France, Paris, May 17th, 1918

The night was filled with shouts and the echo of hurried footsteps on cobblestone streets. The bridge over the Seine was swallowed in shadows, illuminated only by the pale light of the moon reflecting off the river’s still surface. The wind carried a chilling edge, as if the air itself anticipated the tragedy about to unfold.

A man ran forward, gasping for breath, his coat flapping behind him like the wings of a broken bird. He glanced over his shoulder every few moments, his eyes filled with both terror and determination. The sound of footsteps echoed behind him, louder and closer with every second.

The bridge was empty except for him and his pursuers. He had nowhere left to run.

Suddenly, his foot caught on an uneven stone. He fell to his knees, his hands scraping against the cold cobblestones, leaving red streaks in their wake. He tried to rise, but it was too late. Before he could take another step, two men caught up to him, grabbing his arms and holding him in place on either side.

“Let me go!” he screamed desperately, struggling like a trapped animal.

From the shadows emerged another figure. A man of medium height with cold eyes and impeccably groomed mustaches, dressed in an elegant coat, approached slowly, almost ceremonially. In his hand, he held a gleaming saber, its blade catching the moonlight.

“Forgive me, brother,” the leader said, his tone calm and almost warm. “Your sacrifice will not be in vain.”

The captive man shuddered, his gaze burning with fury.

“I hate you!” he spat. “You took everything from me. Everyone I ever loved!”

The leader sighed, his expression tinged with sorrow, though his eyes remained devoid of mercy.

“This had to happen,” he said quietly, as if speaking more to himself than to his brother. “For the balance to be preserved.”

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The captive man made one last attempt to break free, but the saber flashed through the air. With a single, fluid motion, the leader slit his throat.

The body slumped, lifeless, as blood spilled onto the stones of the bridge. The sound of it dripping onto the cobblestones echoed in the emptiness of the night.

“Into the Seine,” the leader commanded coldly, averting his gaze.

Before the body hit the water, the man’s final thoughts echoed like a faint lament:

“I will never forgive you. I curse you and your descendants. Let every drop of your blood bear this price. Let them all watch their loved ones die, as I did. Let them feel what I felt... for eternity.”

The Seine embraced the body in its icy grasp, the surface of the water closing over it like a shroud.

And then… light erupted.

A blinding white light burst across the scene, consuming every shadow, every corner of darkness. It was so intense that it seemed to dissolve even time itself. The shadows disappeared, the cobblestones faded from view, and the Seine’s waters became perfectly still, as if the world had frozen in that one moment.

From within the light came a grinding sound—a deep, resonant noise, as though the very fabric of reality was tearing under the weight of something foreign.

The Seine began to churn, its waters boiling, while the air was filled with an otherworldly roar. Above the bridge, where the body had vanished, a rift appeared—irregular and pulsating, its edges crackling with white fire. The rift was like nothing that belonged to this world.

The first shadow emerged from the breach. Long, elongated, and nightmarish, it resembled a dragon torn from the depths of a nightmare. Others followed, their forms covered in scales, horns, and wings—shapes that defied the laws of existence.

The bridge trembled under their weight, and Paris heard, for the first time, the roar of creatures from another dimension.

And so, a brother killed his brother, as Cain killed Abel. But this time, the crime carried more than the weight of a single life. It was an act of destiny, a brutal mark of forces that knew no mercy. It was an act that tore open the gate between worlds. With this death in the Seine, it was not just a life that ended—a curse was born, one that would ripple like a dark tide across generations.

The curse, born of blood and fury, found its fulfillment that night. It was the moment the Earth lost its innocence, and the quiet song of the Seine became the prelude to chaos.

In that moment, the world was forever changed.