The moon hung low in the night sky, casting pale silver light across the quiet expanse of the training grounds.
Shadows stretched long and jagged, yet one figure stood resolute amidst the darkness, untouched by hesitation or fatigue.
A man with crimson hair that flowed like molten fire in the night wind, reaching all the way down to his waist, stood tall and proud.
His eyes, a striking, almost unnatural scarlet.
Gleamed with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the very shadows around him.
Loose fitting black pants draped comfortably around his legs, oversized around the thighs and hips, allowing freedom of movement without constriction.
The pants were simple, but with every subtle ripple of motion, they suggested power restrained and honed.
His bare chest and arms caught the moonlight, the contours of his muscles carved as though sculpted by some divine hand.
His body radiated a dangerous energy, the kind of aura that whispered of raw, unyielding force and lethal intent.
Around him, crimson tinted cursed energy swirled, coiling and writhing like living serpents.
Every breath he drew seemed to vibrate through the air, a silent declaration of his dominance.
Sharp, elongated nails glinted like crimson claws on both his hands and feet.
Chains, dark and intricate, wrapped partially around his torso, arms, and legs — their purpose unknown, yet they pulsed faintly, resonating with his cursed energy as if bound to the very essence of his power.
Despite the intensity, there was a strange, almost magnetic beauty to him.
His features were perfectly balanced, strong jawline, high cheekbones, and eyes that burned with confidence and experience.
Yet beneath that beauty lurked something far more dangerous, the aura of a predator, honed over years of relentless training, tempered by cunning and instinct.
Every heartbeat, every exhalation carried weight.
The pressure emanating from him was murderous, undeniable, making the night air itself seem denser, heavier.
The ground beneath him, though untouched, seemed to quiver with his presence.
And then, from the shadows behind, a single clap echoed softly, deliberate and calm.
"Well done,"
Came a voice, smooth and measured, tinged with both pride and approval.
"You've done well… truly surpassed my expectations."
Geto stepped forward, the faint smile on his lips betraying nothing of the countless calculations running through his mind.
His gaze swept over Roy, the boy he had first taken in years ago, now fully grown, now something far beyond what even he had imagined.
Roy turned slightly, crimson hair catching the moonlight, eyes meeting Geto's with a quiet acknowledgment.
There was no need for words.
Years of training, hardship, guidance, and decisions, every step, every trial, every ounce of energy, had led to this moment.
A faint, almost imperceptible ripple of satisfaction passed through Geto.
'This is what I hoped for,'
He thought.
'Not just power… but control. Not just strength… but awareness.'
Roy's chains rattled softly as he shifted, the crimson energy around him pulsing in tandem with his heartbeat.
Though he stood alone under the moonlight, his presence seemed to dominate the entire world.
A predator in its prime, a force honed through fire and shadow.
And Geto knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever came next, whether friend or foe, challenge or battle, this young man would no longer be easily contained.
The night was silent again, save for the faint sound of Roy's controlled breathing and the whispering of cursed energy in the air.
The stage was set, the player ready, and the world, unknowingly would soon feel the impact of the crimson storm standing beneath the moonlight.