It was a gloomy night. The clouds crept across the heavens in slow, deliberate motion, as if following some unseen rhythm.
The moon cast its cold glow over the land, stretching ghostly shadows through the surrounding.
The festival spread across the streets like a living flame.
Fireworks burst overhead, their reflections dancing in the eyes of the crowd.
Vendors flipped sizzling food over open flames, laughter echoed between stalls, and the air was thick with the smell of sweet sauce and roasted treats.
For one fleeting night, joy seemed endless.
Among the laughter and color of the festival, one figure stood out.
Dante—tall and light-skinned, snow white hair.catching the faint shimmer of lantern light. His eyes, deep and steady, watched the world around him with quiet intent.
He wore a simple traditional yukata and martial arts slippers, a mix of elegance and readiness—as if he didn't quite belong to the peace of this night.
As Dante sat down, the air around him felt oddly heavy.
He couldn't shake the unease that had been following him all evening.
It wasn't fear—more like a quiet whisper at the edge of his thoughts.
He tried to ignore it, forcing himself to focus on the laughter and music of the festival.
But the feeling returned again and again, like a warning he couldn't quite understand
Before he could think any further, a gentle pressure touched his shoulder.
It was a woman's hand—slender, warm.
Dante looked up, and for a moment, the noise of the festival faded.
Before him stood a beautiful young woman with long black hair that shimmered in the lantern light. Her expression carried both kindness and mystery, her presence so striking that he almost forgot to breathe
Dante quickly looked away, feeling warmth rush to his cheeks.
She noticed, and a playful chuckle escaped her lips.
"Never seen a girl as beautiful as me, huh?" she teased, flashing a mischievous grin.
He managed a small, sheepish nod, his blush deepening.
But her expression shifted when she caught the uneasy look on his face—the faint tension behind his eyes that didn't belong in a night so full of joy.
She tilted her head, her tone softer now.
"What's wrong, Dante? You've been distant all night. What's bothering you? The festival doesn't seem to reach you at all."
He let out a quiet sigh, rubbing his palms together.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I've just been… off lately. There's this feeling I can't shake. Like something's wrong. Like a warning, telling me something bad's about to happen."
As the words left his mouth, that same dread crawled back into his chest—heavier, sharper than before.
His heartbeat quickened, his breath coming shorter. The world around him seemed to tilt slightly, the laughter of the crowd distant and hollow.
He looked up, his eyes scanning the sky, but he wasn't sure what he was searching for.
The air shifted, heavy and cold, as if the night itself were holding its breath.
That same haunting feeling clawed its way back into Dante's chest—only this time, it was unbearable.
He turned slowly, every instinct screaming at him not to.
When his gaze met her, his body froze.
The woman from just moments ago—so alive, so warm—stood before him, but something had changed.
Her eyes… were empty.
Her skin seemed pale under the dim light, her smile stiff and unnatural, like a doll's face caught mid-expression.
He couldn't speak.
The festival noise faded completely. All that remained was silence—and that dreadful red glow in her eyes.
Narrator:The The festival glowed with life, untouched by the creeping dread that lingered beneath.
Everyone laughed, unaware of the silence that was about to swallow their joy.
They had no idea what awaited them in the darkness beyond the lanterns.
Would they make it through the night?
Only time could tell.
he's eyes went wide, his pupils tightening to pinpoints.
A chill raced down his spine, every hair on his neck standing upright.
He could barely breathe—the air itself felt heavy, pressing against his lungs.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as panic clawed at the edges of his mind.
Something deep inside him screamed that he wasn't alone… that whatever was in front of him wasn't human.
Her grip tightened on his shoulder, nails biting into his flesh.
He winced, trying to pull away, but her fingers only sank deeper, her touch cold and possessive.
A cruel smile spread across her face as she leaned closer, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Then, she parted her lips—
and he saw them.
Fangs. Sharp and glistening like polished glass. Dante's heart dropped. The air caught in his throat. He looked around frantically, hoping for someone—anyone—to notice.
But the crowd kept laughing, fireworks bursting overhead, completely blind to his terror.
