Back within the shadowed halls of Dracula's castle, chaos reigned. The Abandoned Knight, that monstrous creature of hatred and ruin, tore through everything in its way. Its armor clashed against stone, its eyes gleamed through the darkness, and the castle that once symbolized Dracula's power was now drenched in the blood of its former servants.
Word of the massacre reached Raphael Duskborne, and the moment he heard, he moved swiftly. His cloak fluttered behind him as he raced toward the ruins of the castle. The stench of blood hit him before he even stepped through the shattered gates.
When Raphael arrived and realized Dracula was gone, he didn't mourn—he smiled.
"So… the King of Shadows has fallen" he muttered under his breath. "Then this castle's loot belongs to whoever's bold enough to take it."
Greed burned in his eyes. The treasures that Dracula hoarded for centuries, the blood crystals, the tomes of forbidden cultivation, the relics of the ancient night—all ripe for the taking. Raphael was no fool. He knew this disaster was Naro's work, and that fact alone made his heart flutter.
A nervous chuckle escaped him as beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
"Naro…" he whispered, his voice trembling between awe and terror.
That name to him now held weight heavier than Dracula's throne. Raphael had seen ruthless men before, but none who could manipulate chaos itself like that devil in human skin. Naro didn't just defeat enemies—he orchestrated destruction like a composer conducting a symphony of ruin.
But Raphael was no saint either. He was a schemer by nature, a serpent who thrived in the darkness between greater beasts. He had known all along that Naro might strike, that Dracula's arrogance would eventually draw death to his doorstep. So Raphael said nothing to Dracula. He had waited, watching—ready to swoop in when the blood ran deep enough.
Still, even he hadn't expected it to happen so soon… or so violently.
He glanced around the wreckage—the fallen banners, the crushed pillars, the shattered throne—and for a fleeting moment, even he felt small.
"This world.." he murmured, "was never meant for the righteous."
In the Realm of Nyx, morality was a luxury that no one could afford. Here, strength was law, and cruelty was currency. Betrayal was not evil—it was survival. Blood was not sin—it was the price of ascension.
Among the ranks of the powerful, righteousness was a mask, worn only when it served a purpose. Those who preached virtue had corpses buried beneath their feet, just as the wicked did—only theirs were hidden deeper.
And Raphael knew this better than anyone.
He looked up at the crimson moon hanging over the castle ruins and smiled faintly.
"In this world" he said softly, "the difference between good and evil… is merely who hides their sins better."
Then he stepped forward—into Dracula's throne room, into the silence of the damned—ready to claim what was left behind.
…
Naro's Castle
After a long and heavy rest, Naro finally rose from his chamber, his eyes faintly gleaming under the candlelight. His body was still recovering from the immense strain of merging with Dracula's essence, yet his mind was sharper than ever. He walked to the grand stone table in the center of the room, where countless nyx cores pulsed faintly with light—his spoils from the greatest hunt he had ever done.
He sat down, calm yet expectant, and began inspecting each one carefully.
The first was the Rank 5 Blood Dash Nyx. Unlike his self-forged version, this one was refined, precise, and near-perfect—Dracula's own personal craft. Its essence shimmered like liquid gold. With this, Naro could move through battle like a streak of lightning, faster, cleaner, and deadlier. His old Blood Dash seemed crude in comparison—this was the work of a true master.
But what truly drew Naro's focus was the Blood Mend Nyx. The one he desired most. A rare blood-path healing nyx, capable of restoring flesh, and even vitality itself. Finally—he could mend his damaged arm, not with crude patches or regeneration potions, but through his own power. As he held it, he could feel the gentle pulse of restoration, like the heartbeat of life itself.
"Perfect" he whispered.
Then came the Bladed Bat Nyx—a terrifying creation that embodied Dracula's love for chaos. It allowed the summoning of a swarm of bats, each one with wings like sharpened knives. They screeched faintly inside the nyx core, eager to taste blood once more. It was ideal for large-scale slaughter, when numbers meant nothing and fear became the true weapon.
The next one was brutal in simplicity—the Blood Blade Nyx. With it, one could forge blades directly from their body. Dracula had used it to shape his own forearm weapons during their fight, each strike faster than a heartbeat. Naro remembered the pain of that battle vividly…
"You hurt me with this once" he murmured teasing Dracula.
"Hm." Dracula snorted.
He then lifted the Blood Generation Nyx—a masterpiece in utility. It shimmered faintly, red mist flowing within it like living smoke. This nyx allowed its wielder to create blood from nothing. Before, Naro had been bound by the corpses he killed—his power limited by the blood he could harvest. Now, that limit was gone.
"Infinite blood…" he thought.
Next came the Death Indictment Nyx—a cruel, insidious thing. It could reverse the natural flow of blood within others, turning life itself against the body. Difficult to control and exhausting to maintain, but devastating when mastered. Dracula hadn't dared to use it against Naro—he knew Naro's understanding of blood would counter it. Still, against anyone else, it was pure agony in physical form.
Beside it lay the Blood Fork, the weapon he had claimed from Thalgor's corpse. Its three crimson prongs seemed to hum faintly in response to his presence, as if recognizing its new master.
He then moved to the lesser, though still powerful, Rank 4 Piercing Blood Nyx, capable of drilling through armor and bone alike, Heart Beat Sensing Nyx, and the Exploding Vein Nyx, the very one he had used to annihilate the soldiers of the Radiant Kingdom. These were lower-ranked, but still powerful enough to rival even the higher ones when used by someone like Naro.
And finally—his eyes fell on it.
The Light Travel Immortal Nyx. Rank 6.
The crown jewel of everything he now possessed.
It glowed faintly with a blinding brilliance, not warm, not cold—just eternal. The essence of light itself, purified and compressed beyond mortal comprehension. Even now, it rejected him, sensing that his soul hadn't yet ascended to the immortal realm.
But Naro didn't mind. He gazed at it with quiet obsession, his reflection shimmering in its surface.
He leaned back in his chair, surrounded by his trophies—each one a step toward freedom, toward supremacy.
The rest of his possessions were scattered across the chamber: tomes, relics, shattered armor pieces from fallen foes. They mattered little. What lay before him now was more than treasure—it was destiny crystallized.
Naro smiled faintly, closing his hand over the Light Travel Nyx.
"Everything I've taken… everything I've lost… it's all leading to this."
And in the silence of his castle, only the faint hum of power answered him—steady, growing, alive.
…
Some time had passed.
Naro began by using Blood Mend—blood essence spiraled out of the air itself, swirling toward his missing arm. Within moments, his missing arm reformed, flesh and bone weaving together as if time were reversing.
He then reached for the Blood Fork.
Dracula's voice echoed faintly in his mind, tinged with nostalgia.
"Ah… I've missed this weapon," he murmured, almost to himself.
But before the sentiment could linger, Naro gripped the weapon tightly—and snapped its prongs. The twin prongs melted and reshaped, fusing into a long, sleek blood staff.
Dracula was silent for a long moment, shocked by the act. A trace of sorrow flickered through him… until he caught a glimpse of Naro's memories—of countless battles fought with a staff in hand.
"So that's your path…" he thought quietly. "Very well."
He said nothing more.