"Your armor was once light.
Your fangs of light used to pierce the darkness.
But now--
Your light has faded. Now darkness floods the world.
Creatures known as horrors now rule the land of the rising sun.
Children weep. Mothers mourn. Fathers fade like memories.
Father's blood flows like a living sea.
Sea of despair. A sea of sorrow.
Oh, Garo how you lost your shine.
Oh, Garo how your mighty roar has gone dull.
Just like a mother in labor we groan with anticipation.
We groan for your light.
Your rebirth. So may your light shine upon us again."
NeverisTheEnd
Before Taimanin existed.
Before the line between the discovery of the dark world and mortal world began to blur.
There was an ancient war.
Light versus Darkness.
The Darkness consumed all, feeding off negative emotion — Igna.
It spread. It corrupted.
Mortal souls were no more; only the will of the creatures remained.
But out of the darkness rose knights —
Makai Knights, protectors of humanity, warriors against Horrors, led by the Messiah.
Yet both sides are now but fairytales.
Faded tales. A past of mythology...
Kouh Town
A young man crouched in his garage, tinkering with a motorcycle he'd found at a junkyard — some idiots had just abandoned it.
It was a Harley Davidson Sportster S model, and he was determined to bring it back to life.
Covered in oil and sweat, he grinned.
"It should be about done. In a couple of days, I'm gonna take this fine piece of ass for a spin," he said, focused on his little project.
"Issei? I need you to go to the store for me," his mother called from inside the house.
Issei ignored her, the only sound answering her voice being the sharp *click* of a wrench locking a bolt into place on the seat of his motorcycle.
"Issei, I know you hear me," she added, louder this time. "If you don't go, don't expect any cheesecake tonight."
The wrench comedically felt out of his hand.
"Tch. And I was just getting in the groove of things," he muttered to himself.
"Okay, Mom, I hear ya!" Issei shouted back.
Closing the garage, Issei headed back into the main house and went upstairs to his room to freshen up.
His room was neat—for a boy, at least.
But the vulgar posters of naked girls plastered on the walls, the erotic DVDs stacked near his bed, and the porn magazines shoved into the corner made the space feel less like a bedroom and more like a gooning den.
Grabbing a washcloth, he scrubbed the oil and grime from his face and hands.
He threw on a black leather jacket over his red tank top, still faintly stained with grease, and headed downstairs.
There—
Was his mother, smiling warmly, holding a list of ingredients so long it looked like it was about to touch the floor.
"Ma, what the heck? I thought you only needed a few ingredients," Issei said, staring at it with a dumbfounded expression.
"Oh my, I guess I ended up putting a bit too much on the list," she said cheerfully, handing it to him.
Issei reluctantly took the list, giving it a resigned glance. "Fine, fine... I'll get it all. But seriously, Ma, you didn't have to go this overboard."
Waving him off, Issei just sighed.
He was about to leave when something on the TV caught his attention.
"I'm Keisuke Kurosaki, and right now I'm standing outside one of Kuoh's pubs... We've just received disturbing news. Seventy-two people have died in the most brutal and horrific way — their blood and organs drained from their bodies. We urge everyone to be careful tonight. Thank you for watching Kuoh News."
The channel switched to a nightly rerun of shows he had grown up loving — one of the Rider hero programs he had idolized as a kid.
"How the fuck am I not supposed to be scared when I've heard that?" he muttered, slowly walking to the front door, staring at it as if it held the answers.
Twisting the knob, Issei Hyoudou stepped out of the comfort of his home—
into the cold, shadowed streets of Kuoh Town.
Walking through the Kuoh shopping district, Issei had just finished his mother's shopping—hell, he even picked up a few things for himself along the way.
It was the weekend, and it was almost nine p.m. In Issei's opinion, that was already too late to be cooking dinner.
Streetlights and buildings shone brightly across the small town. The sounds of car engines and motorcycles filled the air. Women in provocative outfits passed by, making Issei's eyes linger for a second longer than they should have. Yakuza punks and other thugs loitered on street corners.
The weekends were always chaotic. Some adults told their kids to stay inside—especially the young women.
Kuoh always got shady at night.
Issei kept his eyes on the path ahead, forcing himself to ignore the eyes lurking in the shadows behind him.
"Hey, baby~! Come on over here!" a loud, vulgar voice shouted.
"Get your hands off me!" a sharp, feminine voice snapped, cutting through the night like a knife.
