Sylvester, the crimson dragon of death and darkness. For the triumph of Death has resonated, welcoming the horseman of the apocalypse. The neighing of the pale horse awakens the dragon from its eternal sleep.

Chaos, Deus Mortis.

Spiritus illius producit Mortem.

The crimson wings spread from the thorn chains. Through wars and battles, countless corpses bounded down its steps, agonizing in pain. In bloodlust, it sings. The song praises death.

Chaos, Deus Exitii.

Tenebrae illius devorant omnia.

In the fury flame, it screams, the end of all life on earth. Run, for the seals of suffering have been opened. The pale horseman's companion, the Sylvester, brings forth the calamities. Run, for the debts of your sins have come.

O, Chaos!

Progenies Belli!

Corpus incensum tuum fluctuat in mari inanitatis.

Wearing a crown of bones, its claws cut deep into each piece of flesh. Each drop of blood it devours, each tear it desires. Emperors and dynasties were crushed under its feet, and the crowns of Kings and Queens melted in the sea flame. Prostrated under the death’s throne, it smiled. For those who inherit its name will teach this world what true power is. In the name of blood and flame, run.

Scitote finem Vestrum fieri

in prece sola mortuorum

Mors! O, Mors!

Just as the myth foretells, the Sylvesters, the oldest family in Hyram, are the descendants of the powerful name. At the dawn of history, when Hyram was no more than an unknown land in the far North. It was Sylvester who built the kingdom from the ashes. From swords dripping in blood, rises the dragon of Hyram. At the corners of the world, chimed the trumpet of karma, invaded its mind. For no creature can escape the final judgment. Not even the mighty dragon. Comes the curse crushing the throne its desired to pieces, bound the King of flame to serve the true rightful heir for eternity. The ancient oath imprisons the dragon in the realm of dreams. Yet, even the mighty power of time can’t vanquish the quackery flowing in Sylvester's veins. Gifted the eyes bearing the signature color of the emerald stone and their bravery in battles, the countless corpses they have slain are more than enough to speak the weight of their name. Under one, but above all, they control Hyram in their palms.

Pray for a quick death, those who dare to step in their way.

Finally, back in the hall, Reid doesn’t even realize he has held his breath all this long. A thousand questions ran through his head, breaking his calm. Though he had heard of that name, he couldn’t help but feel a light shiver the moment an actual member showed up. But those emerald eyes…Theodore is in danger... Gritting his teeth, he cursed. Taking the chance when the others are distracted, Reid quickly hides under the heavy curtain, looking for a way out. He has no choice, the warning must be delivered. The moon outside rose up high, guiding the young man through the dark halls. Those three days, going around the castle finally proved its worth as Reid took no effort to reach the Northern part where the secret path was. Almost there… Please be safe…

“In a rush, servant boy?" a low voice says, appearing behind his back. Before him is a tall man playing with his braid. Wearing a dangerous smirk, the long scar cutting across his face was noticeable under the moonlight. His cold fingers lift Reid’s chin, and the bottomless eyes observe him closely. “I will ask you one question, and the wise choice is to answer correctly." He smiles defiantly, “I don't want to leave a mark on this innocent face.” The finger traces Reid’s lines, “Why are you here?" Summoning all his strength, Reid takes a deep breath. The appearance of a stranger indeed breaks his escape plan but is still predictable. Locked into that man’s eyes, Reid does not even flinch, “I’m trying to escape this place." “The King will take my life sooner or later.” This man is no simple person. He approaches with a purpose and will not take a lie. Whatever the motive is, revealing a glimpse of the truth won’t hurt. He laughs madly, tilting his head. “Good job," he clapped his hands, the movement revealing the silver lights of knives on his belt.

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“Then I have one duty you have to fulfill.”

