The Previous Day.
Location: The Von Carstein Family Cemetery, Outskirts of Sanguine.
The skies above Sanguine were never truly clear, but today, the grey clouds hanging over the alchemical city felt heavier, as if pressing down upon the pointed roofs of the Gothic buildings below. The rain fell not as a romantic drizzle, but as a curtain of cold water piercing to the bone, soaking the marble tombstones of the grand Von Carstein family cemetery.
The atmosphere was silent, broken only by the sound of rain drumming against black umbrellas and the sound of stifled sobs.
In the center of a circle of mourners dressed in all black, a polished ebony coffin lay atop an open grave. Inside rested the remains of Master Luis Von Carstein—or at least, what could be collected of his body after that humiliating incident in the narrow alleyway.
Lord Alaric Von Carstein, the charismatic yet cruel head of the family, stood before a stone podium. His pale, handsome face looked somber, yet his glowing red eyes swept the crowd with a terrifying sharpness. He wore a mourning cloak of black velvet with silver accents, the family crest brooch pinned to his chest.
"Today," Alaric's baritone voice echoed, amplified by a touch of wind magic to be heard clearly through the rain, "we gather to say goodbye to a brother, a father, and a proud son of Sanguine, Luis Von Carstein."
Alaric paused, allowing a dramatic silence to take over. In the front row, Luis's five children stood stiffly. Roderick, the ambitious eldest, bowed his head deeply, hiding a thin smirk behind his handkerchief—his father's death meant the inheritance and power would fall into his hands much sooner. Isabella, in a tight black lace dress, wept gracefully, though her mind was already spinning with plans to dispose of her siblings. Viktor, Elena, and Varian, each with their own dark agendas, wore perfectly practiced masks of grief.
"Luis was a figure of... great passion," Alaric continued, choosing his words carefully to mask the fact that his younger brother was a useless drunkard. "He dedicated his life to... cultural exploration and diplomacy with the common folk. His tragic departure is a wound to us all, a reminder that even pure blood is not immune to the cruelty of this world."
In the row of guests of honor, standing slightly apart from the core vampire family, was the delegation from Saint Veren's Gate.
Magistrate Valerius stood with a lazy posture, holding a black umbrella in one hand and checking his gold pocket watch with the other. He looked incredibly bored. Next to him stood Sir Kellen, Commander of the Ebony Guard.
Kellen was not wearing his usual plate armor. Today, he wore a pitch-black, tailored formal suit, a crisp white shirt, and a black tie. Without his armor, he appeared more human, yet his broad shoulders and upright stance still radiated an intimidating military aura. His scarred face looked rigid; he was clearly uncomfortable being in the middle of this den of bloodsuckers.
And clinging tightly to Kellen's right arm was Metan, Valerius's personal secretary. The small, blue-skinned succubus wore a modest black funeral dress, her large glasses fogged up by the humidity. Her tail, tipped with a heart shape, wrapped tightly around Kellen's thigh, seeking a sense of safety.
"Hah..." Valerius sighed deeply, loud enough for Kellen to hear but not Alaric. "How boring. The old man keeps spouting nonsense. 'Cultural exploration'? Everyone in Nocturnus knows Luis died drunk in an alley after getting kicked out of a brothel, then stripped by some random hobo."
Kellen glanced at his boss from the corner of his eye, his expression remaining flat. "Watch your tongue, Valerius. We are in their territory."
"I'm just stating facts, Commander," Valerius smirked slyly, nudging Kellen's elbow. "Look at this charade. Even his kids look like they're trying not to laugh or planning to murder each other."
Metan squeaked softly, pressing her body closer to Kellen's side. "Co-Commander... that vampire over there... the tall one with one eye... he keeps staring at my neck," she whispered, trembling.
Kellen patted the hand Metan had wrapped around his arm gently. "Calm down, Metan. As long as I am standing here, no one will touch you. Not even a mosquito."
