The deeper Kite and his group descended into the undercity, the more oppressive the environment became. The towering structures above them cast long, jagged shadows, their metal frames rusted and worn from centuries of neglect. Dim neon signs flickered intermittently, barely illuminating the cracked concrete paths and corroded pipes that lined the walls.
The air smelled of damp metal and something faintly acrid, a scent that clung to their clothes the further they walked. Graffiti stretched across every surface, some of it gang tags, some of it old warnings from those who had ventured too far into the depths. Above them, the occasional spark from malfunctioning cables sent eerie flashes of blue light into the darkness.
The echoes of dripping water and the scurrying of unseen creatures filled the silence between their words. Despite the unsettling atmosphere, the group’s conversation remained lighthearted, though a certain tension still lingered from their last encounter.
Ray hovered close to Kite, fists clenched tightly, his mechanical fingers occasionally twitching as he listened. His glowing violet eye flickered, but he said nothing, merely observing.
“So, where are we going now, Kite?” Ava asked, walking beside him with a wary glance at Ray.
“For real,” Lira added, adjusting the straps of her backpack, “and how many pieces are left? I’m getting hungry.”
Kite didn’t answer right away. Instead, he raised his wrist, activating his black watch. A holographic map projected outward, its neon-blue lines forming a detailed three-dimensional representation of the undercity. The glowing display pulsed slightly as it highlighted their current location and the remaining guitar fragments.
“Should only be two more pieces,” Kite replied, his voice carrying a note of unease. He zoomed in on the nearest marked location. “The closest one is deep in the undercity.” He hesitated before continuing, his expression darkening. “In a place called The Crimson Cavern.”
Ava’s eyes widened immediately. “The what?” She leaned in closer, as if she hadn’t heard him right. But she had. She knew exactly what he had just said.
Rad groaned, rubbing the back of his head as he walked beside Kay. “He said The Crimson Cavern.”
“I heard him,” Ava snapped back, her voice sharper than intended. Her demeanor subtly changing from that of a carefree girl to a being who knew far more than the children around her.
Kite noticed the shift in her demeanor and frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his unease growing.
Ava sighed, crossing her arms. “Dude,” she said, her tone darkening, “that part of the undercity is where the monsters reside.”
Rad let out a skeptical laugh. “Monsters? What could be down there that’s worse than what’s up here?” His smirk was laced with doubt.
“Yeah, Ava,” Lira chimed in, gripping her backpack straps a little tighter. “What could be worse than feral chimeras?” She glanced down at the robotic baby inside her bag, its small, mechanical limbs twitching slightly in its sleep.
Ava shot them both a serious look. “I’m not talking about gangsters, or ferals, or even those crazy cultists. I mean monsters. Things that shouldn’t exist. Things that even the worst of the worst won’t go near.”
The group fell silent for a moment, the ambient sounds of the undercity filling the void. A distant metal groan reverberated through the tunnels, followed by a distant, inhuman wail that quickly faded into the abyss as they reached the deadliest part of the undercity.
The air grew thick as the group pressed deeper into the undercity. The metal pathways beneath their feet groaned with age, rusted and worn by years of decay. Faint neon lights flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows along the cracked walls, their once-bright colors reduced to dim, dying embers. The scent of damp metal, oil, and something more foul, something rotting, hung in the air like a warning.
Ava crossed her arms, her pink irises dimming as the group walked. Rad scoffed, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Pff, monsters? What, like spooky bedtime stories? You actually believe that crap?”
Ava didn’t look at him. Instead, her gaze drifted to the shadows beyond their path, her tone unwavering. “They’re real, Rad. Down here, in the deepest parts of the undercity, there are things that don’t belong in this world. Most of them don’t even talk, they don’t think like we do. They just… feed.”
A cold shiver ran through Kay, who instinctively stepped closer to Rad. “Feed on what?” he asked quietly as he began shaking slightly.
Ava let the question hang in the air for a moment before answering. “Humans.” A sudden silence fell over the group. Even Lira, who had been shifting restlessly, stayed still.