Leading him to the left wing of the castle, he follows the man to the honor guest’s room. The moment the doors cracked open, the ironic smell escaped in waves, causing Reid to wince. Crimson roses and bits. Whatever happened in that room, is indeed a heinous sin. Reid was left with no choice but to face the darkness waiting ahead. Reid certainly acknowledged that showing any sign of weakness would make him end up like that disgusting smell. “My lord, I have brought him here.” The man from behind spoke mischievously. Never in his worst nightmare, Reid is able to imagine the scene present before him. The only source of light that shines in the room comes from the fireplace, masking the true crime lurking in this used-to-be exquisite room. But judging from the shadows and the smell, this room was drenched in blood. Trailing along the weak light, he can see multiple trails of dried blood, splattered from the walls to the floor, a scene that seems to exist only in a dire massacre. Clenching his nose tightly to stop the urge to nausea, his fingernails left a bloodline on the palm, sending a sudden pain. At least the pain in his hand will keep him awake from this madness. In the corner of his eyes, corpses in all kinds of poses lay across the room, though they were too deformed to be called human. Reid couldn’t be more grateful. If the chandeliers shine in this room, exposing the naked truth, his mind will be lost in insanity. Among the deadly sensations that filled this room, a cold voice, as if it belonged to another world, appeared, “Good work, Axl.” The owner of that voice, leaning on the armchair, smoking, “Welcome, to my humble “paradise”, Collin.” The light of the flame only shows half of his face, hiding away the blood drops on the other half. The weak light reveals his beautiful yet sharp lines, the curve on his lips, all covered in a shrewd coldness. Yet the evilness in those emerald eyes can’t ever vanish, even for a second. At this very moment, finally, Reid understands, the reason why they call the Sylvester a crimson dragon.

For the blood of those it has slain will soon soak its skin in the crimson color of blood that can never be washed away.

Under his feet is no one other than the earlier dancer. The charming dancer now is no different from a defeated animal, lying moribundly. She croaked under Arioch’s feet, groaning in pain. Following the light, numerous wounds covered her trembling body, unable to recognize skin and flesh. Exhaling a trail of smoke, Arioch closes his eyes, smiling in satisfaction when recalling fresh memories. “Finally, you are beautiful for once." Resting his feet, the girl whimpers hoarsely. But only discrete sounds left her throat. Using all her might, the dancer reaches out her hand to Reid, begging for help. Please, help me... She knows what awaits at the end. Surrendered herself to the punishment of a demon, yet the hope for a miracle was still as bright as ever. Fear swallowed his heart. What if the one lying there is Theodore? No… Reid remains silent, preventing his heart from letting out a single trace of weakness. Arioch curiously observes the young boy before him, patiently. When the cigar in his hand, now nothing but ashes, falls. After all, the sand clock of her life has finally reached the end.

“I believe the time has come, don’t you think?” Wicked astonishment painted all over. Still leaning on the armchair, steps followed steps, steadily and cruelly tearing apart her parts. His vision was blurry in the shade of Hell. He can’t hear anything but the screaming of the girl and the sound of tormented flesh. It all creates the triumph of death. The culprit no doubt enjoy every second of it as he takes a sip from the silver goblet. Everything happens like a film, rolling him into madness. Nausea once again lurks in the throat. The moment he gains back consciousness, the girl is now, a tragedy. Axl stepped forward, taking out a cloth for Arioch to wipe off the blood on his face like a habit. He has heard of the infamous bloodlust running in the Sylvesters’ veins, but to truly witness it... No words can describe. Then he even called this hell a “paradise.” How ironically.

“You see, this is the curse of the Sylvester family. We have no such thing called sympathy nor hesitate to take lives.” He throws a warning glance while adjusting his black blouse. “I’m tired. Clean this mess, then leave.” Each of his steps left a long trail of warm blood. Clenching his teeth, Reid quickly does as he is told. Shoveling each of what’s left of her remains into a bag, he feels nothing but pure horror. He can still feel the warmth that hasn’t left this world. The next thing he knows, Axl has escorted him out of that hell on earth. Patting his shoulder, Axl locks eyes with him, “Have a good sleep, though I doubt that." Suddenly, Axl leaned down to his ear, whispering mischievously. Words left him with a quiver down his spine.

“I’m sure we will meet again soon. I’m dying to meet the real you.”