The ruins of an abandoned chapel stood silent under the moonlight, its once-sacred walls now cracked and overgrown. Arthur paced near the broken altar, his fists clenched, his patience wearing thin.
Camila leaned against a toppled pillar, arms crossed, watching him with narrowed eyes. They had tracked Amelia's trail since morning, expecting to find her somewhere deep in the city. But they hadn't found her..
Amelia wasn't just another Sin—she was unpredictable, a storm wrapped in silk. As the Sin of Lust, she could unravel the minds of men with a whisper, turn allies against each other, and manipulate without lifting a blade.
But beneath her charm and playful facade was someone sharp, someone dangerous. If she had been captured, it wasn't because she was weak. It was because someone had planned for her downfall. And that meant whoever took her was more than just a threat—they were prepared.
"Say it again," Arthur growled, his voice like distant thunder.
Camila exhaled sharply. "The Dark Clans may have her."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Then what the hell are we doing here?"
Camila tossed a bloodstained dagger onto the stone floor. "The people who were interrogated—every single one of them—swore they don't know anything. They knew about the attack, but don't know what happened to her."
Arthur's eyes burned. "Then where is she?"
A voice from the shadows answered. "We found something."
They both turned sharply, ready for anything. A lone figure stepped into the dim light—an informant one of Amelia's men. His cloak was torn, his breathing ragged, like he had barely escaped something. His left arm was wrapped in a crude bandage, blood seeping through. His face was pale, fear clinging to him like a second skin.
Camila narrowed her eyes. "Talk."
The man swallowed hard, his gaze darting around the ruined chapel as if something might lunge at him from the darkness. "The dark Clans have her… but they were sent by someone else. Someone strong, miguel."
Arthur's eyes lit up and flickered with anger. "him".
The informant went away by Camlia's order.
The Abduction: Amelia and the Dark Clans.
The night was thick with the scent of rain, the streets of the city slick with water as Amelia walked alone. She pulled her hood lower, her crimson eyes darting to the alleys on either side of her. Something was wrong. She could feel it in the air—like a predator circling its prey.
She wasn't afraid. She was the Sin of Lust, after all. Her charm could break wills, and her power could cripple even the strongest minds. But tonight, something felt different.
A whisper slid through the air.
"You've been careless, Amelia."
She spun, summoning the seductive aura that made her irresistible, the energy wrapping around her like a veil. But the figure that stepped out of the darkness didn't falter. He was tall, cloaked in black, his violet eyes glowing under the moonlight.
"I don't recall inviting you to my evening stroll," Amelia said, forcing a smirk.
The man tilted his head. "You Sins are too used to playing games. But this time, you're the prize."
More figures emerged from the shadows. Five. No, more. They were everywhere.
Amelia took a step back. Then another. "Tch. You should've brought more."
Then she moved. Her aura surged, a wave of enthralling energy washing over them. The weak would drop to their knees, their minds clouded with desire. But these weren't weak men. The first rushed her, faster than he should have been. She dodged, her heel scraping the wet stone, but another grabbed her wrist. She twisted, breaking free, but a sharp pain shot through her shoulder. A needle.
Her vision blurred. Her limbs felt heavy.
Poison.
She staggered, trying to summon her power again, but the world tilted. A hand grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at the cloaked figure.
"Your power is impressive," he said, amusement in his tone. "But you rely on it too much."
Amelia's breath hitched. Her body refused to move. The last thing she saw was the glint of chains before the darkness swallowed her whole.
The night was restless, the weight of past battles still heavy on Arthur's mind. He and Camila had spent the last few days strategizing their next steps, but unease clung to them like a second skin. Something wasn't right.
The survivors they had rescued were scattered throughout the camp, some tending to wounds, others gathering supplies.
Amelia was still missing, and while her absence loomed over them, another concern gnawed at Camila's instincts—something hidden, something lurking beneath the surface.
Then, it happened.
A sharp cry pierced the night air. Arthur and Camila sprang into action, rushing toward the sound. In the dim glow of the campfires, they found a trembling survivor—an older man named Elias—holding his bleeding arm, eyes wide with horror.
"He… he tried to kill me," Elias stammered, pointing toward the shadows.
Following his trembling finger, Camila's eyes locked onto a figure standing at the edge of the clearing. A survivor they had taken in only days ago—Lorin. He had been quiet, unassuming, never drawing attention to himself. But now, his stance was different. Tense. Coiled. Ready to strike.
Arthur stepped forward, his voice sharp. "Lorin, what the hell is going on?"
For a moment, the man didn't move. Then, a slow smirk crept onto his face, his eyes gleaming with something dark. "You're quick," he murmured, his tone unsettlingly calm. "But not quick enough."
The air shifted.
Camila's body tensed as she recognized the signs too late. A dark aura flared around Lorin, thick and malevolent. The mark of the Dark Clans.
"You've been hiding among us," she said, fury lacing her words.
Lorin let out a chuckle, his posture relaxed but dangerous. "Of course. Do you think the Dark Clans would let you run around unchecked? Someone had to keep an eye on you."
Arthur clenched his fists. "Where is Amelia?"
Lorin's smirk widened. "Safe. For now."
The meaning behind those words sent a bolt of rage through Arthur, but Camila grabbed his wrist before he could act. They needed answers.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
Lorin tilted his head, as if amused by the question. "Oh, it's not what I want. It's what Rael wants."
At the mention of Rael, Arthur's patience snapped. In a blur of motion, he lunged.
Lorin barely had time to react. Arthur's fist crashed into his gut like a cannonball, sending him hurtling backward. But before he could hit the ground, he twisted mid-air, planting a foot into the dirt and flipping upright, skidding to a stop. He grinned, wiping blood from his lip. "Not bad," he mused. "But let's see how you handle this."
