Black smoke still billowed from the carcass of the shattered locomotive, twisting upward into the purple-grey twilight sky of Nyxholm. Amidst the ruins of twisted concrete and iron, a suffocating silence descended—heavier than gravity itself.
The Station Master, an old Orc with a broken tusk and a blue uniform now caked in debris dust, trembled violently. His knees knocked together, producing a pathetic clacking sound as he and the other station staff—a collection of equally terrified Imps and Goblins—lined up neatly before the figure who had just halted an apocalypse with a single hand.
Without needing a command, they slammed their bodies into a rigid salute in unison, right hands pressed to their chests, heads bowed deeply until their chins touched their collars. Cold sweat the size of corn kernels poured down the Orc's green temples.
Before them, Archduke Morvax stood motionless. His jet-black spiked armor seemed to absorb the surrounding light, while the cyan flames in his eye sockets burned with a calm yet lethal intensity. The small fishing bucket hat patterned with fish, still perched atop his white skull, did not diminish the horror in the slightest; if anything, the contrast made his presence feel even more insane.
Beside him, Liora Vesper stood with perfect posture, a magical crystal tablet hovering above her white-gloved palm. Her sharp eyes scanned the station staff like a hawk sorting through mice.
"Explain," Morvax's voice echoed, heavy and vibrating like a tombstone being shifted. There was no anger in his tone, only absolute authority demanding instant truth. "Who dared to send a guided missile weighing thousands of tons into my city in the middle of my vacation schedule?"
The Orc Station Master swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty. "Y-Your Excellency Archduke!" his voice cracked, squeaking like a trapped mouse. "Th-this... this was not an operational error on our part! I swear by my ancestors! That train... Cargo Train 774 was privately chartered! The authority came directly from Sanguine!"
Morvax tilted his head slightly; his fishing hat tilted with it. "Sanguine?"
"Co-correct, Sir!" the Orc continued rapidly, fearing his life would end if he stopped speaking. "The charterer was Lord Alaric Von Carstein! He... he sent a bounty hunter unit using that train to capture a fugitive. He said... the fugitive was the perpetrator of his younger brother's murder, Sir Luis!"
The cyan fire in Morvax's eyes flickered once. He turned his head toward Liora.
"Luis?" he asked flatly. "Who is that? I don't know any trash with such a generic name."
Liora deftly slid her fingers across the holographic tablet. Blue light projected a stream of data into the air—family trees, criminal records, and recent obituaries.
"Analysis complete, Sir," Liora said, her voice calm and professional, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. "Luis Von Carstein. Youngest son of the main Von Carstein family. Reputation: Drunkard, spendthrift, and lacking in political achievement. Status: Deceased last night at Saint Veren Gate. Cause of death: Extreme physical violence."
"Hah," Morvax scoffed, cold steam hissing from between his skeletal teeth. "Trash."
"However, Sir," Liora continued, her eyes narrowing as she zoomed in on a visual recording taken from a city surveillance orb. "There is something interesting regarding the target Lord Alaric is chasing."
The hologram displayed a slightly grainy, real-time image from the outskirts of Nyxholm. It showed two figures who had just landed in a narrow alley.
"I found a visual anomaly," Liora explained. "Two unidentified subjects were just detected in Sector 9, the outskirts of Nyxholm. The young man... his description matches the perpetrator suspected of finishing off Luis based on the CCTV footage at Saint Veren. And the cat... matches reports of mass property damage resulting from a battle against a mad scientist in the same district."
Liora rotated the hologram to face Morvax.
"They just arrived, most likely jumping from the train before the collision. There are no records of them entering through the official gates."
Morvax stared at the hologram. He saw the small red wings on the young man's head. He saw the sparks of electricity in the cat's fur.
"Heh..." Morvax grinned, his skeletal jaw opening slightly. "Interesting. Very interesting. So they thought they could use my city as a hideout after causing such chaos?"
He clenched his iron-gauntleted fist, producing an ear-piercing creak of metal.
"Let's go greet them, Liora. The vacation can wait. Hunting pests seems far more entertaining."
Meanwhile, in a damp narrow alley in the outskirts of Nyxholm.