It was as if he'd slipped into a nightmare only he could see.
she grips his jaw and with a wicked smirk she licks his cheek tasting his fear and says it's taste very delicious she wonders how his blood taste she licks her lips in anticipation.
he grips the clothing on the table silently hoping and praying there's a way for him to someone to help him someone just anyone to get him out of this living nightmare is stuck in
Her hand shot up, gripping his jaw with unnerving strength.
Dante tried to pull back, but her nails only pressed deeper, holding him still like a trapped animal.
She smiled—a slow, wicked smile that reached her gleaming eyes.
Then she leaned in.
Her tongue slid across his cheek, tasting the cold sweat that clung to his trembling skin.
"Mmm…" she purred softly, "your fear… tastes delicious." He froze, unable to move, unable to breathe.
She drew back just slightly, her tongue tracing her lips as her eyes darkened with hunger.
"I wonder," she whispered, voice thick with anticipation,
"how your blood would taste."
Dante's breathing quickens—shallow and uneven.
Sweat trickles down his temple as his eyes dart around desperately.
The festival still dances around him—
children laughing, fireworks crackling, the faint tune of a shamisen drifting through the night.
But no one sees.
No one hears.
No one notices the terror in his trembling form.
He opens his mouth—
"Help—!"
—but the sound is swallowed by the music and laughter.
The only thing that answers him…
is the low whistle of the wind weaving through paper lanterns,
and the faint rustle of trees that sway like silent witnesses.
Her fingers tighten against his jaw.
Her breath is hot against his ear as she leans in, her tone darkly amused.
"Poor boy…" she whispers,
"you're shaking."
Dante's pulse hammers in his chest,
his vision trembling between the flickering lights of the festival and the shadowy figure before him.
Her eyes—once gentle and kind—are now consumed by crimson desire,
filled not with affection,
but with hunger.
Lust.
Not for love—
but for blood.
The woman's breath grew heavier, brushing against Dante's neck.
Her eyes glowed faintly crimson beneath the moonlight, desire flickering within them like a dying flame desperate for air.
He could feel her trembling—not from fear, but from hunger.
Dante's pulse raced.
Every beat of his heart echoed in his ears like the toll of a warning bell.
He wanted to move, to scream, to fight back—but his body refused to listen.
Then she whispered, voice trembling with anticipation,
"Just a little taste…"
Her lips parted.
Two glistening fangs caught the silver light of the moon, shining wickedly.
A chill ran down Dante's spine as he watched the reflection of those fangs draw closer,
closer—
Her breath tickled his skin,
and he felt the sharp points of her teeth brush against his neck—
Time slowed.
His world shrank to the faint pulse under his skin,
the scent of blood in the air,
and the sickening sweetness of her voice as she whispered—
"Found you."
A gunshot cracks through the night!
The bullet tears through her head — her expression freezes mid-smile. Her form crumbles into ash, disintegrating into the wind.
Dante turns sharply, shocked. In the distance, from the shadows, a woman steps forward.
Short, dark hair. Red top. Black pants. A stylish, lethal aura.
She twirls her pistols with grace as monsters lurking in disguise reveal themselves, shrieking and snarling as the crowd descends into chaos.One lunges at her — she doesn't flinch. With a fluid motion, she raises her gun and fires.
SFX: BANG!
absolute Carnage as people are getting slashed ripped apart getting tossed like a ragdoll as they monsters looked over to the woman who appeared from the shadows absolute and signal to each other to go for her as one of them charges towards her she's calm cool and composed as she weaves her gun in the air as she fires a bullet at the monster
The bullet rips through the beast. She moves like a dancer, spinning and firing with calm precision. One after another, monsters fall.
Dante watches, stunned.
Dante, about to flee, finds a bloodstained beast glaring at him. It lunges. Dante instinctively yanks the tablecloth — flipping it over the creature.
Two more monsters close in on him. Dante steadies himself, breath sharp. He kicks one across the jaw, then dodges the other's claw before countering with a punch.
The creature retaliates, slashing his arm. Blood stains his sleeve. Dante winces but pushes through the pain.
His eyes dart to a table — he rips off one of its legs, wielding it like a staff.
Dante exhales sharply, steam rising from his breath in the cold night.
SFX: HAAAH!" ...
He grips the makeshift bat tighter, eyes narrowing.
Dante (thinking): No time to hesitate—!