He turned his head and froze. A group of thugs had the woman cornered—pink hair glinting under the streetlights, her brownish tannish skin in this dark moody night.
The thugs shoved her into the alley, slamming her against the brick wall.
"You filthy bastard! How dare you!" she shouted, glaring at them.
Smack.
"Watch your tone with me, bitch!" the boss growled, trying to rip at her blazer. "Now, let's have some fun!" He chuckled, lecherously.
The woman's eyes burned with defiance, but the men's hands closed in.
Before anything else could happen, a heavy thud echoed through the alley. One of the grunts went down hard.
"B-Bastard!" one of them shouted in shock.
Hovering over the fallen thug, Issei stepped out from the shadows, his blond-brown hair flowing in the night wind, amber eyes glinting with a dangerous light.
"You little snot-nosed bastard! Do you know who you're fucking with? Huh?!" Spat the ringleader.
He surveyed them, unafraid, his voice dripping with contempt. ""Why should I care about three fuckers like you, who'll spend the rest of your lives drinking through a straw?" Issei said with a smirk.
"Get that bastard! Fucking kill him!" the thugs spat.
The fallen goons staggered back to his feet, glaring at Issei while wiping blood from his broken nose.
"AAAARGH!" the bleeding grunt roared as he lunged forward, swinging wildly.
The punch never connected.
Issei stepped in and drove his knee up hard into the man's gut.
Before the thug could even catch his breath, Issei grabbed him by the hair and began slamming his fist into the man's face—again and again—until it was nothing more than a ruined, unrecognizable mess.
Blood coated Issei's knuckles.
The body finally went limp and collapsed face-first into a filthy puddle on the alley floor.
Issei's eyes locked on the last grunt, a smug grin tugging at his lips.
"B-Bastard!" Another reckless thug shouted, swinging wildly at him.
Issei's jaw clenched as the punch grazed his face. "Ugh!" he muttered, immediately defending against a volley of strikes from the second grunt.
The woman watched silently, arms crossed over her chest. She didn't flinch. Her gaze was sharp, captivated—clearly impressed by the boy's skill.
Planting his right foot firmly, toes digging into the ground, Issei ducked under a swinging fist and delivered a brutal uppercut. One grunt went down. The second wasn't far behind.
The leader trembled with blind rage. "You little fucker!" he sneered, reaching into his pocket and drawing a knife.
The woman clicked her tongue, warning him, but it was too late. The man lunged at Issei, aiming for his heart, inching closer with a contemptuous grin.
Issei moved like lightning. He grabbed the man's arm mid-thrust, twisted, and slammed him hard onto the concrete. Before the thug could recover, Issei stomped down, turning his face into a bloody mess.
Issei stared at the three bodies who was now slump to the ground.
"Bastards..." Issei spat, his voice shaking with rage. "Scum like you should just die. Ganging up on a woman—trying to rape her. Fucking trash."
The woman's eyes—brilliant, topaz-colored—locked onto him.
Slowly, deliberately, her gaze dragged over his body. From his shoulders. His chest. Down his arms still smeared with blood.
Her lips curled into a sultry, satisfied smile.
Issei turned toward her, breath still heavy. "A-Are you okay, miss?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied softly. "Thanks to you."
She stepped closer. Close enough that Issei caught her scent—something rich and intoxicating, like expensive perfume and danger mixed together. She bowed slightly, her movement making her generous chest sway beneath her blazer.
Issei's eyes betrayed him.
Shit.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His face heated instantly.
Get it together. She was just attacked. Don't stare. Don't stare—
Too late.
She noticed.
Her smile widened, amused rather than offended. A faint blush dusted her cheeks, but instead of covering herself, she relaxed—rolling her shoulders, subtly pushing her chest forward as if testing him.
"So~," she purred, voice low and teasing, "may I know my sa~vior's name?"
That voice hit him straight in the gut.
And lower.
"I-I'm Issei," he stammered, mortified at how tight his pants suddenly felt. "Hyoudou Issei."
She repeated it slowly, tasting each syllable like a fine wine.
"Issei... Hyoudou."
Her hands settled on her hips, emphasizing her curves. Her full lips—painted with a faintly metallic purple lipstick—parted just enough to make his imagination spiral.
"I like that name," she said.
Issei forced his eyes up, cheeks burning. "U-Um... m-may I know yours, Miss—?"