The smell of wet garbage and old moss hung in the air. The shadows of tall buildings shrouded the two figures hiding there.
Devon leaned his back against the cold brick wall, his breath slowly becoming regular after that insane flight in the bridal-carry position. He was wearing a dull grey t-shirt and loose trousers—quickly stolen from someone's clothesline in the next block when they landed. The clothes were a bit small, but far better than being stark naked.
Before him, Stormclaw was buttoning a flannel plaid shirt that was too tight for his broad chest, making the buttons look like they were about to burst at any moment.
"Hah..." Devon exhaled a long breath, wiping his bangs which were soaked with sweat. "That was crazy. But at least we made it to a new city. Far away from that train wreck."
Stormclaw nodded stiffly, his ears still twitching alertly. He had just opened his heart to this human, and the feeling was still foreign to him.
Devon stepped forward, intending to peek out at the main street. "Well... I guess we should find another route that doesn't involve too much bloodshed for now. How about we look around this city for a mom—"
Devon's sentence was cut short.
Suddenly, the small red wings on the sides of his head twitched violently—not out of emotion, but out of pure danger reflex.
At the same moment, the fur on Stormclaw's nape stood straight up. His beast instincts screamed. There was something above. Something heavy. Something wrong.
"WATCH OUT!" Stormclaw shouted.
They both leaped backward simultaneously, pure reflex taking over.
BOOOOOOOOM!
Right where Devon and Stormclaw had been standing a split second ago, the pavement exploded.
Not from a bomb. But from a landing.
Stone debris and asphalt flew like shrapnel. Thick dust billowed up, obscuring their vision. The shockwave knocked Devon backward, tumbling him onto the muddy ground.
"Ouch... what happened..." Devon groaned, trying to get up while shielding his face from the dust.
From the center of the dust cloud, a gigantic shadow rose to its feet. Nearly three meters tall. Jet-black armor. And cyan fire burning behind the haze of dust.
Stormclaw, who was closest, had just regained his balance. He looked up, his yellow eyes widening as he saw the terrifying figure in front of him. His brain hadn't had time to process who or what the creature was.
He didn't have time to react.
Morvax gave no pause. From his towering stance, the Archduke's right hand was raised high into the air, clenched tight in a spiked iron gauntlet.
"Weak," Morvax muttered.
Then, the fist came down.
A vertical hook motion from top to bottom, like a god's sledgehammer punishing a sinner.
KRAAAAAKKK-BLLAAAM!
The impact was so fast it was invisible to the eye. Morvax's iron fist slammed squarely onto the crown of Stormclaw's head.
There was no scream. There was no resistance.
Stormclaw's head was driven directly into the concrete pavement with unimaginable force. The floor beneath him didn't just crack; it caved in, creating a small comet-shaped crater.
The sickening sound of a skull shattering was audible, like pottery being crushed by an iron wheel.
Fresh blood sprayed violently from Stormclaw's mouth, nose, and ears, soaking the cracked concrete. The electricity in his body flickered once, wild and desperate, then went totally dead.
Stormclaw's massive body convulsed for a moment, then went limp, completely unconscious—or perhaps worse. The damage to his head was so severe it was unclear if his beastkin regeneration could even save him.
Devon froze in place, his eyes wide with horror. That cat, capable of destroying buildings... defeated in a single punch?
Morvax raised his fist, now stained with beastkin blood. He flicked it with disgust.
"Pathetic," Morvax's voice echoed, cold and full of disdain. "Security at Saint Veren Gate is truly a joke. How could they let a cat this weak slip through and wander all the way to my city?"
He stepped over Stormclaw's motionless body as if it were merely trash on the street. "Making me have to step in personally to clean up the pests..."
Morvax turned toward Devon. The cyan fire in his eyes blazed brighter, dancing with hunger.
"Now... you."
Devon tried to back away, but his back hit the alley wall. There was nowhere to run.
Morvax reached out. His cold, hard iron fingers gripped Devon's neck.
"Urghk!"
Devon was lifted into the air. His legs kicked helplessly, his stolen sneakers dangling half a meter above the ground. Morvax's grip was so strong Devon felt his neck was about to snap like a dry twig.
