The evening air hung heavy with an almost unnatural stillness, as though the world itself had paused to draw a solemn breath. The scattered clouds had receded to the distant horizon, surrendering the sky to the sun's final rays. Vibrant hues of orange, purple, and pink painted a fleeting masterpiece across the heavens, casting their glow over the dim streets. The streetlights, hesitating to claim the night, remained dormant, their flicker delayed by dusk's lingering embrace.
It was a scene of peace, a tranquil farewell to the day. Yet, not all could find solace in its beauty. Not all walked free of the shadows that followed them.
Azriel strode through the quiet streets, his movements deliberate, each step measured. To the untrained eye, he appeared no different from a man on a purposeful evening stroll—calm, composed, resolute. His hoodie hung low over his frame, and dark sunglasses shielded his gaze, hiding his turmoil behind a flawless mask of restraint.
But those who looked closely might have noticed something strange. The shadows at his feet were not ordinary. They stretched unnaturally long, defying the sun's retreating light. Where others' shadows faded into the growing twilight, Azriel's grew deeper, darker, as though they thrived in defiance of natural law.
The path to the hospital stretched before him, the looming destination unmistakable: the morgue. Despite the calm in his stride, his thoughts were a cacophony of chaos. Erratic musings clawed at his mind, each one sharper than the last. Why wasn't I there with him? ... I should have stayed. ... I left him when he needed me most—
CRACK
Azriel stopped abruptly, the sharp sound reverberating in the still air. His gaze dropped to his hand, to his right index finger bent at an unnatural angle. His thumb rested against the jagged break, brushing it with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. The motion was slow, deliberate, as though cradling something fragile.
The shadows around him seemed to respond, rippling and growing, creeping across the ground as though paying their respects. They moved not with the rhythm of the evening but with the pulse of Azriel's emotions, deepening and thickening in the fading light.
His gaze lingered on the fractured bone as it subtly began to shift, the sharp angles of the break smoothing into place. Despite the grotesque nature of the injury, there was something strangely hypnotic in the way his body—his very being—seemed to coax it back into alignment.
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As Azriel walked through the dimly lit halls of the morgue, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and the faintest whisper of death, his hoodie hung low over his frame, casting a shadow across his features. Black-tinted sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, their dark lenses reflecting the cold, sterile lights. His movements were purposeful, his footsteps barely audible against the cold stone floor.
The door ahead loomed, its rusted handle icy to the touch. Azriel hesitated only a moment before pushing it open, the soft creak reverberating through the oppressive stillness.
Inside, the room was heavy with silence, broken only by the rhythmic hum of machines in the corner, their steady beeps a mechanical reminder of life's fragility. But Azriel's focus was drawn to the body on the slab, stark and still beneath the harsh light.
His grandfather. Kinsley Voidus.
The man who had been his anchor through the chaos, the unyielding foundation of a life built in shadows. Kinsley was more than blood; he was the embodiment of the Voidus name, a legacy carved into history with whispers of death and fear. As the head of the Yurin Kingdom's most feared assassination lineage, Kinsley's mastery of shadow arts had shaped not just Azriel, but the continent itself.
Now, that legacy lay motionless before him.
Azriel's breath hitched, and he lowered his head, allowing a single moment of vulnerability. Memories flooded his mind—nights spent by Kinsley's side, lessons whispered in the quiet, the art of the shadows passed down with a steady hand. His thumb grazed the edge of his sunglasses as he fought the storm building within.
The room grew darker.
The shadows around him seemed to swell, inching across the walls and floor like living entities, as if the very essence of the Voidus family was mourning its fallen patriarch. They moved slowly, deliberately, as though paying their respects to the man who had commanded them for decades.
Azriel's body trembled under the weight of emotion, but he remained still, his hand instinctively moving to his right thumb. With a swift, deliberate motion, he pressed it against his index finger.
CRACK
The sound shattered the silence, and for a moment, all was still. Pain radiated through his hand, grounding him, focusing him. His gaze hardened behind the tinted lenses as he looked down at Kinsley one last time.
The shadows, now thick and undulating like a living sea, coiled toward the body. They lingered for a moment, enveloping Kinsley in their dark embrace, as though reluctant to let him go.
Then Azriel extended his hand, fingers curling inward. The room seemed to hold its breath as the shadows surged, consuming his grandfather's form in one swift, silent motion. When they receded, the slab was empty, and the room was plunged into an unnatural stillness.
