Ronan stepped over the rubble. A crunching sound was heard when his boots made contact with the broken pavement.

  He walked with confidence and maintained with his lazy gesture. He really looked as if he was simply doing his daily job—like this was just another cleaning task.

  Elion and Jordan watched cautiously from their spot near the dumpster, Jordan still wincing from his injuries. The fight had been insane, but it seemed like it was finally over.

  Or at least, it should’ve been.

  As Ronan neared the fallen bull-man, something changed. A shift in the air. A flicker of movement.

  Before anyone could react, the still bull-man lunged.

  His massive arm shot forward with terrifying speed, catching Ronan square in the side. The impact sent the cowboy stumbling, his cloak whipping behind him as he skidded across the broken alleyway.

  Elion’s heart nearly stopped. “He’s still alive?!”

  Ronan coughed, straightening himself. He glanced down at his side where the hit had landed, then let out a sharp breath.

  “Tch… Damn it.” His voice was low, irritated. “How dull have I gotten since coming here?” He flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake off the hit. “Can’t believe I actually let that land.”

  The bull-man groaned as he struggled to get up. His large chest moved up and down, and each breath came out in rough, uneven gasps—like a tired accordion making its last sound.

  “You... shouldn’t have messed with us, Ronan,” he said, his voice hoarse and dry. “You... should've stayed away.”

  He was shaking and swaying, trying to stand tall like a tree in the wind. But his eyes showed he really wanted to believe he could walk away alive.

  Ronan let out a quiet laugh as he brushed the dust off his sleeve. He acted like he was getting ready for something more polite than a fight.

  “You know,” he said. His tone was light and amused, “You beast keep telling me that.”

  He raised his hands, feeling both frustrated and amused, but a small smile appeared at one corner of his lips.

  “And yet—here I am. It’s funny, isn’t it?”

  He took a quick breath and rolled his shoulders to ease the pain from the bull-man’s blow. His posture was still relaxed, almost lazy, but his eyes? They’d gone dark like storm clouds rolling in.

  Then, without warning, Ronan reached into his cloak and pulled out the revolver. The same one that had put the bear-man down last week. The metal caught the light, cold and unflinching, and the bull-man’s nostrils flared.

  Elion tensed the moment he saw it. He had seen Ronan use it before—quick, effortless as if it was just another tool in his arsenal. But now that he was actually paying attention, something felt different.

  The gun wasn’t normal.

  At first glance, it had the shape of an ordinary semi-automatic pistol, but under the dim alley lights, Elion could see it—engraved across the barrel, the grip, even the slide—symbols.

  Strange, intricate patterns glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with the ring on Ronan’s finger.

  Elion had trouble catching his breath. ‘That’s not just decoration…’

  His gaze flickered toward the sack Ronan carried—the same faint markings glowed along its surface, running between the seams like veins of light. It wasn’t a normal bag. And those rings inside? They weren’t just metal trinkets.

  There was something behind all of this.

  Jordan must’ve noticed, too, because he muttered under his breath, “That’s not just some regular gun, is it?”

  Elion swallowed. “No… it’s not.”

  Ronan ignored them, shifting his grip on the gun. This time, he didn’t fire right away. Instead, the symbols on the barrel glowed brighter, pulsing in synchronization with his ring.

  He was charging it.

  “Jordan, I think we need to move further away,” Elion said as he felt the weight of the moment settles in his gut.

  Jordan gulped and nodded. He knew things were going to be really bad.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Worse.

  The last time Ronan shot, it had been quick—one clean shot to the head, execution-style.

  But this? This was different. The air around them grew heavier, crackling with unseen energy.

  Even the bull-man seemed to realize it. He breathed harder, and his muscles tightened, but this time, he did not rush in recklessly.

  He knew that his end was… nearing.

  “N-n-no… No way…” The bull-man stuttered.

  The shot was fired.

  But something strange happened. Really strange.

  The alley should have been gone. The walls, the pavement—hell, maybe half the block should have been reduced to dust after what Ronan just did.

  But as the light from his gun faded, Elion found himself blinking through the settling haze, stunned by what he saw.

  The bull-man was dead.

  Not vaporized. Not turned to dust. Just… dead.

  His massive body slumped forward, eyes vacant, steam still rising from his thick hide. His muscles had gone slack, and his breathing completely stopped.

  That was when his body slowly transformed back to his human form. No last words. No final struggle. He was just gone in the way that all things eventually were.

  Jordan stared. “What the hell…?”

  Elion felt confused. “Is he really dead?” he asked, his voice low.

  Jordan turned to face Ronan, his jaw clenched. “What did you do?”

  Ronan, as usual, looked completely unbothered. He gave his gun a lazy spin before holstering it. “I shot him.”

  Jordan’s fists clenched. “Yeah, no shit, cowboy. But what was that?” He gestured to the air, to the ground where the bull-man had fallen. “There was this huge blast, but…”

  Jordan gulped a few times, tasting the words, “No damage—nothing except him just dropping dead!”

