Earlier that same night...
The city skyline gradually dissolved beneath a veil of darkness as night took over the shy horizon. The once golden hues faded into a dusky blue, and the wind whispered gently through the towering buildings—soft, almost melodic, like the lullaby of a world winding down.
Inside Enigma Corp's towering glass headquarters, the dim glow of fluorescent lights spilled across a solitary office—Thomas Blackwood's. Papers and case files lay scattered across his expansive desk like a war zone of decisions, as he leaned forward, massaging the tension out of his temples.
His breaths were heavy, and his posture, slouched. The air in the room carried the stale scent of overwork, mixed faintly with cologne and paper ink. Another day—another mountain of problems.
"I will do this all later," he muttered to himself with a weary sigh, pushing himself up from his leather chair. His eyes drifted toward the massive glass wall behind his desk. Beyond it, the city blinked with tiny lights under a dark velvet sky, almost like stars reflecting man's ambitions.
Just then, a soft knock broke the silence, followed by the creak of a door. Miss Mary stepped inside with her usual poise, a gentle but firm presence even this late.
"Sir, it's already late. You must also get off work," she said, her tone calm but filled with sincere concern.
Despite the hour, her loyalty kept her close—always watching, always helping.
"I thought you had already left," Thomas said, turning his tired eyes toward her.
Mary smiled knowingly, the kind of smile that said you know I never would.
"Sir, I am your secretary."
Thomas chuckled, the sound echoing faintly in the empty room. "Haha... Yeah, you are."
There was pride in his laugh, a flicker of appreciation that briefly warmed the cold air around them. He had always had a keen eye for people—and Mary, with her dedication, proved it.
Together, they left the office floor, their footsteps echoing through the vast, empty corridors. The building had long emptied; even the security seemed subdued.
Outside, under the moody sky, their cars were waiting—the guards having already driven them to the front. But as Thomas bid Mary a casual goodnight, something shifted.
A strange, palpable pressure pressed against his chest like an invisible tide, distant but powerful. His eyes narrowed, and a chill ran down his spine.
"What was that? Such an unnatural power... Was it coming from the forest on the outskirts of the city?"
He straightened, suddenly alert.
"Miss Mary, I think I have to go somewhere urgently. Send the case details to me online. I will check it afterward."
Without waiting for her response, he climbed into his sleek black car and sped into the dark.
The smooth road gave way to twisting, winding paths as he neared the forest. The once calm night wind turned wild, brushing violently against his windows. The trees loomed tall and swayed menacingly like silent sentinels watching his approach.
The storm wasn't natural.
Something—no, someone—was shaking the very balance of nature.
As he veered off into the forest trail, the headlights of three abandoned cars appeared by the roadside. Their engines were still warm, doors slightly ajar.
He stopped his car and stepped out, eyeing the muddy footprints leading into the dark woods. The direction was clear—and so were the intensifying shockwaves that now vibrated through the ground, subtle but undeniable.
With determination, he pushed through the underbrush, branches clawing at his coat like ghostly hands trying to hold him back.
And then—he saw it.
A clearing bathed in the eerie silver light of the full moon. The air was thick with raw, primal energy.
Joseph and David... but they were no longer themselves.
Two titanic forces stood in the clearing—a vampire and a werewolf—locked in combat like beings from ancient myths. Muscles tensed, fangs bared, their powers clashed with a brutality that defied reason.
Thomas froze.
"What... what the Fuck?"
Before he could process the scene, his boot crushed a twig beneath it.
CRACK!
The sound was sharp and uninvited, cutting through the tension like a gunshot.
In that moment, everything paused.
Joseph's claws stopped mid-swing. David's snarl faded into silence. All three men were frozen—caught in a moment that felt unreal, as if time itself had hesitated.
And then, the silence shattered.
A shadow, swift and serpentine, darted toward Joseph from behind. Thomas's instincts took over.
"BEHIND YOU!!" he yelled, his voice slicing through the storm like a blade.