“They go after the weak first,” Ava continued. “Kids, the sick, people with nowhere to run. The ones who live on the edges of society, the ones no one would notice if they disappeared. And when they take you, you don’t just die.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “They tear you apart. Mind, body, and soul.”
Rad’s smirk faltered slightly, but he quickly shook it off, raising an eyebrow at Ava. “And how exactly do you know all this?”
Ava froze for a split second before she forced a scoff, rolling her eyes. “Because I’m not an idiot, Rad. People talk. You hear things when you know where to listen. Or do you think everyone who vanishes in the undercity just tripped and fell into a hole?”
Rad narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but Ava met his gaze with her usual defiant smirk. He didn’t push further, though something in her tone left him unsettled.
Kite glanced at his watch again, checking their coordinates. The Crimson Cavern was still a long way down. He exhaled sharply but forced a small smile before speaking. “Well, on the bright side, we’ve got Ray here if anything happens.”
But unbeknownst to Kite and the others, Ray was no longer among them. The moment they had stepped foot into this forsaken part of the undercity, he had vanished without a sound. Now, he sat atop a grotesque throne of the dead, watching from above.
His perch, a crumbling rooftop of an old, half-collapsed structure, overlooked the group as they trudged deeper into the abyss. His glowing eyes, one green and one violet, burned like eerie beacons in the suffocating darkness, casting a faint, unnatural glow against his sleek, black-and-white cybernetic body that was covered by the shadows.
Beneath him, the mound of corpses was a horrific display of death and decay. The bodies, twisted and contorted, bore the marks of unspeakable violence. Some were half-consumed, their flesh shredded and gnawed upon, exposing jagged bones and hollowed ribcages.
Others looked as if their very essence had been drained, their skin sunken and gray, their faces frozen in expressions of agony. The smell of blood and rot clung to the air, thick and pungent, seeping into the very walls of the crumbling ruin.
Ray was still as he observed the group, his silhouette blending into the surrounding shadows, his presence more like an omen than a being of flesh or machine. The only movement came from his fingers, which idly tapped against a corpse, the faint clinking noise lost to the howling winds that whispered through the ruins.
“Stupid kids,” he whispered, his voice flat, devoid of warmth, yet carrying the faintest edge of irritation. His cosmic aura pulsed dimly, the violet energy in his left eye flaring slightly before fading once more.
He had no interest in playing hero. No interest in this ridiculous quest Kite was on. Yet time and time again he was forced him into this position of a protector like fates puppet.
But despite the grim situation, something about it… it stirred something deep within him. Not fondness. Nor unease. Just a sense of old familiarity. And he hated it.
The inside of the cavern was a world of its own, a twisted sanctuary bathed in dim crimson light. Chandeliers of bone and iron hung from the jagged ceiling, their flickering candles casting eerie shadows across the damp stone walls. The floor was uneven, slick in places with something dark and viscous, the scent of aged blood and decay clinging to the air like a thick fog.
Rows of wooden tables, some polished and others barely holding together, stretched across the space, each occupied by a variety of patrons, some human, others… not. Hooded figures whispered in hushed tones, their glowing eyes peeking out from beneath their cloaks. Pale-skinned nobles dressed in dark velvet and silks lounged lazily, sipping from goblets filled with thick, red liquid.
In the far corner, a hunched creature with elongated fingers scratched something into the table, its lips moving silently in a fevered chant. The waiters moved with an unsettling grace, gliding rather than walking, their crimson and black uniforms immaculate despite their surroundings. Some were young, appearing no older than children, their eyes hollow yet ancient, their smiles sharp and knowing.
Others were elderly, their wrinkled skin stretched too tightly over their bones, yet their movements betrayed no weakness. Every one of them bore the same distinguishing feature, fangs, long and glistening in the low light.
As Kite and his group stepped inside, a wave of nausea hit them. “God… what is that smell?” Lira coughed, pulling her hoodie over her nose in a futile attempt to block out the overwhelming stench of blood and rot.
Kay, standing frozen beside her, trembled violently, his wide eyes darting between the many entities surrounding them. His small hands clenched the sides of his sweater, his breath coming in short, fearful bursts.
“I-Is that blood?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as one of the waiters passed by.
