Dawn broke slowly through the forest, sunlight spilling in golden rays between the trees. The air was cool, crisp, heavy with dew. Naro, Markus, and Elara stirred from their mist-hidden camp, stretching out stiff muscles after a surprisingly restful night.
"Another day and we're still here" Markus muttered, rubbing his eyes, "And today you want us to not get into a single fight. I'm starting to feel like we're dodging the whole contest." He glanced at Naro.
"That's the point," Naro said calmly as he clinched his dagger to his belt. "You'll thank me when we're still standing at the end."
Elara hummed cheerfully, brushing her hair back into a loose knot. "I agree with Naro. You can frown all you want, Markus, but I like being alive. Alive and in the competition."
Markus groaned. "Fine, fine. But at least let me hit something today."
And fate answered him, not with an enemy—but with prey.
While trekking deeper into the woods, Naro's sharp eyes caught movement through the undergrowth: a small herd of deer grazing near a clearing, unaware of their presence.
He crouched low, signaling the others. "Food."
Markus's expression lit up instantly. "Finally! Something to chase."
Elara grinned, lowering her voice to a playful whisper. "Don't scare them off this time, Markus. Remember the rabbit yesterday?"
Markus scowled. "That rabbit cheated. I slipped."
Naro ignored them, already planning. "There are five of them. We only need one. Markus, circle left and drive them toward us. Elara, when they scatter, use your mist to cut off their sight. I'll finish it."
Elara gave a mocking salute. "Yes, commander."
Markus cracked his knuckles. "Finally, a plan I like."
The hunt began.
Markus crept through the trees, then broke into a sudden charge, shouting loudly to spook the deer. The startled animals bolted, hooves thundering against the forest floor. Elara's mist rolled out, thick and sudden, covering their path and confusing the herd. They split apart in panic, blinded.
One deer stumbled right into Naro's path.
In a swift, practiced motion, his dagger flashed—clean, efficient, merciful. The deer dropped instantly.
The rest of the herd vanished into the forest, leaving only silence behind.
Markus emerged, breathless and grinning. "Ha! Did you see that? I drove them right into you. Perfect teamwork."
Elara clapped softly, her mist dissipating. "That was smoother than I expected. Almost fun."
Naro knelt by the fallen deer, his expression unreadable. He murmured something under his breath—too low for them to catch—before hoisting the deer onto his shoulders with ease.
"Let's head back," he said.
By nightfall, they had returned to their hidden camp. Markus set about making a small fire while Elara cleaned the area, humming quietly. Naro skinned and prepared the deer with steady hands, his movements precise and efficient.
At last, the meat sizzled over the flames, releasing a mouthwatering aroma that filled the camp.
Elara's eyes widened. "Naro… this smells incredible! I never knew you could cook!"
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "My aunt taught me. We used to cook together all the time. She insisted I learn."
Markus leaned over the fire, sniffing dramatically. "Mmmmmm, I'm starving already. Hurry up, chef, before I eat my own arm."
Elara giggled, settling beside the fire. "See, Markus? Hiding all day does have benefits. If we were out fighting, we'd be eating dirt instead of this feast."
Markus rolled his eyes, though his stomach growled loud enough for everyone to hear. "Alright, alright. You win."
When Naro finally served the roasted meat, the sight alone made Markus's eyes widen. Juices dripped, the edges perfectly crisp.
"Oh, this looks way too good," Markus said, practically drooling. "I could marry this deer."
Elara laughed as she took a portion. "Don't talk with your mouth full"
They dug in eagerly, laughter and warmth spilling into the night as the fire crackled.
But when Markus offered a piece to Naro, he only shook his head.
"Not hungry" Naro said quietly, his tone flat.
Elara paused, tilting her head. "You're the one who cooked it. You have to try at least one bite."
Naro's hand brushed his chest, almost absently. "Later. For now, just eat."
Markus frowned. "You feeling sick?"
Naro's eyes flickered to the shadows beyond the firelight. "Yeah.."
Elara's smile faltered for the first time that night. But she didn't press.
Instead, she leaned closer to Markus and whispered, "He's hiding something."
Markus whispered back, grinning through his mouthful. "Yeah, but if it means more food for us, I won't complain."
The fire crackled, laughter returned, but Naro sat quietly, staring into the flames, his untouched portion cooling by his side
…
In a pitch–black cave, the sound of dripping water echoed like a heartbeat.
