North America: United Sovereigns of America, Yorkshore City — 2:07 AM
The city of Yorkshore never truly slept, always vibrant, but here, on the forgotten edges of the city, silence reigned. Faint neon bled from distant billboards, skyscraper lights blinked in the horizon, and the dim glow of weary street lamps flickered along an empty road. At its corner, a hulking warehouse loomed like a relic abandoned by time.
Four men emerged from the shadows, each clad in black jumpers—practical, almost ritualistic in appearance. As they approached the warehouse, without hesitation, one of them slowly shoved the rusted door open, its groan echoing through the deserted streets.
Inside, the air was heavy with dust and the faint stench of mildew. Shadows swallowed the cavernous space, broken only by the weak spill of moonlight from the high windows.
"...Feel that?" one of them muttered, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "A spiritual presence has definitely been here."
They advanced with measured steps. Three of the men carried faces carved from stone—resolute, unreadable. The fourth, however, lingered behind, his head darting anxiously, his every step a clear portrait of the gnawing fear rising in his chest.
Click. A beam of light sliced through the dark. One man's flashlight came to life, soon joined by the others. Their glow swayed across towering shelves and rusting machinery, stretching the shadows into lengthy shapes.
Then, they stopped.
At the front leading them forward was a man who had no light in his hands. He seemed to be in his early twenties with light dark skin, towering at six-foot-six, with a build clearly sculpted from years of discipline. His hair was neatly cut into a fade, his posture composed yet commanding. But what really stood out was his eyes— an unnatural crimson red—that pierced the gloom. When the flashlight beams struck the side of his face, his gaze glimmered like an omen in the dark. Calm, calculative and unshaken.
"Let's split up," his voice rang firm and steady. "Search for markings. Ritual remnants. Anything that feels off."
The others nodded wordlessly. Just as they were about to scatter, he added, "Tyler, come with me."
The younger man, no older than nineteen, reluctantly followed. His flashlight trembled faintly in his grip as they moved deeper, the silence of the warehouse pressing down on them.
At the far end, the red-eyed man looked round at the walls and floor with slow precision, as though piecing together an invisible puzzle. His brow furrowed.
"Damn it. It really is empty."
Tyler exhaled a shaky breath. "We should've come in daylight. The result's the same."
"Nah," the man murmured, eyes still searching the shadows. "They reveal themselves at night. Unless they've fled… this was our best chance."
"And if they are gone?" Tyler's voice dipped, laced with fragile hope.
"That'd be better." The reply came calm. "But I doubt it."
He turned toward the stairwell that climbed the four-story interior. "Come on. Let's regroup with the others—"
A violent crash split the air.
From above, a body slammed through the ceiling, crashing onto the concrete floor with sickening force as dust and splinters filled the air and settled on the ground in front of them.
Both men froze for a moment before the red-eyed man rushed forward, going on one kneel beside the fallen figure. Half the man's body was gone—ripped away as if devoured, his eyes hollowed into nothing. The crimson gaze darkened. With quiet reverence, he slipped off his jacket and draped it over the corpse's face before getting up.
The other men arrived breathless, their flashlights sweeping the wreckage. "We didn't see anything on the second floor," one stammered.
"Then this isn't a normal demon…' the red-eyed man thought grimly. "A demon strong enough to do this doesn't normally show up in places like this bound to walls or possessing buildings. This is something else.'
Suddenly, the men felt the temperature begin to drop.
From the cracks of the floor, shadows began to seep. Dark fog unfurled like smoke, coiling around their feet, spreading until the entire ground level drowned in it. The space around them shrank, leaving only a dim circle where they could see one another.
"Stay close—"
But then, a scream tore the silence.
One of the men was yanked into the fog's embrace, his cry cut short. Another followed in an instant, dragged away as though swallowed whole.
"Shit!" Tyler's voice shook as he raised his trembling hands. A blade shimmered into existence—a katana, summoned from thin air. His stance faltered, the fear of what was to come betraying him.
The red-eyed man, however, did not flinch. He stood still, composed, his presence alone grounding the space as he carefully observed his surroundings.
Then, a whisper slithered from the fog behind him but right In front of Tyler.
"Boo."
Tyler's body locked up, frozen, his breath hitching. His eyes were wide but lifeless, his limbs paralyzed though he was still breathing.
