The light of morning crept through the dusty blinds of the Durabian Knights' café basement, etching pale gold stripes across the cold concrete floor.
It was a new day in a world that stood precariously at the precipice of something altogether apocalyptic.
Akira paced like a caged tempest, his massive shoulders rigid and his massive fists knotted tightly at his sides.
Last night's events still clung to him like dark shadows—and they were events he'd rather forget: the blood, the portals, and of course, Vernon's biting rejection.
Last night, his crimson mask had come crashing to the ground, its cracked and battered surface lost to its owner's true face, its sharp features etched stark and white like marble, his features twisted into
Yura sat on the edge of the messy cot, her eyes fixed on him. But a bandage now covered her forehead wound, even as her dark, passionate eyes spoke of the pain of all they'd lost.
Yuna stood pressed against the opposite wall, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed in a sharp scan of a room that contained no threats. But every breath seemed heavier, every pulse of their heartbeat amplified.
I hovered in the corner, my being an echo of a ghost, oscillating like a specter, caught between Akira and caught in the turmoil we'd created.
Akira stopped short, his fist blasting into the wall with a solid thud that shook the small basement. Dust rained down, falling like ash.
"Vernon," Akira growled, his voice a husky rasp, a razor-sharp edge of fury tempering his tone.
"He knew Kazuki was already dead, killed before we got there. And then he insulted me, confronted me with it, and left, calling me weak. His _brother_."
His chest pounded in ragged, agitated breaths, his muscles rippling through his shredded shirt, his vigor shrinking the cramped room around him.
Yura stood, taking a cautious path towards him, reaching out a hand but halting on the brink of touching his arm.
"He's wrong about you," Yura whispered, but a fierce undertone ran with the words. "You're stronger than he thinks. A way will be found—with us."
Akira locked his gaze with hers, his stormy eyes warring with himself. For an instant, the anger wavered and was replaced with something almost vulnerable, a flash of appreciation that tightened his jaw. Then he shook his head and turned away.
"It's not just about being strong enough. It's not just about this."
He grabbed the remote from an adjacent table and switched on the ancient television in the corner. The screen erupted with news reports.
Anchors talked in serious tones, headlines flashing in bold red:
"GLOBAL MYSTERY: RED PORTALS OPEN Worldwide—Connected to TOKYO MURDER?"
Old video clips cycled endlessly: huge red portals bursting open in different locations around the world—Times Square in New York, Big Ben in London, and the Forbidden City in China. People screaming in horror as darkness moved in the voids, tendrils of darkness reaching out like living entities.
Cars smashing into each other in chaos, phones snapping photos of the impossible.
Back in Japan, attention turned to Kazuki Joshwa's violent murder:
"Well-known public personality found dead in his Minato Ward penthouse apartment in suspected connection to unusual happenings."
Akira's fists gripped tighter, knuckles turning white.
"They're downplaying it," Akira muttered, his voice rising with thrilling intensity.
"'Unconfirmed anomalies' while the world burns apart around them. Azazel's plan – it's spreading faster than we anticipated."
Yuna pushed away from the side of the wall. She slid her right hand gently in hairs of Akira and said in faint voice,
"If the portals are opening everywhere, it means whatever is passing through may strike anywhere. Let's move and find where it's coming from before it's too late."
The air in the room thickened with tension as the reality hit them. Akira nodded, his determination hardening like steel in the fire. He said in a deep voice,
"The biggest portal discovered yet—it's located in the center of Tokyo. And it's growing every minute. Tonight, we attack."
Very far from here, in the safe corridors of the presidential palace, an air of electricity charged with crisis pulsed.
The President stood in front of his screens, his features white with resolve and his attendants swarming around him with messages. Video feed of the portals cycled repeatedly: dark-clad figures stepping from portals across distant cities, pandemonium igniting on streets around the world.
"This is no prank,"
he barked, his resonant voice thundering with drama as he smacked his palm on the head of the conference table.
"Kazuki's assassination was just the spark—and now the flames are spreading across the planet. I want every resource from our military to our intelligence and our international connections fully leveraged. If these portals access something bad.we close them all, or fight whatever's coming through."
His eyes had narrowed and his spark of adrenaline-rich and intoxicating resolve ran with its own special kind of euphoria: here was all of his country—it might be the world—hanging on his words. A new alert shrieked with his rapid exhalation as another portal opened in Tokyo's center.
Back in the basement, Akira turned to us, his voice a thunderous command that made shivers run down our spines.
"Gear up. This threat must be finished before it destroys all else."
Yura and Yuna nodded in ernest grabs of our weapons—electric anticipation crackling in the air. The thrill of the hunt thrummed through our veins.
But thousands of miles away, in a crowded highway in Tokyo, Lint's hands gripped the steering wheel of his black sedan hard, listening through the radio's hum, the reports growing more alarming by the minute:
"-Eyewitness accounts of shadowy figures appearing at portals around the world. Authorities urge citizens to remain indoors."
Lint's brow creased, a lump forming in the pit of his stomach as he slowed in heavy traffic.
Then, without warning, the air over the middle of the road flailed crazily—like the shimmering of heat rising from pavement, but darker and more menacing.
