(Yuuta's POV)
Grandpa had already left with those two troublemakers—Sister Mary and my daughter, Elena—leaving me alone with Erza.
Yawaan…
A yawn slipped out of me before I could stop it. I felt heavy, sleepy, like the morning sun itself was trying to drag me back into dreams.
I stood by the bedroom window, Erza at my side. The golden light spilled across my skin, warm yet merciless, revealing every detail. My gaze dropped to my hands, then shifted to the faint reflection in the glass.
For a moment, I barely recognized myself.
Somehow, I had recovered faster than I ever thought possible. Not just healed—changed. My body carried muscle now, real strength, the kind men spent years chasing in gyms. The kind that drew stares, envy, even resentment. If my old gym buddies could see me, they'd probably be furious… or maybe just jealous.
But the muscles weren't what caught my attention.
"New scars, huh…" I muttered under my breath.
They covered me. Some old, faded like whispers of the past. Others fresh, red and unyielding. My entire body told a story in scars—stories I couldn't remember, stories I wasn't sure I wanted to. Ever since childhood, they had followed me, etched into my skin, carved into who I was. Proof of pain I couldn't escape.
And every time I looked at them, one question returned.
How cruel must my parents have been, to leave me like this?
A touch interrupted the thought.
Soft. Hesitant. Erza's fingers brushed across my chest, tracing the marks with a tenderness that made me freeze. She moved slowly, almost reverently, as though each scar was a page in a book she'd already read.
"It must have been painful," she whispered, her voice trembling.
I forced a crooked smile. "Well… I don't really know. I don't remember how most of these got here."
Her eyes—usually sharp, unshakable—softened. A raw, unguarded concern flickered there, something I had never seen in her before. It startled me more than the scars ever could.
Trying to break the silence, I laughed awkwardly. "Maybe my parents were so cruel they decided to use me as their canvas. Look—" I turned, pointing at the mess of scars along my back. "—doesn't it look like someone jabbed me with needles over and over? Almost like I was some kind of… experiment subject and this one it's look like someone hit me with several lashes."
I expected at least a scoff, maybe a dry remark.
But when I glanced back, Erza wasn't laughing.
Her violet eyes glistened, tears pooling at the corners.
"Hey, come on." I reached for her quickly. "Why are you crying over me? You're supposed to be the cold, strong Dragon Queen. But these past few days… you've been getting emotional again and again."
Her lips trembled as if she were holding back words she couldn't contain. Finally, her voice broke free, unsteady and raw.
"You don't understand… what I've seen. You'll never know how much it hurts me. You act like it doesn't matter, like you can laugh it away… but I can't. I hate it, Yuuta. I hate seeing you hurt."She shook her head Her tears slid down her cheeks, shimmering in the light. "These scars—they aren't just wounds. They're… torture. Every single one screams of it. As if your whole childhood was nothing but suffering."
My breath caught.
Torture?
The word rang in my ears, heavy, unnatural.
"What do you mean?" I asked quietly, though my voice felt rough, like it might shatter if I pressed harder.
But Erza lowered her head, her White hair falling forward like a curtain, hiding her face from me.
And in that silence, I realized—whatever she knew about my scars, she wasn't ready to tell me.
Before I could press further, a voice cut through the room like a blade.
"Enough, Erza."
Grandpa.
I turned sharply. He stood at the bedroom doorway, his tone heavy, commanding.
"What do you mean, enough?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended. My pulse quickened. "Wait—Grandpa, do you… know something about these scars?"
But he didn't answer. He only looked at me, eyes clouded with something I couldn't read. His silence was heavier than any confession.
"Grandpa—!"
Before I could step closer, pain struck me.
A sharp, blinding pain exploded in my skull, as if nails were being driven into my mind. My vision blurred, knees buckling as I clutched my head.
"Why… does it hurt… so much… just to remember…?" The words tore out of me, ragged, desperate.
Memories clawed at me from the darkness. Images, sounds, screams—so close I could almost reach them, yet slipping through my grasp.
"Yuuta!" Erza's voice cracked with panic. Her violet eyes widened, her hands trembling as she reached for me. She could see it. She knew. Maybe not everything—but enough to understand the storm trying to rip me apart.
Then, without hesitation, she cupped my face and pulled me toward her.
Her lips met mine.
Warmth. Soft. Fierce.
In an instant, the pain dissolved. The claws of memory released me. The fog swallowed the torment whole. My thoughts emptied until there was only her—her lips, her touch, her presence burning into me like a lifeline.
When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, her breath shaky. Her hand lingered against my cheek.
