The evening air hung heavy with an almost unnatural stillness, as though the world itself had paused to inhale. The clouds, once scattered across the sky, had retreated into the distance, their absence allowing the sun to slip quietly beneath the horizon. Its final rays bled into the sky, spilling forth a riot of vibrant hues—fiery oranges, deep purples, and soft pinks—that painted the heavens in a fleeting, ethereal masterpiece. The streets, bathed in the tender twilight, remained dim, the streetlights still unlit, their flicker postponed by the lingering embrace of dusk.
It was a peaceful moment—one that seemed to belong to the world itself, serene and timeless. But not all could find solace in its calm. Not all were free from the shadows that trailed behind them.
Azriel moved down the quiet road with a grace that suggested tranquillity, each step deliberate and measured as he made his way toward the hospital. His destination was the morgue, though to any observer, he would have appeared no different than a man on an ordinary path—undaunted, collected, and resolutely calm.
The mask he wore was flawless, a masterwork of restraint and composure. To the untrained eye, Azriel was nothing more than a figure at ease, walking with purpose beneath the soft glow of the fading light. No trace of anxiety, no flicker of emotion betrayed him. He had perfected the art of concealment, a skill honed over years of necessity. The world around him could remain untouched by the turmoil within.
Visitors, should there have been any, would have found no entry into his mind, no way to pierce the barrier he so carefully erected. And in this controlled exterior, Azriel found his refuge—an insulated shell that shielded him from the chaos that threatened to overtake him. Safe. Alone..
Yet, within the confines of his thoughts, chaos reigned supreme. Erratic, unreasonable musings darted like shadows, each one a dagger to his soul: "Why wasn't I there with him?" ... "I should have been by his side." ... "I left him alone when he needed me most—"
CRACK
Azriel came to an abrupt halt, his eyes fixed on his right index finger, now an unsettling vision of fragility. His thumb, with an almost reverential tenderness, brushed across the jagged break. The motion was slow, deliberate—like cradling something delicate, something newborn. 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 lenses reflecting the sterile lights as he moved with quiet purpose, his footsteps barely a whisper on the cold stone floor. The door ahead loomed before him, its rusted handle cold to the touch as he reached for it, pushing it open with a soft creak that seemed to echo in the stillness.
Inside, the room was silent, save for the rhythmic hum of machines in the corner, their beeps and clicks a stark reminder of the unnatural stillness that filled the air. But it was the body on the slab that held his attention. His grandfather. Kinsley Voidus. A man who had been a constant in his life, a steady presence long before the tragic deaths of his parents, and even more so after.
Kinsley had been more than just family—he had been an anchor, the pillar that held him steady when the world around him had shattered. Azriel's gaze softened as he stood before the body, his mind drifting back to the countless nights spent at his grandfather's side, learning the art of the shadows, honing his skills. Kinsley had been the very embodiment of the Voidus Family—a name synonymous with death and whispered in fear across the continent.
The Voidus Family, the most feared assassination lineage in the Yurin Kingdom, had earned its place at the top of the noble hierarchy through a long and bloody history. Kinsley, as its head, had been a master of the shadow arts, his skills unparalleled, his reputation a lethal weapon in and of itself. The family's work spanned the entire continent, its assassins lurking in the dark corners of kingdoms far and wide, their names always spoken in hushed tones.
But now, Kinsley was gone.
Azriel stood there in silence, his thumb brushing the edge of his sunglasses as memories flickered through his mind—moments of wisdom shared, of lessons taught in the quiet moments when the world was still. His grandfather had been everything to him, and now, in this cold morgue, he was nothing more than a shell, his life snuffed out like a candle in the dark. The world seemed a little colder, a little emptier without him.
As he stood over the body, a feeling of emptiness pressed against his chest, a hollow ache that he couldn't ignore. Yet, even in the face of death, Azriel knew what had to be done. The Voidus name would continue, as would the family's legacy. But for now, all he could do was honor Kinsley's memory—and prepare himself for the burden that now fell upon him.
The torch had been passed. And Azriel was ready to wield it.
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Azriel's footsteps were purposeful as he moved through the shadows, the weight of his new mantle as the head of the Voidus Family pressing heavily on his shoulders. Each step he took outside the confines of the hospital was a step further into the darkness—the darkness that was both his inheritance and his burden. He was no longer just Azriel, the heir to a legacy. He was the Voidus Family now, and its reputation was carved in blood, secrecy, and ruthlessness. His grandfather, Kinsley Voidus, had ruled with an iron fist, his name feared and respected across the continent. Now, that name belonged to Azriel. But the mantle had come with an unexpected cost: his grandfather was dead, and with his death, a betrayal had emerged from within their own ranks.