Azriel stood there for a moment longer, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. The weight of the Voidus legacy pressed down on him, but he stood firm.
The torch had been passed.
And with the shadows as his witness, Azriel was ready to wield it.
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Azriel's footsteps were deliberate, the weight of his new mantle as the head of the Voidus Family pressing heavily on his shoulders. Each step he took outside the hospital felt like a step further into the abyss, the shadows closing in around him. The evening air had grown colder, the fading light casting long, unnatural shadows as if the world itself were yielding to the encroaching night. It was a world that had never been kind to him, but now, it seemed to welcome him as its new master.
His hoodie, dark and unassuming, draped over his frame, blending seamlessly into the growing dusk. It felt like a second skin, as if the fabric were part of the darkness he now inhabited. He moved with quiet intent, every step laden with the weight of his new reality. Azriel was no longer just the heir to the Voidus legacy—he was the Voidus Family now.
The name, once synonymous with Kinsley Voidus, had been passed down to him. Kinsley had ruled with an iron fist, his name feared and respected across the continent, his legacy carved in blood, secrecy, and ruthlessness. And now that legacy was Azriel's to uphold. The transition had come swiftly—too swiftly—and with it, the crushing responsibility to maintain the family's power, its influence, its very existence. The weight of the mantle was not one he had fully prepared for.
The world around him seemed quieter now, the air thick with the gravity of his task ahead. This was no longer just about avenging his grandfather's death; it was about preserving the Voidus legacy, ensuring that his family's reign in the shadows would continue, no matter the cost. Every step felt like a small surrender to the darkness, but there was no turning back. He had inherited not just a name, but a legacy built on fear, on dominance, on power.
The shadows stirred around him, almost as if recognizing the shift in his presence. They were his inheritance too—a gift and a curse. The Voidus Family's reputation was built not on kindness, but on fear—the ability to control, to dominate, to vanish into the dark and return with power in hand. And now, Azriel was its heir. Every decision he made would ripple through the world like a stone cast into still waters. The cost of maintaining this legacy was high, but Azriel had long understood that power demanded sacrifice.
The coldness of the air pressed against him, but it didn't faze him. It was familiar, like an old friend, a reminder of the life he had inherited. Azriel didn't need warmth—he needed control. And with each step, the night seemed to deepen around him, as if the world itself were bowing to the new head of the Voidus Family.
He halted in the middle of the alley, his body still, the only movement the slow rise and fall of his chest. His eyes, hidden behind dark-tinted sunglasses, flicked down toward his own shadow, stretched long and ominous across the cracked cobblestones. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own—a reflection of him, of what he had become, of what he had inherited.
His voice cut through the stillness like a blade.
"What. Happened."
The words cut through the tense silence, simple yet heavy with meaning. What happened? The answer to that question was everything. It was the key to unraveling the mystery of his grandfather's death—an event that had shattered his world, leaving only a void of unanswered questions in its wake.
The shadow seemed to ripple in response, a subtle tremor passing through the dark shape, before it split and contorted. From the depths of the darkness, a figure slowly emerged—tall, composed, wrapped in the quiet authority that only a trusted servant could command. His hair was dark, almost black, and his eyes seemed to absorb every glimmer of light around him. A monocle gleamed softly from his right eye, adding an air of refined elegance to his otherwise stern appearance.
Magnus.
Azriel had known him his entire life. He had been a close friend of his grandfather, Kinsley, a figure who had been as much of an uncle to Azriel as a servant. A man who had stood beside Kinsley through thick and thin, offering both counsel and loyalty. Magnus was the embodiment of the Voidus family's quiet power, a constant presence in the shadows, as much a part of their world as the darkness itself.
The butler, loyal to the Voidus family for decades, straightened and bowed deeply before Azriel with all the deference expected of someone who had served the family for so long. His movements were practiced, flawless—there was no surprise in his actions, no hesitation in his service.
"Young Master," Magnus said, his voice smooth yet layered with both respect and a hint of concern. "Our shadows have informed me that the Head was ambushed on his way to a job in the capital. We hypothesize that someone leaked his route to an unknown party, orchestrating the ambush."
Azriel's eyes darkened, a chill creeping down his spine. The news settled heavily upon him, confirming what he had feared. His grandfather's death had not been a random act. The man was an SS Rank raider, one of the most feared in the kingdom. It was nearly impossible to kill someone of his caliber unless you knew his weaknesses. The ambush, the leak—it all pointed to one thing. Someone close had betrayed him.