"Ingrid."
She stepped even closer now, close enough that he could feel her warmth.
"Just Ingrid," she whispered, eyes glittering with mischief. "And thank you for helping me, Hyoudou-kun."
She lingered there a moment longer than necessary.
Enjoying his reaction.
So close... too close.
Issei could smell the minty gum she was chewing, sharp and sweet, mixing with something darker—her perfume, maybe. His pulse thudded in his ears.
Think. Don't screw this up, he told himself. Don't be weird.
He swallowed, jaw tightening as he forced himself to meet her gaze. Those topaz eyes were watching him closely—amused, curious... entertained.
With a quiet breath, resolve filled his chest.
"Mrs. Ingrid," Issei said, voice steady despite the heat creeping up his neck, "please allow me to walk you home."
Ingrid giggled.
That single sound almost shattered his confidence—until she spoke.
"How bold and heroic of you, Hyoudou~kun," she purred, lips curving into a teasing smile. "Very well. I'll accept."
She uncrossed her arms slowly, deliberately, no longer hiding the generous curves she'd kept restrained moments before. Her posture relaxed—open, inviting.
Her eyes flicked down to his arm... then back up to his face.
"May I borrow it?" she asked sweetly.
"My bra~ve knight?"
Mischief gleamed in her eyes.
Issei's face flushed hard. His throat went dry.
Get it together, he scolded himself. She was almost assaulted. Don't be a damn idiot.
Still... the way she was looking at him—
He nodded, extending his arm. "Y-Yeah. Of course."
Ingrid's smile widened just a little as she slipped closer, clearly enjoying every second of his reaction.
Grabbing his arm, she whispers in his ear, and said, "shall~we?"
Keep it together, he thought, forcing himself to stay composed.
The two of them left the alley.
People saw them.
People whispered.
Most of the men glared, huffing in envy.
Issei looked at Ingrid. Her smile had faded, replaced by a harder, more composed expression. Was it annoyance? Annoyance at the whispering and staring? Or was he just imagining things, letting his insecurities get the better of him?
She caught his gaze.
And then, just for a moment, Ingrid smiled again — not flirtatious, not teasing — but a quiet, gentle smile, like she was giving him a small treasure.
Issei smiled back. His worries eased, just a little.
Arriving at the rich side of Kuoh, Issei couldn't help but look around in awe.
Mrs. Ingrid's house was lavish — not Japanese in style, but a European-style mansion. Nothing insanely large, but still impressive.
Who is this woman? thought Issei, stopping in his tracks as her name lingered in his mind.
"Well, we're here," she said with an amused smile.
"U-Um... yeah, I should get going—"
Issei froze as something warm and wet touched his cheek. He could smell her intoxicating perfume.
She had kissed him. Kissed this lonely, perverted boy.
With a genuine smile, she said, "Thank you very much, Issei... I will remember what you did," before taking a step back and turning toward the gates.
Issei just stood there, watching her move toward the black gates that seemed painted with darkness itself. His heart sank.
He turned his head to leave, telling himself not to say anything.
But his heart had other plans.
"M-Mrs. Ingrid!" he shouted.
Ingrid turned, curious. "Yes?" she asked.
"Will I ever see you again?" he blurted out.
Stupid! What do you mean by that? Obviously not... he thought, bracing for harsh words.
But she said something entirely different.
"Who knows, Issei Hyoudou? If fate wishes, then I won't reject a meeting," she said, and then she vanished through the lavish gates.
It felt like someone had closed a book on him, leaving him unsure if there would ever be a sequel.
Inside the lavish home, Ingrid let out a deep sigh. She was about to turn on the lights when a voice stopped her.
"I didn't know you liked them young, my Hell Knight," said a deep, commanding voice.
Ingrid turned to see a man sitting in an expensive recliner, gazing out at the starry night sky.
"B-Black-sama!? I-I wasn't expecting you," she blurted out, kneeling quickly.
The man—known simply as Black—fixed his onyx-like eyes on his second-in-command. He was stoic. No smile. No hint of pleasure. Only calculation.
"So," he said calmly, "who is that boy, Ingrid? And does he mean anything to you?"
Ingrid shook her head, completely flustered.
"O-Of course not, Black-sama. I feel nothing romantic toward him; he is just a boy. But... I was captivated by his heroism. His name is I-Issei... H-Hyoudou Issei," she said, kneeling formally before him.
