appearance blended comedy and horror in equal measure—a caricature of a human whose very existence was a blasphemy against common sense.

A massive body, wrapped in a garish uniform, seemed to carry the marks of centuries of debauchery and madness. The face—pale as chalk, with cracked corners at the lips—looked like a death mask. Bright-red painted lips stretched into a insane grin, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth. Around the eyes and mouth, smeared streaks of paint darkened, as if the ink had absorbed blood and tears.

Wild, spiky hair, dyed poisonous green with streaks of gray, gave it the appearance of a being long stripped of humanity. A tattered fragment of a hat dangled on its head, and ears, as if melted in hell, protruded unnaturally to the sides.

The clown’s outfit was the embodiment of a tailor’s schizophrenia: a purple tailcoat with golden buttons stretched over a bloated stomach, the fabric, soaked in blood in places, splitting at the seams. On the chest glittered a massive sunflower brooch—bright, like a mockery of the carnage around it. Its striped, tattered pantaloons hung on thick legs, revealing gray skin beneath.

He stood motionless, looking at Alex and Zhang Ya, then tilted his head to the side and stretched his lips even wider. The elevator filled again with the sound of a low, muffled laugh, as if coming from the depths of some other mind.

Watching the clown — known as Kenneth “Jeffrey Hawk” Chase — Alex felt a nervous twitch in his eye. Especially when the clown pressed his red nose again, producing a nasty, high-pitched squeak. He held a bloodied knife in the other hand, and the whole display looked… damn irritating.

Even with the power to destroy literally everything, Alex still hated clowns. Knowing that one lived in his wife’s private world only intensified the contradiction inside him.

Kenneth stared at Alex and Zhang Ya, then awkwardly pulled a pair of balloons from his pocket. With a few practiced movements honed over years, he twisted them into a flower and with a bow presented it to Zhang Ya. She accepted the gift with an untroubled expression, and the clown, satisfied, pressed his nose again.

“You know,” Alex said dryly, looking at him, “since you gave my wife a balloon, I won’t beat you. But I’m not taking an elevator with you.”

Kenneth made a sad little honk with his nose and looked at Alex with an offended, almost puppy-like expression. The sight made Alex’s eye twitch even more — a man in a filthy clown suit, belly and face smeared with paint and blood, looked at him as if he’d taken away his favorite toy.

Alex sighed inwardly. This clown wasn’t just some creature — he was a ghost from the Red City, subservient to Zhang Ya. Not wanting to waste a second, he pressed the panel button and sent the elevator back down. The doors closed on the sad gaze of the old dead man with the red nose.

When the elevator left, Alex massaged the bridge of his nose and looked at Zhang Ya. She stood with an impassive face, still holding the balloon-flower in her hand.

“I don’t even want to ask,” Alex muttered wearily.

Of course, there was no answer.

He called another elevator and stole a glance at the balloon. In some other situation it might have been cute… if the balloon hadn’t been smeared with blood.

The new elevator finally arrived. Alex turned his head — and his eye twitched again.

Another clown stood inside.

His face was white as tombstone marble, as if carved from death itself. A crazed, ink-black smile stretched ear to ear, revealing blackened teeth. Strips of congealed blood stuck out from under the long, hooked nose. His bald, shiny head glinted under the lamps, and a battered black top hat sat absurdly atop it.

His suit — black-and-white like a chessboard from hell — hung on him as if borrowed from a corpse. A white shirt and bow tie were stained with other people’s sins. In his hands he held a bag heavy with horrific contents: rusted blades, saws and hooks.

Alex recognized him immediately — a clown named Art. One of the most brutal creatures ever to step across worlds. And, apparently, now another resident of the Red City.

Noticing them, Art raised his hand with a klaxon and squeezed. The squeal echoed down the corridor.

Alex exhaled sharply.

“Just what we needed,” he said flatly. “Try making that sound again and I’ll shove that thing where the sun don’t shine.”

Art froze, grinning at Alex. Then he slowly reached his fingers toward the klaxon… but stopped when Zhang Ya looked at him. One glance — and the demon in human skin immediately raised his hands, feigning submission.

Alex shook his head wearily, stepped forward, grabbed Art by the scruff of his neck, and yanked him out of the elevator.

“Go do something useful,” he said coldly. “Kill someone, scare them, get on their nerves — I don’t care. Just don’t get in the way. And if you even think about running — I’ll make sure you never leave the Red City again.”