"Leaked?" Azriel's voice was like ice. The single word dropped from his lips with a deadly precision, each syllable steeped in fury. "Who?"
As those words escaped, Azriel instinctively rubbed his right thumb over his index finger in a slow, circular motion, the familiar gesture helping to ground him. The anger inside him simmered but didn't boil over. He needed to remain in control. After a moment, he exhaled deeply, his gaze softening just a fraction.
"I'm sorry, Uncle," he murmured, his voice quieter, the harshness from before gone. "I didn't mean to sound like that."
His eyes briefly flicked to the monocle resting against Magnus's face, but the butler's expression remained stoic, betraying no sign of offense. It wasn't the first time Azriel had lost himself to his anger, and it wouldn't be the last. But Magnus wasn't just a servant to the Voidus family—he was a close friend, an uncle figure to Azriel, someone who had stood by his grandfather's side for years. That history held weight. Azriel couldn't afford to let his emotions get in the way.
Magnus's gaze remained steady, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, a brief but telling flicker of concern. He straightened just slightly, choosing his words carefully, his voice as smooth as ever, though tinged with an undercurrent of unease. "We do not know yet, Young Master. Our network is still investigating the source of the leak. However, it is a strong possibility that someone within the family itself may be involved. Given the nature of the ambush, it is... unfortunately, the most plausible explanation."
Azriel's jaw clenched, his pulse quickening. A traitor. The very thought of someone within the Voidus Family betraying them—betraying him—twisted like a knife in his gut. The faces of every trusted member, every loyal ally, flashed through his mind. How could one of them have been complicit? How could anyone, knowing the price of such treachery, have chosen to turn against them?
Magnus's voice drew him back, steadying him. "We are already reviewing all our networks and contacts, but it will take time. Our first priority is identifying who may have had access to the Head's movements in the days leading up to the ambush."
Time. Time was the one thing Azriel didn't have. His grandfather was dead, and with each passing hour, the webs of betrayal could grow, entangling even more of their own people. He couldn't afford to wait. The family couldn't afford to wait. The longer they waited, the deeper the rot would spread.
Azriel's voice shifted—no longer sharp and cold, but calm, smooth, and deliberate. It was the voice of someone who knew exactly what needed to be done, and had already begun to execute it with unflinching precision.
"Magnus," Azriel said, his tone quiet but imbued with an unspoken weight of authority. "I want everything. Names, connections, anyone who had access to my grandfather's movements. I want our network combed from top to bottom. No one leaves the compound until they have been questioned. If someone within our walls is responsible, I will know who they are."
Magnus met Azriel's gaze without hesitation, his expression unreadable, but the brief flicker of concern in his eyes did not escape Azriel's notice. The butler was accustomed to his outbursts, but it was clear that this was different. The weight of the situation hung thick between them.
"Of course, Young Master," Magnus replied, his voice steady, though there was a slight undercurrent of unease. "We will begin the investigation immediately."
Azriel's gaze didn't waver as he turned away. His mind was already calculating the next steps—methodical, sharp, focused. He could almost feel the pulse of the Voidus Family's network coursing beneath him, a web of secrets and shadows, built on years of power and manipulation. This betrayal—whoever had done this—would not be tolerated. The price for treachery within their ranks was one that would be paid in blood.
As he moved, every step was purposeful, his pace unhurried but firm. His mind was a labyrinth of calculations and plans, already running through contingencies and scenarios. He would not let the traitor slip away. His grandfather's death would be avenged, and no amount of hiding would save them.
The shadows called to him, tugging at the edges of his awareness. He welcomed them, their cold embrace soothing the edge of his anger. Darkness had always been his ally, the place where he thrived, where he could execute his will with complete control.
Azriel's voice, softer now but still carrying the weight of his intent, echoed in the empty room. "When I find them, there will be no mercy."
Magnus's figure remained in the corner of Azriel's vision, watching him with quiet resolve. Without another word, the butler disappeared into the shadows, leaving Azriel alone in the stillness of his thoughts. The room seemed to close in around him as he stood there, already slipping into that familiar, methodical mindset. The traitor would be found—and they would not escape the reckoning that was coming.
The hunt had begun.
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A/N:
This is my first time writing a novel, and I had a lot of fun doing it. If you have any suggestions or notice any grammatical errors, please feel free to let me know!