SSS-Ranked Demon Hunter: The Prodigy
Chapter 87: Aruya, Part 1

Chapter 87: Aruya, Part 1

By evening, as the moon slowly rose over the Orange Zone, the city came alive—its streets flooded with noisy youth wandering past shop windows and cafes.

Among them stood out a single figure—a girl in a short skirt, an unzipped blue bomber, and a school shirt worn loose. Her walk was confident, her gaze sharp and defiant.

She didn’t just walk—she cut through the crowd, and every passerby instinctively turned to stare. But it wasn’t just her that drew attention...

Walking beside her, calmly padding along the asphalt, was a white tiger cub.

She lazily chewed gum, ignoring the stares, heading straight for a nightclub like the whole world was just a backdrop for her arrival.

And that bold girl everyone was whispering about?

Yeah. That was me. Aruya. Eighteen years old.

This Chapter’s about me. What, I can’t tell the story from my side?

I know people hate it when the narration suddenly shifts to another character. They like what they know—familiar faces, comfy scenes, predictability.

But too bad. Tonight, it’s my turn.

So listen closely.

My name’s Aruya. I’ve got short black hair and eyes as blue as ice. I’m no sweetheart. But I’m honest.

And always at my side—Yuma. A fluffy white tiger who loves being scratched behind the ears. Though people don’t usually melt with joy when they see him. Understandable.

But you’ll see why my stare is scarier than he is.

The club ahead of me was the noisiest place in this dusty corner of the Orange Zone. You could find anyone here: partygoers, junkies, gangsters.

And sometimes, demons pretending to be people.

And I hate those bastards.

At the entrance—a camera. On the door—a neon sign: "21+". At the threshold—a gloomy, bored guard.

"You even 21?" he asked, pointing at the sign.

"What do you care? Think I came here to drink?"

"Rules are rules. Don’t like ’em, beat it."

"Haa?" I stuck out my tongue. "C’mon, don’t be a bore. I really need in."

I turned, lowering my back toward him.

Silence.

He noticed what was under my shirt and quickly looked away.

Men. So predictable.

"Go ahead. Just don’t start trouble. Big shots inside tonight."

He reluctantly opened the door. I stepped in, with Yuma trotting behind.

As expected, the music inside pounded straight into your chest. The speakers blasted some trendy track the youth pretended was their lifeline.

I walked across a rug stretched out like a red carpet. Palm out—Yuma got the signal. His soft paws melted into blood, vanishing into my skin, hiding beneath my sleeve.

The club was huge—a two-story place full of lights, smoke, and writhing bodies. People jumped and twisted to the beat, some already high, others just drunk on rhythm.

Bars lined the sides—full of groups, couples, loners, and troublemakers.

In the corners—semi-private lounge chairs. Spots for deals, conversations, and those not here to dance.

Among them sat the ones I came for. These tough guys lounged with girls, buying them drinks. Classic gangsters, out to unwind.

I popped my gum and headed their way.

"Wanna sniff something?" slurred a guy at the bar, adjusting his collar. "I’ve got some real magic."

"Really?" giggled the girl, wrapping around him. "You really trying to show me heaven?"

In a place like this, you hear all sorts of trash. Like two guys nearby debating how to drag that girl away from the junkie.

Others disappeared into bathrooms with their lovers to do pills and other things. You meet all kinds in this dump.

Closer to the thugs on the lounge chairs, I caught a foul stench.

Bingo. A bunch of demons playing mafia. Just my kind of prey.

I stepped up. The chatter died. The men turned. Some with cigars, others with glasses of liquor—all with the same leering look.

The women sprawled on their laps looked at me like cats eyeing a rival.

"What you staring at?" growled a bald bruiser, cracking his neck. "No one called you."

"And you must be the bodyguard?"

To the left, another man rose—slick smile, a scar across his cheek. White suit. The kind who thinks he’s a king.

"No need to start on the wrong foot. You, sweetheart, clearly wanna join in."

His eyes crawled across every exposed part of me. Disgusting.

"Haa? And what’s your idea of a welcome?"

"Have a seat, let us treat you. Got a special drink just for you. Heaven’s Delight."

Two men took my arms, pulling out a chair.