Art grinned broadly, slung his black bag over his shoulder, and hopping along, cheerfully bounded down the corridor. Alex flinched — meeting two clowns in a row was already too much. Especially since both lived in the Red City, which he used as his personal hell.

Before the elevator doors closed, Art suddenly turned and pressed the klaxon. The shrill, grating squeal tore through the corridor, making Alex grit his teeth. He was about to jump out and kick the clown in the back, but Art, rattling the metal objects in his bag, disappeared down the hall. The elevator doors shut, and Alex exhaled heavily.

“My love,” he said, turning to Zhang Ya. “I’ve asked this before… but still — how many creatures did you absorb before we met?”

“I don’t know,” she replied softly, barely audible.

“Of course,” muttered Alex. “But why the hell clowns? Couldn’t you scare people with something else? No, it has to be clowns. Who even thought of dressing up like this, killing people, and then becoming a ghost? Definitely not something worth preserving after death.”

He spoke louder and more irritably, and Zhang Ya merely tilted her head quietly, not interrupting. She knew Alex hated clowns — not just disliked, but genuinely despised them. And she couldn’t say how many creatures lived in her Red City: her memories before meeting Alex were like a dense fog.

As Alex was nearing the end of his rant, Zhang Ya gently took his hand. He still muttered, but gradually calmed down as the elevator reached the upper levels of Helios — the very floors where Handsome Jack’s personal office was located.

Like on the other floors, the corpses of Hyperion employees littered the area. Alex stepped calmly over the bodies and moved toward the massive door. His eyes glimmered slightly — and through the wall, he could see Jack’s office. Jack was hiding under his desk, trembling like a child having a nightmare.

Maintaining his composure, Alex knocked on the door.

“Jack, open up. I know you’re there. Don’t hide under the desk. Face your fate like a man.”

He saw Jack’s body tremble even more. Jack covered his ears, as if trying to block Alex’s words, and now looked not like “Handsome Jack” — but like the little boy once abandoned by his parents and left in the care of a cruel grandmother. Jack had truly suffered as a child… but the suffering hadn’t made him better. It had only created a monster.

He had once been an ordinary programmer — smart, but cowardly. He hid his cruelty behind a mask of harmlessness, enduring, waiting to gain power. And when he became director of Hyperion, he finally revealed his true face — a man ready to kill anyone for profit.

Alex sighed tiredly. Jack continued to tremble under the desk like a pathetic little animal.

He took Zhang Ya’s hand, extended his palm to the wall — and she passed silently through the metal. Alex followed immediately.

They arrived in Handsome Jack’s lavish office.

Everything here screamed narcissism: golden statues, gilded panels, crystal chandeliers, even a small pool with a fountain shaped like Jack himself, water spilling from his hand.Alex whistled.

“If narcissism could be measured in carats, this guy would already be a legend,” he smirked.

He scanned the hall, feeling rot hiding beneath the showy luxury. For a moment an ancient myth flashed into his mind — the man in love with his own reflection.

“Looks like someone decided to perfect that legend,” he said softly, looking at the desk under which Jack still trembled.

Alex walked slowly to the desk where Handsome Jack was hiding and, unhurriedly, threw his legs up onto the tabletop. When his boots thudded on the metal, Jack flinched, clamped his hands over his ears and began to shake even harder, repeating the same words like a mantra:”This is a dream… just a dream… it’ll be over soon… I’ll wake up… I’ll be director of Hyperion again… Angel is by my side… the Vault is mine… the Warrior is under control… I’ll cleanse Pandora…”

He mumbled it over and over as if trying to convince himself that what was happening wasn’t real.

“No, Jack,” Alex said lazily, lighting a cigarette, “this isn’t a nightmare. This is reality.”

“GET OUT! YOU’RE NOT REAL!” Jack squealed, without raising his head.

“Oh, believe me, I’m more than real,” Alex replied calmly, letting a stream of smoke out. “Everyone on Helios right now is facing incarnations of their worst nightmares. And you, Jack… you met the worst of them.”,

But Jack didn’t listen. His mind, choking on fear, clung to the illusion of a dream. He mumbled faster and pressed his palms harder to his ears, as if trying to drown out Alex’s voice, which sounded to him like the whisper of a devil. Alex sighed and glanced at Zhang Ya. She understood him without words.

Her hair came to life — long black strands stirred and reached toward Jack, writhing like living snakes. Within a second they had reached him, coiled around his body, and despite his desperate screams, wrapped him head to toe, turning him into a dense black cocoon.

