The hooded boy, wearing a bird-beak mask and a black cloak adorned with raven feather details, walked silently along the main road of the small village. His steps were precise and inaudible, even as he crossed puddles formed by the recent rain. He observed the inhospitable village around him with a calmness that bordered on indifference.

This inhospitality could mean one of two things: either the evacuation alert had worked, or everyone was already dead. However, the absence of corpses suggested that the second possibility was unlikely.

He was a warrior of the Anti-Crimson Bestial Alliance — an organization dedicated to eliminating all crimson elementals. The alliance operated wherever crimson beings were present, which was practically the entire world. Each kingdom had its own warrior, and the raven represented the Shadow Kingdom.

Whenever something involving the crimson occurred, he was sent to resolve it. This time, a carrier raven had brought word of a crimson causing chaos in the small village.

As he advanced, his eyes scanned the area for the target. He found nothing. It wasn’t surprising, given his limited vision. He had inherited poor eyesight from his father, who, in life, had suffered blindness caused by a degenerative disease. Moreover, like everyone in the Shadow Kingdom, he couldn’t see colors. They said that centuries ago, the kingdom’s king had blasphemed against Nylax, the goddess of darkness, and divine punishment plunged the nation into eternal darkness. The Shadow people adapted to the gloom but lost the ability to see colors.

The only things in the Shadow Kingdom that retained color were people's eyes, which, for some reason, still shone brightly. The color of the eyes represented a person’s elemental power, and perhaps because it was magical, it remained visible.

To him, however, the story of divine punishment was merely a legend told to children by devout elders. Not that he didn’t believe it, but it simply didn’t matter.

The silence was interrupted by the cawing of a bird, causing the boy to frown behind his mask. When he realized it was a raven — his favorite animal — he simply glanced at it and smiled with his eyes closed. He loved all birds, but the raven was special. Though he wouldn’t admit it, the raven represented him: darkness, solitude, and death.

He continued his walk, ever vigilant. One mistake could cost him his life. Then he smelled it: blood.

Before he could react, something emerged swiftly above him. A humanoid figure descended from the sky like a meteor, fists clenched. He had only enough time to block the blow, but the impact sent him tumbling through the mud. Pain radiated from his likely fractured bones, but he knew he would’ve died if he hadn’t reacted in time.

As he recovered, he looked up at his assailant. It was a man of about 35, dressed in simple farming clothes. His body was thin, almost frail, but his eyes gave him away: a crimson. The crimson-red irises were the unmistakable sign of a blood elemental.

The man’s deep voice broke the silence:

— You’re not welcome here, little raven...

The boy tilted his head, intrigued by the nickname.

— Little? — his youthful voice echoed with curiosity but no intimidation.

— Exactly what you heard, raven, — the crimson replied with a mocking smile. — For years, I’ve heard stories about a raven-clad warrior who protects people from folks like me. I thought you’d be a formidable man, but you... you’re just a brat.

Dark was accustomed to taunts about his youth. He had always been underestimated, even by his colleagues. Everyone loved to belittle him, but it didn’t faze him. He knew his purpose, and he executed it flawlessly: killing crimsons.

He merely shrugged and said:

— I think you should save your jokes for the afterlife, idiot, — as he drew his twin swords from his back. His stance exuded determination.

— Get ready to die.

The man laughed loudly, clenched his fists, and yelled,

— THIS WILL BE FUN! — charging with reckless fury.

The raven remained calm. Despite being only 16, he had trained since the age of six to fight crimsons. As the man charged blindly, consumed by rage, the boy maintained a calculated rhythm.

Running, Dark felt pain with every movement — a result of the earlier blow. He also noticed that his body might crumble upon impact with the man, yet he pressed on. They were only steps apart when, just as a collision seemed inevitable, the raven launched himself into the air, somersaulting over the man’s head. Before the man could react, Dark grabbed his head, using the man’s momentum to hurl him away.

The crimson hit the ground with a heavy thud, rolling through the mud until he crashed into a fence. The raven landed lightly.

Despite the violent attack, the man managed to stand, albeit unsteadily. Crimsons were stronger, faster, and more resilient than normal humans, so this wouldn’t defeat him. He looked around, searching for his opponent:

— Where did you go, little raven?!

— I never left your side... — came a calm voice behind him.

The man spun quickly, throwing punches into empty space.

— Don’t toy with me, brat!

— But weren’t you playing just now?

— Of course not, — the crimson snapped impatiently.

— So you’re saying you’re fighting for real? How disappointing...

— Don’t underestimate me, kid...

— Underestimate you? You’re the one doing that... grown man, — Dark taunted.

— Enough of this chatter... show yourself and fight like a man! — the crimson growled, still searching.

Suddenly, Dark caught the familiar scent of blood, stronger than the man’s. It was coming from the forest. He couldn’t waste time.

— I don’t have much time... I need you to do something... — The boy’s voice echoed, disorienting the crimson.

— Tell me your name.

— Why would I tell you my name, idiot?

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

— Every death carries weight... that’s why I like to know the names of those who fall by my blade, — Dark explained.