  Ronan exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck like this whole thing was more exhausting than it was worth. "Look. I think it is better for you to get out of here. More of them are showing up."

  “More of them?” Jordan was stunned. The thought of more of these beast-men coming sent a shiver down his spine.

  Meanwhile, Elion’s gaze flickered toward the ground—toward one of the things the bull-man had left behind.

  His ring.

  It lay there, glowing softly with a strange, pulsating energy. Thin strands of black smoke rose from its surface, twisting and fading into the night air.

  Elion swallowed hard. “So… it was the ring,” he murmured. “Right?”

  Jordan turned to him. “What?”

  Elion pointed. “The bear-man. The bull-man. They both had rings. And when they died, the rings… reacted.” He met Ronan’s gaze, something clicking in his mind. “The rings are the real problem, aren’t they?”

  Ronan’s smirk thinned. “Took you long enough.”

  He looked at Elion and said with a sigh, “The source of all the trouble I’m facing right now.”

  Elion’s stomach twisted. “Then, if they’re so dangerous, why not destroy them?”

  Ronan let out a dry chuckle. “Oh, you think I haven’t tried?”

  He crouched down, picking up the bull-man’s ring between two fingers. “These things don’t break. Believe me. I’ve tried burning them, crushing them, even shooting them. Doesn’t do a damn thing.”

  Elion’s breath hitched. “So what do you do with them?”

  Ronan twirled the ring between his fingers, considering. Elion and Jordan could see smoke being sucked from the ring into Ronan’s.

  Then, with a casual flick, he tossed it into his sack. While in the air, something from the sack sucked the ring into it.

  The sound of the metallic clink of it landing among the others sent a shudder through Elion’s spine.

  “I stored them in that sack in order to tame them,” he said while pointing toward the sack. “It’s not as simple as it looks or sounds if you want me to tell you the truth.”

  Elion nodded. He knew that the symbols must have something to do with what Ronan was talking about.

  Jordan was still staring at the bull-man’s corpse. “So… he’s not coming back? No more smoke, no weird magic resurrection?”

  Ronan shook his head. “Nope. This one’s done.”

  Elion exhaled slowly. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

  Jordan, however, wasn’t satisfied. His expression was still tight, eyes burning with something Elion couldn’t quite place.

  Anger. Frustration. Maybe even disappointment.

  “You could’ve done that from the start,” Jordan muttered.

  Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “You could’ve killed him right away like you did with the bear-man,” Jordan continued. “But you didn’t. You fought him. You let it drag out. Why?”

  Ronan studied him for a moment. Then he sighed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Jordan took a step forward, fists tightening. “Try me.”

  Elion tensed. “Jordan—”

  But Jordan wasn’t backing down. His body was still tense from his earlier injuries, but his frustration was clear. He wasn’t just asking a question—he was challenging Ronan.

  Ronan tilted his head slightly, thinking of Jordan as if one might regard a particularly annoying fly. Then, with a lazy smirk, he said, “You boys should be careful.”

  Jordan blinked. “What?”

  Ronan gestured lazily toward the dead bull-man. “Guys like him don’t just show up for no reason. Someone sent him. And before I put him down, I was hoping he’d spill something useful.”

  Jordan’s jaw tightened. “And did he?”

  Ronan rolled his shoulders. “Not really. You heard him, too. But hey, at least now I know they’re getting bolder.”

  Elion’s stomach twisted. “You mean there are more?”

  Ronan gave him a flat look. “Oh, kid. You have no idea.”

  He then walked slowly toward his sack before picking it up.

  Elion’s skin crawled. He looked back at the bull-man’s corpse, at the eerie stillness in the alley. The night felt… wrong. Like something was still watching.

  Jordan exhaled sharply. “So what happens now?”

  Ronan clicked his tongue, adjusting his hat. “Now? We move on.”

  Jordan scoffed. “That’s it? That’s your grand plan? Just keep shoving rings into a bag like you’re collecting rare artifacts?”

  Ronan shrugged. “Hey, if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears.”

  Jordan clenched his jaw. He was still clearly unsettled—pissed, even—but there wasn’t much he could say to argue.

  Elion, however, was still stuck on something. He looked between Ronan and the sack full of rings.

  Something about all this didn’t add up.

  “If you can kill them so easily,” Elion asked slowly, “why don’t you do it right away? Why fight them at all?”

  Ronan’s smirk faded just slightly. For the first time, his usual cocky expression shifted into something more… tired.

  “Because they don’t always go down easy,” he muttered. “And because… sometimes, they’re not supposed to.”

  That last part sent a different kind of chill down Elion’s spine. Before he could press further, Ronan suddenly tensed. His hand shot up, pressing his fingers to his temple as if he had just heard something only he could hear.

  Jordan caught the movement. “What? What is it?”

  Ronan clicked his tongue. “Tch. More bad news.”

  Jordan frowned. “How bad?”

  Ronan exhaled sharply, adjusting his hat. “Bad enough that you two should start running.”