The waiter, a slender woman with deep red eyes and skin as pale as the moon, paused mid-step and turned toward him with an unnervingly warm smile. She wore a pristine black vest over a crimson dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal faint, vein-like patterns crawling up her arms. A golden brooch in the shape of a bat pinned her high-collared uniform together.
“Why, yes it is,” she answered smoothly, her voice velvety and rich. “Blood wine, a delicacy in our establishment.”
She extended a delicate hand, offering Kay a crystal glass filled with thick, dark red liquid. Kay hesitated but took it with shaking fingers, his stomach twisting into knots. His reflection stared back at him in the bloodied surface of the wine, his expression one of sheer horror.
“Try some,” the waiter encouraged, her grin widening ever so slightly, her razor-sharp fangs glinting. “It’s to die for.”
Kay stared at the glass in his hands, the dark red liquid within swirling ever so slightly. His grip on the cup was unsteady, the scent of the “wine” making his stomach churn. He forced a small, trembling smile, trying to suppress the fear creeping up his spine.
“W-Well, I-I guess it can’t be t-too bad, right guys?” he stammered, beginning to lift the glass to his lips.
But before the drink could touch his mouth, a blur of movement shot past him. “Don’t drink that!” Ava’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent.
In an instant, her hand struck the glass from Kay’s grasp, sending it tumbling to the stone floor. The crystal shattered on impact, and the thick blood splattered outward, staining the ground a deep crimson.
The cavern fell Into an eerie silence. Every vampire in the establishment stopped what they were doing and slowly turned their attention toward the group. Dozens of glowing red eyes fixed on them, their collective gaze heavy with unspoken menace.
Even the waiters, who had been moving gracefully between tables, now stood eerily still, their expressions unreadable. Rad sighed and muttered under his breath as he crossed his arms, “Great going, Ava. Now we’re the center of attention.”
Suddenly, the candles lining the cavern walls flared, casting flickering shadows across the space. A booming, hearty laugh echoed from above, snapping the group’s attention toward the stage at the far end of the room.
Standing atop the elevated platform, surrounded by elegantly dressed vampire dancers, was Chiro Ashencroft. This being, this ancient entity, is a highly dangerous predator who has complete and total control over every single vampire in the undercity. No matter how strong ones willpower is, all souls crumble and buckle to the influence of the White Bat.
Chiro cut an imposing yet strangely charming figure, his presence effortlessly commanding the entire room. His lean, tall frame was adorned in a well-tailored black vest over a crisp white long-sleeve shirt, the fabric slightly unbuttoned at the top to reveal a hint of his collarbone.
A black tie hung loosely around his neck, complementing the dark trousers and polished black leather boots that clicked lightly against the wooden stage. Draped over his broad shoulders was a sleek black coat, its inner lining a deep crimson that shimmered in the candlelight.
His black cowboy hat, tilted just slightly forward, cast a shadow over his pale white eyes and long hair, making him appear even more haunting. His pale lips curled into a sharp grin, his ivory fangs flashing as he leaned toward the microphone in front of him.
“Looks like we’ve got some tourists with us!” he announced, his voice smooth and dripping with amusement. He spread his arms wide. “Show ‘em some love!”
The moment the words left his lips, the entire cavern erupted into chaotic revelry. The vampires cheered and laughed, their prior tension vanishing as they broke into wild, rhythmic dancing. Music blasted from unseen speakers, a fast-paced, lively tune that filled the space with a hypnotic beat.
On stage, Chiro and his dancers began moving in perfect synchronization, their performance both mesmerizing and unnerving. From the cavern ceiling, white bats swooped and spiraled through the air, their movements eerily coordinated with the music as if they, too, were part of the dance.
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The sheer force of the crowd's movement sent Kite and his group sprawling in different directions. Kay, caught in the frenzy, stumbled backward before crashing into a tall figure. He barely had time to turn before two strong hands caught his shoulders, steadying him. He looked up, and immediately froze.
A beautiful female vampire loomed over him, her pale skin illuminated by the crimson glow of the cavern. She was draped in a flowing black dress with intricate lace detailing, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like silk. Her ruby-red lips curled into a playful smile, her sharp fangs poking just slightly above her lip.
