The rain had finally eased into a sullen drizzle, leaving the courtyard a slick canvas of blood and shattered stone, where the mingled scents of iron and ozone hung heavy in the air-like the aftermath of a forbidden tryst gone violently wrong.
I lingered in the shadows, my devilish form a whisper of smoke and sin, watching as Vernon descended from the tower's heights, his massive frame cutting through the mist like a predator emerging from his den. His black robes clung to his sweat-slicked muscles, rain tracing erotic paths down the exposed V of his chest where fabric had torn in the fray, revealing the hard, scarred planes that begged to be clawed, bitten, claimed in the heat of dark passion.
Akira stood amid the ruins, his own body a masterpiece of raw power-shirt shredded, revealing the taut ridges of his abs glistening under the faint city lights, his breath coming in ragged heaves that made his broad chest rise and fall. Yura leaned against him, her body pressed close, blood from her forehead mixing with the rain on her skin.
Yuna hovered nearby, her fierce eyes scanning the portals that still flickered ominously in the distance, her lithe form tense, hips swaying with that unconscious allure that promised pain wrapped in pleasure.
Vernon strode up, his giant sword slung over one shoulder, a dripping crimson that was like fresh arousal. His face was set in a grim satisfaction, but his eyes-those smoldering coals-reflecting a deeper shadow of some sort of twisted family tie that pulsed with forbidden light.
Stopping before Akira so their breaths tangled within the charged air, the warmth of their bodies clashed like sparks off crossed blades.
"Kazuki's gone," Vernon growled.
His voice was a deep, resonant rumble that coursed through the night and held that promising weight of finality.
"Slaughtered in his penthouse-chest ripped open heart torn out with rage. Blade wounds, deep and savage, as if someone stabbed him multiple times."
Akira's reaction was as if he had been hit by a thunderclap: his eyes widened behind the remnants of his shattered mask, shock rippling through his chiseled features like a shiver of unwanted ecstasy.
He staggered a step backward; his powerful legs buckled slightly, a hand clutching his side where a fresh wound wept blood, the pain mingling with a surge of raw, dark arousal, the kind twisting grief into something hotter, more primal.
"Dead?"
he whispered, voice cracking like ice under pressure, his chest heaving faster now, muscles coiling as if ready to explode in either violence or passion.
Yura's hand found his thigh, fingers digging in possessively.
"All this. the chase, the blood, the portals opening like gaping wounds in the world. for nothing? He was the last link to Mother's murder, Vernon. The third bastard who deserved to writhe under my blade, begging for mercy as I carve him slow." Akira roared with anger.
His fists clenched, veins bulging like ropes under his rain-slicked skin, eyes blazing with a fury that bordered on erotic rage, the kind which made you want to pin someone down and fuck the anger out-hard and unrelenting.
Vernon watched him, that wicked smile playing upon his lips, eyes raking over Akira's form with disdain and dark hunger intertwined, as if appraising a rival. The air between them grew thick with unspoken tension, bound together by brothers of blood and betrayal as bodies came inches from each other, heat radiating in waves promising the clash of dominance that was to come.
Akira straightened, forcing composure over his turmoil, his voice steadying into a dramatic offer laced with reluctant vulnerability.
"Join me, brother, and work with me. We have both been played-pawns in Azazel's twisted game, strings pulled by our father like lovers in a sadistic dance. We could hunt them down, make them pay in ways that echo through eternity. Your strength, my cunning-we'd be unstoppable, forging a path through this hell with blood and fire."
Vernon's laugh rumbled low, a mocking growl in the pit of his throat, the vibrations charging the air and making Yura's face turned into angry expression. Vernon, invading Akira's space, chests almost touching, the rank smell of sweat and blood dancing on heated air like an aphrodisiac.
"Work with you?"
Vernon sneered, voice high and dramatic with contempt, eyes narrowing to slits of hot disdain.
"I fought besides you for few minutes and you started dreaming about we could be together." Vernon grabbed the jaws of Akira and said in deep voice, " Still want to prove that i was the cursed one?... I'll surpass you and prove everyone, that the only one who was weakest was dad's favourite son, Akira?"
His gaze slid across to Yura and Yuna, in eyes of anger,
"I don't need your alliances, your whining pleas. Go get your vengeance alone-I will carve my own path, and leave you choking on my dust."