Joseph spun, his pupils dilating. He twisted mid-air and thrust his arm out, catching the attacker by the neck in a vice-like grip. His momentum was halted—his breath caught in his throat.
It was her.
Lopez.
Not some illusion. Not a shadow.
Lopez... drenched in blood, yet very much alive—right before him.
Joseph's face contorted in disbelief. His eyes flicked toward the place where Lopez had just been lying—a crimson silhouette on the ground, unconscious and unmoving.
Nothing was there now.
He looked back at the woman in his grasp. Her face, her presence—it was undeniably real.
"Lopez? How are you--?"
But before the sentence could find an ending—
SHLICK.
A sharp sensation tore through his chest.
His body jerked as if struck by lightning. His eyes dropped, heart pounding against his ribcage.
And then he saw it.
CRACK!
A flash of lightning split the night sky, illuminating the swirling mass of black clouds overhead. The air smelled of rain and blood, thick with betrayal and static charge.
Lopez—the one Joseph trusted, the one he liked—had just stabbed him in the heart.
The blade was still embedded in his chest, and Joseph's wide, stunned eyes locked onto hers.
"Why?"
The word slipped from his lips, no louder than a whisper. It was a question not of logic, but of pain—a single, fractured syllable from a soul unraveling.
A single tear, hot against the cold wind, rolled down Joseph's cheek.
He stared into her eyes, looking for something—remorse, conflict, even humanity—but there was nothing. Only silence. Emptiness.
His knees began to tremble. The mighty pillar of strength, the one who had withstood storms, monsters, and madness, now crumbled like clay under a cruel hand.
His grip loosened from her neck, fingers brushing her collarbone, and then fell.
THUMP.
Joseph collapsed to his knees, the dagger still glowing faintly within his chest.
His heartbeat faltered, each thud weaker than the last, echoing in his ears like distant war drums. The storm's roar dulled to a suffocating silence. For a split second, he didn't see the battlefield—he saw Lopez laughing in the sunlight, the way her hand once tugged at his sleeve with childish stubbornness. That memory burned, fragile, then was ripped away by the cold rain.
"Joseph, stay with us!" David's voice broke through the moment, panic and rage crashing together.
Thomas was already rushing to his side, eyes wide with disbelief.
"What are you doing, Sabrina Lopez?! Have you lost your mind?!" he barked, his voice full of fury.
But Lopez... didn't flinch.
She stepped back, slowly—her face still blank, and then... she smiled.
"Finally, my work is done."
David's nostrils flared as he held back the storm brewing inside him. His voice came out like a low growl, trembling with fury.
"What the f*ck are you saying?"
Lopez tilted her head, eyes gleaming with condescension—like a teacher watching her dumbest student.
"You guys are really fools... or you just enjoy pretending to be ones?" she said with a chuckle.
Then her tone turned cold and sharp.
"Lopez isn't here."
"She's been captured by us. And you pathetic insects... didn't even notice."
She sauntered around them casually, like a lioness in a cage full of wounded prey.
"One down. Now for the rest."
She lifted her arms slowly, dramatically—like a conductor raising her baton before the orchestra of darkness began.
SHADOWS STIRRED.
From every direction, demonic forms began to emerge—grotesque, snarling, inhuman things. Their eyes glowed faintly, their forms twisted and crawling from the edges of reality. Dozens. Hundreds.
The clearing was now a death circle, surrounded from all sides.
David and Thomas instinctively positioned themselves, backs to Joseph, shoulder to shoulder, their breath syncing through the storm.
"David, you don't have to worry about your back," Thomas said firmly. "Just take care of the front."
He dropped his arms low, palms open—runes flared to life, forming burning fire circles in each of his hands. The light from them cast a furious glow on the rain-slick grass.
But the storm hissed in defiance. Each raindrop that struck his flames burst into steam, sparks sputtering against the downpour. The fire circles wavered, unstable yet defiant, like a lion forced to fight in chains.
David was momentarily stunned. He hadn't known Thomas possessed such power—fire born from nothing, runes pulsing with ancient force.