— Oh yeah? And who says I’ll fall by...

Before the crimson could finish, a swift slash tore through his throat. He staggered, collapsing to the ground as blood gushed out. The raven appeared before him, his bird-beak mask hiding any trace of emotion.

— I planned to chat a bit longer, but I caught the scent of blood, and it made me change my mind. It’s not yours... it’s stronger. There’s another crimson in that forest, — Dark said, pointing toward it.

The man’s eyes widened in panic.

— Please... don’t do anything to my... — He fell silent, realizing he had said too much.

— To your what? — Dark pressed, waiting for an answer. When none came, he continued, — Your wife? — he guessed.

The crimson coughed blood, unable to speak.

— I’ll end your pain. But first, tell me your name.

Clinging to a sliver of hope that the boy might spare his "wife," the man finally whispered:

— Phakin... Phakin Másolat... But please... don’t do anything to... — His plea was cut short by the raven’s final blow.

The boy remained silent for a moment, staring at the lifeless body.

— Phakin Másolat... — he repeated solemnly.

As he turned, he noticed the scent of blood fading. She was fleeing. He smiled behind his mask.

— Round two, I presume.

And He vanished into the darkness of the forest.

                                      ***

After running for a few minutes, skillfully dodging roots and low branches, the raven reached a clearing. In front of him, a simple hut stood out, seemingly isolated from the village.

"Could this be Phakin’s house?" the boy thought, approaching cautiously. He had already faced up to 15 rubros at once without any trouble. The real challenge, however, was the smell of blood, which indicated that she was stronger than the others.

The house, small and simple, seemed to have only one room. Yet something caught his attention: there was a stable beside it, larger than the house itself, and inside was a horse that "seemed" to be of elite quality— I say "seemed" because Dark knew nothing about horses, but in his eyes, the animal looked quite sleek. Although this mattered little to him. His only goal was to kill everyone inside the house.

The door wasn’t locked. Upon entering, the smell of blood hit him hard, making the air almost unbearable. The house confirmed his impression: it was indeed a single room. In one corner, there was a double bed; in another, a kitchen with a dining table. However, what caught his attention was a wardrobe directly ahead, its door completely stained with blood.

It was a trap, and the raven knew it. With an agile movement, he materialized a metal stake in his hand. This was one of his elemental powers, a unique combination of acíulos (rose thorns), magnetite (a magnetic mineral), and shadow.

At the beginning of the elemental world, the elements were simple: fire, water, earth, air, light, shadow, electricity, and plant. Over time, people began to combine these elements, creating new powers such as metal, mud, ice, lava, and others. The purer the element, the stronger the power, but Dark’s power, an unfavorable combination, limited his abilities. Although he could control magnetites, shadows, and thorns, he could never use these forces to their full potential.

Still, the raven did not let it shake him. He had trained for years and was now part of the Anti-Rubro League, a team of warriors chosen to fight the rubros. It was a position of great prestige, with only one warrior representing each country. "I’m awesome," he thought, with a slight internal smile.

Back to reality, he threw the metal stake toward the wardrobe, piercing through it. The sound of a breaking vase echoed from inside, followed by a liquid dripping — blood, stronger and more pungent than ever. But beyond that, nothing abnormal happened. He approached the wardrobe and opened it. Inside, coats hung on hangers, and a large broken vase that had once been filled with blood.

"Why is this here?" he wondered.

Suddenly, a presence made itself felt behind him.

— Get out of my house — an insecure female voice was heard.

He turned around. In front of him stood a woman, dressed in simple housewife clothes, but her crimson-red eyes revealed her true nature: she was a rubro.

— Are you Phakin’s wife? — he asked.

— I am... and you killed him — she replied, visibly furious.

— Don’t worry, I’ll arrange for your reunion soon enough.

— Don’t you have a heart? How can you say that to a widow?

— A rubro widow.

— You’re ridiculous...

Rubros were always despised, and not without reason; they had caused much chaos and destruction in the world. She discreetly glanced at the broken vase, as if expecting something from it. Dark found it strange but chose to ignore it.

— Small and now ridiculous... is it a Másolat family habit to humiliate others?

— It’s our family’s habit to protect those we love... so I won’t let Phakin die in vain...

— Ma’am... I must say, your determination is contagious — Dark mocked.

— Oh, you... — she huffed in anger, glanced at the vase, and tried to appear cold — I’m going to kill you.

— Sure, sure... everyone says that, but first... forgive me for the vase — and he nodded toward the wardrobe behind him — I saw you looking at it a lot.

— What? — she said, trying to hide something — It’s just that it’s a family heirloom...

— You rubros keep blood as family heirlooms? — the woman made a face of anger at the provocation — Sorry, just kidding... So... what are you waiting for? — A pause; she didn’t react — Aren’t you going to try to kill me?

— Just leave.

— I can’t... I have to kill you — he said coldly.

The woman seemed disconcerted but soon took a defensive stance. — I’ll avenge his death.

— No, you won’t... your fate will be the same as his —

— Y-you’re a monster... — her crimson eyes were moist, but the tears didn’t fall.

