PURSUIT OF THE HEART SNATCHER (End of the Future Arc)

 Two days had passed since Hanz's tense encounter with Marcel, but the killings continued unabated. Each time Hanz arrived at the scene of the crime—guided by frantic reports or his own honed instincts—Marcel was already long gone, leaving behind only the grisly aftermath: bodies with chests torn open, hearts ripped out, and a lingering aura of malicious Kantar that made Hanz's stomach churn. The frustration built like a storm inside him, a mix of anger at his brother's descent into madness and a gnawing self-doubt that whispered he wasn't fast enough, strong enough, to stop it.

One night, after yet another failed pursuit, Hanz stormed into his dimly lit bedroom in his Pata City apartment. The room was a makeshift war room: walls plastered with maps, timelines, and photos of the victims, all connected by taut red strings like a web of tragedy. In a surge of raw emotion, he slammed his fist into the notice board, the impact rattling the pins and causing a few pictures to flutter. "Damn it!" he gritted through clenched teeth, his voice a low growl laced with despair. The faces in those photos stared back at him—innocent lives snuffed out, families shattered. Each one was a reminder of his failure, a weight that pressed on his chest like an invisible hand. He had sworn to protect the realms after the wars, but here he was, chasing shadows while more blood spilled.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Hanz sank onto the edge of his bed, his broad shoulders slumping under the burden. He stared at the board, emerald eyes scanning the disconnected dots. "There's no use," he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "None of the victims have any connection whatsoever." He tapped a pen against his chin, lost in thought, until a spark ignited in his gaze. He leaped up, the bed creaking in protest. "That stone he was holding—it absorbed the victims' hearts. He used it to create the rift he escaped through that day." His mind raced, drawing on the vivid memories that came naturally to demon hybrids: sharper recall, like etching details into stone. He grabbed a notebook, sketching the relic from memory—the circular symbols spiraling at its center, its jagged, obsidian-like shape pulsing with an otherworldly energy.

Ripping out the page, Hanz muttered, "Alright then, time for some mystical Kantar artifacts research." But his face darkened, a grim shadow crossing his features as he sighed. "Shu and Hannah have their hands tied right now because of Tobi. I heard he's losing his mind again." He groaned in annoyance, rubbing his temples. "I guess I have to meet her then." The thought filled him with reluctance—old grudges died hard, especially when it came to trusting reformed demons.

Hanz teleported to the front of what appeared to be a quaint antique store, its windows glowing faintly with enchanted light. Pushing open the door, he stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of aged books and faint Kantar residue. Behind the counter stood former Demon Lord Bayonetta, now fully shapeshifted into a human form with warm olive skin and no trace of her former demonic features. But her sharp facial structure—high cheekbones, piercing eyes framed by glasses—remained unmistakable, a remnant of her past.

Bayonetta glanced up from arranging relics, her lips curling into an intrigued smirk. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you didn't approve of mine and Shu's... union." Her tone was playful, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of genuine curiosity, perhaps even a hint of vulnerability—she knew her redemption was fragile in the eyes of hybrids like Hanz.

Hanz grunted, crossing his arms to mask his discomfort. "I'm gonna trust Shu and believe you've turned a new leaf. So, I'm asking for your help." He placed the drawing on the counter, his voice steady but edged with impatience. "Know anything about this stone?"

Bayonetta studied the sketch intently, her fingers tracing the spiraled symbols at its center. After a long minute, she looked up. "Where did you see this?" Hanz's impatience flared. "You know about it or not?" She smiled playfully, leaning forward. "Sheesh, you don't have to be such a sourpuss. I'm just trying to make small talk." Setting the paper down, she continued, her voice shifting to a more scholarly tone. "Well, about the stone—it's a relic the Demon Lords kept in a vault with our other treasured artifacts. It has the ability to control space-time, but at a cost: it needs a massive amount of Kantar cores to operate. Since Kantar is channeled from the heart of a living organism, you need to kill to fuel it." She paused, gauging his reaction, her eyes narrowing as she confirmed he was following. "The stone can do a number of things: restore your body to a previous point in time, making it younger; create rifts in space-time for travel to the future or past. Basically, anything time-related, as long as you give it enough power."

Bayonetta's playful demeanor faded, her gaze turning serious. She adjusted her glasses with her middle finger, the gesture deliberate and intense. "So, I'll ask again: where did you see it?" Hanz met her eyes evenly. "I saw it with Marcel the other day. He was muttering about exacting his revenge."

Bayonetta stared at him, shocked. "Your brother Marcel? He's alive? The death of most of us Demon Lords and the release of his seals at once ought to have killed him. You hybrids really are something else." Her voice carried a mix of awe and unease, a flicker of old fears resurfacing—Marcel's survival meant unresolved grudges from the wars.