Kay’s eyes widened in terror. “I-I’m so sorry!” he stammered, taking a step back.
But before he could escape, the vampire twirled him into her arms, effortlessly leading him into the rhythm of the music. Kay let out a muffled scream, but his voice was drowned out by the overwhelming noise. The vampire merely giggled, spinning him around the floor with inhuman grace.
Meanwhile, Ava and Lira were also swallowed by the crowd, their frantic attempts to navigate the chaos sending them stumbling straight into each other. Lira barely managed to regain her footing, her ears twitching as she looked around in confusion. “What the heck is going on?” she demanded.
Ava, her pink eyes darting warily across the room, grimaced. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Then, with a resigned sigh, she added, “But we should probably play along.”
Lira groaned but nodded. Without much choice, the two girls awkwardly started moving with the music, blending into the madness around them.
On stage, Chiro grinned wider, his white fangs glinting beneath the stage lights as he led his dancers through a masterful, choreographed performance. The vampires surrounding him twirled and swayed, their movements seamless and entrancing, their dark silhouettes shifting like shadows in a dream.
With a flick of his wrist, Chiro snatched his mic from the stand, his voice rich and intoxicating as he sang with an effortless charm. The cavern was alive, a world of music, fangs, and chaos, and Kite’s group had no choice but to be swept away in its rhythm.
Kite stumbled out of the writhing mass of vampires, his heart pounding as he gasped for breath. The overwhelming scent of blood, sweat, and perfume clung to the air, making his head spin. He forced his way toward a small booth tucked away in the dimly lit corner of the cavern, finally allowing himself a moment to catch his breath.
The booth’s table was adorned with an array of elegant but unsettling dishes. A plate of raw, marbled meat sat next to a silver goblet filled with thick, dark red liquid. Another dish held what looked like dark, glistening fruit, their surfaces dripping with a syrupy glaze. A smaller plate contained what resembled finger-shaped pastries, but the uncanny resemblance to actual fingers made Kite avert his gaze.
Across the table, a couple sat, watching the chaos of the dance floor with mild amusement. Unlike the rest of the vampires, they remained seated, seemingly uninterested in the revelry.
The man was tall and gaunt, his sharp features accentuated by the dim candlelight. His slicked-back black hair was dusted with streaks of gray, and his piercing golden eyes reflected a quiet intelligence. He wore a dark, high-collared coat with silver embroidery, a style reminiscent of a bygone era. His hands, resting on the table, were long and skeletal, his nails meticulously manicured.
The woman was strikingly beautiful, with long, wavy auburn hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her pale skin seemed almost luminescent, and her deep crimson eyes held an air of ancient wisdom. She wore a form-fitting, elegant dark red gown, its fabric shimmering subtly with her movements. A delicate, ornate choker with a blood-red gemstone adorned her neck.
As Kite collapsed onto the seat across from them, the man let out a low chuckle. “Not a dancer?” he mused, his voice smooth and velvety.
Kite gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “Nah, I don’t think it’s really my thing, honestly.”
The couple chuckled in unison, their fangs briefly visible in the flickering candlelight. Kite noticed but forced himself to stay calm. It was normal here. No big deal.
The woman leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand as she studied him. “Most humans fear vampires,” she noted, her tone unreadable.
Kite hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah, I mean… I guess I’m a little scared,” he admitted. “But I try not to judge based on appearances. Everyone’s different, right?”
The couple exchanged glances, their expressions softening ever so slightly. The man nodded approvingly. “That’s good. If only there were more humans like you.”
Kite furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”
The woman sighed, swirling the crimson liquid in her goblet before speaking. “Vampires, demons, all creatures like us… We’ve been hunted for over a millennia,” she said quietly. “Forced into the lower depths of the undercity, away from the surface world that once belonged to all of us.”
Kite swallowed, his hands tightening slightly around the table’s edge. He didn’t know what to say, but after a brief pause, he settled on honesty.
“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that.” The couple exchanged another look before offering him sad, knowing smiles.
“It’s fine,” the man said as they both slowly rose from their seats. “I’m sure the day will come when we’re accepted.”
