Sophia stood motionless, staring at the rain pouring violently over the cathedral roof, as if the sky itself was trying to wash away the sins of the place. She no longer distinguished the sounds around her—everything seemed to fade and drift away.
Her mind was like a beehive—loud and chaotic. Her face suddenly paled, and her eyes widened, as if she remembered something lost in the chaos of events.
"Don't tell me… that person is the same one I spoke to about the cathedral? The one blinded by insight near the crimson lamp…" Her words came slowly, heavy with shock and confusion.
She looked at her hands, which trembled slightly. She wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the heavy feeling gnawing at her chest.
"Even though I killed him… I don't feel victorious."
She lifted her head toward the sky, watching the moon that stubbornly resisted being hidden by the clouds. Her eyes gleamed—not with pride, but with uncertainty.
"So… in the end, it wasn't demonic spirits that haunted the cathedral?" she said softly, a hidden disappointment in her tone. "And why did that man try to keep people away from it? What was he afraid of?"
She fell silent for a moment, then muttered as if reviewing the events with new eyes:
"I don't think the blade is the cause… And if it wasn't the spirits that killed Graemeth the Third, could it have been him?"
She placed all five fingers on her face, sometimes covering her eyes, sometimes pressing against her forehead, as if trying to force the answer out of her exhausted mind.
"Damn it… Everything's so mysterious and complicated… I must ask the old man about it."
She sighed, then walked steadily across the shadow-drenched cathedral floor. She gently moved the red stone, as if performing a sacred ritual, then grasped the blade.
She stepped out of the cathedral as the rain fell upon her, soaking her hair and shoulders. She felt the cold of it like a slap, waking her from her disorientation. She raised her eyes to the sky, breathing slowly, as if gathering her scattered self.
Suddenly, the fountain behind her shook, emitting a white light laced with red, pulsing like a living heart. The light danced in the air, forming a swirling shape—an opening to cross through.
Sophia finally smiled—a calm smile despite everything—and said softly:
"It seems the mission is complete… Time to head to the old man's gate."
In Hermes' Book, it is said that a gate shining with white light mixed with red indicates the successful completion of a mission, and serves as a portal to a new destination.
Sophia stood above the gate, and with the first flash of light, she vanished like a lightning bolt striking the earth.
And amidst all those events, hours earlier, the genius Victor Moonlight had arrived at the abandoned port of Fulham.
He stood at the entrance of the port, the fog curling around his feet, while the sea winds toyed with his long coat. He examined the place with sharp eyes.
"It seems the sheath will be here, in this port possibly haunted by demonic spirits… or the Crimson Moon Vampires," he said in a calm tone, carefully scanning every corner.
The port was vast, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Rusted ships, abandoned for decades, rested in eerie silence. Old, destroyed trains were scattered along the tracks like ghosts from a forgotten time.
"How do I find a needle in a haystack?" he muttered, touching his chin. "The place is massive… and I have no idea where to start."
He began moving slowly, eyes searching for any clue. Then his eyes caught sight of several bloodstains on the railway.
He approached, crouched, and reached out to touch them. He gently rubbed his fingers and felt the texture.
"These stains… they're still wet. Someone was here recently…" he whispered, as if afraid to awaken something.
He raised his head and followed the trail of blood with his eyes until it led to a strange sight—a massive ship, standing in the air, not floating on water but suspended above it.
"I have two possibilities…" he muttered, placing his hands behind his back and spinning slightly. "First: someone injured and being chased is hiding in that ship.
Second: the person lost their blade… and only carries the sheath."
Then he added in a quieter voice, as if talking to himself:
"Or maybe… everything I'm thinking is just a bunch of nonsense. I need to be ready for anything."
Victor walked toward the staircase connected to the derelict ship. His steps were cautious, heavy, as if the wood of the dock groaned under his boots. He set his foot on the first step, and suddenly, a chill ran down his spine, as if the wind carried a whisper of death.
He placed his hand over his chest, where his gray talisman rested. He looked toward the ship, feeling a strange sensation… the sense that something else was watching him too.
"All assumptions might fall apart…" he whispered nervously, eyes scanning the shadows. "Most likely, a Crimson Moon Vampire is inside."
He climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking like a strangled breath. When he reached the top, he spotted from afar… a red eye gleaming in the dark, staring at him from the command room.
He hesitated, but curiosity overcame him. He spoke with a slightly shaky voice:
"If I'm not mistaken… I just saw an angry eye." Then he clenched his fist. "But before I head up… I need to search the lower deck."
He found a stairway leading below the ship. He descended cautiously, the darkness surrounding him like a thick liquid. He snapped his fingers, igniting a faint, gray flame—dim, but enough to push back part of the shadows.
