Akira's vision blurred in and out, his hands trembling as Charles lay sprawled across the floor, desperately gasping for air-his organs spilling from a gaping wound in his stomach.
"W-what... what was I trying to do? This isn't real... so why did I even try to save him? I couldn't even see the attack..." Akira mumbled weakly, voice cracking.
Morvain stood silent and motionless, his face hollow, like every emotion had drained from his soul.
"His death served a great cause," the priest's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Morvain's eyes twitched-then burned with fury as he saw the priest's satisfied grin. His fist clenched so tight that blood began to drip from his palm, coating his hand until it solidified into a dark, blood-forged gauntlet.
"You... monster," Morvain growled, teeth grinding. "I'll kill you!"
He lunged forward and drove his fist into the priest's jaw, sending a shockwave through the air. The priest staggered slightly, yet not a single bruise marked his face.
"Morvain," he said calmly, almost disappointed. "Is something wrong?"
No answer. Only Morvain's ragged breath as he struck again-then again-each blow landing harder than the last. The ground quaked as he seized the priest by the collar and hurled him through the orphanage wall.
Morvain began to march forward, but froze mid-step. His eyes widened. His hands... were mangled beyond recognition.
"I thought we were family," a voice echoed inside his head.
Morvain looked up-the priest stood before him, completely unharmed.
"Last I checked," the priest said coldly, "families don't beat each other. You will be punished."
Morvain's arm twitched, bones snapping back into place as he tried to counter with an uppercut-
Slash.
Blood sprayed like rain. His arm flew several meters away.
"This is your last warning," the priest murmured.
Morvain didn't stop. He swung with his remaining hand-
Psshhh.
Blood gushed from his body as holes appeared across his chest, shoulder, and knee. He stumbled, barely standing. The priest's lips curled into a sadistic grin.
"One of us must surely die here!" Morvain roared as blood tendrils burst from his ruined arm-
-but before he could move, more holes tore through his body. Three through the abdomen, one through the neck. His eyes dimmed.
"And it won't be me," the priest said softly, shoving Morvain's lifeless body aside.
Akira watched, paralyzed, as the priest turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing into the distance.
Time passed. Silence hung heavy. Akira curled against the wall, knees to his chest.
"Why am I still here?" he whispered. "Do you want me to watch them decay?"
The faint sound of something dragging across the floor reached his ears. Akira turned-and froze.
Morvain, half-dead, was crawling toward Charles, his blood leaving a dark trail behind him.
Akira stared, frozen, as Morvain dragged himself across the sand toward Charles. Each pull of his body looked like it tore him in two. At last he reached the boy and collapsed beside him, sweat and blood mixing on his face. Tears slipped free.
"Why did you come back...? You should've gone on," Morvain rasped, voice ragged.
Charles' breaths were shallow and jagged. Morvain coughed, a wet, defeated sound. "I failed... I wanted peace, but I brought death to an innocent child. I'm sorry." His vision blurred; the world tilted.
Morvain's hand shook as he ripped his shirt and pressed the shredded fabric to his own wound, then rested his wounded arm over Charles' mouth. "Drink. Live. Be better than me-all of you." He managed a small, brittle smile, then exhaled his last breath.
Akira looked to Charles-no movement. No sound. "Was it too late?" he whispered to himself, panic flaring. He scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly. "Isn't this enough? Why show me all this? Why not let me out?" He crumpled to the floor, the question scraping out of him like a sob.
A faint rustle pulled him back. He turned. Against all odds, Charles was standing-shirt soaked red, a long scar across his midriff-hoisting Morvain's limp body onto his shoulders. His face was a mask: pain, grief, and a hard, raw anger barely contained. He stumbled to the trapdoor and shoved it open.
"He's going to break," Akira murmured. "The kids are going to be devastated."
Charles paused, sniffing the air. "Blood," he said simply, and dropped Morvain's weight. Then he ran.
Light spilled at the end of the tunnel. What met him froze him in place: the other children lay collapsed on the floor, pools of blood beneath them. Diana clutched two of the smaller kidscradling them as blood oozed from their backs. Faces turned toward the horror-whispered fragments of shock and grief floated through the room.
"Are those-his family?" one voice asked.
"Looks like an Elder faction did this," another replied.
"No one could've stopped it," someone else said, voice hollow.
