As the sun began to set over the city of Arystel, the bustling streets gradually quieted, but not because of the hour—it was because of the two figures strolling down the main road. Every eye was drawn to them, residents pausing mid-step or mid-conversation, captivated by the unusual pair. First was a massive man, towering above the crowd, his chocolate-brown skin gleaming in the waning sunlight. Scars traced intricate patterns across his bare chest, and his muscles rippled with every step, a stark contrast to the ragged black shorts he wore. His hair, long and straight, hung loosely around his broad shoulders. His face, concealed by a plain white mask with the letter "S" carved into it, was unreadable, but his sheer presence commanded respect—perhaps even fear. Cuffs dangled from his wrists, remnants of chains that were now broken, suggesting he had recently escaped from captivity.
Perched on the man's left shoulder was a small boy, no older than six, swinging his legs and humming as if the two of them were on a casual afternoon walk. The boy wore a similar white mask, though his bore a carving of the planet Conravia rather than a letter. His attire was much more modest—blue shorts, sneakers, and a plain white shirt—but the way he casually sat atop the giant, it was clear that he held no fear, only trust.
"Hey, S, I want an apple!" the boy called out, pointing toward a nearby fruit stall with the enthusiasm only a child could muster. Without hesitation, the enormous man turned and approached the stall. The vendor, visibly shaking, dared not refuse as the giant picked up an apple that looked like a mere toy in his massive hand. The child, still seated on the giant's shoulder, reached into his pocket and tossed five Kril toward the vendor. The two continued down the street, the air around them thick with unease. No one dared to interfere with the pair, instinctively giving them space as they passed.
"Y'know, S, this has been more fun than I expected!" the boy said with a cheerful laugh, patting the giant's head as if they were old friends. The giant, whose name was apparently "S," responded with nothing more than a grunt, but it seemed to be enough for the boy, who laughed as if he understood the unspoken words. The streets of Arystel remained eerily quiet as the duo disappeared further down the road, their presence lingering like a shadow.
In contrast to the tranquil streets, Kaku Roux sat alone in his hotel room, the air around him tense. His hands were clenched into fists, veins bulging against his skin as he muttered under his breath, "All-seeing bastard." His fist struck the wall with a resounding crack, and the entire surface splintered, resembling a spiderweb of shattered stone. Yet, as quickly as the damage appeared, the wall began to shift and ripple, flowing like liquid until it reformed itself, flawless and whole once more. Kaku grimaced, glaring at the wall. "Freaky ass fucking walls," he muttered. He leaned his head against the cool surface, closing his eyes as a heavy sigh escaped his lips. His thoughts drifted back to his brother, Elysian.
"Elysian, where did you go, brother?" His voice, usually dripping with malice, was now softer, tinged with a rare moment of vulnerability. Memories of their time together flickered in his mind, the bond they once shared now little more than a distant echo. A single tear traced down his cheek before he angrily wiped it away, forcing himself to stand. 'What the hell am I doing?' he thought, shaking his head. He made his way to the bathroom, pulling off his shirt and standing before the mirror. Dark marks marred his scaly skin, remnants of the rods Sorin had driven into him during their last encounter. His fingers ghosted over the wounds, feeling the dull ache beneath his fingertips. "That bastard could've killed me," he muttered, his reflection scowling back at him.
His phone buzzed suddenly, dragging his attention away from the mirror. Kaku glanced down, his brow furrowing when he saw an unsaved number. "The hell is this?" he said, flipping the phone open. The message sent a chill down his spine: You stand in the bathroom, lifting your shirt, looking at your wounds. You cannot escape my eyes. His grip tightened on the phone before he hurled it against the bathroom wall in frustration. The device shattered on impact, and Kaku let out a low growl. "Dammit," he whispered, storming out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.
Far across the city, in a dimly lit room filled with polished furniture and expensive decor, a group of businessmen sat around a grand circular table. The air was thick with tension, though the men attempted to mask it behind forced smiles and pleasantries. One particularly large man, his round belly straining against the buttons of his tailored suit, stood at the head of the table, his face flushed with self-satisfaction.
"200,000 Kril. That's how much I made selling off information before the Beast Hunt," the man boasted, his voice booming through the room. The others clapped briefly, their applause lukewarm and short-lived. "200,000 Kril, and you did that with how many clients?" one of the masked men asked, his tone probing.
"That's the best part! Just two clients," the large man replied, his laughter causing his stomach to shake. "I'm telling you, this year, many clans are out for blood." He laughed again, a booming sound that echoed through the room. The other men joined in, but their laughter was strained, uneasy.
The laughter was cut short when, in a flash, the fat man's throat was slit open, his head lolling back as blood sprayed across the table. Chaos erupted. The men scrambled from their chairs, some trying to flee, others too frozen in shock to move. One by one, they were cut down—some cleaved in half, others stabbed or beheaded in the chaos. Blood splattered across the once-pristine walls, painting the room in a grotesque display of carnage.
In the center of the massacre stood a boy, short in stature and cloaked in darkness. It was Ryai, his hood pulled low over his head and his cowl obscuring most of his face. His katana dripped with blood, the black dragon etched into its handle glistening in the dim light. The blade itself seemed to be made of pure darkness, tendrils of shadow coiling from it and dripping onto the floor like ink.
"You all disgust me," Ryai's voice was cold, despite its youthful pitch. His violet eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the room, barely open as he took in the blood-soaked scene. He wiped his face with a white towel before tossing it aside, his movements methodical, detached. His tongue glowed faintly as markings appeared along its surface, the word Forget forming in front of him, thick and inky.
He raised his sword, and with a single, fluid motion, sliced through the word. In an instant, the room was restored. The chairs were upright, the walls and floors spotless, and there was no sign of the massacre that had taken place moments before. Sweat beaded on Ryai's brow as his breathing grew heavier. Without a word, he vanished into the shadows.
Outside, Sorin walked through the quiet streets, his violet eyes observing everything with detached interest. Beside him, Ryai reappeared, his hood lowered, and his cowl pulled back.
"Complete. No evidence,"
Ryai reported, his voice flat. Sorin patted Ryai's head affectionately, running his fingers through the boy's braids. "Good. I expected nothing less, Ryai boy," he said with a small smile.
"Hungry?"
He asked Ryai, before answering himself, "Ah, nevermind I can see your lack of appetite."
Ryai looked up at him, "What can't you see, Sorin?"
Sorin chuckled before answering,
"I wonder that too sometimes."
The two walked peacefully for hours before eventually returning to their own apartment, ending the night in peace.