The red-eyed man's lips barely moved as he muttered, "...Alecto."
The fog shifted. It peeled back in a path leading toward the far end of the warehouse. There, atop rusting machinery, a figure lounged casually upon two lifeless corpses stacked beneath him. A shadow that seemed in the form of a man, but wrong—distorted, predatory.
The man's crimson gaze did not waver. He advanced, step by step, his expression calm, unshaken.
"You've got willpower," the figure drawled, his voice cold, almost mocking. "The rest of your men were weak."
The red-eyed man kept moving forward. As he walked, a blade slid into his grip as though conjured from the void—a weapon equal in length to Tyler's katana, but radiating far greater weight.
The shadow rose from his perch, stepping into the half-light as his body instantly shifted from the shadow form into the form of a man with similar physical qualities as the red eyed man. "You said my name. So you know me." His grin sharpened. "Tell me, are you one of the ones prophecied in this generation to defeat Revian ?"
The crimson gaze narrowed. His reply was curt, dismissive: "What if I am?"
The fog stirred.
"Then," the figure replied, the fog around him forming a blade in his hands as he stretched it out, "you'll die by the hands of Alecto, the First Pillar, by Revian's will."
In the blink of an eye, both figures vanished from their places, reappearing as steel clashed with steel. Sparks burst like fireflies as the red-eyed man's blade met the weapon Alecto wielded.
Their blades met in a storm of sparks, each strike reverberating through the cavernous warehouse. The clash of steel echoed against the walls, the air trembling with every collision.
The red-eyed man pressed forward, his strikes precise and unrelenting. Alecto, however, moved with unnerving ease, each motion fluid, almost lazy. With one hand on his weapon, he parried blow after blow, his expression relaxed—as if the fight were nothing more than idle amusement.
Their movements blurred. To the eye, they were no longer men but streaks of motion, steel flashing in the dark as the fog swirled violently around them.
And yet, for all his speed and power, the red-eyed man could not drive his opponent back. Every strike met resistance, every opening closed a fraction too quickly.
"He's toying with me', the thought lingered in his head.
A vicious swing came down, their blades locking. Sparks spat between them as both men pushed forward. Their eyes met—one glowing red, sharp and unyielding, the other cold, detached, like a predator humoring its prey.
With a twist and a brutal shove, both blades went flying—metal clattering across the concrete floor.
The red-eyed man lunged without hesitation, fist driving straight into Alecto's chest. But the impact hit nothing solid. Alecto dissolved, his body unraveling into mist.
From above, a mocking voice drifted through the air.
"You can keep up, even with the fog distorting your vision… impressive."
The man snapped his gaze upward. Alecto dangled effortlessly from a steel bar running across the ceiling, his grin widened. "Guess those crimson eyes aren't just for show, huh?"
The red-eyed man remained silent. Without a gesture, a blade flickered back into existence in his hand, materializing out of the air itself. His stance hardened once more, crimson gaze locked unwaveringly on his foe.
Alecto dropped from the beam, landing lightly. At his side, the swirling fog gathered, reshaping into his weapon again.
Steel rang once more as they collided, their duel resuming with renewed ferocity. But this time, the rhythm shifted.
Alecto's attacks flowed faster, sharper—his amusement giving way to a glimpse of his true speed. The red-eyed man countered, his blade moving in desperate precision, but cracks began to show. A single misstep. A moment's hesitation.
And that was all it took.
Alecto vanished.
In his place stood a hazy mirage, the red-eyed man striking at shadows. Then, from below, the real Alecto surged upward, erupting from the fog at his feet. His form twisted mid-rise, shifting from the guise of a man into something darker—his true shape bleeding through.
For the first time, the crimson gaze faltered, and fear creeped in. His body locked. His blade slipped from his grip and fell with a hollow clang.
"Got you," Alecto hissed, his voice curling like venom. He leaned in close, eyes gleaming with hunger. "I think I'll take those pretty eyes of yours."
Before the man could react, Alecto's shadowed form unraveled, dissolving into thick tendrils of fog. They surged forward, slipping past skin and bone, invading his body and his eyes.
The red-eyed man's scream tore through the warehouse as his feet left the ground. He rose, levitating, his body convulsing violently as the darkness forced its way inside.