"Forget the past," she whispered, her voice trembling yet steady, "forget the scars, forget the pain. Live for today. Live for me… and for our family."
Her words wrapped around me like sunlight after a storm. Healing. Binding.
I caught her hand before she could pull away, squeezing it tightly. My chest still felt heavy, but somehow, just holding her like that made the weight a little easier to bear. A faint smile tugged at my lips.
"You're right… we should move on," I murmured, exhaling slowly, letting the haze in my head clear. Then I glanced at her, meeting her wide, trembling eyes. "Thank you… my wife."
The words slipped out naturally, but the effect was instant.
Her eyes widened, her cheeks blazing red.
Before she could react, I leaned back slightly, grinning "Actually… what do you think about making one more baby? You know… to help me move on."
Her entire face went crimson in an instant.
Then—SLAP!
Her hand struck across my cheek with the force of a cannon, the sound cracking through the air. The world spun, and before I knew it, I was flat on my back against the bed.
"Shameless mortal!" she thundered, her blush deepening even as her anger burned. "How indecent can you be—talking like that so casually!"
I lay there dazed, staring up at the ceiling, the sting of her slap still burning across my skin.
And yet… I couldn't help but laugh.
Location:- United States, Area 5.1 underground base.
(Sara's POV)
The underground base was buried beneath enough steel and concrete to withstand a nuclear strike, and yet… tonight, it felt fragile. Every step I took into its depths carried weight. Not the kind born of secrecy, but something heavier—something alive.
At the heart of the facility sat the interrogation chamber. White walls, sterile air, the faint hum of machines behind reinforced consoles in the observation hall. On the other side of the thick glass, a single sealed chamber waited—bare, silent, centered around one chair.
That chair was occupied.
By him.
Allen Manstar.
The Arch Demon.
The living urban legend who had painted entire streets red with blood within a day.
Capturing him had seemed impossible. For years he had slipped through the cracks of every net cast his way, killing with precision and vanishing like smoke. Yet in the end, we hadn't captured him at all. He had surrendered.
After assassinating the President, he surrendered himself. No fight. No resistance. Almost as if he had already achieved the goal behind his slaughter.
The number tied to his name was staggering. Over thirty thousand deaths. Terrorists, crime lords, corrupted officials, even businessmen who had struck deals with demons—all executed with surgical precision. But alongside them, innocents. Guards. Solider. People who simply happened to be near his blade.
He sat there now, bound by chains glowing with holy enchantments, their etched symbols searing faint light into his skin. They were designed to strip demons of their strength, and yet… even restrained, his presence filled the room. It was suffocating. A weight pressing against my chest until every breath felt stolen.
I leaned closer to the mic embedded in the wall, surprised that my voice held steady.
"Allen Manstar. Arch Demon… or perhaps something else. What exactly are you?"
I had studied enough of his techniques to know something didn't fit. An arch demon wasn't supposed to be this versatile. He commanded shadows as though they were his limbs, shrugged off the most complex spells like they were raindrops, and wielded cursed techniques that shouldn't even exist in this realm. He was too much. More than an arch demon. Perhaps something closer to a greater demon.
The words echoed into the sterile chamber.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. The silence stretched, long enough that the humming of the lights began to sound like thunder in my ears.
Then, slowly—deliberately—he lifted his head.
And he laughed.
It wasn't the laugh of a man amused. It wasn't mockery. It was jagged, broken, something that scraped at the walls and clawed at my nerves. The temperature seemed to drop with every note, frost settling in the edges of my veins.
"Subharshi…"
His voice rolled out low, smooth, laced with venom and… something worse. Familiarity.
"I never thought I'd hear that voice again, this aura.....hmmm...Blood Art."
Every hair on my body rose. I tightened my grip on the console, nails biting into my palm.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, though my throat felt tight.
Then his eyes met mine.
Even through the reinforced glass, they pinned me in place—sharp, merciless, as though they could cut through flesh and bone to the truth I had buried deep inside.
"You," he said slowly, savoring each syllable like a blade dragged across stone, "are from the Blood Moon Clan, aren't you?"
My breath caught.
The floor seemed to tilt beneath me. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe at all.
"…What?" The word tumbled out raw, unguarded.
The Blood Moon Clan. A name not meant to be spoken. A history buried in whispers and erased from Nova records . No one should have known. No one could have known.
And yet, Allen smiled. Not with joy. Not with cruelty. But with the cold, merciless certainty of a predator who had already cornered his prey.
The reinforced glass between us suddenly felt like nothing at all.
The moment the words Blood Moon Clan left his lips, my instincts screamed. This wasn't something my men should hear.
