The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the night breeze slipping through the window. The moonlight bathed the small, humble space in a soft glow, casting gentle shadows across the walls. The bed beneath me was firm but comforting, the blankets warm and familiar.
I exhaled slowly, my body sinking into the mattress as my eyes grew heavy. Today had been exhausting. Training, chores, and… spending time with her. I could still hear her laughter, see her smile—so carefree, so alive.
I closed my eyes, letting the memory linger a moment longer.
Her face… Yuna's face…
Darkness settled in, my mind drifting as sleep began to claim me. But as consciousness faded, a strange sensation gripped me—a cold, creeping chill that prickled across my skin.
The air grew heavy, suffocating. An overwhelming scent of blood and ash filled my lungs, burning with every breath. Distant cries echoed in my ears, agonized and haunting.
I opened my eyes—
And then, a battlefield lay before me, nothing more than a wasteland of destruction. The ground was scorched, the air heavy with the scent of blood and ash, and the cries of fallen warriors echoed in the distance. Above, the blood-red moon hung ominously in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the ruins.
The final battle had reached its climax.
I stood at the center of the devastation, my body tense and weary. Blood soaked my clothes, the blackened coat tattered and torn, its crimson-lined edges flaring with every gust of wind. My chest was exposed beneath shattered armor, revealing the massive, jagged scar that tore across my flesh—a scar carved by hatred, by loss, by duty.
In my right hand, I held Nocturnis, the Requiem of the Eclipse, a scythe radiating an otherworldly cyan energy, its sharp edge gleaming even in the chaos. Blood streaked my face, my dark black eyes burning with a fierce determination. Though my body was battered and bruised, there was no sign of surrender in my stance, only the resolve of a warrior who had endured the impossible time and time again.
Around me, my teammates fought with everything they had, their resolve unshaken despite the overwhelming odds. Each strike, each cry of defiance, echoed their shared loyalty and bond. The battlefield was a storm of chaos, the air thick with smoke, magic, and the clash of steel, but they stood together, their unity unbroken even in the face of certain doom.
Beside me, Kenta Tanaka, the fierce barbarian, swung his massive axe with unrelenting force. Sora Nakamura, the agile assassin, darted through the shadows, taking down enemies with precision strikes. Akari Fujiwara, the sharp-witted assassin, moved with calculated grace, her blades cutting through the darkness. Ryo Takeda, the noble paladin, fought valiantly, his sword glowing with holy magic as he protected his comrades. And Yuna Okamoto, our compassionate healer, stood at the heart of the battle, her hands glowing with divine light as she mended their wounds and strengthened their resolve.
But even with their combined strength, they were no match for the Vampire Elders—an ancient group of vampires who had lived for centuries and sought to dominate the world. The Elders were powerful, each one wielding dark, forbidden magic.
They were unstoppable.
The battlefield was a cacophony of pain and destruction. Dark skies swirled with ominous clouds as the Vampire Elders, ancient beings of terrifying power, stood like shadows in the heart of the chaos. Each Elder had their own form of forbidden magic, and they wielded it with ruthless precision.
My team—my comrades, my friends—fought alongside me, but the odds were overwhelming.
The battlefield shook violently as the First Elder descended from the cliffside, a monstrous colossus wreathed in shadowfire. His form was a living storm of darkness, his body a swirling fusion of black flame, violet embers, and flickering gray smoke. As he plummeted from the heights, the very air around him twisted and darkened, drawn into the abyssal inferno of his presence.
His impact was cataclysmic.
The ground ruptured beneath his feet, the sheer force of his landing shattering stone and sending out shockwaves of black fire. The sky above darkened further, as if the heavens themselves recoiled from the horror that had descended upon the battlefield.
As the smoke and embers settled, a low, eerie chuckle echoed through the battlefield.
The First Elder stood tall amidst the destruction, his monstrous form barely fazed by the impact of his descent. His body, a swirling storm of living shadowfire, pulsed with an unholy glow, the deep black flames licking hungrily at the ground beneath him. The air warped around him, as if reality itself struggled to contain his existence.
And then, he smiled.
A slow, cruel, and sadistic grin spread across his face, his fangs gleaming like jagged daggers in the violet light. His eyes, twin pits of abyssal flame, burned with the mockery of a predator who had cornered his prey.