"Issei Hyoudou..." Black repeated. "Interesting. Rise, Ingrid. After all, I am a guest in your house."
He stood from the recliner and walked toward the window, looking down at the street below.
At first glance, he appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary boy.
But Black knew better.
"Yes, my lord," Ingrid said, rising. "And... interesting?"
She stepped closer, following his gaze through the large window.
Black watched Issei as he disappeared into the distance. His eyes narrowed. He could see it—just barely. A faint trace of draconic energy leaking from the boy. Small. Subtle. Yet potent. Raw. Ancient.
The power of domination.
"Yes," Black said, a slow smirk forming. "Very interesting."
Ingrid's topaz eyes followed Issei's fading figure.
A human... an ordinary human...
And yet Black-sama's attention lingered on him.
Did I not see something special? A power within him...
Maybe... maybe I should try to spend more time with him, Ingrid thought.
Unfortunately, fate could be cruel.
Sometimes, it pushed people in two very different directions.
This...
was Issei Hyoudou's fate.
Meanwhile, in a dingy hideout not far from the alley, the three would-be rapists were already drinking themselves numb.
Empty bottles littered the floor.
"That little punk..." one of them snarled, pressing an ice pack against his broken nose. His voice trembled with rage more than pain.
"I swear, if I ever see him again, I'll fucking ruin his life. And everyone around him."
"Not before I get to him first," another spat, his eyes gleaming dangerously.
"I want to crush that little punk's spirit. And if he's got someone close to him..." He licked his lips, the thought clearly pleasing him.
"If it's a girl, I'll make sure he watches—"
"Will you two shut the fuck up!" the boss roared.
"S-Sorry, Yamato-sir!" one of the grunts stammered.
Yamato clicked his tongue and stepped outside, the night air doing little to cool the fury boiling in his chest.
They weren't wrong.
He wanted that little fucker to pay.
To be broken.
If only I could get back at that punk...
Then why not?
The voice echoed in his head like a siren.
"W-What the fuck?!" Yamato spun around, heart pounding. "W-Who's there?! Show yourself!"
His words slurred slightly—drunk, humiliated, his defeat still fresh and one-sided.
I'm just a friend, the voice whispered smoothly.
A friend who wants to help. A friend who wants to give you your sweet revenge.
"A-Answer me, damn it!" Yamato shouted.
An ominous chuckle followed—low, deep, and unmistakably mocking.
The man staggered back, trying to retreat into the hideout—but his body refused to move.
Something was holding him in place.
"W-What the fuck—?" he gasped.
Black markings began to creep up his leg, like ink spilled beneath his skin. They twisted and writhed, pulsing faintly as they climbed higher.
"W-What is this?! S-Someone help—!" he shouted, panic finally breaking through the alcohol and rage.
But no one came.
The shadows around him deepened unnaturally, stretching and folding in on themselves. The dim light flickered once... then vanished entirely.
Before he could scream again—
Something leapt out of the darkness.
Not a man.
Not a beast.
Something else.
"S-Stay b-back... please—don't come any closer!" Yamato begged, his lips trembling with fear.
The creature's corrupted, pearl-like eyes locked onto him.
A clawed hand shot forward, gripping his face with inhuman strength. Yamato's scream barely had time to form before the air was ripped from his lungs.
The thing drank him—not his blood, not his flesh—but something deeper. His life force was torn out in a single, merciless pull.
Then it forced its essence into him.
Black sigils exploded across Yamato's body, spreading like cracks in glass. The markings burned themselves into his skin as his eyes rolled back, turning dull... lifeless.
His screams dissolved into choking, broken muffles.
When the creature finally released him, Yamato collapsed to his knees—still breathing, but no longer whole.
Something else was wearing his body now.
Yamato slowly lifted his head.
His eyes were no longer human—now swirling, bottomless vortices of darkness. Evil churned behind them, alive and watching.
"B-Boss...?" one of the grunts shouted. "A-Are you okay?!"
He approached cautiously, boots crunching against broken glass and trash.
Yamato kept his back turned.
Then he spoke.
"Hey... you," he said calmly. Too calmly.
"I'm hungry."
The neon lights flickered violently above the abandoned hideout. Outside, the air reeked of wet earth from the recent downpour, seeping in through cracked walls and rusted doors.
"Oh—uh—y-you want me to order something, boss?" the grunt asked nervously, stepping closer, trying to laugh it off. This place—this kingdom of junk and waste—felt suddenly suffocating.