Valerius chuckled, then deliberately shifted closer to Kellen's left side. His own demon tail—hidden beneath his long coat—snaked out and touched Kellen's leg. "Oh, Sir Kellen, you truly are a reliable protector. I feel scared too, you know. Protect me as well, won't you?"
Kellen growled low in his throat, his jaw hardening. "Valerius, move your tail or I will cut it off."
One hour later, the scene shifted from the cold rain to the warmth of a fireplace in the private meeting room of Castle Sanguine. The room was opulent, dominated by blood-red and gold, with thick carpets that muffled footsteps.
Lord Alaric sat at the head of a long table, a glass of vintage blood in his hand. Around him sat the family elders: the sour-faced Manfred, the war-crazed Konrad, and the quiet but deadly Vlad.
Across the table, Valerius sat with his legs crossed, sipping wine (since he didn't drink blood), while Kellen stood at attention behind his chair with hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead. Metan sat on a small chair beside Valerius, busy taking notes with shaking hands.
"So," Alaric began, his voice cold and sharp, devoid of the fake mournful tone from the speech. He set his glass down hard. "How do you explain this failure, Valerius? A Von Carstein noble... killed like a dog in your city. In your jurisdiction."
Valerius smiled, a diplomatic smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Lord Alaric, as I have stated in the official report, the incident was very unfortunate. The city of Saint Veren's Gate is experiencing... unusual security fluctuations. There are systemic failures in the underground waterways, reports of monster fights on rooftops... and yes, the death of Master Luis."
"Don't talk in circles, Demon!" Konrad barked, slamming the table. "My brother died because you are incompetent at maintaining security! Who is the culprit? A hobo? A tourist? Or did you let it happen on purpose?"
"Be careful with your accusations, Lord Konrad," Kellen cut in, his voice heavy and authoritative. "The Ebony Guard has conducted a thorough investigation. Master Luis was found in a secluded alley that is not part of any tourist route. He had no bodyguards with him. And based on the autopsy, he was in a state of severe unconsciousness at the time of the incident."
"Oh, so you're victim-blaming now, Human?" Manfred hissed, baring his fangs. "You let these lowly humans lead security, and look what happens. Incompetent humans."
Kellen didn't flinch in the slightest. His eyes locked onto Manfred. "My competence keeps that city from collapsing every day, Lord Manfred. If Master Luis chose to walk alone in a dark alley carrying valuables, even an army of gods would struggle to protect him."
Valerius chuckled, breaking the tension in a provocative manner. "True, true. And let's be honest, gentlemen... Luis wasn't exactly a skilled fighter, was he? I mean, he was defeated by someone who... I don't know, has no name? No reputation? Quite a... unique way to die."
Alaric's face reddened with suppressed rage. Valerius's subtle mockery of his brother's weakness hurt more than a direct accusation.
"Enough," Alaric said, his voice low but lethal. "I didn't call you here to hear excuses. I want the culprit's head. That boy, or whatever his name is."
"We are tracking him," Valerius said casually. "But he is slippery. And it seems he has already left the city."
"We know," Vlad interrupted calmly. "He is on a train heading to who-knows-where. We have already sent our best hunting team. Jarek and Vala are leading the operation."
Valerius raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Using my magitech train for an illegal assassination operation? Without a permit?"
"Consider it compensation for your incompetence," Alaric said coldly. "We will catch him. Alive. I want him to beg for death before I allow him to die."
Valerius stood up, straightening his suit. "Very well. If you wish to handle it yourselves, be my guest. But remember, if that train gets damaged... the bill will be charged to the Von Carstein family name."
"Leave," Alaric dismissed him.
Valerius bowed slightly, then turned. Kellen and Metan followed him out.
"Last offer of assistance, Lord Alaric?" Valerius asked from the doorway.
"We do not need the help of demons," Alaric replied.
Later that day.
The Magitech Train sped through the night, slicing through the black forest at high speed. Inside an open-roofed cargo carriage, the wind roared violently, carrying the smell of smoke and blood.