The woman gave a faint chuckle, adjusting the folds of her gown. “After all, we’ve only waited a couple hundred years.”
With that, the couple turned and disappeared into the crowd, their figures swallowed by the flickering lights and swirling dancers. Kite remained sitting there, alone with his thoughts, the music pounding in his ears.
Rad groggily pushed his way through the sea of dancing vampires, his head pounding like a war drum inside his skull. The music, the laughter, the clinking goblets, it all blurred together into an overwhelming cacophony that made his stomach churn. He barely registered when his legs gave out, collapsing into a booth on the edge of the room.
The leather seat felt cool against his burning skin, but the relief was fleeting. He groaned, rubbing his temples, his vision swimming. His body felt heavy, sluggish. Something was wrong.
Only then did he notice the presence beside him. A man sat there, legs crossed, arms lazily draped along the booth’s backrest, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smirk. His crisp white shirt and black vest were immaculate, the candlelight catching on the silver rings on his fingers. His black cowboy hat cast a slight shadow over his face, but his ghostly white eyes gleamed in the dimness, fixated on Rad with an eerie amusement.
Rad sighed, his headache making it impossible to even feel fear. “What do you want, man?” he groaned, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.
Chiro chuckled, a deep, velvety sound that sent a chill down Rad’s spine. “My apologies, boy,” he drawled, shifting slightly, “I just couldn’t help but notice you in the distance. Why not dance with your friends?”
Rad exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Not a dancer,” he muttered, rubbing his sweaty face. “And they’re not my friends.”
Chiro let out a genuine laugh, flashing his perfectly sharp teeth. “Now that is truly bizarre,” he mused. “A lone wolf who willingly sticks with a pack he doesn’t even like.”
Rad groaned in response, his exhaustion deepening. His limbs felt heavier, his eyelids drooping slightly.
Chiro finally shifted, planting both feet firmly on the ground as he leaned forward, closer to Rad. The amused glint in his eyes didn’t fade, but something darker lurked beneath it now, something predatory.
“You know, boy,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “I can see it in your eyes. You crave power, don’t you?”
Rad furrowed his brows, turning his head sluggishly toward the vampire. “What are you on about?”
Chiro turned his gaze toward the crowd, watching the vampires move like shadows, wild and free, their laughter and music filling the cavern like a symphony of the damned. He lifted a hand and gestured to them, his fingers moving fluidly, as if painting a masterpiece in the air.
“Look at them,” he said, his tone smooth, almost hypnotic. “I gave them strength. I gave them a family. A place where they are feared and revered, never again cast aside like vermin.” He turned back to Rad, his grin widening. “And I can do the same for you.”
Rad’s body felt impossibly heavy now, his mind slipping. He wanted to respond, to scoff, to tell Chiro to shove it, but the words wouldn’t come. His vision wavered, darkness creeping at the edges, swallowing everything piece by piece.
He slumped forward, his body finally betraying him as his consciousness faded. Chiro smirked, licking his lips as his fangs caught the dim candlelight, gleaming like daggers carved from moonlight. He leaned in slowly, his mouth hovering just above Rad’s neck.
“And make you mine,” he whispered hungrily, his breath ghosting over the boy’s skin. A single drop of saliva, thick and venomous, dripped from his fangs as his lips slowly parted.
A cold, mechanical voice sliced through the thick tension like a blade. “This boy is under my protection.”
Chiro froze. His fangs hovered just inches from Rad’s exposed neck, the hunger thrumming through his veins momentarily interrupted by the unshakable presence that now loomed over him. He slowly turned his head, his slit-like pupils narrowing as his gaze landed on the figure now perched casually atop the table.
A baby. Or something pretending to be one.
Ray sat there, legs crossed, an eerie, unnatural stillness in his posture. His robotic body gleamed under the dim, flickering lights of the vampire den, half black, half white, as if divided between two warring forces. But what drew Chiro’s attention most were his eyes, one green, one violet, both glowing with an intensity that seemed to peer straight into his soul, past the centuries of bloodshed and into the very essence of his corruption.