Charles' breath hitched. Rage combusted under his skin. "Those damn bastards," he snarled, teeth bared. "I'll drag every last one of you to hell!" He raked his fingers through his hair and began pounding the floor with his fists.
Akira watched, transfixed. His anger-it's like a mirror. Every slam of Charles' knuckles sent a ghost-ache through Akira's own hands, as if he were the one striking the earth. He wanted to step in, to hold him, to soothe-yet everything was an illusion, and perhaps it wasn't his right to do so. He could only watch the boy he'd seen as fragile become something frightening and terrible.
In the outskirts of the city, Charles stood alone as the wind swept past him.
Morvain and the children lay together on a bed of dry bushes. A lighter trembled in his hand.
He drew in a long breath... then flicked the flame and tossed it.
The fire caught instantly, spreading in slow, hungry waves until the bodies were swallowed by orange and gold. Smoke rose, twisting into the crimson sky.
"I can't bear to watch this," Akira whispered, voice cracking.
"I can't imagine," another voice said softly behind him, "a child standing so still while he burns his only family."
Charles turned slightly. A man approached, flanked by two vampires-one tall and grim, the other a small girl about Charles's age who clung to his side.
"Get lost," Charles muttered.
"Quite the fierce one," the man replied with a faint, approving smile. "I see you've also suffered under the Elders' cruelty."
Charles's eyes burned red in the glow of the fire. "Do you want to laugh at me too?"
The man raised his hands defensively and stepped back. "Not at all. I'm here to offer something different." He paused, letting the fire crackle between them.
"I'm gathering those broken by the Elders-to tear their order down."
Charles turned to them. "Two men and a little girl-how do you plan to bring down the Elders' order?" he asked, voice low.
The man chuckled. "Not just the three of us. We're larger than you think. You wouldn't believe how many want the Elders' heads."
"And how many of them can kill an Elder?" Charles asked bluntly.
Silence stretched. Charles' face went cold. "Then don't waste my time." He began to walk away.
"Wait!" the man called.
Charles stopped but didn't look back.
"You know the story of Dracula?" the man asked.
"Yes," Charles replied, eyes still on the flames.
"We're searching for the coffin he was sealed in," the man said.
"And what do you need it for?" Charles asked.
The man's smile widened. "Patience." He stepped closer, voice low. "Human blood nourishes. But drinking the blood of a vampire far stronger than you.... especially the remains of one like Dracula supercharges your mana. Even ash and bone have potency. Consume those parts and you shortcut your way past training straight into the ranks of the Elders, or beyond."
"You're insane," Charles muttered, continuing toward the road.
"Or pragmatic," the man cut in. "Train for centuries and maybe you'll crawl into D-tier. Or try to take the Horns' blood and die under their wrath without a single drop. Right now, what you call insanity is the only sane option."
Charles glanced at the girl. "What's your name?"
"Rebecca Sinclair," she said, voice small but fierce.
"And what did the Elders do to you?" Charles pressed.
"They smeared my parents as traitors, destroyed our business, had them executed, and sold me into hell," Rebecca answered, fingers clenched over her chest.
Charles turned back to the man. "I'll join but on one condition."
"You're not in a position to demand conditions," the man said, but he listened.
"Keep Rebecca out of the revolt," Charles said bluntly.
Rebecca bristled. "Who do you think you are?" she snapped.
Charles ignored her. "Keep her and the children away from the planning. Let them have what's left of a childhood. If, when they're grown, they choose to fight, let them choose."
The man laughed softly. "You speak like an old man. Fine.... what do you offer in return?"
"Myself," Charles said simply. "I will devote my life to finding Dracula's coffin and to bringing down the Elders."
They stared. Lucian's grin sharpened. "Bold. How do I know you won't fade, some years from now?"
Charles ground his teeth. Blood welled at his fist as the pain formed into a crude dagger of will-he drove it into his left eye.
Rebecca gasped. The two men were stunned.
Charles bit through the agony and hissed, blood spilling down his cheek. "I will do anything to see those Elders' heads at my feet," he said, voice raw the priest's face flashing through his mind with every word.
"Enough," the man snapped, pulling Charles back from the edge.
"Welcome to the Revolution. I'm Lucian; this is Lucas." Lucian extended a hand, no longer hiding the satisfied grin.
Charles took it. Their palms met, a pact sealed in blood. His wounded eye began to close, then knit; his pain was swallowed by a cold, bright clarity. Hate settled into the map of his face like a new scar-and, with it, purpose.