Midnight settled over New Liora City like a shroud, thick and oppressive. Clouds loomed above the skyline, heavy with rain, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath. Neon signs flickered along the cracked streets of the lower district, casting distorted reflections across puddles and broken glass. The air was dense, electric. Something was coming.
Azael Virex didn't belong here—not in this alley, not in this district, not in this life. He pressed one hand to his abdomen, blood oozing through his fingers, hot and dark against his skin. His breathing came in ragged gasps, fogging in the chill air. Footsteps echoed behind him, drawing closer, deliberate and unhurried. Predators savoring the moment.
"Stay down, freak," came the voice of one of his attackers. Tall, wrapped in a black coat, his face obscured beneath a hood, he gripped a curved blade etched with blue runes. The runes pulsed with a faint glow, as if alive.
Azael forced himself to his feet, leaning against the wall to stay upright. "I... I don't even know you," he managed to say.
"Exactly," replied the second man, shorter and broader, his mechanical eye whirring softly. "But we know you, Virex."
No one was supposed to know that name. Not here. Not after everything.
"You've got the wrong guy," Azael said, though the words sounded hollow even to him.
"You think hiding among the sheep would keep you safe?" the tall one sneered. "Your blood doesn't forget. Neither do we."
Azael's heart pounded. He had always known there was something wrong with him—something different. Nightmares that didn't feel like dreams. Flashes of places he'd never been. Words in languages no one spoke. But he'd buried it all. Ignored it. Pretended he was normal.
The curved blade gleamed under the streetlight as the man raised it high. "Time to end this before you become a problem."
The blade came down.
And the world exploded.
The moment the steel touched Azael's skin, the air cracked. Not like thunder—like glass. Time itself buckled. Rain stopped mid-air. The attackers froze, locked in place like statues. Azael felt his knees buckle, but he didn't fall. Something caught him. Held him.
A voice, deep and resonant, filled the space around him.
"You are Virex. You do not die like vermin."
The pain vanished. In its place came heat. A steady thrum pulsed in his chest, beneath his skin, through his bones. His blood no longer dripped—it danced. Lifted. Formed glowing threads that curled around him, etching symbols into the air.
The ground beneath his feet shifted. Runes flared to life, ancient and terrifying, glowing in crimson beneath the cracked concrete. A sigil formed—a circle of power Azael had never seen before, yet somehow knew intimately. It called to something ancient. Something buried within him.
"W-what is this?" he whispered.
"Inheritance," the voice replied. "The seal breaks. The blood remembers."
His mind split open. Visions surged through him—memories not his own. Armies marching under a red moon. Temples carved into mountains. Monsters made of shadow bowing before a crimson throne. A woman with fire in her eyes, holding a baby wrapped in black silk.
He screamed.
It ended as suddenly as it began.
The rain resumed, falling in slow, heavy drops. The attackers blinked, stunned. The tall one rushed forward, blade raised again.
Azael's eyes opened—black, rimmed with red.
He didn't think. He moved.
The blood around him solidified, forming sharp tendrils that lashed out like vipers. The blade was sliced in half. The man's scream was cut short as a spike of hardened blood pierced his throat. The second attacker turned to flee, but Azael raised his hand. A wall of blood shot up, blocking the exit. With a flick of his wrist, the wall slammed into the man, sending him flying across the alley into the bricks with a sickening crack.
Silence.
Azael stood in the center of the glowing circle, chest heaving, surrounded by floating strands of blood and symbols that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. The rain didn't touch him. It curved around the sigil like the laws of nature refused to interfere.
From above, someone clapped.
Slow. Deliberate.
A figure descended from the rooftop, her white hair cascading over her shoulders, a long coat flapping behind her in the wind. She moved with elegance and power, boots clicking softly on the pavement.
"Impressive," she said. "You activated it faster than expected."
Azael turned to face her, blood tendrils rising defensively.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Selene Morrow," she replied smoothly. "And I'm not your enemy."
"You watched this happen. You let them attack me."
"I needed to be sure you were the real thing. Now I am."
He stared at her, blood coiling tighter around him. "What do you want?"
"To help you survive what's coming."
"Why should I trust you?"
Selene reached into her coat and tossed something to him. A pendant. Old. Silver, tarnished. A blood-red gem embedded in its center. The moment Azael caught it, the sigil beneath his feet flared brighter.
He staggered.
"This... this was my mother's," he whispered.
Selene's expression softened. "I found it the night your home burned. Thirteen years ago."
"You were there?"
"I was a child. But I remember the screams. The blood. The betrayal."
The pendant pulsed in his hand. The symbol on the gem matched the one etched into the ground.
"I don't understand," Azael said, his voice breaking.
"You will. But first, you need to leave this circle. And you need to survive it."
"What happens if I don't?"
"Your blood will consume you."
He hesitated.
Selene held out her hand. "Come with me, Azael Virex. Or die here as a half-awakened heir."
He took her hand.
The circle shattered.
And the world changed.
They ran through the streets, Azael struggling to keep pace as the blood-sigil's power faded from his body. Every nerve in his frame felt raw, every muscle burning. Selene moved effortlessly, weaving through alleyways, leaping fences, never once looking back.
"Where are we going?" he panted.
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere the others won't find you."
"What others?"
She didn't answer. The buildings grew older as they moved, modern steel giving way to brick, then to stone. They crossed into a district Azael had never seen—one that wasn't on any map. A place untouched by time.
Finally, they reached a rusted iron gate. Selene pressed her palm against it. The metal shimmered, then folded inward with a sigh, revealing a hidden courtyard lit by violet torches.
Azael stumbled inside, then collapsed.
Selene caught him before he hit the ground.
"You'll rest here. When you wake, we talk."
His eyes fluttered shut.
And for the first time in years, his dreams were silent.
To be continued....