A heavy exhale left Chiro’s lips, not out of fear, but annoyance. Slowly, he straightened, his hunger momentarily forgotten, though his irritation lingered.
“And who might you be?” he asked, his voice smooth but laced with venom. His fingers twitched beneath the table, his sharpened claws growing ever so slightly, prepared to strike if necessary.
Ray didn’t blink. He simply swiped his white cybernetic hand through the air, an effortless movement that sent a pulse of violet energy crackling through the booth.
In an instant, Rad’s unconscious body vanished. Chiro’s eyes widened just a fraction, not in fear, but in intrigue. That wasn’t just teleportation; that was something far more advanced, something that sent his instincts screaming. Whoever, or whatever, Ray was, he was not to be underestimated.
Ray’s gaze never wavered. “That does not concern you. Though I do offer a proposal.” His voice was as lifeless as a machine’s, but there was something lurking beneath it, something foreign and dangerous. Then, without another word, he lifted his black cybernetic hand, and a swirling portal of violet and black energy split open above it. From its depths, something dropped into his cybernetic palm with a sickening, wet splatter.
A bloodstained envelope. Chiro’s eyebrows twitched at the sight of it. Blood, fresh. The scent was unmistakable.
Ray held the envelope out before casually tossing it across the table. Chiro caught it without effort, his pale fingers brushing against the still-warm stain. His expression barely changed, but the tension between them thickened.
“A proposal, you say?” Chiro mused, leaning back, his gaze never leaving Ray’s. His fingers tapped idly against the envelope’s surface. “And what might that be?”
Ray’s next words shattered the quiet air between them. “In about fifteen years, Ino Namikaze will take in a student. His name will be Connor.”
Silence. A beat passed. Then, Chiro’s smug demeanor broke.
His white eyes widened slightly, just enough for Ray to notice. The White Bat, the deadliest vampire in the undercity, was caught off guard.
“…Him?” Chiro’s voice was quieter, almost disbelieving. His claws retracted slightly. “You mean to tell me that he, of all people, would take in a student?”
There was something in his tone, not fear, not excitement… but disbelief. Then, the disbelief cracked into laughter.
Chiro’s laugh was sharp, almost mocking, but there was something hollow in it, something that suggested he was still processing the absurdity of it all.
“No way,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “That damn vampire ate whole families for breakfast in our heyday, and now you’re telling me he’s going to raise a kid?”
Ray didn’t blink. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”
His tone was still void of emotion, but this time, something simmered beneath it. Not fear, not disgust, but slight hatred.
Chiro narrowed his eyes slightly. “And why should I care about some orphan?”
Ray’s next words hit like a hammer. “Because that boy... is the reincarnation of Sun Wukong.”
The air turned to ice. The world around them seemed to dull, the sound of music and laughter muffling in Chiro’s ears. For the first time in a very, very long time… he felt true fear.
His already pale skin somehow paled further as he spoke. “N-no way…” His mind raced, grasping at memories, at stories, at legends long buried in time. Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, the Trickster King, the Immortal Rebel.
The one who defied gods. The one who tore apart endless armies. The one who vanished over a hundred thousand years ago.
Chiro’s breath hitched as an old rumor resurfaced in his mind. “Last I heard of that damn monkey, the Prince of Devils burned his ass to a crisp!”
Ray said nothing. He simply raised his hand again.
Another portal. Something heavy crashed through the table, splintering the wood.
Chiro took a step back on instinct, his fangs glinting as his eyes fell upon the artifact before him.
A staff. The legendary staff. Long, black, rimmed with gold. Celestial engravings spiraled across its flawless metal, pulsing faintly with ancient power. The moment it touched the air, the entire den seemed to shudder.
Ray’s voice was a quiet command. “Pick it up.” Chiro hesitated. His instincts screamed at him not to touch it. Not to test the weight of legends.
But he couldn’t resist. He reached down, wrapping his fingers around the staff’s impossibly smooth surface.
And then—Nothing. No shift. No movement. Not even an inch.
Chiro’s arms flexed, his supernatural strength surging through his body. His feet dug into the floor. His breath hitched as he pulled with everything he had.