With one last, insulting push on Akira's chest-fingers touching just long enough to feel the frantic throb of his heart-Vernon turned, form dissolving into shadow as smoke from a dying fire. Gone into the night, leaving behind only the echo of laughter and the sting of rejection, a wound that cut deeper than any blade.
Akira froze, the insult burning in his blood like liquid fire, his muscles taut with unspent rage and dark, twisted arousal because the rejection made him hungry to dominate, to prove his worth in the most primal of ways.
Yura leaned closer still, her chest pressing against his arm as she promised solace with her touch, but he pulled away, eyes distant, the portals' red glow mirrored in his pupils like forbidden desires.
----
The next morning was grey and looming, the world still trying to wrap its head around the apocalypse of the night before. News channels exploded with the story:
headlines screaming across screens in every home, every device, trumpeted
"KAZUKI JOSHWA, KEY POLITICAL FIGURE, FOUND BRUTALLY MURDERED IN MINATO WARD PENTHOUSE—LINKS TO PRESIDENTIAL SCANDAL?"
Footage looped endlessly-drone shots of the tower's shattered courtyard, bloodstains blurred for broadcast but vivid enough to evoke the carnage, reporters breathlessly speculating on the "mysterious portals" witnesses claimed had torn open across Tokyo and beyond. Social media was abuzz with conspiracy theories and videos of the blood rain went viral; the event had become a global sensation that mixed Horror and fascination.
In the presidential palace, the air was thick with tension; a fortress of marble and gold now felt like a cage. The President of Japan paced his opulent office-a man of sharp suits and sharper ambitions, face a mask of controlled fury as aides fluttered around him like nervous birds. Screens flickered with news feeds, Kazuki's mutilated body pixelated but unmistakable.
"This is a disaster," he snarled, voice a dramatic boom that echoed off the walls, fists slamming onto the mahogany desk with enough force to rattle crystal decanters.
Sweat beaded on his brow, his tie askew to reveal a rapid pulse at his throat-the kind that spoke of fear mingling with ruthless calculation.
"Kazuki was our linchpin, the third in that old murder chain, the one keeping the secrets buried. If this ties back to those brothers. Akira, Vernon. or worse, whatever demonic forces they've unleashed."
He whirled on his chief advisor, eyes blazing with a mixture of paranoia and dark resolve.
"Mobilize everything-special forces, international allies. Those portals? Suppress the footage, call it a hoax. But find the source. If hell itself is spilling into our world, we will weaponize it or burn it down."
His breathing came heavy, chest rising and falling; the power in his stance was a facade cracking under the weight of impending doom, his mind racing with visions of empires crumbling, yet a twisted thrill stirred in him, the allure of chaos promising new dominions to conquer.
In the meantime, Lint cruised along a busy Tokyo highway in his sleek black sedan, its engine purring like a contented lover beneath him. He, too, was a man of shadows-tall and brooding, with a jawline chiseled sharp enough to cut glass, eyes hiding secrets darker than midnight. The car radio crackled with morning news, the announcer's voice dramatic and urgent:
".Kazuki Joshwa's death has sent shockwaves through the political world, with unconfirmed reports of supernatural phenomena linked to the scene. Witnesses describe portals opening like wounds in the sky, raining blood."
Lint's fingers tightened on the wheel, his knuckles whitening, a faint smile playing on his lips as he leaned back, the leather seat creaking under his weight. His mind fantasized about forbidden things-the blood, the power, the way it could twist bodies and souls into ecstatic surrender.
The air ahead then shimmered and reality tore apart like flesh under the blade. Across the road, a huge dark red portal yawned, swirling with an infernal display of energy; tendrils of shadow snaked out to taste the asphalt.
Cars screeched in panic, horns blaring like screams of climax, and pedestrians fumbled for their phones to record the display-flashes popping, cameras capturing the gateway maw as it pulsed with unholy light.
Lint slammed on the brakes; his car skidded to a halt mere inches away from the edge, his heart pounding against his chest like a drum of dark desire. He stared transfixed, his breath hitching in his throat as the portal's heat washed across him, stirring that deep and primal part of him.
"What is this?" he husked, his voice low and full, eyes widening as shadows began to stir inside the void.