Rain hammered the city like a relentless drum, washing neon lights into trembling streaks on the slick pavement. The night air was thick with cold mist, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the occasional crack of thunder. Beneath a crumbling bridge—long forgotten by the world above—Rael stood alone. Not a clone, but his true self, cloaked in shadows yet pulsing with quiet, raw power.
He carried no blade. Wore no armor. Yet the invisible aura around him felt like a storm ready to break.
This place, once a neutral zone for rogue hunters and mercenaries, had become a slaughterground. And tonight, Rael would mark it with blood—the blood of the first betrayer.
Eron Talic. Known in the underworld as the Silent Fang. Once Rael's loyal shadow on the 60th floor of the Tower—until the moment he plunged a dagger into Rael's back and disappeared like smoke.
Rael's gaze flicked to approaching footsteps echoing off the cracked concrete.
Five figures emerged from the shadows, their forms blurred by rain and mist. On paper, they were E-rank hunters—weak and expendable—but Rael felt the hum beneath their skin: enhanced mercenaries, assassins disguised in cheap cloaks and hollow smiles. Eron was cautious; seasoned enough to send guards. But caution had its limits.
The last figure stepped forward—rainwater dripping from the edges of his black cloak. His face was half-hidden behind a sleek mask, but Rael knew that mana signature like an old scar etched into his soul.
"Still fond of dark entrances, Eron?" Rael's voice cut through the night, cold as ice.
The man froze, muscles tightening. "...You."
Rael stepped forward, the very air around him thickening, suffocating. The silent pulse of ancient mana, black and violet, swirled invisibly. "Did you think I wouldn't come back? That betraying me would have no price?"
Eron snarled, struggling for control. "That man—Rael—died in the Tower."
"No." Rael's voice dropped to a harsh whisper, hollow yet resolute. "He was reborn from it."
A flash of lightning split the sky, illuminating the scene for a heartbeat. Then Rael moved—a phantom in the rain.
His body blurred, dodging incoming blades with ghostlike grace. Bones cracked and joints shattered as he dismantled the five mercenaries, one by one, with ruthless precision—each movement a calculated strike, leaving no room for hesitation or mercy.
Rain mixed with spilled blood, pooling beneath broken bodies.
Only Eron remained.
His arm bled, and fear flickered in his eyes. "You… You're not human anymore."
Rael's hand ignited with the forbidden mana—soul flame—black as void with flickers of violet fire. A power whispered in legends and curses, unseen in this world.
"You were the first to stab me in the back," Rael said, stepping closer, voice steady as a blade's edge. "Now, you'll be the first I erase."
Eron spun, desperate to escape.
But his steps faltered.
From the darkness, shadows writhed like living chains, crawling up his skin, binding him tight.
Rael's voice dropped to a venomous hiss. "Shadow Brand: Soul Burn."
Eron screamed—a sound ripped from the depths of his soul. The pain was beyond flesh. It was his very essence unraveling, tearing away like burning silk in a storm. His mana bled out, his memories splintered, his life fading.
Then, silence.
Only ash remained—blackened, fragile—and a flickering ember of cursed flame pulsed in Rael's palm.
Rael stared at the small fragment, feeling its power like a key turning in a lock deep within his mind.
What secrets did it hold? What truths about the past—and the Tower—were hidden inside?
Rael's chest tightened with a cold determination.
The rain slowed, the city's neon bleeding through the mist like distant stars.
"One down. Six more to go."
He looked up at the storm-wracked sky.
And whispered, "The real hunt begins now."