Holy Land of Hellbeth.
A vast temple rose beneath a golden twilight — its marble walls glimmered with sacred engravings, every inch carved with symbols too ancient for mortal tongues.
Statues and divine sculptures lined the grand walkway, their hollow eyes fixed toward the altar at the end — where light and shadow danced in equal measure.
Then came the soft click... click... of high heels echoing across the empty hall.
The rhythm was steady, neither too fast nor too slow — deliberate, calm, confident.
The sound belonged to a woman wrapped in scarlet elegance — Roxy, the emissary of the forbidden house.
Before she could approach the inner sanctum, four strange creatures emerged from the mist.
Elves — their silver hair gleaming under the holy light, their weapons pulsing faintly with runes.
One of them spoke in the native tongue of Hellbeth:
"Hon Dai soku vel Roxy innn?"
(Translation: Miss Roxy, what business brings you here?)
Roxy smiled faintly, lowering her gaze.
"Yes. I believe… they are expecting me."
The lead guard's tone remained hard, almost ceremonial.
"Wait here, Miss. I will announce your presence."
But before the elf could move, Roxy closed her eyes — and the world bent ever so slightly.
A shimmer crossed the marble floor, and in the next breath, she was gone — her form dissolving into faint crimson mist that slipped quietly past the inner gate.
The remaining guards exchanged glances, whispering in their dialect — a mix of Elvish and the old tongue of Hellbeth.
Moments later, Roxy reappeared behind them, her expression calm as ever.
She asked softly, "Tell me, who stands guard tomorrow?"
One of the elves hesitated. "I am not sure, Miss. Perhaps devils... or vampires. My apologies if I'm mistaken."
Roxy gave a sweet, unnerving smile.
"Of course. You've been helpful."
Just then, the first guard returned, bowing deeply.
"The Council awaits you, Miss Roxy."
She nodded, pressing her palm lightly against her chest — a faint sigil of fire appeared there, pulsing like a heartbeat — and stepped through the inner gates.
The moment she entered, the air changed.
Her breath grew heavy. The divine aura in the room pressed upon her like an ocean.
She could barely remain standing.
Mist coiled around her feet — thick, gray, and shimmering with power.
Then, a deep, ancient voice rolled through the haze.
"Speak, child. What brings you here?"
Roxy dared not raise her head.
"Master… I came to discuss Black Eye."
The voice thundered again, vibrating the very walls.
"Write what you must and send it to me. My aura alone is too much for your flesh."
She nodded quickly. "Understood, Master."
Her knees trembled as she turned away, retreating from that overwhelming presence.
Outside, the air was cool — but her body felt as though she had walked through fire.
Her once-perfect crimson dress now clung to her like soaked silk, translucent under the dim light.
The elven guards averted their gazes, faces flushed red.
Realizing the cause, Roxy exhaled softly — with a gesture, fabric shimmered back into being, reforming around her.
She muttered under her breath, "That aura… it nearly stripped my soul bare."
As she left the temple, her thoughts lingered on her Master's words.
Will they side against the mortals? Or will this become another of their twisted games?
Her crimson eyes flickered. Or perhaps… a new beginning.
---
Meanwhile...
Deep within the northern forest, the air carried the scent of moss and thunder.
Michael walked silently behind his team — Chris, Enel, and Enel's sister, Emily.
They were on their way to train, but the forest felt unusually still.
Michael's face was unreadable — no joy, no sadness, no anger.
Just a quiet emptiness.
Enel, ever the talkative one, was teasing Chris as usual, while Emily munched on a strange flatbread — a delicacy of the Elven tribes.
The wind rustled gently through her silver hair.
But Michael's mind was elsewhere.
Why am I even here? he wondered. Back in my old world, stories had reasons… logic. I had a past, a purpose. But here? Everything moves too fast. Too unreal. Am I trapped inside something? Or… is this my end?
He pressed his hands to his temples.
Emily noticed the tension — but before she could ask, he straightened again, forcing a faint smile.
She said cheerfully, "Only one or two more years of pain, and we'll reach our peak levels! It'll all be worth it!"
They entered the deeper forest — where sunlight barely touched the ground.
Chris clenched his fists with excitement.
"Today, I'll kill at least three two-headed gorillas!"
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Only three? I was thinking twenty."
The others burst into laughter.
Chris glared at them. "Shut up!"
Enel waved him off. "Let's move. No point wasting daylight."
Soon they reached a clearing — the air carried an odd scent.
Cooked meat. Fresh smoke.
Michael frowned. "Someone's… cooking here? Impossible. This forest is restricted. We'd have known."
Emily whispered, "Let's take a look."
They crept forward through the branches.
There, by a small campfire, sat a man roasting a massive fish — easily larger than himself.
Emily's eyes widened. "That… thing could feed a whole village."
Before Michael could reply — he sneezed. Loudly.
The man didn't move.
Didn't even flinch.
Emily blinked. "He heard that. Why isn't he reacting?"
She turned to Michael — and froze.
Something behind them stirred.
Then came a deep, cold voice — one that sent chills down Michael's spine.
"Such insolence… interrupting my meal. I despise uninvited guests."
They turned — and saw no face.
Just a shadow, shaped like a man — but hollow, pulsing with dark mist.
Emily grabbed Michael and leapt down from the branch, dragging him with her.
He stumbled, confused. "Why are we running?!"
"Because—" she gasped, "that thing isn't human!"
Before they could take another step, the shadow appeared beside them — faster than light.
"You've already fallen into my trap," it whispered.
"You won't escape now."
Michael froze.
Because the voice… was his own.
It was exactly his voice — only darker, deeper, twisted by rage.
Emily stepped back, horrified.
Michael clenched his fists. "You're… me?"
The shadow laughed. A perfect mirror grin spread across its shapeless face.
"Finally," it said. "We meet, Michael."