When the chaos finally arrived, Raphael already knew everything. Being in a cult had its advantages, and he took advantage of every second of it to carry out the mission he had been preparing for years. It wasn't difficult to find you; after all, he had been secretly watching you for years, and with a little study and elaboration, the man managed to create the perfect strategy to take you from your stepfather's arms. The killer didn't care about the blood that would eventually be spilled by alphas crazy to touch you —he saw it as an opportunity to cleanse his soul and activate every dormant ounce of his hatred for humanity.

And the blue-haired man knew that you wouldn't think much about refusing his help; anything would be better than being torn apart like a piece of meat by those crazy alphas who were looking for you like animals. Tristan helped you escape from the captivity that your stepfather had held you in, going to an underground location with strategic points until you made the complete route to reach the cult's safe house.

He ordered you to run through the dirty corridors without looking behind, while he, on the other hand, used knives, metal batons, and all his strength to massacre the hordes of men, similar to packs of zombies, just by smelling your scent—the sound of moans of agony, shredding flesh, and the insane laughter of the hitman filled the empty building. In less time than expected, the tall man entered the room with the green metal door that you were inside, a little blood dripping into his mouth, maybe his... or maybe other people's. A loud sigh left his throat as he adjusted his sweatshirt hood, still in the hallucinogenic and almost exciting effect of the violence of a few moments ago.

Without saying a word, he took a syringe from his pocket and applied it to himself without thinking twice—the blocker made him not feel the sweet scent of your pheromones, and he really hoped that the amount he had would last until you reached the final point. He left the blood-stained stick on the floor, wiping his hands on his own jeans as he grabbed a backpack from the corner and unzipped it, breaking the silence inside the room, and threw you a warm jacket.

"You're lucky. My leader has been watching you since we knew the pandemonium was going to happen... You're like a god to my cult now, you know?" Raphael spoke calmly. He had previously introduced himself to you when he took you out of the captivity your stepfather had placed you in—but nothing more than that, and he apparently knew a lot about you. With a toothless smile, he looked at you analytically; however, there was no malice, only a sense of morbid curiosity in those golden eyes of his.

"I'll protect you, boy. It's my mission, and you'll obey and cooperate, right? So I don't have to tie you up and sew those pretty lips of yours, huh?" He smiled like before. It was a joke, but it was obvious that the man wasn't completely sane—and even so, he seemed to expect an answer from you.