Fallen returned home that evening, the air unusually still.
He walked through the front door, calling for his father—no answer.
The house was silent. Too silent.
He stepped into the study… and froze.
There was no one inside. Only a folded note on the desk.
He picked it up. The words sent a chill down his spine:
*"I killed your mom. If you want the truth, meet me at this address."*
His breath caught. Eyes wide. Hands shaking.
Gone. His father was gone. The house felt hollow. And now this letter...
Fallen's panic twisted into rage.
He stormed out the door, fury in his step.
---
The street outside was cold. Silent. Until—
"FALLEN!"
A voice shouted from the shadows—loud and unfamiliar.
Before he could react, an attack came out of nowhere.
Fallen stumbled back, barely dodging a strike.
"Didn't your father teach you how to play?" the attacker growled. "How *he* plays, kid of No.1!"
"Who's No.1?" Fallen shouted back, confused.
"So you don't know, huh…"
"What are you talking about?!"
A sharp blow hit his neck. Darkness swallowed his vision.
---
When Fallen awoke, the sky above was gone.
High walls surrounded him—stone, cold, like an abandoned fortress.
The stranger stood nearby—thin, agile, sharp eyes gleaming. His movements like a serpent's. Controlled chaos.
"Now I'll teach you how to play," the man yelled.
Suddenly, demons began falling from the walls like a rain of monsters.
Their claws scraping the stone. Their screams inhuman.
The stranger leaped into action—ripping, tearing, slashing.
Hands were torn. Bodies exploded. Blood sprayed like mist.
He laughed while killing—his voice twisted with sick pleasure. "Now it's your turn, Fallen."
---
*To be continued.*