Support Night — in the city's farther reaches
Rain fell steadily over the slums, where light was scarce and the air smelled of rot.
In a narrow alley, water dripped from rusted pipes, pooling in murky puddles. Rats darted between the trash piles, squeaking shrilly as thunder rumbled above.
The ground, soaked and molded by the endless rain, squelched under every step.
Through this desolation, a beautiful, middle-aged woman ran for her life.
Her red dress—expensive silk now torn and clinging to her soaked body—contrasted violently with the grime around her. Her makeup had long since smeared, and her bare feet slapped against the cold, muddy stone.
Anyone who saw her could tell she came from wealth. But in that moment, she looked nothing like it—her face was streaked with tears and rain, her voice hoarse from screaming.
"Hyaaaaa! I don't want to die! Someone help me—HELP!"
Her voice echoed through the empty alley, carried by the storm. From the sound of it, she'd been screaming for a long time.
She stumbled forward—then suddenly tripped over something hidden in the darkness.
Pain shot through her body as she crashed into the wet ground.
"Aaaah—!"
She tried to rise, only to find her left leg pierced by strange, bone-like quills, sharp as daggers and embedded deep in her flesh.
H-how... how could I not have felt this?!
Her thoughts blurred. Her vision swayed. The edges of her sight began to darken.
No... I have to survive. Little Vlerg is home alone. He has no one left except me...
Gritting her teeth, something inside her flared awake—a desperate resolve. Her eyes darted around, searching the faint light for anything she could use.
An iron pipe glinted beside a trash heap.
She seized it, using it to prop herself up, then began limping toward the far end of the alley. Each step sent jolts of agony through her leg, but she pressed on.
As she neared the other exit, she realized she could no longer hear the thing chasing her. No footsteps. No scraping. No sound at all.
Hope flickered in her heart.
And then—
Swoosh— Ptuissssss!
A sharp projectile tore through the darkness and punched clean through her abdomen, impaling her.
This time, the pain was instant—pure, searing, undeniable.
"Hiiiiaaaaaaaaaa!"
Her scream was cut short as an unseen force smashed her against the brick wall, cracking the plaster and leaving a splatter of red behind.
She coughed blood, trembling, her blurred vision turning crimson. Her body was drenched—rain, mud, and her own blood mixing into one.
Through her half-lidded eyes, she saw it.
What... what the hell is that thing...
Clinging to the wall was a grotesque creature, like the failed offspring of a porcupine and a garden lizard—but instead of scales, its flesh looked like the raw tissue of a pig. Its body pulsed wetly, its eyes dull and hateful.
---
A few minutes earlier
A luxurious carriage of an unmarked brand rolled down an old, seldom-used road. The dim streetlights barely reached the path, leaving the surroundings cloaked in shadow.
Inside, the same beautiful woman sat comfortably, wrapped in wealth: a bright red dress, a calm pearl necklace, red-and-black shoes, and a handbag glimmering with diamonds.
Her face, however, twisted with disgust as she glared at her phone.
"Useless... filthy... bastard," she muttered, strings of curses slipping between breaths.
After a long stretch of venting, she sighed, exhausted.
"Fuuuuh... that bastard is fighting us with everything. Even going as far as claiming I killed my husband—when anyone with half a brain can see he's lying."
"Please relax, Madame," came a calm, youthful voice from her left. "Now isn't the time to let tension or anger consume you. Think of the young master."
"It's your head and your entire family that'll have high blood pressure," she snapped, turning to glare at the speaker.
Seated beside her was a young man, vibrantly handsome, with blond hair and black eyes tinged faintly with violet. He wore a spotless butler's suit, sitting perfectly straight—his right hand resting neatly on his lap, his left idly draped by his side.
Despite her outburst, his expression didn't change. It wasn't the first time he'd endured her temper; his lack of reaction made that clear.
His brows were furrowed, though—not in anger, but in thought. His white-gloved fingers tapped rhythmically against the decorative trim of his trousers.
Click. Click. Click...
"Would you stop that already? It's annoying!" she snapped again.
Would this wretched woman just shut up...
He didn't say it aloud, but the thought burned quietly behind his composed face.
Still, he stopped tapping.
Then, softly, he said,
"But..."
The woman turned her head quickly, expecting something important—perhaps even hope for her legal battles.
"But what?" she demanded.
He looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Mind how you speak to me, Madame. It may be normal between us—but don't let others see this lacking character of yours."
He smiled faintly as he peeled the glove from his right hand. The light from the carriage window flickered across his bare skin. His expression darkened into something wicked.
A spark of excitement glinted in his eyes.
"Let's play," he murmured.
"A game of heart and skin... passion of flesh and blood."