He took a step forward, his presence alone forcing the ground to crack and smolder.
His voice slithered through the battlefield, rich with amusement, a voice that resonated like a funeral hymn.
"Ahhh… how long has it been…?" he mused, his gaze sweeping over the warriors before him.
"Since when did I last felt this… thrill?"
He spread his massive, clawed hands, the shadowfire around his fingers flickering and shifting like living serpents. His grin widened, splitting his face into something inhuman, monstrous, and utterly delighted.
"Oh… you're all going to burn so beautifully."
And with that, the First Elder lunged—
A streak of black fire and annihilation, hurling himself straight into battle, his laughter ringing through the air like a death knell.
The First Elder was death incarnate.
His monstrous frame blurred across the battlefield, a streak of black flame and violet destruction, leaving nothing but charred husks and ash in his wake. His sadistic laughter echoed over the screams of the dying, a cruel symphony to accompany the massacre.
With a flick of his wrist, a tide of shadowfire erupted from his palm, swallowing a dozen warriors whole. Their screams pierced the air as the unholy flames burned not just their flesh, but their very souls. Their bodies twisted and writhed, their armor melting into their skin before they crumbled into ashen remnants, swept away by the battlefield winds.
A warrior charged him from behind, sword raised high.
Without even turning, the Elder snapped his fingers.
A spear of swirling black and gray fire pierced through the warrior's chest, lifting him off the ground. His body convulsed violently, his veins turning black as the cursed flames ate him from the inside. He tried to scream—but his lungs had already been burned away.
The Elder exhaled mock disappointment.
"Pathetic."
He closed his hand, and the spear detonated, scattering the warrior's remains into the wind.
He moved like a storm of death, his claws wreathed in flame as he slashed through soldiers like paper. With each step, he left burning footprints, the cursed fire spreading like an unholy plague. He kicked one warrior into the air, then raised his open palm—a column of violet fire erupted beneath them, vaporizing them mid-flight.
A group of mages attempted to counter him, their staffs glowing with water magic.
The Elder only laughed harder.
Before they could cast their spells, he thrust his hand forward—tendrils of black flame shot out, coiling around their throats like living snakes.
"Trying to drown my flames?" he chuckled
"My, my. Is that all you've got?"
He tightened his grip.
The flames burned and drained their very essence, their bodies withering as they screamed, their flesh crumbling into nothing. The Elder breathed in deeply, relishing their agony, before throwing their empty husks aside like discarded dolls.
More warriors and mages rushed him. Dozens. Desperate. Furious. Terrified.
Yet, it didn't matter.
The Elder spread his arms wide, and the battlefield ignited.
A wall of black fire erupted around him, a swirling vortex of death and annihilation. Warriors collapsed instantly, their armor fusing to their bodies, their eyes melting in their sockets as the cursed flames devoured them whole. Their screams agonized, endless, horrifying only made the Elder's laughter crescendo in manic ecstasy.
He danced through the carnage, a sadistic specter of destruction, savoring every moment.
"Scream for me!" he howled, his voice laced with ecstasy as he crushed a warrior's skull in his flaming grip.
"Cry louder! Show me your despair!"
Everywhere he moved, death followed.
The battlefield was no longer a war—it was a slaughterhouse.
And the First Elder was its executioner.
But then—
A blur of motion. A flash of cold steel.
In that instant, instinct overtook thought, and the past and present merged into one violent purpose.
I descended like a reaper, scythe in hand, the blade singing through the air, aimed directly at the Elder's neck.
The Elder turned and caught the pole of the scythe with one hand.
Shadowflames erupted from the Elder's palm, attempting to devour the weapon in an instant.
But they stopped—fizzled, as if swallowed by a void.
The Elder's eyes narrowed.
"…What is this?" he hissed.
The flames danced impotently against the scythe's pole, unable to touch the blade itself. Etched into the weapon's dark metal were ancient runes, glowing faintly in defiance. Antimagic. Deep, primal. Untouchable.
The Elder's grin twisted into a sneer.
"You dare bring this filth to me?"
With a snarl of irritation, the Elder lifted me effortlessly with one arm and hurled me skyward like a ragdoll.
Before I could recover, the Elder was already beneath me.
A punch. A crack like thunder.
His fist collided with my stomach, and my world exploded into pain.
