Inside a filthy, run-down hotel in Gotham's East End, the air smelled of cheap liquor, stale smoke, and rot. The peeling wallpaper hung like old skin, and the flickering ceiling light barely pushed back the shadows gathering in the corners of the room.
"Fuck, why did we come all the way out here?" one man complained loudly. "Those idiots from earlier—don't they know the Trial Council operates around here?"
"The Judgment Council," another man corrected, his voice tense. "Isn't that the group with that Blood God? I saw the video online. That thing isn't even human."
"Alright, alright, shut up!" a third voice snapped. "We've been keeping a low profile lately. We even pulled a few jobs quietly, and they never showed up once. I'm telling you—they probably already left Gotham."
The conversation echoed through the small lobby.
On the floor behind the front desk, the hotel owner lay trembling weakly. Five fruit knives were buried deep in his back, their handles jutting out like grotesque decorations. Blood had soaked through his shirt and spread across the cracked tile beneath him.
His desperate eyes were fixed on the other side of the room.
There, a thin young boy with long blond hair lay motionless on the floor. His face had turned deathly pale, and his small chest showed no signs of breathing. The boy's fragile body looked as if it had been drained of all warmth.
Boom.
A sudden thud shook the floor as a man wearing a crude dog-head mask stomped down hard, as if crushing some helpless animal beneath his foot.
He lazily pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it toward the wounded hotel owner.
"When the hell will this nonsense end?" he muttered.
"Exactly," another criminal added with irritation. "That damn Batman keeps sticking his nose everywhere. Because of him we had to run all the way to this miserable East End."
"Speaking of that," someone laughed harshly, "have you noticed something? Batman never comes here. I bet that coward doesn't dare mess with the Judgment Council. And people still think he's some hero. What a joke."
A burly man wearing a pig-head mask curled his lip in disdain. He walked slowly toward the boy lying on the ground and grabbed the child's limp body with one hand, lifting him easily.
The boy's face hung lifelessly toward the floor.
The pig-mask man frowned slightly.
Before he could say anything, a sharp slap echoed through the room.
Smack!
The pig-mask man had suddenly slapped the man walking up behind him.
"Why the hell did you hit me?!" the dog-head mask shouted angrily.
"Because you're a fucking idiot!" the pig-mask man roared. "He's dead! I told you not to kill people randomly! Not to kill people randomly!"
His voice rose in fury.
"If this ends up in tomorrow's newspaper, what happens when the Judgment Council notices? The media has been broadcasting every day about how safe the East End is now. If they start investigating—what the hell do we do then?!"
The pig-mask man completely lost his temper.
He grabbed the dog-mask criminal and slammed him to the floor before punching him viciously with fists the size of sandbags. The others rushed forward and pulled him back before the beating got worse.
Even after being dragged away, he still kicked the man in the chest in rage.
The dog-mask criminal finally realized what he had done.
His expression beneath the mask turned ugly.
"What do we do now?" someone muttered nervously. "This idiot killed a kid."
"I only meant to choke him until he passed out!" the dog-mask man protested defensively. "How the hell was I supposed to know he'd die so easily?"
The pig-mask man shot him a furious glare that instantly silenced him.
At that exact moment—
Jingle.
The soft chime of the hotel's doorbell rang through the quiet room.
All five members of the Mask Club stiffened at once. Their heads snapped toward the entrance as fear flashed across their eyes.
But the tension vanished almost immediately.
The fear was replaced by irritation.
A thin-faced man wearing expensive clothes staggered through the door. His steps were uneven, and his gaze looked unfocused. The strong smell of alcohol drifted off him as he leaned against the doorframe.
"Damn it," the dog-mask man muttered. "I thought the Blood God had smelled the blood and was coming here. Nearly scared me to death."
Annoyed, he grabbed a wine bottle from the nearby table and smashed it against a shelf. The bottle shattered, leaving behind a jagged glass edge that gleamed dangerously.
With a vicious grin, he walked toward the drunken stranger.
The other criminals simply watched without interfering.
They clearly approved.
The jagged bottle flashed forward.
Poof.
The broken glass stabbed directly into the stranger's abdomen.