"Everyone out," I ordered sharply.
The captains and guards froze, exchanging uneasy glances. None of them wanted to leave me alone in the room with him. But they obeyed. One by one, they bowed and filed toward the door.
"Fiona." My voice caught her as she lingered at the threshold.
She turned, brows furrowed.
"Make sure no one enters. No matter what."
Her eyes flicked to the chained figure in the chamber, then back to me. She hesitated—just for a heartbeat—before giving a firm nod. "Yes, Chief."
The heavy steel door shut with a grinding thud, sealing me in silence.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my hand steady as I reached for the console and shut off the recording system. The small red light blinked out. If my suspicion was right, this wasn't a truth that could ever be documented.
I leaned forward until the cold glass was inches from my face. "How do you know my clan? How do you know who I am?"
Allen tilted his head, his smile widening as though he was savoring every crack in my composure.
"I've smell that Technique before," he murmured. "Long ago. From the Great Blood Emperor… Queen Amanda."
The name struck like lightning. My breath caught, my heart lurched violently against my ribs.
"Amanda…?" The word fell from my lips before I could contain it. Then my voice snapped into a shout, trembling with rage. "How do you know our ancestor?!"
His laugh rolled low and dark, echoing in the sterile chamber. "Oh my… so you are her descendant. No wonder. That tone… that arrogance… the same blood and same Nasty Aura."
"Answer me!" I barked, fury tearing through my restraint.
The chains binding him groaned as he leaned forward, holy seals burning bright where they touched his skin. His eyes glowed with something cruel. Something ancient.
"Long ago," he said softly, almost reverently, "I Saw her fighting against Slient Death. With these very own eye, I saw the end of her. I was young back then.
The floor seemed to fall from beneath me. My blood ran cold, my chest tightening until it hurt to breathe.
"Lies!" I screamed, fists slamming against the console. "That's impossible! Our ancestor Amanda died over four thousand five hundred years ago! You—" my voice shook, desperate, "—you couldn't possibly— how??, Demon can only live up to 300 year it's impossible for you to witness that bloody war...Unless you are.!"
But his gaze didn't waver.
No mockery. No smile. Just cold, merciless certainty.
"You don't have to believe me."
I staggered back a step, my hand instinctively covering my mouth. My heart pounded against my ribs like it wanted to tear free. Every instinct screamed that he wasn't lying.
If it was true… then Allen Manstar wasn't an arch demon at all.
He was something far worse.
My whisper broke, trembling, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.
"You're not just an arch demon… you're one of the Nefarions. A Primordial…"
His smile returned then. Sharper. Inhuman. A predator baring its fangs.
"Yes," his voice slid across the glass, smooth and cutting, "the real devil, sitting right in front of you… and I have found my Eternal Master, who will soon rule over all this world."
The weight of his words pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating. My legs trembled beneath me, my blood pounding in my ears, my instincts screaming in perfect unison with years of training.
This wasn't an interrogation anymore.
This was a death sentence waiting to happen.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms until they bled. Every fiber of my being screamed at me—I have to end him. I have to send him back to the demon world. If what he claimed was true, then nothing, not a single corner of this world, was safe.
Because what we were facing wasn't just an arch demon. This was a Nefarion—a Royal Demon. The bloodline of the Primordials.
Their strength only grows with age. Their power increases with every century, every victory, every dark act they commit. That's why no one—not even Erza—had been able to sense his presence. Not even our Agency. And now… the worst of all… he had found his true master, and his goal was nothing less than domination.
The implications hit me like a hammer.
We had to kill his current contractor. Before he could consolidate power. Before he could spread his influence. Before this world fell entirely into darkness.
Failure was not an option.
Location:- Lebius, Luna City
(Yuuta's POV)
"Acchooo~!"
I sneezed so hard I thought my head might spin off.
"Damn… who's thinking about me now?" I muttered, wiping my nose.
Erza groaned beside me, rolling her eyes. "Uff… it's just the cold wind. No one is thinking about you."
"Well…" I grinned, leaning a little closer, "it might be cold, but I wouldn't mind if my wife thought about me all the time. Honestly, I'd gladly sneeze for the rest of my life just for that."
Her cheeks flamed bright red. Without a word, she grabbed my head and started shaking it. "What are you talking about?!"
"Hey! Leave my hair alone, Erza!" I protested, laughing as she continued her assault.
She huffed, still glaring at me, but the tiny smile tugging at her lips betrayed her irritation.
---
To be continued…
(Author Awareness Note)
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— Ben_Lies