Yamato slowly turned.
"No need," the possessed Yamato chuckled darkly.
"My food... is already here."
"W-Wait—NO—!"
Yamato spat a thick, black liquid from his mouth.
The substance splashed onto the grunt's chest—and instantly began to spread.
Metallic decay raced across his body. His skin rusted, flaking away like corroded iron, limbs stiffening as if he were turning into scrap himself—another piece of junk in the graveyard around them.
His scream cut short as Yamato grabbed him and devoured what remained, leaving nothing behind but dust and rot.
The hideout fell silent.
Only Yamato stood there—breathing.
Smiling.
Issei Hyoudou lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, one hand slowly drifting to the spot on his cheek where Ingrid had kissed him. The faint purple smear of lipstick was still there—proof that it hadn't been a dream.
No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept circling back to her.
"Who knows, Issei Hyoudou? If fate wishes, then I won't reject a meeting."
Her words replayed in his head like a broken record, each repetition making his heart pound harder.
"When I get a harem one day," Issei muttered to himself, a deep blush spreading across his face, "I want Miss Ingrid to be part of it. No—she's gotta be one of my top girls."
A shameless, perverted grin crept onto his lips.
The problem was, every time he thought about her—her curves, her confidence, the way she leaned in so close—his body reacted immediately. He shifted under the covers, annoyed and embarrassed by the unmistakable bulge forming in his pants.
"Tch... seriously," he groaned, turning his head to the side.
He lifted a hand and lightly touched his cheek again, smearing the lipstick just a little.
"I'm never washing my face again," Issei declared proudly.
Lying there in the quiet room, heart racing and thoughts spiraling, Issei Hyoudou—a fifteen-year-old —could only grin to himself, fully aware that Ingrid had left a far deeper mark than just lipstick.
"Issei, dinner's ready!" his mother shouted from downstairs.
"Coming, Mom!" he called back.
He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, forcing himself to push away the lingering image of the voluptuous woman from earlier. Ingrid's smile still clung to his thoughts like a curse.
Walking down the hallway at an unhurried pace, something shattered that calm instantly.
BAM—BAM—BAM!
CRASH!
"What the hell!?" Issei shouted, eyes widening.
Shit—Mom!
He bolted down the stairs two at a time.
The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.
Two familiar men stood in the living room—smiling wickedly.
His father stood in front of them, tense, unreadable.
Yamato ignored everyone else.
His gaze locked onto Issei.
The man slowly licked his lips, flashing a single gold tooth.
"Hey, fuckers," Issei spat, fury boiling over. "What are you two rapists doing here?"
One of the men flinched—actually shook—his bravado gone.
That was when his mother spoke.
Her eyes were locked on Yamato. Every subtle twitch of his body, every shift of weight, every flicker in his expression was catalogued. She didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. Her hands rested lightly on the modified pistols, ready to act the instant he made a move.
"Issei," she said, her voice calm but carrying iron, "go to your room. Lock the door. Do not come out. Understood?"
"Mom, I can—"
"I'm not asking," she cut in sharply, eyes never leaving Yamato. "I'm telling you. Room. Now. And whatever you hear—do not leave it."
Yamato licked his lips slowly, the gold tooth catching the dim light. He looked at her, and for the first time, uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
Her presence alone kept him at bay. The grins of his cronies faltered, the air itself thickened with the weight of her gaze. She wasn't just prepared—she was lethal, and everyone in the room could feel it.
Garou on the other hand looked at his wife with a terffingy look. Stepping closer, he tried to defuse the situation.
"Woah honey! Slow down--"
Before he can say a word all you heard a click and shot fire.
THUD!
Issei's father lay motionless on the floor, a single bullet hole carved into his head.
"Dad! No—! Mom, what did you—"
Issei's words died in his throat.
His father rose.
Like something straight out of an exorcist movie, his body jerked upright. The warmth in his honey-brown eyes vanished, replaced by a swirling red malice that radiated hunger.
The grunt's eyes widened in terror.
"N-No—!" he gasped, backing toward the door. He turned to flee—
Something coiled around his leg.
He screamed as he was yanked backward, crashing to the floor. Issei's father loomed over him, red eyes burning as his mouth twisted into an unnatural grin.
"I'm... hungry..."
"P-Please! Don't—!" the grunt sobbed, clawing at the floor. "Boss! Yamato! Help me, please!"