Morvax pulled Devon's face closer, until Devon's nose almost touched the Archduke's skeletal teeth. Those cyan fire eyes stared sharply, not into Devon's eyes, but at the side of his head.
"Hmm... Human?" Morvax murmured, his tone shifting to a dangerous confusion. "But you have wings on your head? And your bone structure... this isn't purely human."
The grip tightened.
"What are you, little creature?"
Devon clawed at the iron gauntlet, but it was futile. Oxygen was thinning. His consciousness began to flicker.
"Shall I consume your soul to find out?" Morvax whispered.
Morvax's skull flared with blazing cyan fire; the heat didn't burn the skin, but it froze the soul. Devon felt his life essence being pulled out.
The red wings on his head flapped wildly in panic, the only part of his body still able to move freely.
"Ghhh... aaagh..."
Blood vessels in Devon's eyes burst. Fresh blood began to flow from his nose, the corners of his eyes, and his mouth, dripping down to soak Morvax's gauntlet.
The world went dark. Devon went limp in the Archduke's grip. Unconscious.
"Boring," Morvax muttered.
He released his grip. Devon's body fell with a thud to the ground, lying beside the also-dying Stormclaw.
Morvax dusted off his hands, cleaning away dust that wasn't there. He looked back toward Liora, who stood silently at the mouth of the alley.
"Liora. Contact Alaric," he ordered flatly.
"Yes, Sir," Liora replied, immediately activating the magical communication.
Sanguine Castle. Lord Alaric Von Carstein's Private Study.
Alaric was sitting at his ebony wood desk, brow furrowed as he stared at the magic monitor screen. He was reviewing financial reports that were in shambles due to the train rental costs.
In the corner of the room, Misaki Kurenai was dusting a bookshelf with a feather duster. Her face was expressionless, her movements efficient and silent, as if she were a ghost wearing a maid uniform. No tray, no tea. Just her and her task.
BZZZT! BZZZT!
The shrill sound of an incoming call from his computer terminal made Alaric jump.
"Tch! Who is it now?! Disturbing a man while he works!" he grumbled rudely, slamming down his quill pen.
With a sour face full of annoyance, Alaric pressed the accept button. A holographic screen expanded in the air.
Morvax's skeletal face, engulfed in cyan flames, appeared in close-up, filling the entire screen with horrifying high resolution. His aura of death felt palpable even through the screen.
"Yo, Alaric."
"HWAAAA!"
Alaric screamed in shock. His heart—which didn't even beat—felt like it was going to pop out seeing the demon ruler's face so suddenly. He instinctively scrambled his chair backward in panic. The wheels caught on the thick carpet. His balance was lost.
CRASH!
Lord Alaric, the feared leader of the vampire clan, tipped backward with absolutely no elegance. His legs kicked the air before he landed with a pathetic thud on the floor.
Misaki stopped dusting. She turned her head slowly, looking at her master sprawled on the floor with a flat expression that didn't change in the slightest. She let out a soft sigh—very soft—then walked closer.
She extended her small hand to help.
Alaric swatted Misaki's hand away, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I can get up myself!" he snapped, crawling up and fixing his disheveled robe. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to restore his shattered dignity.
He sat back down in front of the screen, putting on a forced serious face, even though his hair was slightly messy.
"Y-Your Excellency Archduke Morvax," he greeted, his voice trembling slightly. "An honor... To what do I owe the pleasure of a call this late?"
On the screen, Morvax seemed unconcerned with the circus act that had just occurred.
"Cargo train 774," Morvax said, getting straight to the point. "Lost control. Entered Nyxholm station at full speed. Nearly blew up my main platform and killed hundreds of tax-paying citizens."
Alaric's face paled. "That... that was a technical accident..."
"It was negligence, Alaric," Morvax cut in coldly. "And you must be held responsible for all repair costs. I will send the bill. Don't be shocked by the number of zeros behind the figure."
Alaric was about to protest, his mouth already open, but Morvax continued.
"But, I have good news for you."
Morvax's camera panned down. Displaying the dirty alley floor.
