Chapter 1: A Wish Carved in Blood
3:00 AM.
The world was still.
Still in that eerie way that made the night feel alive—as if it were holding its breath.
No cars, no voices, only the rustle of dry leaves and the distant cry of owls. The cold wasn't just weather—it was emptiness. Something was about to happen. Something awful.
A boy ran through the quiet street.
No more than twenty, panting hard, his thin arms hugged a black plastic bag.
Blood leaked from it, trailing behind. Inside—something wrong, something heavy.
The bag looked big enough to hold a whole human body… if cut into pieces.
Yonami.
That was his name.
Hair unkempt, dark curls clinging to his sweaty forehead. His shirt was black, soaked with cold sweat. Skin pale like moonlight, eyes wide and hollow—violet and shaking with a thousand thoughts.
He looked like he had just stepped out of a nightmare.
And maybe he had.
He stumbled to a stop. Laughter echoed from somewhere nearby—men's voices, too close.
His eyes widened. He turned to run again, but—the bag slipped from his grip.
It hit the ground with a dull, wet sound.
Splat.
The plastic tore open slightly from the fall. The contents inside spilled out just enough to reveal human flesh, hacked mercilessly into pieces—two severed heads, a man's and a woman's.
A grotesque scene. And yet—
It didn't feel like a murder.
It looked like survival gone wrong. But who would believe that?
"...N-No... No no no... I don't even have time to fix this," Yonami whispered in panic, voice shaking. "I have to run…"
He scrambled up and darted across the street, slipping into the backyard of a quiet duplex.
There wasn't much—just a rusted bicycle in a garage, and a tiny rose garden swaying in the cold night air.
He crouched low behind a bush. His chest rose and fell violently. Tears blurred his vision. He gripped the blood-stained knife in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Then he heard them.
The voices. The same men. They'd found the bag.
Five of them—one screamed and clutched his mouth, another backed away in horror, another vomited on the spot. One passed out. The last one… dialed the police.
Yonami's heart dropped.
His breath hitched. His limbs trembled uncontrollably.
"N-No no no no! Not the police—! They'll find me—they'll think I did it—but I'm not... I'm not...!"
His voice cracked as he choked on his panic.
Blood—his parents' blood—was all over him. His clothes. His skin. His hands.
Even if he dropped the knife, they'd still find his DNA.
His eyes darted down to his hands. They were slick, sticky with drying blood.
His mind screamed, replaying the moment:
His mother.
His father.
Already bleeding, already dying—when those strangers came, blades flashing.
Yonami had grabbed the knife to save them.
But he was too late.
By the time the strangers fell, so did his parents.
He hadn't killed innocents. He had killed monsters. But to the world—he was just another murderer.
"G-God, please…" he whispered, face in his palms. "Save me... Just once... Please…"
Then—sirens.
Red and blue lights tore through the darkness.
Two police cars arrived, tires screeching. Neighbors peeked from their windows and doors.
Footsteps, flashlights, shouting. They were closing in.
He was surrounded.
Trapped.
If he moved, the people from the house would see him.
If he stayed, the cops would find him.
Every escape route was sealed.
And so—he chose the only way out he could see.
Death.
Tears rolled silently down his cheeks as he looked at the knife in his trembling hand.
There was nothing left. No family. No future. No voice to defend himself.
Maybe... maybe dying was the only way to survive.
He brought the blade to his throat.
Right over the pulse.
His fingers twitched.
He closed his eyes—
And then—
A hand.
Warm. Strong. Stopping him.
Gripping his arm firmly.
Yonami's eyes flew open, breath hitching in terror.
Had he been caught? Was it a neighbor? A cop?
Then came a voice—low and calm.
Too calm.
"...You killed two people, didn't you, Yonami?"
He froze.
How the hell did this man know his name?
He couldn't move, couldn't speak. His knees buckled, but the stranger's other arm caught him.
Yonami nodded weakly.
He had no words. Only fear.
But then the man leaned close, voice like velvet dipped in poison.
"You have three choices:
Get arrested.
Die here, hopeless.
Or... let someone else die after thirty days—and walk free, with a peaceful life in exchange."
Yonami stared at him, stunned.
What...?
Before he could respond, the man gently took the knife from his hand.
"I can erase this all," the man said, eyes glinting. "If you choose the last option, I'll save you."
Yonami's lips quivered.
"I… I-I'll… I'll do anything… just please… g-get me out of here, s-sir…"
The man smiled.
And then—he snapped his fingers.
Time stopped.
The world froze mid-breath.
The sirens vanished.
The air itself went still.
Yonami's eyes widened. He looked around—everyone was motionless. The police, the neighbors, the lights—all suspended in time like glass statues.
He was stunned.
"This... this can't be real…"
He turned, trembling, to face the man who had just saved him.
And finally, he saw him fully.
Tall. Calm. Same yet different face...Unmoving like an actual glass doll .
Long black hair flowed down to his waist. His robe—deep violet—fluttered as if underwater.
His face was soft but strange, ageless. His eyes—alive, piercing, too calm to be human. But they weren't lifeless. No. They held something else.
Darkness.
But a darkness that smiled.
"W-Who are you…?" Yonami whispered.
The man didn't answer. Instead, the blood on Yonami's hands vanished. The knife disappeared from existence. Warm light wrapped around his body like fog dissolving nightmares.
Then the man extended a hand.
An offer.
A contract.
Come with me," he said, eyes glinting like the stars above, promising both danger and solace in the same breath.