Winston finished burying the body and finally made his way back to his apartment. His legs ached, blisters forming on his heels from the long trek between his home and the distant field. He hadn't planned on getting a ride—hadn't even considered it. The thought of explaining himself to a stranger, of making small talk while blood still stained his conscience, seemed impossible. He simply walked, one foot in front of the other, as the hours crawled by. The sun had shifted across the sky by the time he reached his building, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror the darkness settling in his chest. He opened the door with trembling hands and closed it behind him, leaning against it for a moment to catch his breath.
Sin grabbed cleaning supplies from the hall closet, his movements mechanical, almost detached. He had learned long ago to compartmentalize, to push away the questions that threatened to overwhelm him. He made his way to Winston's room, where the evidence of violence still lingered like a ghost. The bamboo stick had vanished—Winston must have disposed of it—but the blood remained. So much blood. Sin steeled himself and got to work, forcing his mind to go blank. The process proved tedious and nauseating. Dried pieces of blood clung to the floor and walls, and somehow—impossibly—even to the ceiling. He tried not to think about how it had gotten there, tried not to imagine the force required to send droplets that high. The fresh splatters were easier; he could simply wipe those away with quick, efficient strokes. The dried patches required scrubbing, his knuckles turning white as he worked the cloth back and forth, his shoulders burning with the effort. Eventually, he managed to get the room as clean as possible. A few faint stains remained on the walls, but they were small—barely noticeable. Standing five feet back, he could hardly see them at all. He'd done a good job, he told himself, though the reassurance felt hollow. At least in his own eyes, he'd done well enough.
A car suddenly pulled into the driveway, the sound of tires on gravel making him freeze. Sin left the room and walked toward the front door, his heart quickening with each step. He opened it and watched as a young man stepped out of the vehicle. He had sleek black hair and wore dark blue clothing that seemed to shimmer in the afternoon light, the fabric expensive and well-tailored. His brown eyes held an unusual intensity, as though he could see straight through him, and his face possessed a delicate quality, as though crafted and painted by the world's most gifted artist. The man approached him with measured steps and extended his hand.
"You're Sin, right?" he said, his voice smooth and confident.
Sin studied him warily, keeping his hands at his sides. "Yeah, I'm Sin." He noticed his gaze lingering on his eyes, examining them with an almost clinical interest. "Those red eyes look strange. I assume you're from the Demon family?"
Sin repeated, confusion flickering across his face, "The one?" He had never heard of a Demon family before. What was this stranger talking about? His pulse quickened with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
The man smiled, a knowing expression that made him uneasy. "Oh, you've yet to learn. My apologies." He spoke as though explaining something obvious to a child. "The Demon family is a bloodline distinguished by distinct red eyes and demonic combat abilities—an old martial arts form, you understand."
Sin wasn't from any Demon family, though. The claim felt absurd. Everyone in his family had some trace of red in their eyes—blue with a hint of red, brown with a touch of red, black with red undertones, even green with red flecks—but never fully red. Never completely crimson like his had become. That change had happened recently, and he still didn't understand why.
"I'm not who you think I am," Sin said carefully, choosing his words with precision. "My family has somewhat distinct eyes, yes. We still have the usual colors—brown, blue, and so forth—but we only have a hint of red. Our eyes aren't fully red like you seem to believe."
The man looked genuinely surprised, his composure faltering for the first time. His eyebrows drew together as he studied his face more closely. "But your eyes—they're completely red. So I just assumed—that you were from the Demon family. My apologies." He took a step back, looking almost embarrassed. "I'll leave you alone."
The man turned and went back to his car, the engine purring to life as he drove away, leaving Sin standing in the doorway with more questions than answers.
What in the world? The Demon family? Sin closed the door and rushed up to his room, his mind racing. He grabbed his computer and opened it with shaking hands. He went to the internet and searched for the Demon family. Results flooded his screen. It was a lineage of family members who trained disciples who wished to join their ranks and learn the demon arts. The skills were listed on various websites—Demon Slash, which allowed someone to swipe at an opponent with demon energy infused in the strike. That was another thing Sin didn't know about: demon energy. So vampiric abilities existed, Shadow anomalies existed, and now demon energy? Sin continued searching through forums online, Google, Reddit—anything he could find. He didn't even notice how much time had passed. He had forgotten how long it had been. He hadn't even known that the Demon family existed. He had thought that the world he lived in was pretty normal. Turns out it wasn't as normal as he had believed. The revelation shook his understanding of reality itself.
Sin closed the computer after reading through dozens of moves and facts about demon energy. He put his computer away and sat down on his bed, his head spinning. This is mind-shattering, he thought.
A system message suddenly appeared in his vision. Instead of the usual black background with white text, this one had a red background with black text that seemed to pulse with energy.
You have learned about the Demon family and the demon energy that runs through your veins. New quest available: Learn more about your bloodline.
Sin's eyes widened. Demon blood inside him? He didn't even come from that family, so why in the world would he have demon blood inside him? But then again, he was a Shadow vampire being, so maybe the abilities correlated somehow. Learning about his bloodline—was there something he didn't know about his family's history?
Long-term quest, he read at the bottom of the notification. It was a long-term quest, meaning he had plenty of time to complete it. He dismissed the notification with a wave of his hand. I'll set this quest aside for now, Sin thought. I have to watch my back just in case more of those people come around.
He paused, remembering the man with white clothing and the watch. Now that he thought about it, what was the watch even used for? He just wore it, and then—well, he had killed him. Or rather, his body had while he watched helplessly from within. The watch was still on his hand when he buried him, so it might still be there, underground. The revelation terrified him. The watch—he didn't know what it did. He didn't know if it was a communicator, a tracker, or something far worse. All he knew was that he needed to get that watch and destroy it for good before anyone else came looking.
A few hundred miles away, six feet underground, the dead man's watch suddenly lit up with a soft blue glow.
"Hello?" a voice said through the watch's speaker. "Edward, do you copy?"
There was no answer except the silence of the grave.
"Edward, do you copy?" the voice grew louder, more insistent.
Still nothing.
"No. Is he dead?" The voice paused, processing the implications. "Of course someone like him failed, but I didn't expect him to die. Good thing I placed a tracker on that watch. I'm going to come find them myself."
The watch cut off, its light fading back into darkness.
A few miles away, in an underground facility, a man stood up from his chair, his jaw clenched with determination. "Can't believe Edward is dead. Looks like I'll have to do the job myself." He shook his head, a bitter smile crossing his face. "You know what they say—if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. And I guess that's what I'll have to do."
He grabbed fresh black clothing from a locker and dressed quickly, the fabric engineered for stealth and combat. Around his waist, he clipped multiple gadgets—goggles, circular devices, guns, strange pointed objects that resembled instruments of torture. His reflection in the mirror showed cold confidence as he smirked.
"Edward underestimated him," the man said, checking his weapons one final time. "I won't make the same mistake."
He climbed the stairs to the surface, every step deliberate, every breath controlled. Somewhere in the darkness above, his target waited.
The hunt had begun.