Imprisoned for over 500 years, Kitana endured relentless torture, her body broken time and time again. Forced to consume demon blood to survive, she had long since lost count of the years. The walls of her cell, dark and damp, had become her entire world. The concept of the sun, of warmth, of him—nothing remained but the pain and the monster who delighted in her suffering.
"I lost count of the years. I don't even remember the sun. I don't even remember him..."
Kitana had been locked away for centuries, subjected to torment beyond human endurance. Death had come for her countless times, only for the high demon to drag her back with his cursed blood. She had given up long ago. Words had abandoned her lips after the first two decades. Now, she was a puppet, a husk of the warrior she once was.
The high demon entered her cell as he always did, his voice dripping with amusement. "Hello again, Kitana. How are you?" Silence. "Perfect. I am good too." He smirked, speaking for both of them. "Let's see... what shall we do today? Should we start with your arms? Your neck? Or perhaps your tongue? You seemed to enjoy that last time."
She had no reaction. She never did.
But then—
The ground trembled. A deep, rumbling quake shook the very foundation of the lair. The high demon staggered, looking up at the ceiling in surprise. "An attack? After all these years?" His lips curled in excitement. Without another word, he turned and left in haste.
He left.
He left without locking the door.
Kitana sat frozen, the realization slow to settle in. Her mind struggled to process what had just happened. She could escape.
Her body, long unused to movement, screamed in protest as she pushed herself to her feet. Her legs trembled, but she forced them forward. She had to. She had no choice. Step by step, she stumbled toward the staircase. Her breath hitched.
"What if it's a trap? What if he's waiting? What if—"
Her thoughts spiraled, but another voice—weak yet desperate—fought against her doubt.
"What if this is your only chance?"
She ran.
The pain was unbearable, her muscles tearing, her bones aching, but she did not stop. She couldn't. Not now. She ran through the dark corridors, memories of the layout flooding back to her. Then—voices.
She ducked into the nearest open room, pressing herself against the door, praying no one had seen her. Her breath was ragged, heart hammering in her chest. She turned—
A pulse of power hit her like a wave.
The same power that had tormented her for centuries.
Power. Dark and ancient, curling around her like a serpent, slithering through her veins, familiar yet foreign. Her blood turned cold.
Her head snapped toward the source. Not him. Not the high demon. But something equally terrifying—a sphere, swirling with darkness, humming with a call only she could hear.
"What... what is that?"
A voice, distant yet impossibly close, answered her.
"Arlo."
She took a step forward, her hand moving on its own, drawn to the sphere against her will.
She whispered the words, yet she already knew. It called to her. It pulled at her very soul, commanding her without consent. She reached for it, her fingers brushing against its surface. The moment her fingers brushed the surface she felt Pain. Agony like never before. Her screams tore through the cavern walls as the dark power surged into her. Her arms twisted, her body changed, her veins burned. She fell to her knees, gasping for air.
Darkness flooded her vision as something invaded her, twisting her, reshaping her. Her skin burned, her bones felt as though they were being torn apart and rebuilt. She collapsed to her knees, clawing at herself as her body changed.
"No, no, no! What is this?! Stop! STOP!"
Her scream echoed, the force of it shaking the very room.
A voice—someone entering the room.
Without thinking, she bolted. Her body, newly altered, moved faster than ever before. She ran, past the stranger, past the hall, past the corridors. She ran until she reached the surface. Until she saw—
A lake.
For a moment, she stood still. The wind brushed against her skin. The moon hung in the sky. She barely dared to believe it.
"Am I... free?"
Her throat was dry, her body weak. She stumbled toward the water, kneeling by the edge. She reached down to drink—but froze.
A reflection.
A demon stared back at her.
She screamed.
"Who—where are you?! Show yourself!" Her voice was hoarse, filled with panic and fury. No answer. Her breath quickened. She looked down again.
Her own hands. Clawed. Marked. Changed.
"No... no, no, no! It can't be!"
She clutched at her face, at the horns that had not been there before. The truth hit her like a blade to the gut.
She was no longer human.
Her katana, once a symbol of her strength, now lay at her side. Her fingers trembled as they wrapped around the hilt. Slowly, she raised it to her neck, her breath shuddering.
"I won't... I WON'T BE LIKE HIM!"
Before she could pull the blade across, a voice rang out from the shadows.
"If you're going to throw your life away, at least hear my story first."
Kitana's grip on the hilt tightened. Her now crimson eyes darted toward the figure stepping into the moonlight. A man. He had deep green eyes, sharp yet filled with something more than pity—perhaps understanding, maybe even empathy. His light brown hair was short and wavy, tousled as if he had been through his own battles. His body was strong, not towering, but solid—scars lining his arms, as if he had lived through a war of his own.
"You want revenge, don't you?" he asked, his voice steady and deep, the words more like a statement than a question.
Kitana's breath caught. The thought had crossed her mind, a fleeting desire to make the demons who had ruined her life pay. But vengeance alone was not enough to fill the void inside her.
"Why are you here?" she managed, her voice hoarse, trembling with both anger and fear. "What do you want from me?"
The man stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. He kneeled before her, not in defeat, but in solidarity. "I want nothing from you," he said simply. "I just think we share the same goal."
Kitana lowered her katana slightly, but her body still radiated tension, ready to strike at any moment.
"If you want to die, do it after we kill him."