Leonel couldn't shake his excitement about the world archeon as he walked back to the mansion that evening. The tournament's events kept replaying in his mind, but something else nagged at him – a creeping unease he couldn't place. The halls felt wrong somehow, too quiet, the shadows stretching longer than they should.
When he reached Selene's room, that unease crystallized into dread. She wasn't there. Again. This morning's absence had been strange enough; the attendant said she'd gone out with her maid for something important, but Leonel knew better. Selene had been practically bouncing off the walls about watching the finals. She wouldn't have missed it without good reason.
His knuckles had barely brushed the door when every instinct screamed danger. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt it – someone inside, someone who shouldn't be there. He didn't think – he just moved, shoulder slamming into wood. The door burst open to reveal an empty room, curtains dancing in the breeze from an open window. His eyes locked onto a single sheet of paper on the bed, and as he read it, something inside him broke:
"Visit me near the forest at the location marked if you want your sister to live. Play smart or inform your family, and you'll receive her head as a gift. - Leonel Graythorn."
The paper crumpled in his fist. Blood roared in his ears, drowning out everything else. The world narrowed to a single point of burning rage. He'd never moved so fast in his life, tearing through the mansion grounds like a man possessed. Guards called out to him as he passed, but their words were meaningless noise. The marked location was deep in the forest, where the trees grew thick enough to swallow screams.
"COME OUT!" His voice shattered the evening calm, sending birds scattering into the darkening sky. Branches creaked overhead as the forest itself seemed to recoil from his fury.
Slow clapping echoed between the trees, mocking. "As expected, Leonel. You really do come running when your sister calls. Like a well-trained dog."
"Who—" The words died in his throat as a scream cut through the air. There, under an ancient oak, stood Garic Stormblade. One hand twisted cruelly in Selene's hair, the other pressing a knife into her arm. Blood trickled down her pale skin, each drop hitting the forest floor like a hammer blow to Leonel's heart.
"Brother!" Selene's voice cracked, tears streaming down her face. "It hurts... please..."
Something snapped inside Leonel. He felt it go, like a dam breaking, flooding him with something dark and primal. The edges of his vision went red, blood vessels bursting in his eyes until they looked demonic. His fingers tightened around his sword hilt until his knuckles went white. He barely recognized his own voice when he spoke: "Let. Her. Go."
Garic's laugh was ugly, full of cruel pleasure. "Oh, does it bother you, seeing her like this?" He twisted the knife, drawing another whimper from Selene. Bright crimson welled up around the blade. "Maybe I should leave my mark on her. Something to remember me by? I could carve my name into that pretty skin of hers. Would you like that, little Selene?"
Ten shadows melted out of the trees – assassins, all of them radiating Adept Realm power. Their black clothes seemed to drink in what little light remained, and killing intent rolled off them in waves. Any other time, Leonel might have felt fear. Now, he only saw obstacles between him and his sister.
"Kill him," Garic waved lazily, like he was ordering dinner. "Break him slowly. I want him to watch what comes next. Show him what happens to those who embarrass me in front of the whole city."
The first assassin didn't even see the strike coming. One moment Leonel was standing there, coiled rage made flesh. The next, his sword ripped through the air with a "Graythorn Sword Art: First Form—Skyfall Slash!" The man came apart in pieces, a look of surprise frozen on his face as his body separated. Blood painted the forest floor in an arc of crimson. The force of the strike kept going, tearing a trench through earth and splintering trees like kindling.
Fear flickered across Garic's face, cracking his composed mask. "What— How did— Kill him! Kill him now!"
They came at him from all sides, blades flashing in the dying light. But Leonel moved like something inhuman, like vengeance given flesh. An assassin thrust at his chest; Leonel's blade took him through the eye, twisted, pulled free in a spray of gore and brain matter. The man's scream turned to wet gurgling as he collapsed.
Two more rushed him – one lost his legs at the knees, tendons and bone severed clean through. His scream of agony cut short as Leonel's sword punched through his throat and into his partner's chest. With a roar that was more animal than human, Leonel ripped his blade sideways, nearly cutting both men in half. Their blood sprayed across his face, hot and metallic.