Lorin's body flickered—then he was gone. In a flash of black energy, he reappeared behind Arthur, aiming a lethal strike at his spine. Camila shouted a warning, but Arthur was faster. He ducked at the last second, countering with a spinning kick that Lorin barely dodged, the wind pressure alone ripping through the dirt beneath them.
Lorin leapt high, flipping through the air as dark tendrils of energy coiled around his arms. With a smirk, he slashed his hand downward, sending a wave of jagged black energy toward Arthur. Arthur barely managed to sidestep as the attack gouged deep trenches into the earth.
Camila charged forward, drawing her sword, her movements fluid as she slashed toward Lorin. He parried with unnatural ease, weaving between her strikes before twisting away with an acrobatic backflip.
"You two are fun," Lorin chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "No wonder Rael is keeping tabs on you.
Camila's eyes narrowed. "We're not letting you leave."
Lorin grinned. "You don't have a choice."
Then, with inhuman speed, he launched himself backward, disappearing into the shadows.
Arthur made to follow, but Camila stopped him. "No," she said, voice firm. "He's leading us into a trap."
Arthur gritted his teeth, frustration simmering beneath his skin. But she was right.
The realization settled between them—one of the survivors had been a spy all along. And now, Amelia's life hung in the balance.
They had to act fast.
The campfire crackled in the dead of night, casting flickering shadows across the dense forest. Arthur sat on a fallen log, arms crossed, staring into the flames. Across from him, Camila sharpened her sword, her expression unreadable.
"We don't have time to waste," Arthur said. "Every second we sit here, Amelia's closer to death."
Camila didn't look up. "Rushing in without a plan will get her killed even faster. And you."
Arthur clenched his jaw. She was right, but patience wasn't his strength.
Camila sheathed her sword and leaned forward. "Rael has her in the manor at the edge of the city. Heavy security, multiple entry points, and demons who won't hesitate to kill you."
Arthur's fists tightened. "Then we kill all of them."
She sighed. "That's why I'm here—to make sure you don't turn this into a massacre. We need to be smart."
Arthur exhaled sharply. "Fine. What's your plan?"
Camila pulled a rough map she got from a survivor, tracing a path with her finger. "There's a hidden passage beneath the manor, an old escape tunnel. It's guarded, but not as heavily as the main entrances. I can slip in unnoticed, take out the guards, and find Amelia's location."
"And me?" Arthur asked.
Camila smirked. "You make the distraction. Something loud. Something messy. Keep their attention on you."
Arthur grinned. "That part, I can do."
Camila's eyes hardened. "One more thing—Amelia might not be in fighting shape when we get to her. If she's weak, you carry her. No hesitation."
Arthur nodded. "Understood."
The fire crackled between them as silence settled. The plan was set. Now, all that was left was to execute it.
And for the Dark Clans to realize they had just made the worst mistake of their lives.
The manor was shrouded in a haze of dim light, the flickering candles casting jagged shadows that danced across the weathered wooden beams overhead.
The pungent aroma of sweat and stale alcohol hung heavy in the air, mingling disturbingly with a more ominous undercurrent—bloodlust. In a secluded corner of the house, far removed from the raucous laughter and the dull thud of demon's in the meeting tables, jake sat in solitary contemplation.
His piercing gaze darted around the room, keenly assessing each face, searching for potential threats, lucrative opportunities, or perhaps just a spark of intrigue to break the monotony.
And then, it caught his eye. (23)
Leaning casually against the bar, Jake—the half-demon—exuded an aura that drew stares from patrons and whispers from the wary. His lips curled into a sly smirk as he idly toyed with his drink, the crystalline glass shimmering in the dim light. Beneath the surface of the liquid, a flicker of something unnerving hinted at his extraordinary nature. His crimson eyes, glowing with a fierce intensity, seemed to absorb the shadows around him, their depth hinting at a soul burdened by both power and consequence.
Unlike the other demons who roamed the manor, lost souls drowning in a sea of alcohol and despair, Jake was a being of complexity and conflict.
He was not merely a specter of mindless fury; instead, he radiated an underlying danger that was palpable, a reminder that not all who appeared human could be trusted. In the depths of his being, the primal instincts of his heritage surged—not just a thirst for chaos, but a cunning intellect and a strategic mind, poised and waiting for the perfect moment to strike or to seize an opportunity.
In this tavern full of revelers, he was a storm waiting to unleash his fury, aware that within the chaos lay his chance for something greater.
Arthur knew it instantly.
"You keep staring like that, I might think you're in love," Jake said without turning, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. His voice was smooth, amused.
Arthur smirked. "Not love. Just wondering if I should kill you now or later."
Jake chuckled, finally turning to face him. His movements were relaxed, calculated—like a predator that knew it was at the top of the food chain. "Bold words. Are you always this friendly to strangers?"
"Strangers don't usually reek of death and mutation." Arthur's eyes narrowed. "You're something unnatural."
Jake took a slow sip from his drink before setting the glass down with a quiet clink. "And you… you're different from the rest of these worms. You carry power, but you don't seem to know what to do with it yet."
The air between them grew heavier, a silent battle of wills taking place before a single move was made.
"You're in my way," Arthur finally said.
Jake tilted his head. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing."
And just like that, the tension shattered. The wooden table between them cracked as Arthur lunged first, his fist slicing through the air with deadly precision. But Jake was faster than he looked. He twisted away, his body shifting unnaturally mid-motion, avoiding the blow with inhuman fluidity.
The tavern exploded into chaos as people scrambled to get away. Chairs flew, glasses shattered, but Arthur and Jake only had eyes for each other. This wasn't just a fight. This was something deeper. An inevitability.
One of them had to fall.
And neither of them planned on being the first.