The silver moon hung high in the sky, spilling its pale slight across the Mountains of Girnili as the mercury is itself spilled over the ridges and forests below, making the land shimmer faintly in the still night.
At the heart of that mountain stood an old mansion which felt vast and ancient, and was hidden beneath thick layers of trees. Its walls were cracked, yet it breathed an eerie stillness, as if time itself dared not disturb it.
From the distance, a flock of crows flew across the sky. Their feathers shimmered in shades of white and black, their crimson eyes glowing faintly. The rhythm of their wings whispered through the night, soft and haunting like the quiet hymn of a fallen angel.
As they neared the mansion, the flock descended silently, gathering behind the trees a few hundred meters away from the mansion. Then, as if following a silent command, they merged into one form.
A tall figure stood where the crows had been—a man with middle lengthed white hair, eyes glowing a pure crimson. A white cloak draped over his body, swaying gently with the wind. He lifted his hand, running a finger across his lips to wipe away a thin trail of blood, and his faint smile curved into something unreadable.
And at the same time, inside the mansion, an old man sat near a sharpening stone, slowly grinding the edge of a knife. The sound of metal scraping against rock echoed faintly in the dim room.
Suddenly, his hands stopped. His eyes flickered, lost its colour—then turned pure red.
Elsewhere, in another room, a man lay on a bed with a woman, their bodies tangled under dim light. But in the next instant, both of their eyes snapped open, turned colourless and then... glowing the same deep, crimson hue.
The silence that followed felt heavier than the darkness itself.
Meanwhile at the same time a group of masked figures ran toward the mansion from tree to tree, led by a single figure with the expressions hidden under the mask and wore red gloves.
…
Genuinely speaking, Ibaan had a feeling of fear growing in his heart constantly despite his status in the group, yet he hid it beneath the mask.
Just as they reached near it, Ibaan stopped—and so did the others.
Slightly turning back toward Selpe, he ordered, "We'll split into two groups. One will go from the back, the other from the front. Take three with you and move ahead."
To be honest, he was really making a smart move and had a solid plan.
As of now, he didn't care whether Selpe lived or died—yes, he really didn't care yet, and he supposed neither did she.
Even so, she was stronger and could easily confront or attack from the front. Although they were unaware of the enemy's capabilities, but Ibaan had gathered some information about the powerhouses of the Iron Knuckles from the Bookmarks—there were four IronKnuckles, who would take almost their entire time to deal with.
Knuckles was the name everyone carried, each one distinguished by their rank and number that showed their strength and position. The highest among them were the Iron Knuckles, followed by the Upper Knuckles, and lastly, the Lower Knuckles.
They were known for their boldness—never surrendering in battle, no matter the odds. Even when facing opponents far stronger than themselves, they would fight to the very end, only accepting death after giving everything they had.
Which, Ibaan thought, would make things even more troublesome. Because with that dedication they would definitely make the opponent atleast fear of the name and remember it.
But still, he had an advantage—the True Gaze. With its help, he could turn anyone into his puppet regardless of their strength, for it was the gaze of the Dead Eye of the Fallens. However, there was always a price to pay. To use this power, he had to endure all the emotions and memories of the person he controlled.
But there was no choice; he had to endure everything in this world.
Selpe nodded and moved ahead along with three members—Love, Compassion, and Truth.
He was left with Passion, Solitude, and Dreams.
Without wasting time, they moved toward the back of the mansion.
…
They studied the walls.
The backside wall stood tall—ancient, rusty, and cracked—perhaps due to the natural disasters.
There was a small balcony a few meters above the base of the wall—maybe that was their way in.
*
Meanwhile, Selpe led her group to the front gate of the mansion. It stood broken and rusty, radiating an ancient aura.
Just then, to their surprise, a figure emerged from the shadows of the gate, twisting and forming into a man holding a tree's branch like rope with sharp spikes on it.
The Second Upper Knuckle, Shen De Weather.
He smiled creepily and said, "Oh, we have guests!"
He swung the branches through the air in wave-like patterns, its edges glinting faintly. "May I know how I can help you?"
"Oh wait, I know how I can help you," he continued, his tone playful yet dark.
Selpe stepped back, letting the branch slice through nothing but air.
Then, in a flash, she vanished from her spot and appeared just behind the gate.
But the moment she landed, a sharp pain shot through her body. She froze—confused, unaware of what had just happened.
She hadn't realized that the mansion was protected by a barrier. By breaking through it without the owner's permission, she had defied the law of nature—and was now paying the price.
Even so, she was a Class A student of the Master Branch and stood at the level of the Sanctified.
The man turned his gaze toward her, his smile fading into a dark, twisted expression. A moment later, he felt a sharp pain in his neck—but then that eerie smile returned.
Bubbles formed at the wound where Selpe had cut him, and within seconds, the injury vanished as if it had never been there.
"Interesting," he murmured.
*
The leader—Saint of Dusk—and the others climbed the cracked wall, reaching the balcony.
'He doesn't really feel like the president… but the president could have concealed it also,' Charlie thought as he stepped onto the balcony floor.
The leader cautiously approached the door and slowly pushed it open. The hinges screeched, the sound slicing through the silence.
Charlie flinched slightly—he had always hated horror movies, though his sister loved them.
Movies could be watched either on the communicators or on the large watcher devices known as televisions.
The movies marketing was getting famous day by day and mostly ordinary humans whi neither belonged to any clan nor had awakened any Mark mostly took part in it, and even watched it. But others were also indulged in this but not as much as the ordinary humans.
Anyway, it was difficult to focus on current situation, so tried his hardest to push all of the unwanted thoughts aside.
'Damn!'
The leader stepped into the room and just then suddenly froze, as if taking one step back.
…
Everyone's face darkened—ofcourse hidden by the masks—just as what they saw next to the leader.
Something terrible...
Something that shouldn't have been seen...