Under the pale light of the moon, in a castle swallowed by the night
a man stood silently before a window, gazing at the distant houses that flickered with faint lights. The moon's reflection on the glass revealed a pale face, a glowing red eye, and a figure wrapped in a long cloak of black velvet, embroidered with faded golden threads—like veins of an ancient time. The high collar hugged his neck, decorated with shards of red agate, like frozen blood left on a blade.
Silence lingered, until it was broken by a soft voice behind him.
Without turning, the man glanced with the corner of his eye toward the shadows twisting and forming until human figures appeared—eyes glowing red in the dark.
He turned back to the window and spoke calmly: "So... you've really come."
One of them stepped forward, different from the others. He stood with stillness and purpose. He bowed slightly without raising his gaze.
"We're sorry... but you left us no choice, Your Majesty."
The king paused, then gave a short, joyless chuckle.
Finally turning toward them, he looked at them with a lazy gaze, as if they weren't worth his full attention.
"How unfortunate... not one of you knows how to betray properly."
Without another word, the men began to move. Fifteen of them in total, surrounding him slowly, their red eyes burning. They unsheathed their swords, blood energy coating the blades, and fell into combat stances.
The king said nothing. But a thick aura of blood wrapped around him, forming a sword in his hand. His glowing eyes held a calm, deadly look.
The traitors charged at once, their energy focused into their swords, leaping toward him. But the king barely moved. With short, precise gestures, he deflected their strikes. His aura expanded around him, like a wall of pulsing blood, repelling their attacks without effort.
One attacker tried from behind, but the blood formed a spear and pierced him before he got close.
The leader didn't move. He watched calmly. Then gave the order to form a coordinated attack: ten would strike directly, four would use a "Blood Seal" to weaken the king.
The four moved to the corners of the room, forming a wide circle. Each drew a dagger carved from black bone, tinged with blue. They stabbed the daggers into their palms. Blood fell—not normally—but drew moving patterns on the ground. The marks connected, forming an ancient circle with four points.
They whispered chants—like mourning trapped in air. The lines of blood rose, forming a glowing red cage, slowly closing around the king.
His aura began to shrink, like something inside him was being shut down.
At that moment, the other ten attacked. Their blades were wrapped in blood energy, slicing the air, leaving trails behind as if tearing through reality.
The king didn't move. He stood, still and patient, inside the closing cage.
And then...
A calm smile appeared on his lips. "So slow..."
The voice came from within.
Suddenly, his blood aura erupted like a volcano. The cage of blood split down the center. The air burned coldly.
In a blink, the king vanished.
One enemy flew through the air, his chest torn open. Another's head turned slowly... then fell off.
The king's sword strikes weren't fast. They were silent. Clean. Like carrying out a death sentence.
The rest stepped back, tense and uncertain.
The four at the corners tried again. The blood on the floor reconnected, trying to rebuild the seal.
The king looked at them.
Their daggers exploded. They dropped, lifeless. Not just bleeding—drained of life itself.
The leader, still watching, tightened his grip on his sword. "You've always been like this..." he whispered. "No need for shouting. One move... and it's over."
He stepped forward. His sword shimmered with strange energy—part blood, part darkness.
He charged with everything he had. One final blow.
Their swords clashed.
It wasn't metal. It was like time itself cracked.
Silence. The moment stretched.
Then...
The king stood behind him. His sword dripping with unholy blood.
The leader knelt, shaking. But smiled.
"Now... your time has come, Your Majesty."
He pulled out a small necklace. Inside it, a cracked black gem pulsed with ancient energy—not blood, but something older.
He threw it in the air.
It opened the sky. A gray vortex appeared. A dark thread descended—no light, no end.
It wrapped around the king.
For a moment, nothing.
Then his aura vanished. His blood sword faded. He staggered.
He looked at his hand—something he hadn't felt in centuries:
Weakness.
The leader stood and walked toward him slowly.
"We knew no weapon could kill you. So we brought something... from beyond blood."
He raised his sword.
The king didn't move.
The sword pierced his chest.
His blood wasn't red. It was black, thick... unwilling to leave.
But in his fading eyes—a sudden spark. A soul refusing to be stolen.
He fell to his knees. Then to the ground. A long shadow... whose time had ended.
The necklace floated in the air. Then vanished.
.....
Somewhere else, under the same pale moon
In a ruined forest clearing— thirty torn bodies of werewolves lay scattered. Blood soaked the dirt.
In the center stood one man. Breathing heavily. Bleeding. His right arm barely attached.
…Thirty of his kind... and he didn't even transform.
He looked at the remaining werewolves with cold, wild fury.
"You couldn't beat me one-on-one, so you brought an army. Cowards."
A figure stepped from the trees. His younger brother.
"Don't make this harder than it is. You won't survive this."
The man glared at him.
Bone pushed through his arm. Flesh tore. His teeth lengthened. His skin peeled, revealing the monstrous face of a half-burned wolf. One eye burned with rage.
His roar shook the earth.
He lunged at the nearest man. No sword. No aura.
Just claws.
He tore into the man's chest, yanked out his spine like pulling weeds. Blood sprayed everywhere.
The rest hesitated.
"Kill him!" shouted the younger brother.
Five werewolves attacked.
He ran straight at them. His body breaking more each step, but he didn't stop.
He grabbed one by the jaw and ripped upward—half a corpse screamed.
Another bit his arm—but before he finished, the man shoved his hand into the wolf's throat and pulled his guts out.
Two jumped on his back— but his back muscles flared, tossing them off. One hit a tree and exploded into crushed flesh.
"He's not stopping..." one soldier whispered, tail shaking.
"Send the rest!" the brother screamed, panic in his eyes.
Fifteen transformed werewolves emerged from the trees.
The man didn't speak. He stood, barely breathing. Blood gushing from thirty wounds.
Then—
He roared.
And charged.
Bodies slammed into bodies. Flesh ripped. Howls and screams filled the night.
Limbs flew. Eyes popped. A hand curled around a throat—and crushed it.
Every werewolf that came close—fell.
But...
His body slowed. Left leg limp. Left chest shattered. His pulse... fading.
One bit into his neck. Another ripped his gut. A third broke his spine.
He didn't scream in pain. But in fury.
In his last moment...
He looked up. Blood dripping from his mouth.
He stared at his brother.
Not with fear.
But with a promise.
...
On the same night, in the ruins of a shattered city
Azure wandered through the debris, lost—just like the broken world around him. He didn't know what he was looking for, only that he had to find something. Or someone.
He entered a half-destroyed building. Rubble filled the halls. The ceiling was caved in.
Then he saw a mirror.
And saw himself.
A young man, twenty-one years old. Messy short black hair. Deep black eyes.
He wore a black short jacket with side pockets and a slightly shiny silver zipper, open to reveal a dark, tight t-shirt—gray like a shadow in the dark.
His pants were black, tight, made from rough fabric like synthetic leather, designed more for movement than fashion.
His shoes were silver sports sneakers.
He stared at the wounds on his body, still fresh from the train crash. His face showed pain, fear... and horror from the bloody memories inside that train.
He slapped his own cheek lightly.
"Now's not the time to panic. I need to find someone... or at least a way out of this wreck."
He began searching the ruins. Maybe a map. Maybe a weapon.
Then he heard something. A sound.
Getting closer.
He froze. Held his breath. Stepped slowly.
Quietly, he moved toward the exit.
And there...
In front of him
A lizard-like monster stood.
Staring at him.
Its eyes... silver.