— It wasn’t my intention to be insensitive, but... — He gave a smile and drew his twin swords — Prepare to die.

---

For several seconds, both stood motionless and in total silence. The raven prepared himself and disappeared into the ground, merging with the shadows between the floorboards — one of the skills he had acquired after years of training.

The woman clenched her fists and positioned herself, expecting an attack at any moment. Unlike Phakin, she knew not to underestimate the boy.

Without warning, a kick came from the left, which she barely managed to dodge. Almost immediately, another kick came from the right, hitting her and breaking a few ribs.

His speed was impressive, but she didn’t have much time to think about it, as a cut appeared on the back of her knee, causing her to fall to her knees.

Before she could protest from the pain, a blade appeared at her neck. Death was near, and it made her lose her composure. She looked at him and begged for mercy, tears streaming down her face.

But in the midst of her plea, he simply said: — Name, please, Mrs. Másolat.

— My name? — she asked between sobs.

— Yes... and then I can end your suffering — the boy said, showing no emotion. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard. — I struck your popliteal artery; you’ll bleed to death.

The woman was sweating profusely. She hadn’t expected to die this way, but she knew she needed to get that stranger out of the house. If she succeeded, everything would have been worth it.

She sighed. — Tephina... — she closed her eyes and raised her head, allowing the sword to do its work.

— Tephina Másolat... — the boy repeated to himself. He always asked the names of the people he was about to kill. He felt that, in doing so, he somehow redeemed himself.

He stepped back and prepared for the final blow, but something paralyzed him. A child’s voice sounded behind the raven: — Mommy? Who’s that man?

Dark froze, from head to toe. He even felt the hairs under his hood stand on end. He looked back and saw a child, at most six years old. He was wearing pajamas and rubbing his eyes as if he had just woken up. After finishing, a pair of glowing crimson-red eyes appeared on the child’s face.

If Dark hadn’t been wearing a mask, she would have seen his jaw drop. He had never encountered such a young rubro before. Babies born with red eyes were thrown from mountains — right or wrong, this had become almost a universal law.

He didn’t know what to do in that situation, so the woman acted for him. She swept his legs, throwing him to the ground. He hit his head and for a moment swore he saw colors. He tried to grab his sword, but the woman was quicker.

A frantic struggle ensued on the floor. She used all her rubro strength to push the sword against his face. He held the blade with his bare hands, cutting through the leather gloves and reaching his skin. He almost couldn’t hold on.

— Kopie! Get the horse from the stable and get out of here! — the mother shouted desperately.

— Where’s daddy? — the child said, his voice trembling.

— No time, obey me — the blade was centimeters from Dark’s eye — just ride... don’t look back... I’ll catch up with you...

The boy looked at the two on the floor and then ran out the front door.

The raven merged again with the shadows of the floor, causing the sword in Tephina’s hand to sink into the rotten floorboard. Milliseconds later, he materialized and drove his other sword into the woman’s back, who stopped breathing instantly.

He ran outside and found the boy climbing onto the horse. There was no time to act; the boy fell. Immediately, the smell of blood invaded Dark’s nostrils, a stronger scent than he had ever experienced before.

"Actually... it’s the second..." The boy corrected himself, still remembering the scent of the rubro who had killed his family. It was an extremely intense fragrance.

The smell of blood was the result of being born to two rubro parents, and although he had never faced anyone like that, he had always heard rumors about them. Rubros usually had no relation to another rubro; they were born out of nowhere. Now, a child born of two rubros — that was dangerous, for he literally had power in his blood.

Dark approached with slow steps; he wasn’t exactly sure how he would do it, but he knew he needed to eliminate the boy somehow.

“He’ll hurt someone when he grows up. I have to end this here and now.” But it was just an excuse. His hatred for the Rubies was so great that he was about to kill a child.

He raised the sword and prepared himself. He had never killed a child before—and never planned to. He closed his eyes, but even so, it wouldn’t be easy.

“But who said there wouldn’t be a price for peace?” That’s what the Raven believed, but did Dark agree? It didn’t matter now. He brought the sword down with great speed until it hit the target. He heard the sound of flesh being cut, and then...

— Mom?

Dark opened his eyes and saw his sword buried in the body of Tephina Másolat, with her son completely unharmed behind her.

— Mom? — now in a more desperate tone — Wake up, Mom! — his lip began to tremble, and his eyes filled with tears — Don’t leave me alone here... please.

Dark left the sword in Tephina’s head and took two steps back, utterly in shock.

— Y-you... — he looked at the Raven; his sad face turned into anger — You murderer! — He approached his beloved mother’s killer and pushed him, but the man remained unmoving. — Murderer... murderer... murderer — each pause was a punch to the Raven’s abdomen.

Dark didn’t feel the impacts of the punches, only an immense existential void. He had just killed the parents of an innocent child. This shocked him in many ways. He had always seen it as a responsibility, but now he questioned how he had come to this point.

Memories surfaced and vanished constantly, flooding his mind. He could still hear “murderer, murderer,” but now it wasn’t coming from Kopie. It was coming from his own mouth...

Murderer... Murderer... Murderer...