But it didn’t budge. A cold sweat trickled down his temple. "I… I can’t lift it.” Chiro whispered.
His mind screamed against it. A vampire of his power should be able to lift anything. He had crushed bones, torn through steel, ripped through the strongest of prey.
But this? It rejected him. Chiro let go, his fingers trembling as he straightened.
Ray watched him. His eyes unblinking, unreadable. “It’s the real deal,” he said simply. “Left lying around in Horizon Heights.”
Chiro stared at the staff for a long moment, his mind whirling. Then, he laughed, a breathless, disbelieving chuckle. “I can’t believe it…” he murmured.
“What I want you to do…” Ray uttered, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of an unshakable command. His glowing eyes flickered like dying stars, shadows dancing across his black-and-white cybernetic frame. “Is to claim Connor as your own. Mark him with those vile fangs of yours.”
Chiro’s breath hitched, his clawed fingers instinctively curling against the table. His pale, elegant face turned toward Ray for a brief moment before he quickly averted his gaze. He wasn’t sure if it was out of hesitation or something else, something dangerously close to fear. “You sure?” His tone was lighter than usual, a rare uncertainty slipping through. “If you know of Ino Namikaze, then you know how truly powerful he is.”
For the first time in their exchange, Ray’s expression flickered. A ghost of something, pain, rage, exhaustion, briefly crossed his face before vanishing behind his usual cold veneer. His gaze locked onto the empty wall ahead, but it was clear he wasn’t seeing it. In his mind, he was somewhere else. Somewhere far worse.
Flashes of the gruesome battle, god versus god, a glowing white storm of fangs and claws, a crimson sky painted in the blood of his countless fallen variants. It was a brutal fight that he had nearly lost.
Even after all of his extensive planning beforehand. It was a grueling battle that had left a deep impression, one burned into the core of his very being.
Ray’s voice, when it finally came, was dry as dust. “…I do.” The two simple words held a depth of bitterness only someone who had faced Ino Namikaze and survived could understand.
He exhaled sharply, a sound almost mechanical. “But if you claim Connor as your own, then the Prince of Devils will stand no chance against you.”
A long silence followed, thick with unspoken thoughts. Chiro drummed his claws against the table, his sharp nails clicking in rhythm with his rapidly working mind. Then, finally, he gave a slow nod. “Very well, then.” His lips curled into a thin smile, fangs glinting faintly in the dim light. “But what’s in it for you?”
Ray’s cosmic energy shimmered around him, crackling like a dying star on the verge of collapse. He hovered effortlessly, the sheer pressure of his presence warping the air around him.
“Nothing that will affect you,” he said simply. “Just think of it as a long-term investment.”
And then, in an instant, he was gone. The air where he once hovered hummed with residual energy, a whisper of violet light fading into nothingness.
Chiro remained still for a moment, his keen eyes locked on the empty space where Ray had been. Then, slowly, he looked down at the bloodstained envelope in his hands. With a flick of his claw, he sliced it open, revealing a worn, slightly crumpled photograph inside.
His smirk faltered as he pulled it out. The image was old, but the moment it captured was vivid. Standing within the academy grounds, bathed in soft golden light, was a ten-year-old Connor. Beside him, towering and regal, stood his sensei—Ino Namikaze.
Connor, dressed in a black training gi, compression shirt, and boots, beamed up at the camera, his short brown hair neatly cut, a job undoubtedly done by his sensei, despite Mary’s persistent nagging to do it herself.
Beside him, Ino was a figure of quiet power, draped in a crimson robe over a black tunic and pants, his black boots worn but polished. His white hair cascaded past his shoulders like a river of silk, and his silver beard gleamed in the dim academy light. His arm rested casually around Connor’s shoulder, an unmistakable gesture of care, of fatherhood.
The warmth between them was undeniable. Even through the photograph, it bled through. The kind of bond that was forged not from mere obligation, but something far deeper.
Chiro found himself staring, his thumb absently tracing the edges of the photo. “To think that the Prince of Devils would take in a student…” He muttered, the disbelief still lingering in his voice, though softer now, tinged with something else.
His smirk returned, but It was smaller, more thoughtful. “How deeply human.”