The dog-mask man leaned close, expecting screams or desperate begging.
But something felt wrong.
The drunken man made no sound.
No scream.
No gasp.
No pain.
Instead, the corners of his mouth slowly curled upward into a wide, unnatural smile.
A faint scarlet glow flickered deep within his eyes.
The man—Faso—stared coldly at the criminal in front of him.
Then he opened his mouth.
Sharp crimson fangs sank straight into the dog-mask man's neck.
"Ah—!"
The scream burst out instinctively before abruptly stopping.
The dog-mask man froze where he stood, his body going rigid.
The sudden, horrifying scene shocked the remaining four members of the Mask Club. They stumbled backward in panic as they stared at the figure clamped onto their companion's throat.
"What the fuck!"
Thinking he was dealing with a lunatic, the pig-mask man gritted his teeth and charged forward.
But before he could reach them—
The dog-mask criminal's body was suddenly thrown backward like a rag doll.
He crashed straight into the pig-mask man, knocking him violently to the floor.
The impossible strength of that throw stunned everyone.
This was no normal human.
Fear finally flooded the room.
The remaining three criminals turned and ran toward the hotel's back door in panic.
But it was too late.
Power surged through Faso's body.
With a blur of movement far beyond human speed, he shot forward with a feral grin.
Screams echoed through the hotel.
Thuds of bodies slamming into walls followed one after another. Flesh collided violently with bone, furniture shattered, and desperate cries filled the air.
The struggle ended quickly.
Five minutes later, Faso casually tossed the final corpse to the ground.
The man's neck hung at a grotesque angle.
Excitement flickered in Faso's scarlet eyes.
But he quickly forced himself to calm down.
He had bitten several of them during the fight. To avoid accidentally turning these criminals into vampires, he walked over to each one and snapped their necks cleanly.
The faint cracking sounds echoed through the empty hotel.
Only silence remained.
Then a strange sound caught his attention.
A weak whimper.
Faso turned his head.
Near the front desk, the hotel owner lay in a pool of blood. The five knives were still lodged deep in his back. His trembling body shielded the small corpse of the blond boy lying beside him.
The man was crying quietly.
A low, broken sound escaped his throat.
Faso stared at him for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh.
He walked over slowly.
"Do you hate them?"
The middle-aged man looked at the lifeless body of his son.
His eyes instantly turned blood-red.
He nodded fiercely.
Despite Faso's terrifying appearance—blood still dripping from his mouth—the man looked at him with deep gratitude.
Faso spoke calmly.
"I am a blood descendant of the Blood God, and a member of the Judgment Council. Sin grows in darkness, but light must also rise from the darkness."
He paused briefly.
"Now we need more people to join us in destroying that darkness."
"The Blood God has given me permission to find warriors."
His scarlet eyes remained steady.
"I can transform you into something like me. From now on, you will fight evil in the darkness of night and sleep beneath the light of day."
His voice was serious.
"Are you willing?"
Faso had already discovered something unusual about himself earlier that day.
Sunlight burned him.
When he tested it, the sensation felt as if his skin were touching open flame. Only then did he truly understand what the Blood God meant about vampires fearing the light.
But to him, it didn't matter.
He had always been a creature of the night.
Night was far more comfortable than daylight anyway.
Tears streamed down the hotel owner's face.
His eyes burned with hatred.
"I hate all evil," the man said hoarsely. "I will become the enemy of all evil."
He stared straight at Faso.
"Please… give me that chance."
Faso nodded slowly, satisfied with the man's resolve.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward.
His crimson fangs pierced the man's neck.
"Mmm—!"
The middle-aged man groaned instinctively.
Time passed slowly.
His body soon began trembling violently, muscles spasming as something inside him changed.
After a while, Faso released him.
He looked slightly weak from blood loss.
But suddenly—
The man's eyes snapped open.
With terrifying strength, he pulled the five knives out of his back one by one.
Under Faso's watchful gaze, the man lunged toward the five dead criminals.
One after another, he bit into their necks and drank the remaining blood from their corpses.
A low, beast-like roar echoed through the neglected hotel.
....
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