The television flickered with static before stabilizing into the sharp features of Kana Yukino, Channel 7's most trusted anchorwoman. Her expression was professional as always, but there was something heavier in her eyes tonight.
"Another tragedy tonight," she announced, her voice carrying a practiced steadiness that did little to mask the sorrow beneath. "Three high school students were killed returning from a late movie in Sector 9. One survivor remains in critical condition."
The broadcast cut to footage—red-blue sirens flashing against shattered concrete, backpacks torn and soaked in blood scattered across the street, claw marks carved deep into the pavement as if some beast had crawled out from a nightmare. The faint echo of weeping parents carried through the recording before the camera shifted back to Kana.
"This marks the twelfth demon-related death this month," she said gravely. "Citizens are demanding accountability from the Hunter Association."
The screen went dark.
---
Outside the sleek, steel-and-glass headquarters of the Hunter Association, the night erupted into chaos. A restless mob of reporters pressed forward, microphones raised, cameras flashing like lightning.
At the podium stood Chairman Daigo Ren, his silver hair immaculate, his tie perfectly straightened. His smile was calm, his posture relaxed, but his eyes betrayed the faintest flicker of irritation.
"Chairman Ren," a reporter shouted, "this is the fourth civilian attack this week. Where are the Hunters?"
Ren leaned forward slightly, his hands clasping the podium with casual grace. "We're deploying more patrols across Velmorra," he replied smoothly. "Demon activity is rising across the continent. The system is under strain, yes—but we are adapting."
Another voice cut through the noise. "And the hunter who saved the lone girl? Civilians are calling him The Ghost Hunter. Witnesses say he wore black and carried a massive sword radiating purple Resonance. Is he part of the Association?"
Ren's smile lingered, but his eyes sharpened. "We have no confirmation. The matter is under investigation."
The flashbulbs grew blinding. Questions shouted over questions, but Ren raised a single hand, silencing them with a gesture. His mask of composure never cracked.
---
Inside the Association's marble halls, Vice Chairman Ruga walked briskly alongside a tall female hunter. Her boots echoed against the floor as she handed him a tablet.
"Sir," she said urgently, "we pulled footage from Sector 9. The man isn't registered with any squad. But… look at this."
On screen, the slowed footage revealed a figure in black. His coat flowed like shadow as he drew a massive blade in one fluid motion. The strike was clean, effortless. Purple energy rippled from the steel as the demon fell, cleaved in two.
The hunter's voice trembled slightly. "That sword… it matches records of the Emperor Blade. Arvion's weapon."
Ruga's eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened as the two entered Ren's office.
"Arvion's blade?" Ren muttered, his polished calm slipping into a scowl. "Tch… if this boy is his apprentice, then he's not ordinary. That makes him dangerous."
"The way he fought," Ruga replied carefully, "he wasn't reckless. He didn't even speak to the survivor. Just… vanished."
Ren's gaze turned icy. "Don't admire him. Find him. If he's unregistered, we recruit him." His tone dropped to a chilling whisper. "If he resists… we silence him. Quietly."
---
Far below the Association's pristine façade lay the chamber few ever entered—the Inner Council.
A colossal obsidian table stretched the length of the room, its surface reflecting the pale glow of braziers along the walls. Fifteen high-backed chairs lined its sides, though only nine were filled. Shadows clung to the councilors like a second skin.
Ren and Ruga stepped inside.
"So, it's true," one councilor said coldly. "Arvion's blade has resurfaced. And with it… his cursed ideals."
Another leaned forward, fingers drumming the table. "We buried that era for a reason. Hunters exist for discipline, for order. This 'Ghost Hunter' could unravel everything we've built."
Ren's voice was flat. "He's not Arvion. Just a rogue who found a relic. We'll bend him to the system. Or break him."
A third councilor tilted their head. "His aura was purple, yes? Arvion's was golden. This one… is darker."
"Exactly," Ren said. "That makes him unpredictable."
The chamber sank into silence, heavy with unspoken calculation.
---
Far from the noise of politics and flashing cameras, atop the skeletal remains of a ruined high-rise, Rayyan stood alone.
The midnight wind tugged at his black coat as he stared out at the city lights. From this height, Velmorra looked peaceful, glittering like a sea of stars. But he knew better. The streets were stained with blood that no camera could ever fully capture.
His blade rested beside him, its edge glinting faintly in the moonlight. Slowly, he raised his gloved hand, flexing it. A faint flicker of purple pulsed beneath the skin, alive, whispering, dangerous.
The Association… still rotting from the inside. Politics while people bleed.
His lips curved into a faint smirk. "They're calling me the Ghost Hunter now," he murmured. "Hmph. Sounds cool enough."
But the smirk faded, replaced by the cold steel of resolve in his eyes.
"Let's see how long I can stay invisible."
The wind howled across the rooftop as the city slept below—unaware that its fragile future stood watching from above.