Jarek, the leader of the bounty hunters, stood near the connecting door to the engine room. He held a magic phone to his ear, while his other hand lazily held an adult magazine featuring succubi. He wasn't even looking at the battle taking place a few meters in front of him.
"Yoo, Boss," Jarek said into the phone, his voice relaxed despite the sound of gunshots and clashing metal in the background. "Yeah, we've cornered him. But listen, this is harder than expected. My boys? Gone. All dead. Vala is handling him right now, but this kid... he's weird."
On the other end, in his luxurious office in Sanguine, Alaric listened with veins bulging in his neck. "I don't care how weird he is, Jarek! Capture him! Do not fail!"
"Relax, Boss. But the price is going up, yeah? Triple. Hazard pay," Jarek smirked, turning a page of his magazine. "Okay, hold on a second, I want to watch the show."
Jarek lowered the phone slightly and looked ahead.
There, in the middle of the shaking carriage, Devon stood panting. His black coat was gone, his shirt torn to shreds revealing pale skin covered in wounds. In his hand, a .50 Desert Eagle clicked empty.
Facing him, Vala, a vampire woman in a blood-red dress, hovered slightly above the floor. Two sickle blades made of hardened blood spun around her.
"Don't kill him, Vala!" Jarek shouted lazily. "The boss wants him alive!"
Vala clicked her tongue, her glowing red eyes fixed on Devon. "Tch, I know that. But I'm going to cut off his legs first so he doesn't run."
Devon didn't answer. He threw his empty pistol at Vala's face as a distraction.
Vala merely twitched her finger. The blood blade sliced the pistol into two neat pieces of metal in mid-air.
"Die!"
Vala swung her arms in a cross motion.
SLAASSH!
An X-shaped slash of blood energy launched forward. The strike was so powerful it sliced through the left and right walls of the carriage, and even sheared the roof off, sending it flying backward to be swallowed by the darkness of the night.
Devon tried to jump back, but he wasn't fast enough.
"Argh!"
Both his arms were sliced deep. Blood sprayed. The hunting knife in his left hand was flung far away. He lost his balance and fell onto his back on the floor of the carriage, which was now open to the sky.
Devon tried to get up, but Vala was already there.
WHAM!
The vampire woman punched Devon in the face with a clawed gauntlet formed from blood. Devon's head slammed against the iron floor. Before he could recover, Vala grabbed him by the neck, lifting him into the air.
"Got you, little rat," Vala hissed.
She threw Devon upward. Devon spun once in the air, helpless.
As Devon fell, Vala thrust the blood blade in her right hand upward.
SHLINK!
The blade pierced Devon's stomach, protruding out through his back. Devon jerked, his eyes widening, blood spewing from his mouth. He hung there limply, skewered like meat on a spit, his feet dangling above the floor.
"Hah... hah..." Devon coughed, his consciousness fading. His regeneration was working, but the blood blade was blocking the healing process.
Jarek stepped forward, closing his magazine in panic. "Hey! Hey! Careful, you idiot!" he shouted, approaching Vala. "Don't let the kid die! If he dies, our pay is forfeited!"
Jarek raised his phone again. "Hello, Boss? Yes, target secured. Condition... critical but alive. Mission succ—"
The sentence was never finished.
Suddenly, from the rear of the carriage, from the pitch-black darkness of the night, something arrived.
ZRAAAAAAAKKK!
It wasn't the sound of the train. It was the sound of lightning.
Vala, who was savoring her victory, felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She turned her head slightly.
A white missile. No—a creature.
Stormclaw.
He shot forward at a speed the eye couldn't follow, cloaked in millions of volts of blinding electricity. He was like a god of thunder descended in the form of a beast.
Before Vala could even blink, Stormclaw's head—hard as rock and coursing with lightning—slammed into Vala's stomach with a deadly headbutt.
KABOOOM!
The impact was so violent it created a shockwave that blew out the remaining walls of the carriage.
Vala was launched backward with the speed of a bullet. Her blood blade shattered, releasing Devon who fell with a thud to the floor.
