Iren Vale stood still.
His eyes were no longer human.
They were pools of deep darkness—
where light died before it could enter.
Inside the room stood five powerful men.
Black suits.
Cold faces.
Weapons in hand.
They were not ordinary killers.
They were the kind of people
who treated murder as a profession.
The first stepped forward.
Karn Voss—
the shadow-dealer of this city.
"The boy is still moving," he said with a grin.
"This time, we won't make a mistake."
Iren looked at him.
Above Karn's head,
an invisible fracture trembled.
The story ended there.
Karn struck.
A fist like iron flew toward Iren's face—
but the blow never landed.
Iren moved aside—
at the exact moment
Karn himself didn't realize
he had already failed.
A crack of breaking bone.
Karn screamed and collapsed.
Iren did not stop.
Because stopping meant dying.
Marek Hale opened fire.
Not one shot.
An entire magazine.
Iren advanced.
The bullets passed beside him.
He already knew—
where each bullet would go
before it was fired.
One second.
That was all it took
for fear to enter Marek's eyes.
His throat failed him.
No sound came out.
Silas Crow was last.
Fast.
Ruthless.
He struck Iren.
For the first time—
Iren saw his own blood.
It hurt.
But the pain never reached his eyes.
He only thought—
Is this what it means to live?
Iren leaned close and whispered into Silas's ear:
"You didn't come to kill me."
"You came to kill my blood."
Silas's eyes widened.
He fell.
He did not move again.
Silence filled the room.
Only one man remained standing.
Their boss.
Adamar Kress.
His body trembled—
but arrogance still lived in his eyes.
Iren stood before him.
"Why?"
His voice was calm.
Unnaturally calm.
"Why did you want me dead?"
The boss tried to laugh.
The laugh broke apart.
"Not for you," he coughed.
"For your… father."
Iren froze.
"My father?" he whispered.
"He's an ordinary man.
How could he threaten people like you?"
The boss's eyes burned strangely.
"No," he said slowly.
"He is not your real father."
The words were a blade.
The boss said nothing more.
His eyes remained open—
but there was nothing inside.
Iren staggered.
The world shook.
He walked into the next room.
Blood-soaked bodies.
Shaking breath.
"Iren…"
He turned.
His mother—
the woman he had called his mother.
Tears filled her eyes.
An old bundle of papers trembled in her hands.
He couldn't hold it anymore.
"Tell me the truth," Iren said.
"Now."
She collapsed, crying.
"We…
we didn't give birth to you."
The words were soft—
but they shattered everything.
"We found you by the roadside,"
his father said.
"Wrapped in a blanket…
no one around."
His mother's hands shook.
"But you were never ordinary," she whispered.
"Your eyes…
they were strange even then."
Iren said nothing.
He only listened.
"We knew," his father continued,
"that one day… someone would come for you."
Inside Iren,
a question ignited.
Who are my real parents?
And why was my birth a crime?
In the distance—
shadows of stronger enemies gathered.
More fights awaited.
More blood.
In the darkness,
two red eyes watched.
The Doll observes.
The story
descends deeper.
🩸 Chapter-end Line
"He lost his enemies that night.
And discovered he was never meant to have a family."