---Nocturne, Age of Twilight---
Legends are not born from nothing.
They are forged in blood, steel, and the darkness of endless nights.
Some men become kings. Others become martyrs.
But only a few become legends.
Among all the tales whispered under the cloak of night, there is one that has never died.
A name spoken in fear by vampires, a shadow feared even by those who lurk in the abyss.
A name that should not exist.
A name that refuses to fade.
Azrael Noctis.
The Slayer Without Magic.
The Executioner of the Night.
The Man Who Never Falls.
The human angel of death.
Everybody in this world knows this name.
Some people say it's a fake, others say that he really existed.
But despite that, only one truth is still remembered:
His legend has been told since centuries.
---Stormy Night – A Forgotten Tavern
The wooden beams of the abandoned tavern groaned under the weight of the storm outside.
Wind howled through shattered windows, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant blood. Inside, a handful of men huddled around a dying fire.
They were not noble knights or wealthy lords.
They were hunters, mercenaries, men who had seen death and laughed in its face.
Hunters of the night, people with no family, who made the art of killing their job.
They were all part of the same organization, known as "The Undying Night".
That night, in that tavern... the mood was very unsettling.
They used to laugh, to have fun, to rest...
But that night, no one laughed.
No one drank.
An old man, wrapped in a ragged cloak, spoke in a low, cracked voice.
"You felt it too, didn't you?"
The others exchanged uneasy glances.
Finally, one of them—a man with a scar splitting his cheek—muttered, "The shadow in the woods?"
The old man nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he held them near the embers.
"He's back."
A shiver passed through the room.
One of the younger men scoffed, forcing out a nervous chuckle. "Ridiculous. Azrael Noctis died centuries ago. Just another ghost story for cowards."
"So... why did you immediately think about him...?" The old man said.
The young hunter laughed in a nervous way and repeated the same words.
"Come on, old man. That man died, and nobody believes about his story. It has... so many incongruences." He said.
The old man shook his head. "No. He never died. He is like the night itself... he always returns."
Silence.
"Who was he, really?" someone finally asked, voice hushed, as if fearing the answer.
The old man wet his lips and began to speak.
"Be ready, boy. This is gonna be... a long story..."
---Six Hundred Years Ago---
He was born neither king nor prophet. Not a chosen hero, nor a divine warrior.
Azrael Noctis was born without magic, without a sacred blessing, without fate on his side.
Yet he became the most feared being among those who ruled the night.
From a young age, he displayed a strength beyond reason, a mastery of the sword no ordinary human should possess.
They said he could fight for days without faltering.
They said his heart beat so slowly that even death forgot to claim him.
They said he was not a man, but a force—one that no magic could bind, no darkness could swallow.
But there was one truth above all others.
Azrael Noctis did not kill humans. Only Vampires.
Not because he was merciful. Not because he was a hero.
But because he knew that humans, in their weakness, would destroy themselves without his help.
"I slay vampires, not demons," he once said. "Demons will be destroyed by the weight of their own sins."
And so his legend was born.
A legend that never ended.
Present Night – Nox Eternum Forest.
A lone man ran through the forest, his breath ragged, his legs burning with exhaustion.
The torn fabric of his cloak snagged against branches, but he didn't stop.
Because behind him, there were things.
The sounds of guttural snarls. The rush of air as something moved unnaturally fast through the trees.
Vampires.
They were hunting him.
They wanted his dirty blood.
The beasts were hungry...
He stumbled forward, spotting an opening in the trees ahead.
A chance.
But the moment he broke free from the suffocating shadows of the woods, he froze in place.
Someone was already there.
A tall figure stood at the edge of the path, motionless.
His black cloak, tattered and heavy, barely moved in the wind. His wild black hair caught the faint silver glow of the moon.
But it was his eyes that made the man's breath catch in his throat.
Cold. Unwavering. Glowing blue in the darkness.
Like twin stars, burning with something ancient. Something unstoppable.
The figure took a step forward.
The runner swallowed hard. "No... it can't be you."
The warrior said nothing.
Then, finally, in a voice deep, quiet, and absolute, he spoke.
"Stop running."
The man choked on his breath. "The vampires… they're coming…"
The warrior did not blink.
"I know."
And in that moment, the man understood that he was safe.
This wasn't a nightmare.
It was him.
It was Azrael Noctis.
And for the first time in centuries…
the night itself began to tremble.
-------
Back to the tavern-
"This is one of the great legends that this country has to offer.
After that night, the man said that Azrael destroyed all those monster in only one single hit before disappearing into the moonlight.
But, of course, nobody knows the truth.
Voices, voices and voices.
His legend is enveloped in darkness and lies.
Some even says that his bloodline continued and became cursed after falling in love with a vampire.
Legends are born when people are in the right places at the right time...
And every single legend becomes a lie when people stop caring about.
Who knows...?
It's up to people to believe those words... but me?? I'm 100% sure that Azrael Noctis truly existed...
Why, you ask? Oh... well... the answer is simple.
How could a simple human man literally create a cult that lasted over 600 years? Nobody could...
And why are so many hunters inspired by his legend? Why is his blacksword still being kept as a relic ?
A legend? HAH! Not true! That man existed for real! I'm 100% sure about that."
---
The old man kept talking and talking, with people at his table looking at him with a confused look.
They didn't believe his words.
They only thought that the man in front of them was crazy.
Crazy.
What a beautiful word to indicate someone who thinks with his own head...
The young hunter spoke.
"Then, why are vampires still hurting people? Didn't the legend say that he had destroyed them all? Why would an immortal legend like him even allow people dying?" He asked, with a mocking tone of voice.
The old man stopped smiling.
"Why do you allow people dying ? The corps... are corrupted. They are creating new monsters... otherwise they would lose their job... Azrael never killed a single man, that's why..." The old man said.
The people sat on the table kept thinking that the man was nothing more than a crazy person.
And that's why they suddenly left him alone with the younger one.
"You see, young man? Only sheeps won't listen." He said, while drinking a glass of beer.
"I'm sorry... but I think that I also need to-" The hunter tried to say, but the man interrupted him.
"No... the best part is about to come... just listen to me..." He said...