Yet beneath the awe, a cold thread of fear coiled in his gut. If this was Thomas straining against rain... what would Joseph's crimson blaze look like, unbound?
His eyes sharpened. With a grunt, his body shifted—bones cracking, sinews stretching, as he transformed into his full werewolf form.
Muscles bulged. Claws glinted. The beast was ready.
But Thomas... deep down, he was scared. Terrified.
His power—fire—was nearly useless in a storm like this. The rain doused his confidence with every drop. Every hiss of steam was like laughter, mocking his flames.
But still... he stood. Shoulders squared. Runes burning through the storm, even if they faltered.
The demons howled in unison and began to charge—a wave of darkness, gnashing and screaming.
But then—
RUMBLE.
A tremor.
The ground trembled slightly beneath their feet. The air went still. Heavy. Too heavy.
All movement stopped.
Joseph, still kneeling, gasping for breath, began to shift.
His chest—where the dagger was still lodged—began to glow with a crimson red light, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
He rose.
Not in fury.
Not in pride.
But with quiet determination.
With pain in his bones and vengeance in his blood.
Joseph roared, crimson fire bursting from him.
But beneath the roar, something inside him cracked—a seal, old and fragile, straining under the flood of rage.
Fleeting images flickered through his mind: a circle of chanting figures, his own body bound in shadow, a woman's scream cut short. They vanished as quickly as they came, leaving only blood and fury.
His body was broken—limping, bloodied—but his presence now burned with something otherworldly.
He looked toward the figure posing as Lopez. His voice was low, but carried weight like a falling mountain.
"I will ask only one time. Where is Lopez?"
His glowing red eyes pierced through the mist and moonlight, and from the wound, a crimson blaze began to unfurl, burning his torn shirt, casting embers around him.
Lopez—no, the demonic imposter—finally showed a crack in her arrogance. Her mocking grin faltered, her eyes twitching. But still, she held her chin high.
"You really think I'll tell you?" she spat. "She might've already DIED!"
SNAP.
Something shattered inside Joseph.
And in the blink of an eye, he vanished.
WHOOSH!
He reappeared—a whisper of motion—behind her.
She turned, confused.
Too late.
His hand gripped her skull.
SLAM!
With terrifying force, he smashed her face into the dirt, the ground cracking under the weight of his rage.
But before Joseph could react further, the demonic imposter shimmered like smoke, vanishing from where he had slammed her, only to reappear a few feet away, her cruel smile widening as if mocking his fury.
SCREEECH!
The forest trembled with an unholy chorus as the demonic horde surged forward, a blur of claws, snarls, and glowing red eyes. Their screams pierced the night, more beast than man.
They charged at Joseph like a tidal wave of hate.
David lunged into the path, tearing through the front line, his claws slicing into snarling beasts, but they kept coming. Behind him, Thomas unleashed rings of fire, sweeping his arms outward as burning arcs of flame spun through the darkness.
FWOOSH! FWOOSH!
Dozens of demons howled as they burned, collapsing into sizzling heaps of ash, but there were too many. For every one that fell, two more appeared.
"Damn it! They're surrounding him!"
Thomas shouted, sweat mixing with the cold rain, steam hissing off his burning hands.
David gritted his teeth, slamming a demon into a tree with brute force.
"We can't hold them back for long!"
They piled onto Joseph.
Claws tore at his skin. Fangs dug into his shoulders, blood splashing in the air. They scratched, bit, tore—a savage frenzy of pain and flesh.
But Joseph didn't flinch. Not even once.
His eyes never left her.
The fake Lopez stood a few feet away, her smile widening, mocking. Cruel. Empty. Infuriating.
Joseph's voice shook the air, booming with a fury that rippled through the trees.
"WHERE IS SHE?!"
The night had already witnessed countless horrors—but this was far from the end. It was only the beginning. Joseph's fury was not the conclusion; it was the dawn of a war unlike any before—a war against the very existence of demons.
The world Joseph knew would never return to what it once was. And the change... it might not be favorable to him.
To be Continued...