The crates were scattered, some broken, old tools lying about.
"Could it be… the sheath is here?" he murmured, searching with his eyes.
He moved between the crates, looking over and under them, but found nothing but mold and dust. Doubt began to creep in.
"This place is empty… nothing valuable at all," he said anxiously as he turned to leave.
But his foot stepped on something soft… He froze. He crouched to see, and there it was—a new bloodstain, still wet.
He whispered tensely:
"This… wasn't here when I entered."
His eyes widened, and he slowly looked up.
Above him, hanging in the shadows… was a creature with red eyes, long dangling hair, and ragged breaths escaping between its fangs. Drool dripped from its mouth, and its chest heaved with hunger.
Victor immediately jumped back, just as the creature lunged at him.
The creature landed on its feet, its back arched, arms stretched forward like a wolf about to pounce.
"Looks like my instincts were right…" Victor said with a faint smile masking his fear. "The moon vampire… is really here."
The creature let out a distorted laugh:
"What's a young man like you doing here? Didn't your parents teach you that some places are sacred?"
Victor replied sharply, despite the tension:
"I expected rats… but no one told me there'd be a Crimson Moon Vampire."
The creature laughed again, this time with menace:
"Now you'll learn… this place isn't as abandoned as you thought."
And without warning, it lunged at him.
Victor rolled across the floor, pulling a gray dagger from inside his coat. Runes engraved on the blade seemed to breathe with each motion.
He launched a gray wave in a sharp line toward the creature, but it missed. The vampire leapt over it with ease—but Victor immediately fired another, at an angle, slicing into its arm.
The creature screamed in pain, and a thin smoke rose from the wound, as if its body couldn't endure the energy of the gray magic.
He roared and lunged again, this time aiming directly for Victor's heart. Victor raised his hand, and a translucent gray shield formed around his chest. The creature struck it, shattering the shield in a spectral explosion.
But it bought Victor just enough time. He spun and thrust his blade directly into the creature's abdomen. The stab wasn't deep, but it hit its mark.
The creature staggered back a step, staring at the wound, then at Victor, eyes boiling with rage.
"You damned little wretch… you really are a skilled sorcerer," it growled, retreating into the shadows.
Victor didn't respond… his breathing was ragged, and his hand gripped his gray dagger tightly, ready for another strike.
Suddenly, the Moon Vampire appeared behind him like a deadly shadow. Victor didn't sense it until a sudden blow crashed into his back, hurling him violently into a pile of scattered wooden crates.
His body hit the ground hard, his lungs rattling from the shock. He spat blood and muttered in a weary voice:
"Damn it… I never even felt him behind me."
He barely lifted his head and saw the vampire opening his mouth, launching sharp, black fangs through the air toward him. Victor rolled swiftly, his hand drawing glowing sigils in the air, unleashing a flurry of gray energy waves.
One of the waves struck the creature's hand—it charred instantly, disintegrating into ash.
Victor smirked, slowly closing his right eye, and said calmly, despite the pain:
"Your strike was powerful… but not as precise as mine."
The vampire snarled in fury, his red eyes blazing:
"Shut up, filthy sorcerer!"
He lunged again, claws slicing through the air. Victor countered, then placed his palm directly on the creature's chest, releasing a concentrated gray wave.
The vampire tried to retreat, but the wave exploded in a flash, dissolving his upper body instantly.
He collapsed to the floor, writhing. He tried to speak, but death reached him first.
Victor stepped closer and leaned in, whispering softly yet heavily:
"The sheath… where is it?"
The dying creature lifted a trembling finger, pointing upward… then his body crumbled into dust like desert sand, vanishing with his final breath.
Victor stood slowly, his breathing still uneven. He looked up toward the deck:
"The captain's cabin, then…"
He climbed the stairs cautiously, each step creaking beneath him. When he reached the top, he gently pushed the cabin door open—
And froze.
His eyes widened slightly in shock.
A deformed body lay sprawled on the floor, its features indistinct, and its left hand tightly clutching the very sheath he was searching for—as if holding it even in death.
"Was this the vampire's doing?" Victor murmured in concern, staring into the dimmed red eyes that hadn't closed. "That explains its appearance… but who was this man?"
He stepped forward slowly, knelt down, and carefully pried the sheath from the corpse's hand.
Suddenly, space behind him cocooned with a light—white tinged with red. The portal.
Its sudden appearance made Victor step back, his foot landing unintentionally on the corpse. He took another step away, placing a hand on his chest, and a weary smile crossed his face:
"Oh God… that old man really does love showing up at the most terrifying moments."
He turned toward the portal. Without a word, he adjusted his coat slightly… and walked toward the light.
He stood over it—and vanished.