Yamato didn't move.
He merely adjusted his stance and smirked.
"Kazuma," he said coldly, "leaving work early without permission isn't acceptable."
The grin widened.
"B-Boss— NOOOO—!"
A fog poured from Issei's father's mouth.
Not smoke.
Not breath.
A corrosive mist.
It washed over the screaming man, melting flesh and bone alike. Skin sloughed away, blond hair dissolved, and the remains were absorbed, the mist flowing back into the Horror's mouth as if drinking.
Silence followed.
Issei stood frozen, his mind refusing to catch up.
T-This... can't be real.
What the fuck is happening...?
A rough hand seized his arm.
He flinched—then saw his mother.
Miki Hyoudou dragged him with a strength no ordinary woman should possess.
"Hurry!" she snapped. "Did I not tell you to go to your room?!"
"M-Mom— what are they?! Who are they?!"
His bravado was gone. Only fear remained.
Without turning back, without slowing, she answered—her voice etched into his soul.
"Horrors," she said.
"They are born when human hearts rot in darkness. They devour souls... and wear what remains."
"H-Horrors..." Issei repeated faintly.
They burst into his parents' bedroom.
Miki shoved him inside and pulled out a strange calligraphy brush, its bristles soaked in crimson light.
"Mom— w-what—?"
She slammed the door shut.
A glowing red orb sank into the wood, spreading like veins. Issei felt the pressure instantly—the door reinforced by something ancient and powerful.
Miki turned to him.
"Issei... listen to me."
Her voice softened.
"If something happens to me... I need you to know how proud I am of you."
She cupped his face gently.
"I love you, my little Issei. You are a blessing—sent by God himself."
A violent CRASH shook the door.
"OPEN UP, YOU BITCH!" a demonic voice roared from the other side.
Issei reached for the door—but his mother grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her.
"Ignore them," she said firmly. "They can't reach us yet."
Her eyes hardened.
"If I don't come back... go to Tokyo. Find a man named Kiba Amashima."
She spat the name like poison.
"Your grandfather."
Issei's breath caught.
"But... I thought Grandpa died."
Miki stared at him for a long moment.
"I lied."
She smiled sadly.
"I wanted you to have a normal life. A wife. A family. Happiness."
Her thumb brushed his cheek.
"You are my only son. Whatever path you choose... know that I will always be watching over you."
BAM! BAM!
Cracks spiderwebbed across the glowing barrier.
Tears spilled down Issei's face.
"W-Why does this sound like goodbye...?"
He forced a trembling smile.
"Mom... you're coming back, right?"
Like this was all just a nightmare.
Miki didn't answer.
Instead, she pressed her gun into his trembling hands. The metal was cold—too real.
"Issei," she said softly, closing his fingers around the grip. "Use this. Protect yourself."
She met his eyes one last time.
"Please... stay here."
Then she turned.
"Mom— NO!" Issei screamed.
Too late.
Miki stepped through the barrier, and the crimson seal snapped shut behind her, cutting her off from him completely.
Issei slammed his fists against the glowing door, sobbing as the sounds of battle erupted on the other side—gunfire, inhuman shrieks, and the wet crunch of something breaking.
All he could do was listen.
And pray.
Miki Hyoudou stood in the ruined hallway, a calligraphy brush glowing faintly in one hand and a strange, modified pistol in the other. Bruises covered her body, blood seeping through torn clothing—but her stance never wavered.
Issei's father struck first.
He came from behind, silent despite the damage already done to him. Bullets had torn through his body earlier, yet now his skin split open, peeling away to reveal his true form—an ignoble Horror, its flesh warped and crawling with corruption.
A clawed hand lashed out, aiming to cleave Miki's head from her shoulders.
She moved on instinct.
Twisting aside at the last second, she swung her brush in a wide arc. Crimson light flared as the bristles slammed into the Horror's chest, sending Issei's father flying down the hallway, his body crashing through the wall in a shower of debris.
Then came Yamato.
His arm warped and elongated, rust spreading as it reshaped itself into a jagged blade. With a feral roar, he charged.
Yamato swung relentlessly, each strike meant to split her in half.
Miki parried and dodged, her movements precise—almost graceful—like a dancer weaving through a storm of steel. Sparks and rust sprayed across the floor with every clash.