"You guys are bold, I’ll give you that."

"Relax. Don’t know us yet? We own this place. No one’s gonna say a word if we do somethin’."

"I’d love to sit with big shots, but unfortunately, I’m here on business, mister."

The scar’s smile faltered.

"And what business is that?"

I pulled a photo from my bomber.

"I’m looking for this man. Dmitry Volkov. Heard of him?"

Their faces darkened immediately. No mistake—they knew him.

Dark hair, brown eyes, calm gaze. The mafia definitely knew him. After all...

"And what if I say," said Scar, "I don’t know him?"

"What a shame. Maybe I’m at the wrong address, then."

"Seems like it..." He raised his hands as the others began to surround me. "Don’t think you’ll get anything here."

Five bodies. Two of them stink. Guess we’re doing this the hard way.

"Hey, sweetheart. You smell real nice. Mind giving us a little company?"

From under my sleeve, dark blood vessels began to leak—wrapping my hand like a serpent, coiling in my palm.

"I can’t stand old men."

"Too bad."

Their hands shot toward me.

The blood hardened into a long katana. I spun on my heel—the blade sliced the air like a whipcrack.

The bald guy’s skull burst like an egg, cracking with a wet crunch. His head rolled under the table, brains flopping to the floor like a ruined omelet.

"She’s a demon!" someone screamed.

The women scattered. Some ran for the exits, screaming. Others watched, chanting "Kill them!" like it was a show.

More gangsters surrounded me. Clubs, blades, one had a bone dagger. They circled cautiously, like wolves.

One lunged—aiming for my throat.

I sidestepped and sliced him from shoulder to hip. Blood sprayed the others.

Another came from behind—but Yuma appeared, now full-sized.

A three-meter tiger tore him to shreds with savage jaws. Blood drenched the tables.

"A tiger... she tamed a demon..."

"Idiots," I smirked. "Only I get to call him that."

Blood soaked the dance floor.

I darted through the club, blade flashing like a whirlwind. The katana sang with each cut—the scream of splitting flesh, the crack of broken bones, the clang of steel on furniture.

People who just seconds ago were laughing now screamed as they became meat sacks on the ground.

I chased each one.

The fleeing ones pushed through the crowd. I slid along the floor, cutting them down.

"Don’t hide!" I yelled, entering the bar. One guy threw a bottle at me. I sliced it midair and split his face in one motion.

One left.

White Scar. He jumped through a broken window into the rainy street.

I followed.

He dropped to his knees under neon light.

"W-wait! I’ll talk! I swear! Please... don’t kill me..."

Three black cars pulled up behind him, armed men pouring out.

"The mafia... I’m saved...!"

I wiped my katana on my skirt and gently snapped my fingers.

The ground shook.

Cracks split the asphalt as a massive white maw burst up from beneath. Yuma, deathly pale, with blood-veined fur, roared into the night.

BOOM. CRUNCH. METAL. SCREAMS.

The cars vanished in his jaws, crushed like candy wrappers.

White Scar fell silent. His mouth quivered.

"I-I’ll tell you everything... I swear... I’m just a pawn, but I can help!"

Yuma vanished like smoke.

I stood in the headlights, wiping blood off my face. I held up Volkov’s photo and winked.

"I barely know him, I swear! But... he’s tight with our bosses. Shows up at the secret bar on 34th Street all the time! That’s all I know, I swear!"

"Haa," I pulled on my hoodie. "See? You could’ve helped from the start, saved a few lives."

From my other pocket, I pulled a chocolate bar and took a bite.

"Yuma, your turn."

Behind me, the tiger emerged. He growled, approaching the gangster, devouring his fear.

"N-no, we had a deal! Save me, not this... I don’t want to be eaten by a demon!"

I turned and walked away as the people screamed, watching the tiger devour a man in the middle of the street.

The rain felt different tonight. Not like before.

And why the hell did it rain so often now?

When police sirens finally echoed, I was already in another part of a district.

In a quiet corner, sitting beside a vending machine, I popped open a soda and took a sip.

Yuma lay curled on my lap, purring softly. His paws twitched in his sleep—another nightmare, probably.

"Don’t worry, Yuma. We’re almost there. We’ll catch him soon."

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