Hanz shrugged indifferently, grabbing the paper. "Thanks for the help. I believe you're also on Marcel's revenge list, so I'd hide if I were you. Don't want anything bad happening—Shu would be devastated." The words were gruff, but underneath lay a reluctant concern; he knew Shu's heart, and losing Bayonetta would break it.

With that, he teleported away, reappearing in his room. Hands on his chin, he paced, deep in thought. "There should be a way to catch Marcel before he kills someone. I gotta think." Hours slipped by, his mind a whirlwind of strategies, regrets from past failures, and the heavy toll of lives lost. Finally, he jumped up, his face brightening with determination. "That might actually work! The stone warps space-time to create a rift, which causes a Kantar disturbance. All I have to do is build a device that can detect those fluctuations." But he sank back onto the bed, doubt creeping in. "To build something that covers the entire city... it'll take time and equipment. More people will die before I can finish it." The thought gnawed at him, a deep ache for the innocents caught in his family's crossfire.

Hanz got up and walked to a nearby tech store, buying components while muttering self-encouragement. "You can do this, Hanz. Just create Kantar clones—they'll drastically shorten the time." Back in his room, he locked himself away for an entire day, summoning four Kantar clones to assist. They worked tirelessly, soldering circuits and calibrating sensors, yet by day's end, the device was nowhere near complete. The frustration built, a silent scream in his chest—he was racing against death, and losing.

He glanced at the television, where a reporter in a blue suit and red tie, looking in his early thirties, delivered the news with a calm but grave expression. "Once again, the notorious serial killer has struck—this time, a family of seven. The police have dubbed him the 'Heart Snatcher' for his infamous method: cutting through chests and ripping hearts out." The reporter's face hardened. "The police say they're doing everything they can, but... so many have died already."

Hanz gritted his teeth, slamming his fist into the wall, the impact cracking plaster. "Dammit, if only I was faster!" His voice cracked with guilt, veins bulging on his balled fists. One of his clones sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Look, people are going to die regardless. What we need to focus on is completing this machine before any more lives are taken." The words stung, but they grounded him—a harsh reminder that emotion alone wouldn't save anyone.

Hanz took a deep breath, calming the storm inside. "You're right. Let's keep going." Days blurred into a relentless grind, the television echoing more deaths—each report a dagger to his heart, fueling his anger at himself, at Marcel, at the twisted family legacy that bound them. He barely slept, driven by a mix of rage and desperation, his goal crystallizing: end Marcel's madness, no matter the cost.

On the tenth day, the device was ready—a sleek, black fingerless glove with a silver button at its center. Hanz tapped it, and a hologram projected the steady flow of Kantar across the city. He smirked wearily. "Yup, I'm a genius. Now all I gotta do is wait." He didn't wait long; less than thirty minutes later, the button flashed red, signaling a massive disturbance. Pressing it, the hologram pinpointed the source: a bustling business district.

Honing in on Marcel's Kantar signature, Hanz teleported in front of him—just in time, as Marcel loomed over a terrified worker, hand raised to strike. "Found you... brother," Hanz said with a smirk, though his emerald eyes burned with a complex storm: betrayal, sorrow, and unyielding resolve.

Marcel looked displeased, his face twisting. "Since you've made it your mission to interfere, I'll get rid of you." He stretched out his hand, a rift in space appearing; from it emerged a greatsword, flying into his grip.

Hanz mirrored the gesture, purple Kantar swirling from the ground in a vortex. A black katana rose, floating before him—he grabbed it without hesitation. With a determined glare, he said, "It's time to put an end to your madness, Marcel." The words carried a hidden plea, a brother's lingering hope for redemption buried under layers of pain.

Marcel entered a battle stance. "I wanted to spare you because you're family, but you've proven stubborn." He lunged with lightning speed, swinging the greatsword down from above. Hanz blocked, his hands shaking from the force, the clash echoing like thunder.

Using Kantar to enhance his strength, Hanz parried, forcing Marcel to leap back. Internally, Hanz assessed: He's strong for sure—I barely blocked that. To be safe, I'm gonna kick things up a bit and see what he has in his arsenal. His muscles bulged, veins prominent. "Fist of the Lion King: Power Increase Two-Fold!" He dashed forward, swinging his blade. Marcel blocked, but Hanz smirked. "Behind you." A Kantar clone, katana coated in energy, unleashed a condensed arc that struck Marcel square on, exploding in a burst of force.

Hanz leaped away. Come on, show me everything you've got. The smoke cleared; Marcel stood unharmed save for scratches, grinning maliciously. "You're clever, but let's see how long you can withstand me with wit alone." Black Kantar emanated from him, dark as night and laced with malice. They charged, clashing in a blur of speed—sparks flying, the naked eye unable to track. They leaped apart, breathing heavily.

Marcel's cuts healed instantly; he showed no fatigue, ready again. Hanz panted, wounds mirroring his brother's but stamina waning. Gripping his sword, he thought, Not good—using Fist of the Lion King and Kantar at maximum output to keep up is draining me. I have to find a more efficient way.