He dashes forward, snow scattering under his feet.
SFX: "THUD! THUD! THUD!"
With a fierce yell, he swings the bat with both hands—
The bat connects with a beast's skull, sending it flying backward through the air.
The remaining beasts snarl and leap toward him, claws slashing through the air.
SFX: "GRAAAHHH!" — "SWISH! SWISH!"
Dante ducks just in time, the claws grazing his hair.
SFX: "SHNK!"
He spins on his heel and swings again, the bat smashing into another beast's ribs.
SFX: "CRACK!" — "THUD!"
The creature crashes into a pile of debris, howling in pain as Dante steadies his stance.
SFX: "RRRRAAAHH!" (beast's scream)
Dante's fear, once a gnawing specter at the edge of his mind, melted into the heat of battle. The relentless tide of beasts surged toward him, their snarls echoing in the dim, oppressive air. Gripping his makeshift bat—
a jagged length of iron torn from the wreckage—he swung with a ferocity that burned through his veins. Each strike was a symphony of force and precision, the metal singing as it connected with flesh and bone.Claws swiped at him, razor-sharp and hungry, but Dante danced through the chaos.
His body moved on instinct, dodging and weaving as if his very soul depended on it. A beast lunged, its maw dripping with malice, and he met it with a brutal swing, the impact reverberating up his arms. One by one, they fell, but more emerged from the shadows, their eyes glinting with feral
intent.His heart pounded, a war drum in his chest, as he faced the final beast. Its grotesque head reared back, ready to strike. With a roar that tore from his core, Dante swung his bat in a deadly arc, smashing
through the creature's skull with a sickening crunch. As the beast crumpled, he staggered back, chest heaving, and threw his head skyward. A primal scream ripped from his throat, raw and triumphant, as the adrenaline surged like wildfire through his veins.
, a rock, the broken leg of the table he'd flipped earlier. His fingers brush against splintered wood, but it's just out of reach.The beast snaps its jaws, teeth grazing his neck, and Dante's heart pounds like a war drum. He has seconds, maybe less, before those jaws close.
Dante's breath catches as the beast's weight
slams him to the ground,
the impact jarring his bones. The adrenaline that had kept him sharp fades into a heavy fog of exhaustion, his muscles
screaming in protest. The creature's jaws hover inches from his face, saliva dripping in thick, viscous strands, splattering against his cheek. The stench—rotten, like decay and sulfur mixed with something worse—
chokes the air, making his stomach lurch.Its eyes, glowing with a sickly yellow hue, bore
into him, wild with hunger. Claws dig into his shoulders, pinning him as the beast snarls, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through his
chest. Dante's hands scrabble against the floor, searching for anything—a weapon, a
rock, the broken leg of the table he'd flipped earlier. His fingers brush against splintered wood, but it's just out of reach.The beast snaps
its jaws, teeth grazing his neck, and Dante's heart pounds like a war drum. He has seconds, maybe less, before those
The beast's roar thundered in Dante's ears, its rancid breath hot against his face. Jaws like jagged iron snapped inches from his throat, pinning him to the blood-slick
ground. His heart hammered, vision blurring as the monstrous creature—half-woman, half-nightmare—reared for the kill. Its eyes, glowing like cursed embers, promised no mercy.Crack!A gunshot split the air. The beast's head jerked, a crimson spray
bursting from its skull. Its massive body shuddered, then collapsed onto Dante, limp and heavy as a fallen tree. Gasping, he shoved the corpse aside, claws scraping his battered jacket. His chest heaved, relief and exhaustion warring within him as he
scrambled to his knees.In the flickering
moonlight, she stood—her. The woman from earlier, cloaked in shadow, her pistol still raised. Smoke curled from the barrel, and her piercing gaze met his, unreadable yet steady. Her dark hair whipped in the wind, framing a face too calm for the carnage around them. The monstrous
woman—now just a heap of twisted flesh—lay dead at her feet.Dante's voice rasped, barely a whisper. "You… saved me."She lowered the gun, her lips curling into a faint, cryptic smile. "Don't thank me yet, Dante. This isn't over."His pulse quickened. She knew his name. Before he could speak, she turned, her boots crunching on the shattered earth, leavin in the silence of the beast's grave.