Chapter Text
“EMILIA!”
The name detonated against the door before even burst through it, like it had been thrown instead of spoken, and when the door finally flew open it cracked so hard against the wall that a tremor ran through the room, dust spilling down from the ceiling in pale, choking flakes. Shoes were scraping the frame as a man forced his way in, too big for the room and too big for the house, his body an ugly excess of muscle and fat packed together without care. His ginger beard hung wild and matted down his chest, greasy with sweat and flecked with crumbs and something dark she refused to look at for too long, his face already flushed and tight with irritation, eyes glassy from old drink that hadn’t quite burned out of his system yet.
“EMILIA IVY MCDONALD, I SAID GET UP!” he bellowed, grabbing the tiny bed-frame with both hands and shaking it hard enough that the metal screamed against the wood. “You think I’m callin’ your name for fun? You deaf now?”
The bed jolted beneath her and 8-year old Emilia snapped awake instantly, heart slamming against her ribs like it was trying to escape her body. She shot upright, thin blankets tangling around her legs, long blond hair sticking to her face in oily, uneven strands, and her golden eyes sharp and blazing with a fury that felt too big for her small body to contain. She grabbed the pillow and hurled it at him with everything she had, a sound tearing out of her throat that was half snarl, half scream.
“Leave me alone!”
The pillow bounced uselessly off his chest and dropped to the floor. Ivan laughed, a short, ugly sound that scraped along her nerves. “Oh, you got a temper today, huh?”
“Go away!” she shouted, voice already cracking, throat raw from fear she refused to acknowledge. “I didn’t do anything!”
Ivan leaned closer, the stink of beer and sweat and something sour rolling over her in suffocating waves. “You’re breathin’,” he said flatly. “That’s enough.” He shook the bed again, harder this time, making the frame groan like it might split apart. “Listen. The Warden’s comin’ by today. Today. And I don’t want those bastards pokin’ around, askin’ questions, sniffin’ for trouble in my house.”
Her stomach twisted into knots. She stared past him at the wall, at the stains she’d tried to scrub away once until her fingers bled, at the crack that ran diagonally through the plaster like it was trying to escape too.
“Hiroshi ran off last week,” Ivan continued, eyes narrowing. “You know what that looks like? You know what that does to my checks? I assume you wanna keep eating, right?”
Something hot and reckless flared in her chest before she could smother it. “Good,” she muttered. “I hope he never comes back.”
The room went still in a way that felt wrong, like the air itself was holding its breath. Ivan stared at her, head tilting slightly, and when he smiled it was slow and deliberate, the kind of smile that meant pain was about to follow.
“Is that so?”
She sat up straighter, chin lifting in defiance even as her hands trembled under the blanket. “Yeah,” she said, forcing the words out. “At least he’s free from you.”
Ivan slammed his hand into the wall beside her head. The crack echoed through the room, plaster breaking loose and dust raining down over her hair and shoulders. She flinched despite herself.
“You don’t get to say that,” he snarled. “Not under my roof.”
“It’s not your house,” she shot back, the words spilling out sharp and fast before she could stop them. “You don’t even—”
“Enough.” His voice dropped, thick and dangerous, and he stepped closer until his shadow swallowed her completely. “You’re gettin’ up. You’re takin’ a shower. You’re puttin’ on somethin’ clean. And you’re keepin’ your mouth shut.”
“No,” she said immediately, stubborn even as fear crawled up her spine. “I’m tired. I hate you.”
For a moment, Ivan just looked at her, and then he smiled again, slow and ugly. “You hate me?” he echoed softly. “That’s cute.”
“You’re a fat pig.” she spat.
The silence afterward pressed down on her chest until it was hard to breathe. Ivan’s jaw tightened, a vein pulsing at his temple. “You keep talkin’ like that,” he said slowly, “and I’ll sell you to those trafficker freaks downtown.” He stepped closer, boots creaking on the floorboards. “Wild little girls like you bring in good money.”
