The skies above the shattered citadel of the Demon Kingdom burned a fierce crimson. Ash drifted down like snow, covering the ruined towers and broken walls. The air shook with the clash of war drums, and the wind itself seemed to howl in agony.
Through the chaos, Sera ran.
Her breath came in ragged bursts as her bare feet struck against the scorched stone. Every step cut her soles open, but she did not stop. Behind her, shadows spread across the sky. A squad of dark angels, their vast black wings blotting out the faint light, descended after her. Their voices were sharp, filled with contempt.
"You can't escape us, demon princess!" one of them roared. "Your fate is sealed!"
An arrow whistled through the smoky air and struck her shoulder. Pain exploded through her body, nearly sending her to the ground. She stumbled, her knees buckling, but sheer will forced her onward. Her eyes glowed, burning with defiance, crimson fire dancing within them.
Ahead, through the haze and crumbling ruins, she saw it—a rift of shimmering light. It pulsed like a fragile flame, flickering as though it could vanish at any moment. A portal. A doorway to another world. Hope.
The angels gained on her, their wings cutting the air. She could feel their hatred pressing against her back. The rift was closing fast.
Sera shut her eyes, gathered the last of her strength, and leapt.
For a heartbeat, she felt nothing but weightless air—and then she was through.
Behind her, the portal snapped shut.
"Damn it!" one of the black-winged pursuers spat, rage twisting his face. "She got away!"
Far away, in the mortal world, a car sped down a rain-soaked road. Midnight clouds loomed overhead, and thunder rolled like drums of war. Sheets of rain hammered against the windshield, the wipers fighting to keep the glass clear.
Inside, Ginzu sat beside his father, Rourke. The boy stared out at the endless darkness beyond the headlights. Silence pressed in around them, heavy and damp, broken only by the hiss of the tires on wet asphalt.
Then it happened.
With a blinding flash of light, something crashed onto their car. The windshield shattered with a deafening crack. Rourke wrestled the wheel, the vehicle skidding across the slick road. Ginzu screamed, heart pounding, as the car finally ground to a halt on the shoulder.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of rain. Then both father and son climbed out, shaken, their breaths steaming in the cold air.
And there, sprawled across the hood of their car, was a girl.
Her body was broken, blood spilling from a wound in her shoulder. Her hair was matted with rain, plastered to her pale face. Her bare feet were cut and raw.
"Help me…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please… I can't go back…"
Her words faltered, and her eyes fluttered shut.
Ginzu froze, his chest tight with fear. But Rourke's expression changed in an instant—shock, recognition, something deeper than mere surprise. He whispered under his breath, as though speaking to himself.
"…Could it be… her?"
Without wasting another second, Rourke pulled the unconscious girl from the hood. "Ginzu, get in! We're going to the emergency clinic now!"
The car roared back to life, speeding through the storm. In the back seat, Sera lay wrapped in a blanket, her blood soaking through the fabric. Her breathing was shallow, each rise of her chest weaker than the last. Ginzu sat beside her, clutching the edge of the seat, his hands trembling. He couldn't explain why, but looking at her filled him with both dread and an ache he didn't understand.
Rourke's eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror, his jaw clenched tight. The storm raged outside, but inside the car the weight of silence was unbearable.
At last, the glowing lights of the hospital came into view. The automatic doors slid open with a hiss as Rourke carried Sera inside. Nurses rushed forward at the sight of the blood, gasping at the intensity of her wounds.
"She needs help immediately!" Ginzu cried, his voice breaking.
Rourke pulled a card from his pocket, his voice ringing with authority. "I'm Rourke, Surgical Department Director of Minato University Hospital. Prepare an operating theatre at once!"
The staff froze for a moment, stunned. This was not just any man—Rourke was a renowned surgeon across Japan. His word carried weight.
At once, the nurses and doctors scrambled into motion. "Yes, Doctor! This way!"
They wheeled Sera into the bright white corridors. Her body looked so small on the gurney, fragile and pale against the flood of light. The smell of antiseptic filled the air. Machines beeped as lines were prepared and IVs connected.
But the moment the monitors lit up, confusion swept the room.
Her vitals were… wrong. Not like any human's. The rhythm of her heartbeat was strange, her energy spiking and dropping in ways no medical chart could explain.
"Everyone out," Rourke ordered firmly. "I'll handle this surgery myself."
The other doctors hesitated but obeyed. No one dared to question him further. The room emptied, leaving only Rourke and the unconscious girl.
He slipped on his gloves, his eyes grim. "So it really is you…" he murmured.
Outside the theatre, Ginzu sat in a chair, drenched in worry. He stared at the glowing red light above the door—"Operation in Progress." It burned steadily, a silent warning that lives hung in the balance.
Minutes dragged into hours. Rain continued to drum against the windows, thunder rolling in the distance. Ginzu's eyes refused to close; his thoughts spun with fear and unanswered questions.
Three hours passed. Finally, the red light above the door flickered off. The theatre doors opened, and Rourke stepped out, exhaustion etched across his face.
Ginzu leapt to his feet. "Father! How is she? Did she survive?"
Rourke nodded slowly. "Yes. She's alive. For now, what she needs most is rest."
Relief flooded Ginzu, his knees nearly giving way.