As Azriel walked through the alley, his coat billowing behind him like a shadow of its own, he could feel the weight of his thoughts closing in, suffocating him. The world around him seemed quieter now, as though the air itself had thickened with the gravity of his task. This was not just about avenging his grandfather; it was about preserving the Voidus legacy, keeping it intact, ensuring that his family's reign in the shadows would continue, no matter the price.
He halted in the middle of the alley and looked down at his shadow, which stretched long and ominous across the cracked cobblestone. His voice cut through the stillness, low and dangerous, like a blade slicing the silence.
"What. Happened."
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of years of preparation. What happened? The answer to that question was everything. It was the key to unlocking the betrayal that had shattered his world.
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, and wrapped in the quiet authority that only a trusted servant could command. The figure's hair was dark, almost black, and his eyes seemed to absorb every glimmer of light around them. A monocle gleamed softly from the man's right eye, adding an air of refined elegance to his otherwise stern appearance.
The figure straightened, bowing deeply before Azriel with all the deference expected of someone who had served the Voidus family for decades. There was no surprise in his movements, no hesitation in his actions. This was Magnus—the loyal butler, a man who had been at Kinsley's side for as long as Azriel could remember. A man who had been both friend and confidant to his grandfather. But now, he was delivering news that would change everything.
"Young Master," Magnus said, his voice smooth yet layered with respect, a perfect blend of both loyalty and 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 running down his spine as the weight of the news settled upon him. His suspicions were confirmed—his grandfather had not simply been outwitted by some external force. He had been betrayed. Someone close to him, someone within their inner circle, had sold him out.
"Leaked?" Azriel's voice was like ice. The single word dropped from his lips with a deadly precision, each syllable steeped in fury. "Who?"
Magnus's expression remained calm, but there was a flicker of something—concern, perhaps—beneath his stoic exterior. He straightened just slightly, clearly choosing his words carefully. "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."
The words hung in the air, thick with implication. A traitor within the Voidus Family—a bitter pill to swallow. Azriel's fingers twitched involuntarily, the sharp edge of anger curling like a serpent in his chest. His thoughts raced, already imagining the faces of every potential suspect—the trusted allies, the ones who had stood by his grandfather's side for years. How could one of them betray him? How could anyone betray the family?
Magnus continued, his voice unyielding, but there was a sense of urgency now. "We have already begun reviewing our networks and contacts, but it will take time to confirm the source. Our first priority is identifying who may have had access to the Head's movements in the days prior to the ambush."
Azriel's hand tightened into a fist, the anger simmering just beneath the surface, but he forced himself to keep control. Time—they didn't have time. His grandfather was dead. And the longer they waited, the deeper the betrayal would sink into their ranks, possibly tearing the family apart from the inside. He couldn't allow that. Not while he still had breath in his body.
"Magnus," Azriel's voice was low, the cold authority of his command cutting through the air like a blade. "I want everything. Names, connections, anyone who had access to my grandfather's movements. I want this family's network combed from top to bottom. No one is to leave the compound until they have been questioned. If someone within our walls is responsible, I will know who they are."
Magnus bowed his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Azriel's, his expression unreadable. "Of course, Young Master. We will begin the investigation immediately."
Azriel's gaze was already distant, his mind turning over the next steps in a pattern he had been trained for since his childhood. The Voidus Family was built on shadows, on silence, on power, and ruthlessness. There would be no mercy for a traitor. Whoever had betrayed his grandfather, whoever had handed him over like a lamb to slaughter, would pay for their treachery.
As Azriel turned away, his steps were decisive, every movement purposeful. He could feel the familiar pull of the shadows around him, their dark tendrils calling to him as he began to slip into that realm—the realm of secrecy, of planning, of executing cold vengeance. His grandfather's death would not go unanswered. And he would find the traitor, wherever they hid.
Azriel's voice was like ice when he spoke again, his words sharp and final.
"When I find them," he said, more to himself than to Magnus, "there will be no mercy."
Magnus nodded once more, then disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Azriel alone with the weight of his duty. The hunt had begun. And this time, the darkness would be his ally.
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14 Years Ago, Voidus Estate
The night felt unusually long, as if time itself had been stretched thin and was slowly unravelling. The large manor at the heart of the Voidus Estate was quiet, save for the soft murmurs of the servants and the hurried footsteps of Lucifer Voidus. Inside the dimly lit chambers, he paced back and forth in circles, his anxious strides a reflection of the weight that had settled over him. Tonight was the night—the birth of his child with his wife, Lilith, and yet, for all his strength and experience in the shadows, Lucifer couldn't seem to calm his nerves. His father, Kinsley Voidus, sat in the corner, watching with quiet amusement.
"Don't worry so much, son," Kinsley chuckled, his voice deep and smooth, though there was a hint of affection behind his teasing. "The first pregnancy always turns out fine. Don't be such a wimp, haha."
Lucifer shot a quick, venomous glare in his direction, but his lips twitched, betraying his frustration. He was not in the mood for his father's humor. He was already on edge, and Kinsley's playful comments weren't helping.
"Old man," Lucifer snapped, his voice thick with annoyance, "shut it if you don't have anything good to say, or I'll stick that monocle of Magnus's up where the sun don't shine, alright?"
Kinsley raised an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by the threat, but then he smirked, shaking his head. His son always had a fiery temper. A part of him admired it, even if it could be a bit exhausting at times. Kinsley was about to retort when something strange happened.
Without warning, the lights in the room flickered, then dimmed. It was as if someone had snuffed out every flicker of light in an instant. The room was swallowed by an unnatural darkness. The shadows stretched unnaturally, curling at the edges of the walls, growing thicker, darker, as though the night itself was invading the very air. Lucifer froze, his eyes darting toward the windows. He had been waiting for this—the birth of his child—but this was... something else. Something was wrong.
"Father?" Lucifer's voice dropped to a low murmur, the tension in the room suddenly palpable.
Before Kinsley could respond, he was already moving. His body blurred as he slipped into the shadows, vanishing from sight. Lucifer was right on his heels, his eyes narrowing as his instincts screamed at him. What is this?
The two of them emerged outside, the darkened estate now fully eclipsed by the night. The once gentle light of dawn had been blotted out, leaving an inky void. They could hear the usual sounds of the estate—horses in the stables, the distant murmur of servants—but something felt off, as though a presence was watching them from the depths of the shadows.
"We need to contact the others," Lucifer muttered, reaching for his communicator, but before he could press the signal, something changed.
The air shifted with a soft, familiar sound—the cry of a newborn. A sound that sent a chill down Lucifer's spine. He had expected this moment to be quiet, intimate, but what was happening now? The shadows... the darkness... the night itself had responded to the birth in a way that he couldn't explain.
As soon as the cry of the child echoed through the air, the darkness that had swallowed the estate lifted, as if some unseen force had decided it was time for the night to end. The sky above slowly brightened, the sun creeping through the clouds, casting a warm, golden light over the estate once again.
Kinsley and Lucifer stood frozen, both of them looking toward the source of the sound—the chambers where Lilith had given birth to their child. For a moment, neither of them said a word. They didn't need to.
The unexplainable event— the sudden darkening of the sky, the unearthly presence that had descended upon their estate— was somehow connected to the birth of Lucifer's child. But why? What was it about this child, about this new life, that had summoned such power? Was this a blessing, or was it something far more dangerous?
"Father…" Lucifer said, his voice barely above a whisper, as he turned toward his father. His eyes were wide, a mixture of awe and uncertainty swirling in them. "What was that? The darkness... the shadows?"
Kinsley met his gaze, his expression unreadable for a long moment. He knew something. He had always known more than he let on. His gaze softened slightly, the weight of the moment settling on him. The birth of this child was more than just the arrival of an heir. It was something that carried implications far beyond anything he could have prepared for.
"Lucifer," Kinsley said quietly, his voice low and heavy with meaning, "there are forces in this world that we don't fully understand. Some of them, even we, the Voidus Family, cannot control. But this... this child… could be the key to something far greater."
Lucifer's brow furrowed, the weight of his father's words sinking in. The newborn's cry still echoed in his ears, but now, there was a deeper sense of foreboding, a lingering dread that he couldn't shake.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice low and cautious.
Kinsley placed a hand on his son's shoulder, his grip firm, but there was an unreadable look in his eyes. He looked almost... weary. "There are prophecies. Old ones. Ones that speak of a child born under a veil of darkness, one whose power will shape the future of the Voidus Family. Whether that future is a bright one or a dark one… remains to be seen."
Lucifer's heart raced, the weight of Kinsley's words settling heavily in his chest. He had always known the Voidus Family was built on power, on secrets, on shadows—but this? This was something else entirely.
The night had already begun to recede, but the memory of it—the unnatural eclipse, the unearthly cry—remained etched into Lucifer's mind. His son, the heir, was born under a dark omen. And whether that omen would bring them fortune or ruin was a question neither he nor Kinsley had an answer to.
All they could do was wait. And watch.
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