Blood soaked into his clothes, his hair, ran down his face in hot rivulets. He didn't notice. Didn't care. Selene's quiet sobs filled his world, each one fueling the rage that turned his strikes savage. When an assassin managed to nick his shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood, Leonel caught his wrist and drove his sword into the man's chest again and again until there was nothing left but pulp and shattered bone.
"Die! DIE!" Each thrust was punctuated with a roar, blood and bits of flesh flying with every strike. The remaining assassins began backing away, professional calm replaced by naked terror as they watched their comrade being reduced to meat.
The forest floor turned to mud with blood. These were professional killers, men who dealt in death for a living, but they died screaming like children, learning too late what it meant to stand between a Graythorn and his family. One tried to form a defensive seal, magic crackling between his fingers. Leonel's blade shattered it like glass, continuing through to split the man's skull to his chin.
Another turned to run, survival instinct overwhelming training. Leonel's voice cut through the air: "Graythorn Sword Art: Black Wind Slash!" Darkness itself seemed to coalesce around his blade before launching forward. The technique caught the fleeing assassin at the waist, cutting him clean in half. Steam rose from the cauterized wounds as the two pieces fell separately, black energy still crackling around the edges.
Garic's smug mask had shattered completely, real fear showing through as he pressed the knife harder against Selene's throat. A thin line of blood appeared there, and Leonel's world went even redder. "Stay back! I'll do it! I swear I'll—"
Leonel stared at him through blood-red eyes. Gore dripped from his sword, but his hands were steady. Death itself seemed to radiate from him in waves. "Garic," his voice was terrifyingly quiet, like the moment before an avalanche, "I told you what would happen if we met again."
Across the forest, Darian Graythorn was facing his own battle. His Ironclad Phalanx pursued black-robed figures through the shadows, tension crackling in the air like lightning before a storm. The elite warriors moved with perfect coordination, hemming in their prey.
"Chase them down!" His voice carried absolute command. "These Abyssal Creed rats dare infiltrate our territory? Show them why the Graythorn name is feared!"
The robed figures turned, their leader's laugh echoing through the trees. "Rats? Soon the abyss will swallow your world whole, Darian Graythorn! Your family's time is ending!"
Magic surged as the man began chanting, the very air growing heavy with power. A massive circle appeared in the sky, glowing with malevolent purpose: "Sixth Circle Magic: Meteor Fall!" The heavens split open, raining burning death toward Darian's forces. Each meteor was the size of a house, trailing fire and destruction.
But Darian didn't flinch. Power gathered around him like a cloak as he raised his sword. "Graythorn Swordship Fifth Form: Tempest of Night!" Darkness rose from his blade like a living thing, hungry and vast. It met the meteors in a collision that tore the forest apart. Trees exploded into splinters. The ground cracked and cratered, fissures spreading in all directions.
When the chaos cleared, the mage stood with his chest torn open, magical barrier shattered like paper. Blood poured from the wound as he stared at Darian, fear and awe mixing in his dying eyes. "As expected... of the Graythorn heir... this power..."
"Enough games," Darian's voice cut like steel. "Why are you here? What's your purpose?"
The dying mage's laugh turned mad, blood staining his teeth. "Why tell... when you can live it? Two deaths in your family... that's my gift to you!" Before anyone could move, he triggered some hidden seal, his body dissolving in black flame as he screamed his final words: "For the Abyss!"
Darian's sword saint aura exploded outward, lighting up the night like a second sun. Terrible understanding dawned as the implications of those words sank in. "Ironclad Phalanx, spread out! NOW!"
He raced through the forest, following the distant sounds of combat and the copper-tang smell of blood, praying to whatever gods might listen that he wouldn't be too late. Behind him, his elite warriors scattered like shadows, each one knowing that time itself had become their enemy.
The night air carried sounds of violence and the scent of death, and somewhere ahead, a brother's rage was painting the forest red.