Her stomach flipped hard enough she thought she might be sick, but she forced herself not to look away. “If you do,” she said, voice shaking but fierce, “I’ll kill ’em as soon as they touch me. You’d just be wastin’ your time.”
Ivan’s face got red. “GET UP, DAMN IT!!! I WON’T TELL YOU AGAIN!!!”
”NO! I HATE YOU AND I’D RATHER DIE-“
For half a second, something like amusement flickered across his face, and then his hand dropped to his waistband. The sound of the gun leaving its holster was small and precise, final in a way that froze her blood. Cold metal pressed against her temple and her breath vanished completely, ears ringing as the world narrowed down to the weight of it against her skull.
“Say it again,” Ivan growled, leaning down until his beard brushed her cheek, scratchy and foul. “Say one more word.”
She stared down at the mattress, at the twisted sheet clenched in her fists, at the stains she knew by heart, her hands shaking so badly she thought they might tear right through the fabric. The fight drained out of her all at once, leaving only exhaustion and something hollow and aching. “…I’ll get ready,” she whispered.
“There we go,” Ivan said, straightening with satisfaction. He tapped the gun lightly against her head once before tucking it away. “Respect ain’t that hard.” He turned and left like she was already forgotten, his voice booming down the hallway a moment later. “HEY! YOU LITTLE RATS! EMILIA AIN’T GETTIN’ NO BREAKFAST OR LUNCH TODAY! ANYONE WANTS HER FOOD, GET IN HERE!”
The response was immediate, bare feet pounding, excited voices shouting “Coming!” and “Me!” and “Yay!” filled the house as if nothing had happened.
Emilia slid off the bed slowly, legs weak, cracked heels biting into the cold, splintered floor. She crossed the room and slammed the door shut, locking it even though she knew it didn’t really matter, and then she screamed, a raw, tearing sound that wasn’t words so much as pain forced out of her chest. She punched the pillow again and again until her arms burned and her hands went numb, until the scream collapsed into choking sobs and she slid down the wall to curl in on herself on the floor, crying so hard her ribs hurt.
When the noise in the house shifted toward dishes and giggling and chewing, she forced herself up, shaking, and dug through the rotting box in the corner until she found her calm sticks. The lighter sparked on the third try. She inhaled too fast and coughed, eyes watering, but the nicotine dulled the edges, smoke curling around her fingers as she stared at the wall and waited for the day to get worse, because it always did.
The Doll Festival had collapsed into something obscene, its colors bleeding into one another until celebration and slaughter were indistinguishable, and Enjin knew with sick certainty that nothing about this disaster had been accidental. One moment the Cleaners were threading through the streets with purpose, chasing rumors of the White Crow through masks and fireworks and screaming crowds, and the next Mymo shed his human pretense into a hyper god, Rudo’s transformation tore through the stadium like an unleashed wolf, and the Cleanersnwere scattered like debris, some lost in the stampede, others crushed beneath collapsing structures or left bleeding in alleys that had been meant for dancing only hours earlier.
Enjin ran as his mind was already mapping loss. Where did Goka take Zanka? The question looped uselessly, tangled with others. Riyo and the twins, last known position near the eastern scaffolds. August and Eishia were supposed to regroup by the southern lantern bridge. Too many variables. Too many unknowns. He toggled his choker again, jaw tight, voice cutting through the chaos with forced calm.
“Semiu? Corvus? Gris?!” Static answered him, shrill and unhelpful. “Respond, damn it, ANYONE respond! We need immediate backup!”
Nothing.
Only interference and the distant roar of something no longer human.
Mymo. That bastard had planned this. Enjin could feel it in the way the festival had twisted, in the way every escape route had become a trap, every safe zone a killing ground. But he didn’t have the luxury of rage yet. Rage came later. Right now, he had his children to find.
“Mr. Enjin!”