A moment later the bound Jack was seated in a chair. When he saw Alex before him, he squeezed his eyes shut, like a child trying to hide in the dark. Alex sighed heavily, and Zhang Ya’s hair moved again — two strands, like fingers, grabbed Jack’s eyelids and forced him to open his eyes.

“That’s better,” Alex said calmly, taking a drag. “Hello, Jack. I told you we’d meet again.”

He paused, snorted:

“To be honest, I overestimated you. I thought you’d go for some insane plan, start bombing Pandora just to get rid of me. Though, of course, that wouldn’t have helped you. Still… hiding under a desk? For the director of a corporation that controls dozens of worlds — that’s a bit petty, wouldn’t you say?”

Jack mumbled something through the strands that wrapped his mouth.

“Yes-yes, I understand, you’re scared,” Alex said, flicking ash. “Fear of what you can’t comprehend… typical. That’s human nature.”

He looked away for a second and added more quietly:

“Well, I think you should know how your daughter is. Angel is fine. Very soon she’ll go on her own adventure — no cages, no chains, no your control. She’ll have friends, a new life. Paradoxical, isn’t it? You were supposed to give her freedom… and in the end I did.”

Alex leaned forward; his eyes flashed with an icy light:

“So I’ll give you a choice, Jack. The same one I give to everyone.”

He took out an old revolver, slowly spun the cylinder, removed all the bullets except one, and placed the weapon on the table in front of Jack.

A few seconds later, to Jack’s right, a crimson door rose from a pool of blood. From underneath it, pulsating veins crept across the floor like living tendrils. The air thickened; the room filled with a sinister hum.

“So,” Alex said calmly. “It’s simple. In front of you is a revolver. One bullet. You can end it all right here—with a single shot. And to your right is a door leading to a place where beings dwell that a human can see only in their nightmares. Somewhere in there, there’s another red door. Find it, and you’ll get out. Fail to find it… and you’ll stay there forever.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

“The choice is yours, Jack. Die quickly… or walk through fear, pain, and despair for a chance at freedom. I give you my word: if you make it out of the Red City, I’ll let you go. Everything depends on you… and whether you have the will to survive your own hell.”

The black hair that had been binding Jack slowly released him, slithering down like thick shadows. He sat there trembling, breathing heavily, his dilated eyes darting between Alex and the revolver on the table. Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, his gaze shifted to the Crimson Door.

From it, pulsating scarlet veins spread across the floor, as though the door itself were alive. The moment Jack looked into that ominous threshold, his heart pounded so hard it felt ready to burst from his chest. Distant screams echoed in his ears—horrifying cries filled with agony, despair, and madness. He understood then: beyond that door was real Hell.

And he didn’t want to know what waited inside.

There was only one way out left—the revolver.

With a trembling hand, Jack reached for the weapon, gripped it, and slowly raised it. The steel was colder than ice. He pressed the barrel to his temple, his finger tightening around the trigger. His breath faltered, his body shook like that of a cornered animal.

He looked at Alex.

In Alex’s eyes, there was no anger, no pity—only calm and exhaustion.

At that moment, Jack understood: the being before him wasn’t human. Not a killer, not a hunter—but something far beyond either. Something ancient and unfathomable. A demon, a devil in human form, whose faint smile hid an endless abyss.

“Go ahead, Jack,” Alex said evenly, almost gently. “Pull the trigger, and it’ll all be over. Your path ends here, and I’ll never chase you again. Or… you can prove you’re capable of more—and try to escape me.”

The room fell silent. Only the hum of the Red Door and Jack’s uneven breathing remained. Then he made his choice. His finger squeezed the trigger.

A shot rang out.

Blood and brain matter splattered across the table and floor. His body jerked once; his head slammed against the wood with a dull thud, and the revolver slipped from his limp hand. Silence. Jack was gone—on his own terms. He had chosen death over the hell that called to him.

Alex stared quietly at the corpse. Then he smirked lazily, pulled out a cigarette, and flicked his lighter.

“Huh…” he muttered with a faint grin. “And here I thought he’d try to shoot me. Guess he decided to run instead. Not bad… for a coward.”

He took a deep drag, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling, where the faint shimmer of the Red City’s shadow had already begun to appear.

To be continued…

(That’s the end of the mini-arc. Jack left on his own terms, and that’s how he escaped the Red City. Next comes the journey to Orario, followed by a return to the Twilight world. And then, hehehe.)

Early access to chapters on my patreon: p*treon.com/GreedHunter

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep