Six hours.
That's how long Ino had sat on the bathroom floor, staring at nothing. Watching the countdown tick away in the corner of his vision like a doomsday clock he couldn't shut off.
WORLD DEMISE: 6 Days, 22 Hours, 41 Minutes, 03 Seconds
The numbers blurred. His eyes burned—whether from tears or exhaustion, he couldn't tell anymore. Everything felt distant, wrapped in cotton. Even the blood on his clothes had dried to a stiff, crackling texture that he'd stopped noticing hours ago.
Brother...
The voice ghosted through his mind again. Anta's voice. Not real—couldn't be real—but persistent as a phantom limb.
Wake up...
"I'm awake," Ino whispered to the empty bathroom. His voice sounded wrong. Hollow. "I'm awake and you're not here."
His reflection stared back from the mirror he'd been avoiding. The golden eye gleamed in the dim light, alien and accusing. He looked like himself—same face, same messy hair, same exhausted slump to his shoulders.
But that eye. That fucking eye.
Mark of the Apostle. Brand of the puppet.
Ino forced himself to his feet. His legs shook, muscles screaming from sitting too long in one position. The house pressed in around him—too quiet, too empty, too full of ghosts.
He stumbled into the living room and froze.
The blood was still there. Dark pools on the hardwood, splatter patterns on the walls like grotesque art. His stomach lurched, but there was nothing left to bring up.
No bodies, though.
The entity—God, it wanted him to call it God—had said Agent 007 took Anta. Took his body. Like a prize. Like property.
"Fuck you," Ino said to the ceiling, to the watching presence he could feel like insects crawling on his skin. "Fuck you and your mercy."
Silence answered. Always silence.
The screen pulsed:
STATUS: Exhausted, Grieving, Hostile
"Yeah, no shit," Ino muttered.
He couldn't stay here. Not in this room. Not with the blood and the memories and the crushing weight of everything he'd failed to protect.
His legs moved on autopilot, carrying him upstairs. Past his bedroom—he couldn't face that either. To Anta's door.
It stood slightly ajar, the way Anta always left it. "In case you need me in the night," he'd said once, years ago after a particularly bad nightmare. As if a seven-year-old could protect his older brother from anything.
Ino pushed the door open.
The leather bag sat on Anta's desk, exactly where he'd placed it hours—lifetimes—ago. The birthday gift that Anta never got to use for more than a few hours. Brass buckles gleaming in the early morning light streaming through the window.
Ino crossed the room in three steps and grabbed it. Held it against his chest like it might contain some echo of his brother's warmth.
It was just leather. Just brass. Just an empty thing.
His knees gave out. He sank to the floor, back against Anta's bed, clutching the bag. And finally—finally—the tears came properly. Ugly, choking sobs that tore out of his chest like shrapnel.
"I was happy. Because I had you."
Anta's last words. The last thing he'd ever say.
And Ino had failed him. Had died right alongside him, useless and bleeding, unable to do anything but watch.
"I'm sorry," he gasped between sobs. "I'm so sorry, Anta. I should have—I should have been stronger, I should have—"
What? What could you have done?
The rational part of his mind knew the answer: nothing. Against that thing—Agent 007, that inhuman killer—he'd been helpless. Outmatched. Doomed from the moment it decided to hunt them.
But rationality meant nothing against the crushing guilt.
Time passed. How much, Ino couldn't say. The tears eventually ran dry, leaving him hollow and aching.
The countdown kept ticking:
WORLD DEMISE: 6 Days, 17 Hours, 12 Minutes, 45 Seconds
Dawn had fully broken. Sunlight painted Anta's room in warm golds and soft whites—the kind of morning Anta loved, when he'd drag Ino out of bed to catch the sunrise.
"Come on, you'll miss it! The light hits different in the morning!"
No more sunrises together.
No more anything.
Ino pushed himself up, legs numb, and set the leather bag carefully on Anta's bed. His gaze drifted around the room: posters of bands Anta liked, textbooks stacked neatly on the desk, the glow-in-the-dark stars they'd stuck to the ceiling years ago.
A life, frozen mid-breath.
Brother...
"Stop," Ino whispered. But the phantom voice didn't listen.
Wake up...
"I said stop."
Brother!
"STOP!" His voice cracked, echoing off the walls.
Silence fell like a curtain. Even the ghostly echo of Anta's voice faded, leaving Ino alone with his breathing and the relentless countdown.
He needed to move. Needed to do something. Staying here would drive him mad. I should have given you a proper burial.
The thought crystallized with sudden clarity. Anta deserved that, at least. A place to rest. Something more than being dragged away by that monster. Even without a body, Ino could give him that much.
The morning streets of Dulwich were quiet, most people still sleeping off whatever normalcy they clung to. Ino walked like a ghost himself—hollow-eyed, blood-stained clothes hidden under his black coat, moving with the mechanical precision of someone held together by spite and determination alone.
The bakery appeared ahead, its familiar warmth spilling through the windows.
Grandma Mei's bakery. Their ritual. Wednesday afternoons that would never come again. Ino pushed open the door. The bell chimed—too cheerful, too normal.
"Oh! Good morning, dear—" Grandma Mei's smile faltered when she saw his face. Her flour-dusted hands stilled on the counter. "Ino? Are you alright?"
The concern in her voice nearly broke him again. Ino forced something approximating a smile. "Yes. Thank you."
Liar, his mind supplied. You're not alright. You'll never be alright again. His gaze drifted over the display case. There—strawberry macarons. Anta's favorite. The ones Grandma Mei always saved for him.
"I'll take those," Ino said, pointing. His voice sounded distant to his own ears.
Grandma Mei packed them with practiced care, but her eyes never left his face. "Is your little brother feeling better? He looked so tired last time I saw him..."
He's dead. Murdered. Taken.
"He's resting," Ino said instead. Not technically a lie.
Grandma Mei's frown deepened. She added an extra macaron to the box without asking. "Here. His favorite, yes? Make sure to bring him by soon. I worry when I don't see you two together."
Something in Ino's chest cracked. "I will," he whispered.
Another lie. How many would he tell before this was over?
"Dear..." Grandma Mei reached across the counter, her weathered hand hovering near his. "Whatever's troubling you... you don't have to face it alone. You know that, yes?"
Ino nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He paid quickly, clutching the macaron box like a lifeline, and fled before the kindness could undo what little composure he had left.
The backyard was small. Overgrown. Their father had started a garden once, before he left. It had gone wild in the years since.
Ino found the spot beneath the old cherry tree—the one that never quite bloomed right, but Anta had loved it anyway. "It's trying its best, Ino. That's what matters."
The ground was soft from recent rain. Digging was easier than it should have been. His hands moved mechanically: dig, scoop, dig, scoop. The rhythm kept his mind blessedly empty. Don't think. Don't feel. Just dig.
When the hole was deep enough, Ino sat back on his heels. Sweat dripped down his face despite the morning chill. His palms were blistered—the Divine Regeneration healed them almost instantly, but new ones formed just as fast.
Endless. Like everything else now.
He opened the macaron box. Six perfect strawberry macarons, plus the extra Grandma Mei had added. Seven. Anta's favorite number.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," Ino whispered, arranging them carefully at the bottom of the shallow grave. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. I'm sorry I—"
His voice broke. He covered his face with his dirt-covered hands and just breathed. After a long moment, he continued.
"You deserved better than this. Better than me. Better than... everything that happened." He picked up the small stone he'd found earlier—smooth river rock, the kind Anta used to collect.
"I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know if there's anything after... after this. But if you can..."
He placed the stone gently atop the covered grave.
"I love you. I'll always love you. And I'm going to make them pay for what they did to you."
The vow settled over him like armor. Cold. Heavy. Unyielding.
The countdown pulsed:
WORLD DEMISE: 6 Days, 12 Hours, 16 Minutes, 34 Seconds
And beneath it, new text materialized:
「 DING! 」
Ino's head snapped up.
The system screen expanded, text scrolling with deliberate slowness:
NAME: Ino Siente [Apostle of ※#$%^&]
AGE: 21
PLANET: Earth
MAIN MISSION: [LOCKED]
CURRENT STATUS EFFECTS: - Apostle's Blessing (Passive) [Immune to All Negative Status Effects] - Divine Regeneration (Passive) [Instant Healing]
WORLD DEMISE: 6 Days, 12 Hours, 16 Minutes, 31 Seconds
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ UPDATE ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
SUB-MISSION UNLOCKED: 『 Locate Orlando De Von Deus 』
TIME LIMIT: 2 Days
PENALTY UPON FAILURE: Death
Additional Information: [LOCKED]
Hint: Look for the Scholar of Forgotten Names Current Location: Unknown
COMMENCE MISSION? [YES] / [NO]
Ino stared at the floating text. Orlando De Von Deus. The name meant nothing to him.
Scholar of Forgotten Names?
"Is this a joke?" he asked the empty air. The system didn't respond.
Two days to find someone he'd never heard of, in a world that had six days left to exist, or he'd die. Again. Permanently this time.
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Of course. Can't even grieve properly."
He looked down at the grave. At the small stone marking where his brother should be resting.
"I have to go," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'll come back, I promise."
The wind rustled through the cherry tree's branches. Almost like a sigh.
Ino stood, brushing dirt from his knees. His golden eye caught the sunlight, reflecting it back like a beacon.
Mark of the Apostle.
He reached out mentally, selecting [YES].
The system pulsed:
SUB-MISSION ACCEPTED Tracking Initiated... Please Wait...
And Ino turned his back on his brother's grave, on the house full of ghosts, on everything he'd ever known.
The countdown ticked away:
WORLD DEMISE: 6 Days, 12 Hours, 14 Minutes, 07 Seconds
SUB-MISSION TIME LIMIT: 1 Day, 23 Hours, 59 Minutes, 52 Seconds
[END OF CHAPTER 5]
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Initial tracking complete.
Directive: Travel to Mistwood University Library Scholar Orlando De Von Deus
last confirmed location: 3 days ago
Warning: Location may be compromised
Survival rate: 34% Good luck, Apostle. Your God is watching.