He pivoted sharply, Umbreaker already half-raised out of instinct, only to stop short as Fu—no, Hii—came sprinting toward him, limbs moving with that familiar awkward speed, Amo clutched in his arms in a bridal hold that looked almost surreal against the backdrop of smoke and falling debris. Amo’s eyes were wide but unfocused, her expression caught somewhere between shock and furious thought, like she was already rehearsing an argument she hadn’t yet spoken.
“Fu,” Enjin said immediately, scanning them both for injuries. “What the hell happened? Where have you been? I told you to get you and Amo to a safe zone.”
Hii skidded to a stop, chest heaving, then straightened with a grin that didn’t quite mask his nerves. “We did! Well, mostly. But Amo ordered me to help protect her so she can save Rudo, and then Mymo, uh, almost killed her.” He laughed weakly, then seemed to realize that was the wrong tone and cleared his throat. “So I remembered your earlier order instead and brought her to you!”
Enjin’s gaze slid to Amo.
It wasn’t angry at first. It was tired.
“Amo,” he said, voice low but steady. “Why did you do that.”
She twisted out of Fu’s arms immediately, her Watchmam Boots hitting the ground hard. “Because Rudo is in danger!” she snapped, fists clenched at her sides. “He’s out there fighting that thing alone and Amo wanted to help him! She can’t get experience if she does nothing! You said that!”
The words hit exactly where she meant them to. Enjin closed his eyes for half a second, dragging a hand through his hair, blood smearing across his glove. “That’s not—” He stopped, exhaled slowly, recalibrating. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“But you said—”
“Enough.” His tone sharpened, not loud but unmistakable. He turned to Fu. “From now on, you do not take any demands and orders from Amo.”
Amo’s breath hitched. “WHAT?! You can’t just—”
“And,” Enjin continued, already moving past the protest because he couldn’t afford to indulge it, “you’re going to find the others. Riyo, the twins, August, and Eishia. Prioritize injuries. You have your choker—if you need support, channel me and only me. I’ll deal with Amo and try to secure shelter with the South Branch Cleaners. If you can, bring everyone back to our hideout.”
Fu blinked, processing. Amo grabbed his sleeve desperately. “Fu, please don’t! Amo needs to go back and help the others! She needs to!”
“Sorry, Amo,” Hii said gently, already stepping back, grin returning like armor. “But orders are orders!” He saluted Enjin clumsily. “I’ll do my best! Off I go!”
And then he was gone, bounding across the rooftops with careless grace, leaving Amo staring after him like the ground had just dropped out from under her.
“Come on,” Enjin said, reaching for her wrist. “We need to move. Now.”
She yanked her arm away hard enough to sting. “NO! Amo’s not going ANYWHERE with you!” Her voice cracked, raw and loud even over the din of the collapsing festival. “You told Amo she needed to stand up so she can have vindication! And when she tries, you hold her back! Why do that, huh?!”
Enjin’s jaw tightened. “I’m not in the mood for this. We can argue after you’re not about to die.”
“Forget it!” Amo spun on her heel with anger and defiance. “Amo’s going back to the stadium! She’s going to help Rudo and Riyo whether you like it or not!” She sprinted ahead.
Enjin swore and lunged after her, but the ground shook violently as part of the stadium façade finally gave way, a massive chunk of brick and metal tearing loose and flying through the air with horrifying speed. Amo froze, eyes wide, body locked in terror as the shadow of it swallowed her.
“AMO!”
Enjin hit her full force, tackling her out of the path just as the debris smashed into the street where she’d been standing. The impact sent them both tumbling, screaming, rolling uncontrollably until the ground vanished beneath them and they plunged into a deep service ditch hidden between the alleys, the fall stealing the air from Enjin’s lungs as they slammed hard into the bottom.
For several long seconds, there was only ringing silence.
Enjin groaned, pushing himself up slowly, head pounding. He reached instinctively for Umbreaker….amd felt nothing.
He looked up.
Umbreaker laid abandoned on the street above, just out of reach, framed by firelight and falling ash.
Enjin let out a humorless laugh, rubbing his temples. “Oh,” he muttered, “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”