My body rocketed backward, a human missile crashing through rows of vampires and soldiers alike. Bodies flew, armor shattered. The shockwave of the passage left a trail of ruin across the battlefield.
I finally hit the ground with bone-jarring force, skidding across the earth, leaving a long trench in the dirt.
Dust and blood filled the air.
Silence.
The Elder turned slowly, his lips curled in disdain.
"Weak."
But his moment of smugness ended as a new presence slammed into the scene like a storm.
Kenta.
A juggernaut of rage and sorrow, charging forward with axe raised high.
The Elder's expression shifted to amusement once more.
"Ah... more insects," he said mockingly.
"Let's see if you scream prettier than the last one."
Then the Elder's smirk widened as he saw Kenta barreling toward him, a juggernaut of muscle and fury. The barbarian's eyes burned not with fear, but with a relentless, unshakable determination.
The Elder chuckled, amused.
"Such fire. Such… fragility."
Kenta didn't answer. He just swung.
His axe tore through the air, a gleaming arc of steel aimed straight for the Elder's head. The moment stretched, time slowing as the weapon neared its mark—
Only for the Elder to vanish in a swirl of black flame.
Kenta's eyes flashed in realization, but he was already mid-swing. Before he could react, a clawed hand wreathed in violet fire shot out from behind him, gripping his shoulder.
Then—agony.
The Elder's touch burned through his flesh like molten iron, his sadistic laughter ringing in Kenta's ears.
"Did you really think brute force alone would stop me?"
The Elder whispered mockingly before slamming Kenta into the ground with earth-shattering force.
The battlefield cracked beneath the impact.
But before the Elder could follow up, Kenta roared in defiance.
Slamming his hand into the ground, he channeled raw, unrelenting power into the earth beneath him. A massive pillar of solid rock erupted from the battlefield, surging upward with explosive force, straight into the Elder's chest. The impact sent the First Elder hurtling backward, his laughter cut short as he was launched into the air.
With sheer barbaric might, Kenta forced himself to his feet, ignoring the flames still eating at his skin. His axe, still gripped in his blistering hands, swung wildly. The Elder twisted midair, barely landing before dodging—effortlessly weaving through each strike like a shadow dancing between flickering candlelight.
"Faster!" the Elder taunted.
"Stronger! Or you'll die like the rest!"
Kenta growled, planting his feet as he lunged forward with unstoppable momentum. This time, his movements were wild, unpredictable, swinging his axe from angles the Elder didn't expect. In between powerful swings of the axe, Kenta switched tactics, his left fist landing with bone-shattering force against the Elder's chest. Each punch sent shockwaves rippling through the air, the ground trembling beneath their feet as Kenta channeled earth magic from the ground through his body, using his gauntlets to amplify the impact. The force behind each punch was like a tremor, the shockwaves slamming into the Elder with brutal intensity.
His ambidextrous nature allowed him to seamlessly switch hands—his right hand still holding the axe, while his left hand delivered another crushing blow. Then, without missing a beat, he would switch again, swinging the axe in a deadly arc before his other fist rocketed forward with another earthquake-like strike. The Elder was forced to dodge, but the unpredictable barrage of swings and punches kept him on edge, barely avoiding the crushing blows that came from both directions.
For the first time, the Elder blocked.
Kenta's axe met his forearm, and though the Elder's shadowflame armor absorbed the brunt of the strike, he was still forced back a step.
His smirk faltered.
Kenta grinned.
"Didn't like that, huh?"
The Elder's eyes darkened.
With a flick of his wrist, the battlefield trembled as shadowfire erupted beneath Kenta's feet. Jagged spikes of violet flame burst from the ground, impaling warriors left and right, turning them into shrieking torches.
Kenta, reacting on instinct, pivoted at the last second, narrowly avoiding a spear of flame that would have pierced his heart.
But he wasn't fast enough to dodge them all.
A jagged spike of shadowfire tore through his left side.
Kenta staggered, his breath catching as burning agony ripped through his ribs. His body screamed at him to stop, to collapse, let the flames devour him.
But he didn't.
Instead, he gritted his teeth, wrenched himself free, and kept moving.
The Elder let out a low chuckle.
"Ah… you're an interesting one."