Drop… drop… drop…
Cold droplets struck the forehead of a sleeping beauty, stirring her awake. Her lashes trembled, and she blinked slowly, disoriented.
Elara.
Her breath hitched, fogging the freezing air. "Huh… wh-where am I…?"
The chill gnawed into her bones, raising goosebumps across her bare skin. Her clothes were gone, replaced by nothing but the bite of icy air. Her mind was hazy, fogged as though dragged through some nightmare—but the moment clarity returned, panic flooded her veins.
Her arms and legs were bound tight by coarse rope, biting into her skin, raw and unyielding. The realization struck her chest like a hammer.
Her scream tore through the cave, echoing into the endless dark.
"HEY! WHO DID THIS!? UNTIE ME NOW!"
Her voice came back to her, distorted by the cavern walls, mocking her helplessness. Her chest heaved, each breath a visible puff of mist in the suffocating cold.
Then—footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
From the veil of shadows, a figure emerged.
A man.
The firelight of her imagination seemed to etch him in cruel detail: lean muscles shifting beneath skin like carved stone, his long black hair bound tightly back, yet strands fell like dark threads across his face. His expression was a mask of winter itself—void of warmth, void of pity. His eyes… his eyes… spiraled endlessly into a darkness that felt alive, devouring, bottomless like an abyss.
Elara's heart stopped. Her throat tightened, but she forced out a trembling cry:
"…N-Naro? Is that you? Help me, quick! Someone tied me here!"
Her voice cracked, desperation trembling in every word. "Ah—Markus! Markus could be in trouble too! We have to—"
But she stopped.
Her gaze locked on something in Naro's hand. A shape, round… heavy… dripping.
Her blood ran cold.
He stepped closer, shadows coiling around him as though the cave itself bent to his presence. His grip tightened—and with no pause, no hesitation—he threw it towards her feet.
The wet thud of flesh against stone rang out, and the object rolled into the pale wash of dripping light.
Elara's pupils shrank to pin size.
It was Markus's head. His lifeless eyes frozen wide in terror, his mouth twisted into a final, silent scream. Blood still trickled from the torn stump of his neck, dark red blood seeping into the cracks of the cave floor.
The stench of iron hit her nose.
Her scream this time was broken, raw—ripped straight from her soul.
And Naro just stood there in silence, his abyssal eyes watching her unravel.
She froze. Her mind in shambles, trying to process what the hell was happening. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps.
Then, a sound broke from her lips—laughter.
It was wrong, broken, hollow. Hysterical giggles erupted from her chest, climbing higher and higher until they echoed through the cave like the shriek of something unhinged. Her laughter fractured into sobs, tears streaking down her pale cheeks, shimmering under the faint drops of cave water.
"This—this must be a nightmare," she choked between gasps, her voice trembling with madness. "A very, very bad nightmare… no way… no way Naro would do such a thing… r-right? Right…?"
Her words weren't spoken to him anymore, but to herself—clinging to something that wasn't there, clawing at the remnants of sanity slipping through her fingers.
The figure moved closer. Step by step, deliberate, merciless.
Naro.
The cave seemed to shrink as he approached her broken form, the darkness swallowing everything except her trembling body and his looming presence.
He crouched down before her. The shadows kissed his face, making his black abyssal eyes seem even darker.
He reached out.
His cold, calloused hand slid against her hands. The contrast of his touch against her trembling fingers silenced her hysteria in an instant. The laughter died. The sobbing stopped.
Her wide, reddened eyes met his. Her nose and cheeks flushed with raw pink from crying. Strands of damp hair clung to her face. For a moment she looked almost childlike, fragile, clinging to some shred of hope that this touch meant comfort, meant safety.
But then—
Snap.
A wet, sickening tear of flesh.
Naro ripped one of her fingernails clean off.
Elara's body shook. A scream ripped through her throat, guttural and raw, echoing endlessly off the stone. It wasn't just pain—it was torment, disbelief, betrayal.
Her scream cracked into sobbing, every nerve alight with agony. Her chest heaved, tears flooding down her cheeks, mixing with the blood smeared across her hand.
Naro seemed utterly dead inside—his face was void of expression, a hollow vessel of cruelty. Her cries, her shrieks, her desperate begging—none of it reached him. They were nothing more than background noise to his work.