A gigantic red portal ripped open right down the middle of the highway, the largest yet seen and far more sinister with its fiery red lightning and whipping winds that pushed and shoved the cars as if an invisible storm was centered over the road. Cars careened every which way, with horns blaring as people braked for their lives.
People watching from the sidewalk pulled out cellphones and recorded the action as the shadows reached out and pillars of sparks shot into the air.
Lint's car skidded to a stop just feet away from going over the edge of the cliff face, his heart beating with a war drum intensity of pounding dread.
The portal pulsed with an ever-growing width and depth, an unknown gateway with an open mouth of terror yet to be realized. Something of immense size stirred within its darkness.
"What. is this?" breathed Lint, his voice lost in the din, his eyes agape with the birth of the first horrific shape, the world poised balanced on the edge of a waking dream.
The portal's scarlet maw throbbed like a living wound on the expressway, the edges of which were flicking with vermillion veins of dark lightning, illuminating mayhem with strobing bursts of crimson.
Cars swerved wildly to hastily halt, screeching on asphalt, horns blaring out a symphony of terror as people leapt out of vehicles and ran. The atmosphere thickened, heavy with ozone's metallic taint and something much more primitive – sulphur, ancient and rapacious, like a lover's kiss whose ardor had been waiting for four hundred years to be bestowed upon his own.
Lint's sedan jittered from the shockwave, his knuckles white on the wheel, his chest pounding in time with a rhythm that approached ecstasy.
He'd been in tight spots before—tall, muscular, with a sharp edge of beauty that made women turn a double take and men get out of his way. But this was something else entirely.
This was primal energy, something that scraped at his nerves to stir a fierce, illicit ache deep in his chest.
From the center of the gateway, some kind of shape began to appear.
First, there was the hand – massive, scales as black as obsidian, claws ending in points of black steel.
The hand clutched itself onto the rim of the portal, tearing open reality itself. Then there was the arm, thick with an otherworldly strength, veins laced with glowing lava-like streams of blood beneath skin that glistened and shone with a wet, red glow. The monstrosity dragged itself through with calculated, predatory elegance, standing taller than ten feet and rivalling the height of skyscrapers, massive shoulders bulging with unfurled wings of darkness that eclipsed what little sunlight dared filter through during that miserable morning.
The face was beautiful in the most terrifying way, sharply angular, almost aristocratic, with high cheekbones and lips curved in a smile of knowing, cruel superiority.
Horns swept back from the forehead, and eyes, golden, slitted like a snake's, ranged across the fleeing humans with languid, possessive interest. All movement spoke of superiority, of primal sexual arrogance that vibrated through the air like an unspokèn promise of invasion and submission.
Lint couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The gaze of the demon traversed the blocked cars and settled on him, right through the windshield, into the very depths of his being. Those golden eyes narrowed, the lips curling back to display fangs, shiny like wet ivory. A growl began to brew, a rumble that shook the glass, the chest, the very center of Lint, kindling a forbidden excitement.
The creature cocked its head to one side, taking a deep breath as if savoring Lint's fear. and something else. Desire. The demon's smile grew wider, slow and obscene, tracing its tongue around a fang. The creature stepped closer, its claw making a sudden sound on the asphalt, and the air thickened with heat to the point where the windows steamed and Lint felt sweat trickle down his spine as if caressed by a lover's touch.
But around it all, phones continued to record, and people screamed and sirens wailed far off—while the world condensed down to this moment and this creature and this agony that coiled tighter and tighter.
The demon raised its hand, palm up and fingers curling in invitation that seemed an unmistakable command to Lint's deepest longings.
"Come to me," its voice whispered in Lint's mind—low, velvety rough, heavy with sinful promise.
"I can smell how much you want to kneel."
Even his hand reached for the door handle on his own, even his body was aglow with fiery, helplessly needy nerves. The demon's eyes blazed even brighter with triumph.
And suddenly, from the corner of the alleyway itself, the silvery glint and throaty roar of that same black supercar appeared—engine revving like a jealous lover. Akira.
The wheels skidded out, cutting off the path between Lint and the demon. Doors swung wide. Akira led, katana unsheathed, red mask securely in place once more, muscles honed for deadly precision. Yura and Yuna stood on either side of him, arms armed and eyes blazing.
The demon's smile grew feral as its eyes swivelled from Lint to Akira with hungry interest.
"Well," it spoke aloud now, its voice like dark honey dripped over fractured glass. "New meat has arrived. How delicious."
Akira's grip on his sword grew tighter, his stance spreading wide, each line of his face exuding a dangerous promise.
"You're not taking anyone today, dear."
The demon laughed, a low, foul sound, sending shivers racing across skin.
"Oh, sweet boy. I take what I want. And right now?"
His golden eyes raked across Akira's body with a blatant, scorching possessiveness.
"I want everything."
The air was alive with the possibility of violence and something much, much more sinister—raw, electric desire that could swallow them all whole. Akira charged. Steel clashed with claw in a deafening blow, sparks flinging off into the scarlet light as the true war for souls, and bodies, began.