A lone figure could be seen walking from a town that was on fire. The heavy scent of death could easily be smelt in the air. The lone figure had something, or rather someone, in his hands. If one could see, it was a girl. No older than perhaps eighteen or nineteen. The girl had a smile on her face, but her skin looked deadly pale, and her body looked limp.
The girl was dead. This girl was known as April Creed. The person holding this girl had no expression on his face. As if all life and light had been drained from his soul itself. His eyes fixated directly in front of him with each steady step he took, and unlike the girl, he was holding he covered in blood from head to toe.
Drenched in crimson as if he had just come out of a blood bath. This man was known as Donathan Douglass. He looked to be twenty-one, maybe even older, but he was still relatively young. Yet, his demeanor felt completely off for someone his age.