Kenta panted, his grip tightening around his axe. His body was breaking. His vision blurred. The pain was unbearable.
But his will never wavered.
Then, he charged again.
This time, he didn't hold back.
Each strike of his axe and gauntlets sent shockwaves through the battlefield, the sheer force creating craters beneath his feet. His movements became faster, more savage—each swing and punch carrying the weight of every fallen comrade, every friend lost, every life stolen.
The Elder met his assault head-on.
Their clash shook the battlefield.
Steel met shadowflame in a violent storm of embers and destruction. Kenta pressed forward, unrelenting, refusing to let the Elder gain the upper hand. His every attack carried all the rage, grief, and fury of a warrior who had lost everything.
Then, just for a heartbeat, Kenta's eyes darted to the center of the chaos, where Tatsuo carved through the strongest vampires like a reaper unleashed, his scythe cleaving heads and torsos with terrifying precision.
At the core stood Yuna, her hands aglow with radiant magic as she multicast a flurry of spells—healing wounds, amplifying strength, heightening agility, and reinforcing defense. Each buff was finely tuned: raw power surged through Ryo's strikes, Sora moved with blinding speed, Akari's reflexes sharpened to near precognition, and Kenta's defenses thickened like stone. Encircling her, Ryo, Akari, and Sora moved as a living barrier of steel and shadows, cutting down any vampire that dared approach their healer.
That moment's glimpse gave Kenta a flicker of pride.
They're holding the line, he thought.
But in that same instant, the Elder registered the almost imperceptible stagger in Kenta's movements.
The brief distraction.
The searing pain from the wound in his side finally made him falter.
And he struck.
In a flash, the Elder lunged.
Kenta, realizing the danger in the split second it took for the Elder to close the gap, slammed his foot down to the ground, trying to flip a small portion of the earth upwards in a desperate attempt to block the Elder's strike.
But it wasn't enough.
The Elder's clawed, shadowflame-armored hand tore through the rock, melting it with terrifying ease, the jagged edges of the stone disintegrating under the infernal heat. The Elder's hand plunged through the broken earth, driving the burning talons into Kenta's chest, right above his heart.
Pain exploded in Kenta's chest, the shadowflame searing into him, and he gasped in agony.
Kenta's body jerked violently.
The Elder grinned as his fingers curled around Kenta's still-beating heart, shadowflames licking at the edges of the wound.
"You were strong," the Elder admitted.
"But not strong enough."
He crushed Kenta's heart in his grip.
A violent shockwave of black fire erupted outward, and for a moment, everything was silent.
Kenta staggered.
His axe slipped from his fingers.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps. He could feel his life leaving him—his limbs growing heavy, the battlefield fading from view.
But even as death reached for him, he refused to fall.
He lifted his head, locking eyes with the Elder.
And then—he grinned.
"Burn in hell, you bastard."
With the last of his strength, Kenta swung his fist—a single, devastating punch that collided with the Elder's face.
The impact sent the Elder staggering backward.
And Kenta—fell.
His body hit the ground, motionless.
The battlefield was eerily silent.
The Elder, stunned for only a moment, ran his tongue over his split lip, tasting his own cursed black blood.
Then he threw his head back and laughed.
A deep, guttural, sadistic laughter that shook the battlefield.
"Magnificent!" he roared.
"Even at death's door, you defied me! I will remember you, warrior!"
He lifted his bloodstained hand, still dripping with Kenta's life, and gazed at it with wicked amusement.
Then, with slow, deliberate intent, he licked the blood from his fingertips.
His laughter continued as he turned back to the battlefield, ready to kill again.
The Elder took a step forward, his laughter still echoing across the battlefield.
Then, the air shifted.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from behind him.
A sound that shouldn't have been possible.
A breath.
The Elder's amusement faded. His burning violet eyes flicked back toward Kenta's fallen form. Impossible. The barbarian's heart had been crushed—he had seen the life drain from his eyes.
And yet—
Kenta was moving.
Slowly. Unsteadily. But undeniably moving.
His fingers dug into the dirt, his bloodied arms trembling as he forced himself up inch by inch. The hole in his chest—where the Elder had crushed his heart—was still there. But his body refused to collapse.
His will refused to break.
The Elder turned fully now, his expression a mix of intrigue and… something else. Something he hadn't felt in centuries.
