Chapter 1:
It was raining.
Not the kind of rain that brought peace — the kind that sank everything into a blur. Cold. Heavy. Relentless.
Rei Noven ran barefoot down the alley, his coat half-drenched and torn at the shoulder. His breath was short. His hands bloody — but not his blood.
The small kitten in his arms trembled, its fur soaked, its tiny ribs rising like cracked glass beneath his palm.
Why was he doing this? He didn't know. Maybe because even after everything, pretending to be good had become habit. Or maybe, for once… he just didn't want to pretend anymore.
A screech.
Headlights cut through the downpour — a sudden light, a sudden roar.
His eyes widened.
He turned, curled around the kitten, and smiled.
And then — silence.
---
The world that welcomed him next was not quiet.
It bled red.
Crimson skies stretched endlessly, thick clouds swirling like smoke above a city with no name. Towers built from black bone and breathing steel. Streets paved with veined stone that pulsed with something — alive.
Rei opened his eyes.
He was lying naked atop a ritual slab carved into a floating island of obsidian, surrounded by broken symbols.
No pain.
No fear.
No heart.
Only power.
It didn't scream. It didn't roar. It hummed in his bones. A slow vibration — like a voice he should know.
But his memories were shattered. He could remember being Rei Noven. He could remember acting kind, wearing smiles like chains.
But before that?
Nothing.
And yet… this world felt familiar. Not by name, but by taste.
"Crimson..." he whispered.
He stood. The sky cracked.
A massive beast — horned, winged, blind — soared above, only to falter mid-flight. It screamed and turned away, retreating as if something far worse than it could comprehend had awoken below.
Rei tilted his head, watching it disappear into the red clouds.
And then he smiled.
Not kind. Not cruel.
Just real.
---
Somewhere Else
A group of cloaked figures stood in a circle, watching the ritual stone from miles away through a pool of crimson water. One of them trembled.
"He… He survived the Rite of Broken Souls," whispered the youngest. "But that's impossible. That ritual — it devours gods. It was made to kill immortals."
"No," another voice rasped. "It wasn't made to kill gods."
He turned to the others. The skin around his eyes cracked with fear.
"It was made to stop Him — if He ever returned."
The floating stone was quiet again. The wind had stopped.
Rei stood on the edge of the platform, still bare, the red sky burning behind him like a funeral sun. His hair clung to his neck, soaked in thin black rain. He didn't move.
But something did.
Far below.
His head tilted slightly. Just enough to feel it — a flicker. A whisper. Not in sound, but in will.
Killing intent.
Small. Weak. But foolishly focused — on him.
---
Far Below
"They said he would be blind for days," the cloaked youth stammered, fingers trembling over the ritual-bound dagger. "We should strike now — before he—"
The elder hissed, "Silence! He's not supposed to sense—"
But the water shimmered.
Ripples.
Then a crack.
A single wordless sound.
The ritual pool shattered like glass.
The youngest screamed — too late.
---
Above
Rei opened his hand.
Nothing in it. No blade. No spell.
He simply closed his eyes…
…and stepped off the edge.
---
The cloaked figures barely had time to blink.
A shape fell from the sky — no wings, no magic, just a falling body like a god cast down.
But he didn't hit the ground.
He stopped midair.
And then— moved.
---
The first had his throat crushed before he even saw a face.
The second was lifted by the ribs and torn in two.
The third tried to cast a ward —
But Rei's smile widened as the ward peeled from his tongue and curdled into black.
He didn't need to look. His eyes remained closed.
He could feel everything.
Their souls flickered like candles in the dark — and one by one, he snuffed them out.
Not with power. Not with grandeur.
But with hands.
Flesh tearing flesh.
---
One remained.
The elder. Knees broken, eyes wide.
"You… you were supposed to forget…! You were sealed…! You're not— you're not him!"
Rei knelt beside him.
And smiled.
Not in joy.
Not in malice.
But as if he had just remembered the punchline to a very, very old joke.
His voice was soft. Cold.
"Who said I ever forgot?"
And then he closed his hands around the old man's skull.
There was no scream — just a wet pop.
The last thing the elder saw was the curve of a smile…
…on a dead man's face.
---