There, two helpless bodies lay sprawled. A white cat beastkin with a crushed, bloody head, and a black-haired human youth with small red wings on his head who looked like a walking corpse.
"I caught your rat," Morvax said. "The figure who killed your brother, Luis. He is in my hands."
Alaric's eyes widened. His fear was replaced by cruel delight. "That's him! That's the bastard! Excellent, Archduke! Hand him over to me! Send him to Sanguine right now! I will torture him slowly!"
"No," Morvax cut him off again.
Alaric fell silent. "Wh... what?"
"I'm taking him," Morvax said casually. "This kid is interesting. He has... entertainment potential. I'm taking him to my private facility first."
"B-but... he killed my brother! The justice of the Von Carstein family must—"
The fire in Morvax's eyes flared, piercing the holographic screen with pure intimidation.
"Do I sound like I am negotiating, Alaric?"
Alaric swallowed hard. Cold sweat trickled down his neck. Opposing Morvax was tantamount to suicide.
"N-no... Sir. Of course not," Alaric answered weakly, his shoulders slumping. "Please... take him."
CLICK.
The connection was cut. The screen went dark.
Alaric sat silently for a few seconds, his hands clenched trembling on the desk. Shame and rage swirled together. He was being played in his own cage.
"DAMMIT!" he shouted, slamming the table.
He stood up roughly. He had to contact Nightreaver. That killing machine was still out there. He had to order him to track where Morvax was taking the boy. He wouldn't give up just like that.
Alaric spun around quickly, his strides wide and full of emotion, intending to head for the exit to the secret communications room.
He forgot that Misaki was still standing there, silent as a statue after dusting the area behind his chair.
THUD!
Alaric's face collided with something soft yet firm.
Alaric's world briefly went dark and smelled of lavender soap. His face was fully buried into Misaki's chest which was... quite ample and prominent beneath her tight maid uniform.
Alaric stumbled back a step, tottering, his monocle nearly falling off. He stared at what he had just crashed into.
Misaki stood there, not moving an inch. Her face remained as flat as a wall, staring at Alaric from behind the lenses of her gleaming glasses.
"Oi! What the hell is this?!" Alaric snapped, his face turning beet red—not just from anger, but from the sudden embarrassment of the unexpected physical contact. "Why are you standing there like a statue, huh?! Move!"
Instead of backing away, Misaki actually took one step forward.
Her movement was slow, yet it made Alaric reflexively retreat until his back hit the edge of his own desk.
Without changing her deadpan expression, Misaki raised both hands. She placed her small but strong palms right on Alaric's chest, over his expensive robes.
Alaric froze. "W-what are you—"
Misaki squeezed. Just a little.
Her fingers gripped the fabric of the robe and a bit of Alaric's pectoral muscle beneath it. It wasn't a painful squeeze, but a squeeze that was... possessive? Checking? or just plain weird?
Alaric's eyes bulged. His pale face turned scarlet, as red as a ripe tomato.
"Y-Y-You...!" Alaric stammered, his centuries-old brain failing to process his maid's behavior. "LET GO!"
Misaki released her hands slowly. She looked Alaric right in the eye, then the corner of her lips lifted very, very slightly. A thin smile that was barely visible, yet full of meaning.
"Apologies, Master," she said in a perfect monotone. "Your heart is beating very fast. I just wanted to make sure it wouldn't explode."
She bowed respectfully, then turned and walked away with calm steps, feather duster still in hand, leaving Alaric standing petrified with a red face and mouth agape.
Alaric stared at his maid's retreating back, then touched his own chest in confusion. "Crazy maid..."
Back in the dark alley in Nyxholm.
Morvax stood over the unconscious bodies of Devon and Stormclaw. He looked down at them with the satisfaction of a collector who had just acquired a rare item.
"Alright," he muttered. "What should I do with this interesting trash?"
He thought for a moment, his skeletal finger tapping against his chin.
"Ah, right."
He turned to Liora.
"Liora," he ordered. "Contact Leviara. Tell her to prepare a cell in The Monolith."
Morvax grinned, the fire in his eyes forming a wicked crescent moon.
"Tell her... there will be a new prisoner in need of special 'education'."
Liora bowed. "Immediately, Sir."