"Once I'm done with you," Yamato snarled, laughter bubbling from his warped throat, "I'll kill you slowly. Then I'll savor your screams as I devour your son."
The moment the words left his mouth—
Yamato had sealed his fate.
Miki's eyes hardened, sharp and deadly. Her voice dropped to a whisper, calm and cold beneath the chaos.
"Hichō no Suisei."
Yamato hesitated, narrowing his eyes. "...What?"
The room began to glow red.
He looked up.
Crimson, butterfly-shaped bullets materialized in the air above him—dozens, then hundreds—before raining down like a blood-soaked meteor shower.
"AAAAAARGHHH!!"
Yamato's scream tore through the house as the bullets shredded into his body, tearing through rusted flesh and corrupted bone, pinning him to the floor in a storm of pain and light.
Yamato collapsed to the ground, his body engulfed in flames.
Turning slowly, Miki saw the Horror possessing Issei's father stagger backward, terror finally breaking through its twisted face.
"S-Stay back!" it screeched.
"M-Miki... baby—"
Pow! Pow!
Magical shells clattered against the floor as the Horror's eyes widened in disbelief. One bullet pierced straight through its heart.
This time—it screamed.
"URRRAAAAAGH!!"
Its body convulsed before detonating in a violent burst of corrupted energy, scattering ash and shadow across the hallway.
Miki lowered her weapon, her hands trembling.
"I'm sorry, Gorou..." she whispered.
"I couldn't save you in time."
Silence followed.
The nightmare was over.
Breathing heavily, Miki turned and staggered toward her bedroom, clutching her wounds. She dispelled the protective seal with a flick of her brush and pushed the door open.
Inside, Issei stood frozen—her gun clenched tightly in his shaking hands.
"Mom!"
Relief flooded his face—
STAB!
"GRAAAH!"
Miki cried out as a jagged blade punched through her torso.
"You bitch," Yamato snarled.
His skin had completely melted away, revealing the twisted Horror beneath. With a violent roar, he ripped the blade free and hurled Miki across the room. Her body slammed into the wall, blood pooling beneath her as she struggled to breathe.
"Mom!!"
Issei screamed.
"AAAAAAAAH!!"
Yamato turned toward him, amused.
That was his mistake.
Issei raised the gun with both hands.
Something inside him snapped.
Power surged—raw, ancient, uncontrollable—pouring into the weapon. The gun screamed as it became a conduit, glowing white-hot as draconic energy erupted through the barrel.
Issei pulled the trigger.
The blast wasn't a bullet.
It was annihilation.
White-hot energy tore through Yamato's skull, vaporizing it instantly. His body froze mid-step before crumbling into dust, scattering into the air and fading away.
Silence returned once more.
But this time—
It was heavier than before.
"Mom!"
Issei dropped to his knees and gently lifted his mother's head into his arms. Miki coughed violently, blood spilling from her lips as her trembling hand clutched her wounded stomach. The flesh around the wound had already begun to rust and decay, flaking away like corroded metal.
"M-My Issei..." cough cough
"My... my little baby boy..."
Her shaking fingers tightened weakly against his sleeve.
"Y-You must go to Tokyo," she rasped. "W-Warn your grandfather... the seal is weakening..."
With the last of her strength, Miki raised her hand and traced a sigil in the air. A small bird of crimson flame formed, fluttering softly before Issei's tear-filled eyes.
"F-Follow the bird..." she gasped.
"It will be your guide..."
"Ma—please stop talking!" Issei begged, tears streaming down his face.
"Everything's going to be okay—please—"
Miki shook her head slowly and smiled at him—soft, sad, and full of love.
"No, Issei... this is it."
She reached up, brushing his cheek with trembling fingers.
"You need to go. But before you do... you must understand this, my son."
Her voice weakened, but her words were clear.
"There are devils... fallen angels... angels... and even beings from different worlds. But the most vile race of all are beings from another world who call themselves demons."
Issei listened in silence, frozen.
"They disguise themselves as humans," Miki continued.
"Like Horrors, they bring only corruption and chaos. They ruin our world... simply because they can."
Her breath hitched.
"Beware of Tokyo... that city is a nest of evil."
Her hand slipped from his sleeve.
Those were Miki Hyoudou's final words.
"Ma... Momma..."
Issei's voice broke.
"NOOOOOOO!!"
His scream echoed through the ruined house, carrying grief, rage, and the beginning of a fate he could never escape
End of chapter