Vala's body collided with Jarek standing behind her. Both of them were thrown together, smashing through the connecting door, tearing through the engine room, shattering the front windshield of the train, and falling onto the tracks in front of the speeding locomotive.
CRUNCH. SQUELCH.
The sound of iron wheels grinding over bodies was heard briefly and gruesomely, before being swallowed by the roar of the train.
Jarek's phone skittered across the floor, its screen cracked, but the call was still connected.
In his silent office, Lord Alaric Von Carstein stared at his phone, which had gone quiet.
"Hey! Jarek! Vala!" he shouted. "What happened?! Answer me!"
Only static and the roar of wind answered.
"DAMMIT!"
Alaric smashed the expensive phone onto the marble floor, shattering it into pieces. His breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes burning red.
"They failed! My best hunters... failed against one boy!"
Around the room, Manfred, Konrad, and Vlad fell silent, feeling their leader's rage. They exchanged anxious glances.
In the corner of the room, a human maid stood calmly. Her name was Misaki Kurenai. She wore a classic black-and-white maid uniform, thick round glasses framing her flat, expressionless face, her black hair in two neat braids. She held a tray with a fresh drink, completely undisturbed by her master's outburst.
"Master," Misaki said in a soft, monotone voice. "Your drink."
Alaric turned sharply, glaring at Misaki as if he wanted to kill her, then sighed roughly. He snatched the glass from the tray, downed the contents in one gulp, and slammed the glass onto the table.
He walked over to the large monitor screen on the wall, which displayed the magical tracking of the train. The red dot marking the train's position was still moving fast.
"Fine," Alaric whispered, his voice now turning cold, calm, and far more terrifying than his screaming earlier. "If the living cannot do this job... because they possess fear, pain, and arrogance..."
He turned to face his brothers.
"...then I will send something that cannot die. Something that knows no pain, no fear, or negotiation. Something that knows only one thing: the target."
Alaric raised his hand, performing a complex summoning gesture.
"Rise... The Biomechanical Reaper!"
The floor in the center of the room opened up. Cold steam and green smoke billowed out. The heavy sound of whirring gears and hydraulics filled the air.
From within the pit, a figure rose.
It stood nearly three meters tall. Its body was a horrifying fusion of preserved corpse flesh and crude, advanced machinery. Half of its face was a metal skull with a red eye glowing like a laser; the other half was pale, stitched flesh. Its right arm wielded a giant scythe, the blade vibrating with vibro-blade energy. Its left arm was a massive mechanical claw. Its back was lined with pipes pumping neon green fluid into its body.
Nightreaver. The monster from Rivermouth that had been re-modified.
"Eek...!"
Manfred, Konrad, and Vlad—three ancient, arrogant vampires—simultaneously recoiled in fear. Their faces went pale. The aura of death emitted by the creature was unnatural, freezing their already cold blood.
Without realizing it, the three vampires ran and hid behind the small back of Misaki Kurenai.
Misaki blinked behind her glasses. She turned her head back, staring at the three grown vampire men trembling and clutching the hem of her maid skirt.
"Sirs?" she asked flatly, tilting her head slightly. "Are you scared?"
"Th-that is no ordinary creature!" Manfred squeaked. "That is an abomination!"
Alaric ignored his brother's cowardice. He walked up to Nightreaver.
"Listen to me, killing machine," Alaric said. "I know you want new parts to perfect your body. I will give you the finest titanium from Harrowforge. I will give you a nuclear power core if you wish."
Nightreaver looked down, his mechanical voicebox sounding with a whirrr-click. "Target...?" his voice was a heavy, rasping electronic synthesis.
"The boy on the train," Alaric ordered, pointing at the screen. "Capture him. Alive. Break his legs if necessary, but bring him here breathing."
Nightreaver nodded stiffly. "Command... accepted."
The creature turned, and with heavy steps that shook the castle floor, he walked out, ready to begin a hunt that would not stop until one of them was destroyed.
And outside, the storm rain began to fall again, as if weeping for the fate of anyone who stood in the Reaper's path.