Snap.
Another fingernail ripped free, blood spurting from the tender flesh.
Snap. Snap.
Her body shook even more, every nerve screaming, her voice ragged from the endless shrieking.
Snap.
The last nail came loose, flung to the ground with the rest. The cave floor glittered faintly with broken fragments of nails, each piece soaked in her blood.
Elara's voice cracked into hoarse, broken sobs. "S-stop… plea… p-please, Naro… w-we're a team, remember? Markus, you, me… w-we promised…"
But her words only fed the void.
For Naro, this was no random cruelty. This was a ritual. Every shred of pain, every drop of blood, every broken scream was nourishment for the Piercing Blood Nyx he was shaping. The more her mind shattered, the deeper her trauma, the stronger the Nyx would become.
He already had Markus's heart of betrayal, carved out while it still beat with hatred and confusion. Now, with Elara's heart—the one that trusted him, loved him, shone so bright—he could forge a Nyx unlike any other. A rank 4 Piercing Blood Nyx.
Naro dragged a blade across her back, slow, deliberate. Flesh split apart, rivers of red trailing down her skin. She howled, body thrashing against the ropes, but her restraints held firm.
And then—he reached deeper.
With unflinching precision, he cut her open, severing flesh and bone. Her body spasmed, blood pouring like a fountain. He pulled free her lungs—still expanding, still heaving, desperate for air—and placed them upon her exposed back like grotesque ornaments.
Each breath she drew whistled and gurgled, a horrific wheeze echoing through the cave.
Her mind began to crack.
The agony was too vast, too suffocating. It drowned out thought, drowned out reason. Her screams dulled, becoming faint, broken sobs.
Her lips trembled. "We… we were supposed to win… together… you, Markus… me…"
Her voice broke into silence.
Her pupils dilated, lost in a haze of insanity. Her thoughts spiraled inward, replaying only fragments of memory—Markus laughing too loud, her cheering for Naro, the three of them.. at the end, winning the battle royale. The dream of victory.
Now all that was left was pain.
And Naro.
Only Naro.
Her world became nothing but his face. The shadow, the tormentor, the betrayer, the only anchor left in her shattered reality. Death.
Her heart was ready.
Naro's actions were not born of impulse, nor madness, but of design. Every movement, every cruelty he inflicted carried meaning. His heart had long since rotted into numbness—three hundred years of chains, three hundred years of unending torment, three hundred years of watching freedom forever slip through his fingers. What had once been a man was now something else entirely.
Naro had discarded the burden of feelings. Love, loyalty, pity, and grief—he had hollowed himself of them all. His soul had been dyed in the color of cruelty, his spirit hardened into black iron. The art of not caring was no longer a mask; it had fused into his very bones.
Power was the only truth. Power was the only key. And if it demanded mountains of corpses and rivers of blood, then so be it. The world had chosen to make him a demon—he had simply embraced it.
True evil did not beg for recognition, nor parade itself with grand speeches. It existed because it must, because the balance of the world required it. A demon had no place in heaven, nor in the earth below. A demon was exile, rebellion, destruction incarnate. To become such a being was to accept damnation freely, and yet still walk forward without hesitation.
Naro's eyes, cold and depthless, turned skyward, piercing the stone ceiling of the cave as if seeing beyond. "If this world cannot contain me, then I shall rise above it."
In his mind, he did not see himself as a man, nor as a beast. He envisioned the moon itself—cold, eternal, unyielding. He would become the true moon, ascending above mountains and heavens, a solitary sovereign of the night. He would toy with clouds, command the seas, and stride in darkness where no immortal dared step. If the heavens claimed dominion over light, then Naro would seize dominion over shadow.
To him, life and death were nothing more than the flow of nature's tide. All living beings were equal, equally fragile, equally doomed. A prince's body rotted no differently than a beggar's. The squeal of a pig at slaughter was no less tragic than a king's final gasp. In the silence of the grave, all crowns turned to dust.
And so Naro walked deeper into the path of blood, knowing full well what it meant. He was no hero, no savior, no chosen one. He was the shadow that stalked behind the world's history, the blade that severed both tyrant and lamb with the same indifference.
The heavens could curse his name, the earth could tremble beneath his steps, but it would not change the truth.
He had chosen his path.
And that path was paved in screams, blood, and silence.