Damien sat alone at his table, a cup of black coffee cooling in his hands. From the outside, he looked perfectly at ease—legs crossed, posture languid, face calm. But the truth sat coiled beneath that surface, sharp and restless, like a blade waiting for purpose.
He had planned everything weeks in advance—the infiltration, the misdirection, every false lead and trap placed with surgical precision. The fuse core was supposed to be his before anyone even knew it was missing.
Yet, as always, they had arrived.
Too early, too precise, too aware.
The Twin Hounds had a way of breaking through the edges of his control, and even now, hours later, the memory of their interference pressed against the inside of his skull.
He took a sip of coffee, letting the bitterness anchor him in the present.
Damn, they’re good, he thought, the words echoing in quiet admission. Not with admiration, but with grudging respect. He set the cup down and leaned back in his chair, eyes half lidded, watching the morning light refract off the rim.
The Dawn and Dusk Hounds—alone, they were dangerous. Together, they were intolerable. Every strike they made was complementary, every defense seamless. They didn’t fight as two individuals, but as a single system with perfect synchronization, the kind of unity no amount of strategy could fully account for. For someone like him—who thrived on distance, on orchestrating the board from afar—they were the worst kind of opponents: relentless, coordinated, and maddeningly unpredictable.
He could still feel the rush of that final moment—the Dusk Hound’s crimson blade descending from above, close enough that the air itself had split against his cheek. Too close. If they had been focused solely on him rather than the fuse core, his body would be cooling on that chamber floor.
He exhaled quietly through his nose, the thought unflinching, practical. He didn’t fear death. He simply despised inefficiency.
Damien swirled the coffee in his cup, watching the dark liquid spiral. The reflection staring back at him was still, unreadable. Half the core rested in his possession now, humming faintly in a hidden case back at his workshop. It was enough to continue, but not enough to satisfy. They had stolen the rest, as they always did—turning his precision into parity. Another stalemate in their endless game. It felt like no matter how far he planned ahead, the Twin Hounds still found a way to match him.
He smiled faintly, the expression subtle and cold.
Kill on sight.
That thought was no longer strategic—it was instinct. The sentiment had lived in him for years, calcified into habit. He had already begun shaping the ways he would end them: isolate, divide, dismantle. The Dusk Hound, with his fixation on secrets, could be baited easily enough. All it would take was the right trail, something irresistible—a whisper of truth in a labyrinth with no exit. The Dawn Hound, however, would require something more intricate. He thrived on understanding patterns, on decoding intent. If Damien could feed him poisoned information, let him analyze it until it corroded from within... perhaps even that unshakable composure would fracture.
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He tapped a finger against the rim of his cup, eyes tracing the edge of the table as thoughts folded over themselves in quiet rhythm. The cafe around him was peaceful, too bright, too soft—a world that didn’t fit the weight of his intent. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair again, folding his arms as thoughts settled.
“If I could unmask them,” he murmured under his breath, his tone low and unreadable, “I could end this properly.”
The words dissolved into the hum of the cafe, unnoticed by anyone else. He stared into the reflection of the window across from him, as though expecting the masks to peel away in the glass. But the faces that haunted him remained hidden, as they always had.
Damien was still half lost in thought when movement in his periphery drew his attention. His eyes drifted lazily and locked with a pair of pale blue ones. For a heartbeat, he blinked, uncomprehending, until the silver hair and unreadable calm expression registered.
Akio. Sitting by the window, equally distracted.
Of course, he thought, and if Avenis is here…
His gaze shifted to the side, already anticipating what he would see. Golden blond hair, crimson eyes, an easy smirk that carried equal parts charm and mockery. Gabriel.
Damien’s lips pressed into a thin line. Irritation, disbelief, and resignation all mingled in one quiet exhale.
It’s too early for this.
He could already see it happen—the way the two exchanged a glance, something silent but perfectly synchronized passing between them. Mischief, amusement, the promise of chaos. They stood with casual grace, as though they were just stretching their legs, but Damien knew better. Nothing about those two was ever simple. His fingers twitched with the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
They can’t have the decency to leave me alone for two minutes.
It was almost comical how his rivalries seemed to divide his life into two entirely different wars. Against the Twin Hounds, it was a game of survival—clinical, detached, the cold logic of eliminating threats before they could eliminate him. But with these two? Their brand of torment was personal, petty, and entirely beneath him. Yet somehow, their games got under his skin more than the Hounds’ blades ever could. The Twin Hounds represented danger. These two represented… irritation perfected into an art form.
By the time they reached his table, Damien had already accepted his fate.
Gabriel, all too delighted, pulled out a chair across from him with exaggerated ceremony, clasping his hands together as if addressing a crowd. “Why, if it isn’t the Arbiter of Unsolicited Opinions himself! What a rare and delectable encounter. Tell us, to what divine tragedy do we owe the honor?”
Damien gave him an unimpressed stare, savoring the quiet second it bought him before answering in a voice dry as paper.
“Has this establishment truly fallen so far,” he said coolly, “that it now welcomes—” his eyes flicked deliberately toward Gabriel’s juice glass—“children?”
Akio, naturally, didn’t miss a beat. “You say that as though they haven’t been letting you in for years.” His tone was smooth, measured, and smug in that infuriatingly effortless way that made Damien’s eyes narrow.
He pressed a hand to his temple, half to disguise the beginnings of a smirk. “The day I find peace will be the day the two of you are muzzled.”
The words should have ended it, but of course they didn’t. The back and forth came easily after that, barbed wit wrapped in civility. Gabriel’s playful jabs, Akio’s quiet precision, Damien’s dry counterattacks—all balanced in a rhythm that felt almost rehearsed. He told himself he was enduring it out of obligation, that their company was merely a test of patience, but deep down he recognized the truth: he enjoyed this. The challenge of matching them word for word, the small victory in every returned insult—it was, in its own way, exhilarating.
As he watched them volley arguments with absurd cleverness, he felt the strange split between his two worlds. Just moments ago, he’d been engineering a plan to kill two faceless vigilantes with surgical precision. Now, he was sitting in a cafe sparring with the same kind of precision, except with words instead of weapons—and up against two idiots that had nothing better to do than spew nonsense. The contrast was almost laughable. Night and day. Death and conversation. Order and chaos. It was a line he could never let blur.
He leaned back slightly, a faint, humorless smile tugging at his mouth.
Killing the Twin Hounds is important, he thought, fingers tapping idly against the table. But that can come later.
His gaze flicked between Akio and Gabriel, who were already conspiring another round of mockery.
For now, he mused, his smirk deepening, how shall I deal with these idiots today?
─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─
Aira
In the mood for something cozy, spicy, and otherworldly? Join Dr. Ryst Nova in the Andromeda Galaxy, 700 years from now. Ryst survives an attempt on her life, but now she's hearing voices she can't explain and dreaming of a man she's never met. When she goes looking for him, what does she uncover, and could she set in motion a string of events that will break reality itself? Find out in .
What to Expect:
- Female & male leads.
- LGBT male lead & cast.
- Neurodifferent and nonverbal characters.
- Slow burn romance that turns NSFW spicy.
- Telepathy, Tantra, & psychic phenomenon.
- Seven book series. For the stand-alone Comedy Space Operas, start in .