Evening in New York.
Onion Village was shrouded in the afterglow of the setting sun. The dilapidated church stood among the deserted houses, and the colorful clouds reflected off its mottled stained glass.
Old Father Carlos Menendez knelt before the crucifix, his dry lips whispering obscure, ancient Latin prayers.
His voice was hoarse yet firm, as if he were fighting against some invisible force.
Boom…
Suddenly, a biting cold wind rushed through the church's broken windows. The candlelight swayed violently—then went out.
Father Carlos's prayer stopped abruptly. He slowly opened his clouded eyes and looked out the window.
The once-brilliant, warm sunset had been swallowed by roiling dark clouds. Thunder roared, as though the sky itself were tearing apart.
Swish! Swish! Swish—!!
Fire began to rain from the sky. Burning sulfur particles struck the church roof with crackling sounds, and a pungent stench of sulfur filled the air.
Father Carlos rose slowly, reached for the wooden table beside him, took out a pair of reading glasses, and put them on.
Then he walked to the side wall and unhooked a rune-engraved battle axe. The blade gleamed coldly in the dim light.
But just as he lifted the axe, the church door opened silently. A cold wind, thick with the smell of sulfur, rushed in.
A man in a black windbreaker stood quietly in the doorway. His face was handsome yet sinister—his hair black as ink, a faint sneer curling the corner of his mouth.
He said nothing, only watched the old priest with cold blue eyes, as if savoring a drama whose ending he already knew.
Father Carlos turned slowly and fixed the uninvited guest with a steely gaze.
He showed no surprise—only spoke coldly:
"Listen to your father and return to Hell, Blackheart Demon!"
The young man, Blackheart, chuckled softly and replied in a low, elegant voice:
"Father Menendez… after all these years, must you still be so stubborn?"
He took a step forward; his polished leather shoes echoed sharply against the stone floor.
"Tell me the seal locations of the three demons—Earth, Water, and Wind—and I'll grant you a swift death. Otherwise…"
He let the threat hang for a beat. Then, his smile vanished. His eyes turned glacial as he finished:
"I will make your soul wail in the flames of Hell's lowest depths for ten thousand years."
Yet the old priest gave no reply. Instead, he slowly raised his battle axe. Under the demon's narrowed gaze, he suddenly raised his free hand—
Swish!
Blood splattered. Without expression, Father Carlos severed his own tongue.
Blackheart's eyes flickered with surprise—then twisted into mockery. "Incredibly stupid," he murmured.
The priest clutched his severed tongue and hurled it toward the demon.
Bang!
But halfway through the air—just half a meter from the demon—the bloody mass ignited in blue flame, turning to ash in an instant, drifting into nothingness.
Blackheart's eyes turned utterly cold.
"Since you're so determined to die," he said, "I'll grant your wish."
He raised his right hand, fingers splayed—
BOOM!
An invisible force surged forward like a tidal wave. Father Carlos's body lifted off the ground and hurtled toward the Blackheart Demon.
However, the old priest did not resist. Instead, he used the demon's momentum to his advantage, gripping the battle axe tightly with both hands. As he closed the distance—
"Haaaa—!"
Father Carlos shoved his foot against the ground, spinning with the force of his momentum. His battle axe carved a sharp arc through the air, aiming straight for the witch's throat. The demon leaned back just enough—the blade whistled past, grazing the space beneath his chin.
"Bang!"
Seizing the opening, the old priest ducked low and swept the axe handle sideways, slamming it hard into the demon's knee. But the Blackheart Demon stepped back, and the heavy weapon struck the church floor instead.
"Boom!"
The wooden planks shattered instantly, leaving a jagged crack radiating outward.
Undeterred by the failed strike, the priest twisted his body and swung the axe again, this time chopping toward Blackheart's waist.
"Clang—!"
The metallic clash echoed through the church. The blade struck the witch's windbreaker—but it was as if it had hit an indestructible barrier.
The recoil jarred the old priest's hands; his knuckles cracked, and blood dripped down his wrists.
Blackheart glanced down at the embedded axe blade, a sarcastic smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.
"Menendez… you're old."
He reached out, effortlessly grasped the blade, and slowly wrenched the battle axe from the priest's grip.
Father Carlos strained to pull it back—but his strength was like that of an ant before a demon.
Blackheart held the axe in one hand, studying the faintly glowing runes etched into its surface. Softly, almost mockingly, he murmured:
"Holy water? Salt? Hah… Do you really think these little tricks can hurt me?"
Before the words had fully left his lips, a biting chill spread from his palm. Dark blue frost crept over the axe blade like a living thing, snuffing out the runes' light in the extreme cold.
"Kacha… kacha…"
The metal began to fracture—and with a final, crisp snap—
"Bang—!"
—the axe blade exploded into countless ice-shard fragments, scattering across the floor.
Father Carlos stumbled backward, but the Blackheart Demon was faster. In one fluid motion, he lunged forward, his pale hand clamping around the old priest's throat like a vise, lifting him effortlessly into the air.
"You're still so naive, Menendez," Blackheart said, his voice soft yet laced with glacial malice. "Did you really think I'd be powerless without your tongue?"
The priest's breath grew ragged, but his eyes remained steady—even amused.
Blackheart sneered and tightened his grip.
"Huh…"
Suddenly, wisps of white mist began seeping from Father Carlos's seven orifices and pores—his very life essence draining away, drawn slowly into the demon's palm.
"Ka-la-la…"
As the mist was siphoned off, the old priest's body withered at a visible pace. His skin dried and cracked, losing all moisture and luster, until it resembled ancient bark.
Ten seconds later, Blackheart released his hold.
"Thud…"
The desiccated corpse collapsed to the floor—but its hollow eye sockets remained fixed on the church's crucifix, as if silently mocking the futility of the devil's rage.
Blackheart stared down at the remains, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. He whispered to himself:
"Do you think this will stop me? Even without your words, I'll find it—the place where the three demons of earth, water, and wind are sealed!
The Saint Vangansa Contract will be mine… Mine!!!"
Outside, the rain of fire still raged, and the stench of sulfur blanketed Onion Village.
And the shadow of hell had only just arrived.
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