He stepped out of the room, his body smeared in crimson, and a strange realization settled over him. Although the room he emerged from was confined and dim, the rest of the house loomed vast and opulent, far grander than he had initially thought. But beneath its luxurious facade, there was an unsettling atmosphere; shadows clung to every corner, and the silence felt like a heavy shroud. Strange relics and dark artifacts filled the halls—each pulsing with an ominous energy, as if they had witnessed unspeakable events or carried fragments of curses. This was not just a house; it was a labyrinth of mysteries steeped in dread.
Having just consumed a woman's soul and newly transformed into a devil, a permanent curse energy now pulsed within him, like a dark heartbeat. As he stepped out of his room and entered the grand hall, an ominous shift in the air took hold. Immediately, restless souls—small, pale wraiths—began to drift from the shadows. A denser, darker soul, filled with malevolent power, detached itself from the depths, spiraling around him in a reverent orbit. It was as though these souls saw him as their god, an embodiment of the infernal. Yet, there was something unsettling in their devotion; he could feel their collective yearning, not for worship, but for something far darker—an urge to test his strength, perhaps to even consume him, as they encircled him, reaching hungrily toward the blood-stained aura that bound his new form.
As the dark soul pulsed within him, he felt a surge of strength coursing through his veins, filling him with a twisted sense of joy. His powers were growing, and the sensation was intoxicating. Yet, a whisper in his mind reminded him of his mission—the graveyard awaited.
He stepped outside, his eyes drifting back to his home. From within, it had been grand and luxurious, cloaked in shadow and mystery, but now, from the outside, it looked nothing more than a crumbling ruin. The facade was cracked and worn, vines twisted through broken windows, and the structure seemed to lean with age and neglect. The house seemed a perfect mirror of the soul he now carried—decay wrapped in power.
Turning away, he began his journey to the graveyard. The path was long and twisted, the night stretching on as he roamed through the desolate surroundings, his senses sharpened, anticipating what lay ahead. Finally, after an endless stretch of darkness, he arrived at the graveyard gate, its iron bars standing tall and silent, casting jagged shadows in the moonlight..
The moment his hand touched the cold iron of the graveyard gate, a surge of negative energy jolted through him, like an electric shock coursing through his veins. His body tensed as the wave of dark energy resonated within, intensifying his cursed powers. With a slight push, he opened the gate, the creak of metal echoing through the silent, mist-filled expanse.
Stepping inside, he took in the sight—a graveyard teeming with wandering souls, each one flickering like ghostly lanterns against the darkened tombstones. They drifted aimlessly, their forms twisted by torment, yet there was something unsettling in the way they seemed to be drawn to him. Scattered among them, goblins slinked between the graves, their hunched forms lurking in shadows, eyes gleaming with malice. The air was thick with decay and power, as if every corner of this place was steeped in ancient curses and lost memories. He moved forward, feeling the weight of countless restless spirits and creatures watching his every step.
He moved deeper into the graveyard, each step slow and deliberate. The spirits floated around him, their hollow eyes fixed on his form, yet they made no move to attack. Goblins lurked in the shadows, their twisted bodies tense and ready, yet they too held back, merely observing.
It was as if they recognized something within him—a power, a darkness that commanded respect or perhaps even fear. He could feel their silent acknowledgment, as if they sensed he was one of them, yet something more. Their eyes bore into him, watching, waiting, but none dared cross his path. He continued forward, feeling a strange authority in this place, as though the cursed energy within him had marked him as their ruler or an even darker kin.
A faint glow began to emanate from his body, an eerie light flickering like a dark flame, fed by the cursed energy within him. With each step, the negative force inside surged, intensifying his connection to the shadows around him. His presence became more imposing, and even his walk took on a dangerous, predatory grace, as if he were a harbinger of doom. Spirits and goblins shrank back slightly, drawn to his aura yet fearful of its power. The air grew heavy, each of his strides echoing with menace, as if he ruled this graveyard and the darkness that lay within.
As he scanned the graveyard, his gaze fell upon a goblin lurking behind a gnarled, twisted tree. This goblin bore a fresh injury, clutching its side as it watched the scene unfolding nearby. Following its gaze, he noticed a disturbing sight: a group of goblins surrounding a female goblin, their actions laced with a sinister intent. The air grew colder, charged with a sickening tension, as he observed the scene in silence. The injured goblin's eyes flickered with helplessness, unable to intervene yet drawn to watch, its expression reflecting the cruelty and darkness that permeated this forsaken ground.
Kaito approached the male goblin with a quiet, menacing precision, slipping behind him without a sound. In one swift motion, he seized the goblin from behind, his grip firm and unbreakable. The goblin struggled briefly, its eyes widening in shock, but Kaito's strength held it still. Leaning in close, Kaito's voice was cold and demanding.
"What are you looking at, standing here?" he asked, his tone dripping with authority. The goblin squirmed under his hold, glancing toward the other goblins with a nervous, guilty look, as if caught in an act he'd tried to hide.