A sliver of unease.
Kenta's breath was ragged. His muscles screamed in protest. But he stood.
His stance wavered only for a moment before he planted his feet into the shattered ground.
Then, he lifted his head.
And grinned.
"You won't need to remember me."
Before the Elder could react, Kenta lunged.
In a flash of unearthly speed, he lunged forward, his arms coiling around the Elder's waist with lethal precision.
But as his hands locked around the Elder's form, the shadowflame armor burned Kenta's skin, searing through his flesh. The agony was instantaneous, but Kenta ignored it, clenching his teeth through the pain. His hands tightened around the Elder's waist, blood mixing with the fiery burn of the armor as he braced himself.
The monstrous being, for the first time, was caught off guard.
"What—?!"
Kenta's arms locked around him like an unbreakable vice.
Then, with a thunderous roar that shook the battlefield—
"KENTA TANAKA'S SUPLEX."
The Elder's massive form was ripped off the ground, his burning shadowflames trailing behind him as Kenta arched his back and SLAMMED him into the battlefield with earth-shattering force.
The moment of impact detonated the ground beneath them.
A shockwave rippled outward, sending debris, fire, and soldiers flying. The very air seemed to crack under the force.
The Elder let out a choked gasp.
For the first time, he felt true pain.
His monstrous body twitched, momentarily stunned.
And Kenta wasn't done.
With the last of his strength, he reached for his axe.
It was still there, buried upright in the ground—a beacon amidst the chaos. A warrior's weapon, waiting for its master.
Kenta gripped the handle. His burned, bloodied hands tightened around it. His forearms, now little more than melted flesh and muscle, screamed in agony with every movement, but he didn't care. The pain was nothing compared to the fury that surged through him.
He lifted it, slow at first, then with purpose.
Raised the axe high above his head.
The battlefield seemed to hold its breath.
Kenta exhaled, his vision blurring, his body nearly at its limit.
But his voice was clear. Unbreakable.
"…I'm taking you down with me."
With a final, mighty swing, he brought the axe down.
The blade cleaved through the Elder's throat, cutting through shadowfire, flesh, and bone in a single stroke.
The Elder's eyes widened. His lips parted, as if to speak—
But no words came.
His head rolled from his shoulders, his body convulsing violently as his shadowfire erupted uncontrollably.
The First Elder—one of the most ancient and powerful vampires to ever exist—
Was dead.
Kenta, his breath hitching, smirked one last time.
As Kenta collapsed beside the slain Elder, his vision flickered—darkness creeping at the edges, his body barely clinging to what little life remained. But even as his strength faded, he forced himself to turn his head, his eyes locking onto Tatsuo.
The battlefield was still raging. More vampires. More death.
Tatsuo was cutting through them like a storm, his scythe a whirlwind of runic light, his movements precise and unrelenting. But there were too many.
Kenta gritted his teeth.
He wouldn't let Tatsuo fall with him. His sacrifice had to mean something.
Summoning the last of his voice, he pushed himself up just enough to let out a final, earth-shaking roar:
"TAKE 'EM DOWN, TATSUO! DON'T YOU DARE STOP NOW!"
My movements stilled—only for a fraction of a second.
Then, my grip on my scythe tightened. My eyes, burning with determination, flickered toward Kenta's fallen form.
Kenta could only chuckle.
"That's right, buddy. Keep going. Keep pushing forward."
With a heavy sigh, he finally let his body relax, staring up at the swirling sky above. The battle cries around him grew distant—just echoes in the wind now.
His fingers twitched, brushing against the dirt. His axe lay beside him, the blade still embedded deep in the First Elder's remains.
A grin tugged at his lips.
"…Heh. Guess I finally got a move I can call my own."
A deep breath. His eyelids grew heavy.
He felt the weight of his body disappear.
And for the first time in his life—
Kenta Tanaka felt satisfied.
As Kenta's final breath faded into the storm of battle, the world around me blurred. The sounds of clashing steel, of war cries and death wails, became a distant hum against the weight in my chest.
But I couldn't stop.
I swung my scythe, cutting down waves of vampires with a ferocity born of grief. I roared through gritted teeth:
"Kenta… I swear, your sacrifice won't be in vain!"
The battlefield trembled under the weight of war, a chaotic storm of blood, steel, and magic.