Akuma, Viel, and Xerxes hurried into an abandoned house, hiding in the shadows.
Peering through a narrow crack in the window, they watched as squads of Querons rounded up vampires and dragged them through the streets.
"It looks like they're planning to capture every vampire in every district," Xerxes whispered.
"What do we do now?" Viel asked anxiously.
"If only Father were here..." Akuma murmured.
The three leaned silently against the crumbling wall.
"We have to find them," Xerxes said at last. "Only by combining the strength of the nobles and royals can we defeat the Querons... and the Mirce Lorde."
He was right.
But where were they?
For six long years, they had searched across countless lands without finding a single one of them.
Now that they had finally returned to Aznar...
The kingdom's condition was far worse than they had imagined.
Six years had passed since that fateful day.
It was supposed to be a celebration—the grand birthday banquet of the two princes of Aznar.
But before the two princes could even reach the palace...
The kingdom was attacked.
A blinding light swallowed Xylon and the others, scattering them to unknown places.
Then came the Querons, led by the fearsome Mirce Lorde.
They captured every supernatural being they could find, throwing the once-glorious kingdom into chaos.
Countless lives were lost.
And the two princes could do nothing but watch.
The only reason they had survived...
...was because Xerxes had escaped with them.
"I just hope we find them soon," Akuma whispered.
.
.
.....
Xylon suddenly jolted awake.
The dream...
Again.
He climbed out of bed and walked toward the bathroom.
As he faced the mirror, his entire body froze.
His eyes...
They had turned crimson.
He blinked repeatedly.
A second later, the red glow disappeared as though it had never existed.
"W-What... was that?" he whispered.
He quickly splashed cold water onto his face before getting dressed.
Today was a holiday, so there were no classes.
He pulled out his phone and called Stephen.
No answer.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
"What happened to him?" Xylon muttered to himself.
.
.
Stephen's phone had been ringing for several minutes.
He refused to answer it.
He was terrified.
Earlier that morning, he had opened the window of his apartment.
The moment sunlight touched his skin, he screamed in agony.
It burned.
It felt as though his flesh were being consumed by fire.
He immediately slammed the window shut and retreated into the darkest corner of his room.
Wrapping his arms around his knees, he trembled.
He no longer understood what was happening to him.
.
.
.....
Zake sprinted through the streets, clutching his dog tightly in his arms.
Fear consumed him.
He still couldn't understand how it had happened.
He had merely thought about moving the objects around him...
And they had obeyed.
Things had floated through the air.
Objects had moved without him ever touching them.
He had always believed those moments were nothing more than dreams.
But they were real.
Worse...
He had seen his own eyes turn blood red.
His breathing grew heavier.
What am I...?
Who am I...?
"Arf! Arf!"
His faithful dog barked anxiously.
Zake hugged it tightly, desperate to calm both the animal...
...and himself.
.
.
.....
"Hello? Is anyone home?"
Xylon knocked on the door of Stephen's apartment.
Silence.
No one answered.
"Where could he be?"
Just as he turned to leave...
A sharp pain suddenly pierced his head.
"Ugh..."
He staggered backward before collapsing to one knee, clutching his temples as an unbearable headache surged through him.
Something...
Was happening.
.
.
Xylon slowly opened his eyes.
The bright white ceiling above him came into focus.
A hospital.
He turned his head and saw Stephen sitting quietly beside his bed, watching over him.
"W-What happened?" Xylon asked weakly.
"I found you unconscious outside my apartment," Stephen replied. "You collapsed before you could even leave."
"I see..." he said.
Stephen leaned forward. "What happened to you?"
"I don't know. My head suddenly started hurting... then everything went black," as Xylon spoke, he noticed something unusual.
Stephen was wearing an unusually thick jacket despite the warm weather.
He was even wearing gloves.
"Aren't you feeling hot?" Xylon asked.
Stephen forced a smile. "Oh... it's nothing. It was dusty outside earlier, so I covered myself. Breathing in too much dust and bacteria isn't good for your health."
Xylon chuckled. "You're more cautious than I thought."
Before Stephen could respond, Xylon's smile faded.
Standing silently in the doorway...
...was a man.
His face was expressionless as he stared directly at Xylon.
"Do you know him?" Xylon asked quietly.
Stephen turned toward the door.
But there was no one there.
"Who?" Stephen asked.
"The man standing there..." Xylon blinked.
He had vanished.
"There was someone there just now," he explained.
Stephen looked at him with concern. "It's probably a side effect from collapsing."
"...Maybe you're right," Xylon sighed.
Even so...
Xylon couldn't shake the feeling that the mysterious stranger had been watching him.
.
.
.....
"I-I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to..."
Xenon sat curled up in the corner of his bedroom, trembling uncontrollably as tears streamed down his face.
Not far from him lay the lifeless body of one of the mansion's servants.
The room was soaked in blood.
He hadn't meant to do it.
Something...
Something inside him had taken control.
An unbearable hunger had overwhelmed his mind.
Before he realized what he was doing...
He had sunk his fangs into the servant's neck...
...and drained every last drop of blood.
"No..."
Xenon clutched his head in despair.
"Am I... losing my mind?"
His trembling eyes drifted toward the shattered mirror lying on the floor.
His reflection stared back at him.
Blood covered his face.
His clothes.
His hands.
"...Am I a monster?"
Unable to bear the sight any longer, he quickly changed into clean clothes and fled the mansion.
He had to leave.
Before he hurt anyone else.
.
.
....
"Dude... are you okay?"
Blake knelt beside a homeless young man lying unconscious on the sidewalk.
A scruffy dog remained faithfully by the stranger's side.
As soon as the young man regained consciousness, he recoiled in terror the moment he saw Blake.
"D-Don't come any closer!" he cried.
"Relax," Blake said, raising both hands. "I'm not going to hurt you."
But instead of calming down, the frightened man scrambled to his feet and hid behind a nearby utility pole.
Night had already fallen, and the streets were nearly deserted.
"Stay away from me!" he shouted. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you!"
Blake frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
.
.
.....
Zander slowly opened his eyes.
"W-What...?"
His entire body froze.
The members of his gang lay scattered across the abandoned warehouse.
None of them were moving.
Their bodies were covered in blood.
Each of them bore deep bite marks on their necks.
His breathing became ragged.
He slowly looked down at his own hands.
They were stained crimson.
He stumbled backward in horror.
"D-Did I... Did I do this?"
.
.
.....
Back in Aznar...
"Move out! Capture every single one of them! Leave no one behind!"
The commanding voice echoed across the ruined streets.
It belonged to Arkanus, commander of El Quero's Four Dark Knights and the trusted right-hand man of the Mirce Lorde.
Under his command, the Queron army swept through Aznar, capturing every vampire they encountered.
"Damn it..." Xerxes muttered as he peered through the broken wall. "We can't get past them."
"We'll just have to wait until they move," Akuma whispered.
Viel was about to agree...
...when something caught his attention.
He looked down at the ground beneath their feet.
A strange black liquid was silently spreading across the floor.
"What is this?" Viel asked.
Xerxes immediately recognized it.
"A shadow..."
Before he could explain further, the approaching Querons drew closer.
"Tsk," Xerxes clenched his fists. "Get ready."
The soldiers charged toward their hiding place.
But just before they reached them...
The black shadow beneath Akuma, Viel, and Xerxes suddenly expanded.
In an instant—
The three of them were swallowed whole by the darkness, disappearing without a trace.