As if on cue, his inner demon's voice echoed: "Congrats, you finally noticed. He’s powerful because he and his inner demon are in unison. Meanwhile, you’re over here playing whack-a-mole with me and wondering why you’re falling behind."

Hanz gritted his teeth, blocking it out. "Shut up." He placed his hand over his face; dark Kantar gathered, forming a black human skull mask with white line patterns on the right side. With a dark roar, he dashed at Marcel. Marcel blocked, but his greatsword shattered. "The way you manifest your demonic powers is interesting," Marcel said, dodging.

Hanz coated his blade in dark Kantar, launching it as a massive dragon. Marcel raised a barrier, but the dragon devoured it, exploding on impact. When the smoke cleared, Marcel was ravaged: shirt in tatters, arm blown off, eye lost, covered in blood.

Undeterred, Marcel smirked. A bright blue light enveloped him; when it faded, his transformation was complete and terrifying. His skin shifted to a pale, icy light blue, now covered in overlapping, razor-sharp scales that glinted like fractured sapphire under the light, each one edged with faint black veins pulsing with dark Kantar. Long, membranous blue wings unfurled from his shoulders, folding against his back like a flowing cloak of living shadow, their edges serrated and trailing wisps of cold mist. A long, whip-like tail sprouted from his lower back—spiky, segmented, and tipped with a barbed stinger that dripped faint black ichor. His once-human eyes turned reptilian: slit pupils glowing venomous yellow-green, radiating predatory menace. His shirt reformed into a long, flowing white garment that reached his knees, torn and billowing like a tattered royal shroud. When he spoke, his voice echoed with a deep, resonant demonic timbre, layered with multiple tones that vibrated the air. "Let's go—round two, demon vs. demon."

He lunged, grabbing Hanz by the face, cracking the mask and slamming him into the floor. Hanz coughed blood, vision blurring.

His inner demon surged Kantar into him: "Just let me help, you bastard. You’re wasting my patience." It gritted, "I lose to nobody. Last time that happened was when we were kids, and I hate it—the feeling of weakness. I won't let you make me feel weak." Shocked, Hanz let go, trusting for once. A giant explosion of dark Kantar erupted.

Hanz's full demonic transformation erupted in a violent surge. His skin bleached to pure, ghostly white, smooth yet unnaturally hard like polished bone. His yellow hair exploded outward, growing wildly to his waist in thick, jagged strands that floated slightly as if underwater, each lock tipped with faint black flickers of Kantar. The black demonic mask reformed over his face—now a grotesque, elongated skull with curved buffalo horns sweeping backward in wicked spirals, etched with glowing crimson cracks that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. Thick black markings crawled across his body like living tattoos: jagged tribal patterns starting from his neck, spiraling down his arms and torso, glowing faintly purple-black and writhing as if alive. Dark Kantar poured off him in waves, forming a coiling, shadowy aura that distorted the air around him, carrying the low, guttural hum of an underworld storm. His eyes burned pure red behind the mask's slits, and every movement left faint afterimages of black smoke. He let out a bone-chilling roar that shook the ground.

Marcel tilted his head curiously. "Fascinating—your manifestation is intriguing." He healed his hand and dashed forward with a punch; Hanz leaped into the air, spinning so fast he became a miniature tornado of white and black, his katana flashing in circular arcs that sliced Marcel's arm into precise, bloody rings.

He finished by stabbing Marcel's chest, making him cough blood. Charging a compressed Kantar ball in his mouth—now a swirling orb of violet-black energy crackling with red lightning—Hanz prepared to fire—when a shadowy figure stabbed him from behind.

Marcel pulled the blade free, regenerating. "Like my Kantar technique? I can summon people I've killed as shikigami. That's part of why I killed so many—I've already gained enough cores to use the stone as I want." He glanced at his hand, shock covering his face: only a simple rock remained.

Hanz coughed blood, destroying the shikigami with a Kantar burst. Waving his right hand, he revealed the stone. "You lose track of things in the heat of battle, brother."

Enraged, Marcel unleashed a flurry of attacks. Hanz thought, So he was holding back—I can barely see his movements anymore. Punches landed consecutively, forcing more blood from Hanz's mouth. Marcel finished with a massive Kantar ball, exploding and leaving Hanz barely conscious, reverted to human form.

Marcel panted, reverting too. "You lose, brother. History will be written as I wish." He charged the stone, creating a time rift and stepping through.

Before it closed, Hanz leaped in after him, blacking out from exhaustion.

When Hanz woke up he finds himself in the hut of the mage.

The mage strokes his beard recalling the events and the epic tale Hanz told him about his past as he says "that boy, he has been through alot but that also makes him a compatible tutor for the young lad Shu for only he can understand the responsibility Shu burdens right now."

END OF THE FUTURE ARC