Northern Syria,
Kurgansk's mountain
(People are scattering in all directions. Gunfire echoes. Police officers are firing at towering, grotesque demons tearing through the city.)
Azra finally reached the northern border of Syria but nothing could've prepared him for what he saw.
The chaos was unimaginable.
Buildings lay in ruins, smoke curled into the sky, and monstrous figures moved through the wreckage like a nightmare made real. The pandemic hadn't just spread—it had exploded. And the government? It looked like even they had lost control.
Azra stood frozen, staring wide-eyed as a demon hurled a crushed car like it was a toy. His breath caught in his throat. What the hell is happening here?
BANG!
A gunshot cracked through the noise.
Suddenly, Azra felt something hard slam into his side, an AK-47. A soldier had struck him with the butt of the rifle.
"Hey, you!" the soldier barked, aiming the gun straight at him.
Azra's hands shot up instinctively. "Huh? Wait—I'm innocent! I'm from the South!"
The soldier's eyes narrowed. "The South?" He looked Azra over like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you insane? Haven't you been watching the news? Why would you come here?"
Azra hesitated. He couldn't explain it at least not fully. Who in their right mind would leave a safe zone to enter this? It could only mean one thing...
The soldier didn't wait for an answer. "You're coming with us. We're taking you to the base."
"What? No. I'm just a civilian! I'm not—"
Before he could finish, a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head.
Everything went dark.
30 minutes later,
Azra's eyes cracked open, his vision blurry, head throbbing like a warning drum. A chill ran through him, not from the cold, but the crushing dread that seeped into his bones. Above him, the ceiling was caving in on itself, its rotting wood and rusted beams groaning with age. His gaze drifted sideways. Iron bars. Thick. Unforgiving. A prison.
"No…" he whispered, voice dry, barely human.
He struggled to sit up, the concrete beneath him stained with something darker than time. Across from him, a group of prisoners sat chained—segregated, almost like exhibits. Their eyes weren't just tired… they burned. Suspected demons, maybe once human. Maybe still.
This couldn't be real.
The government had gone too far, arresting the strange, the cursed, the touched. Turning them into weapons to fight other monsters. But monsters don't take sides. And training evil only sharpens its edge.
Then came the sound. A scream twisted by agony. Steel screeched. Flesh tore. Something, a man no longer burst from a distant cell, a grotesque form now fully demon, tearing through iron and bone alike.
Azra didn't wait.
The gates swung open in the chaos, and he ran like all the others. A sea of fugitives, some human, some not. Bullets rang out, hot lead singing death as Commander Benz Dickens barked from above.
"Fire!! Fire, damn you!"
But it was already too late. Bullets didn't stop what was coming. One by one, the prisoners changed. Their skin cracked, eyes rolled back, and screams twisted into guttural growls. A wave of blood and terror washed through the prison. Humans becoming demons. Demons devouring humans.
(Sorrowful music swelling … screams… sobs… chaos)
Azra sprinted toward the train station, lungs burning. He climbed aboard, only to face a squad of OPS soldiers with rifles raised. They didn't hesitate.
He did.
"Hmph…" Azra exhaled, voice trembling. "Don't make me…"
A strange light shimmered across his skin—blue, ethereal. A wind howled out of nowhere, tightening into a crushing torrent of water that slammed into the soldiers. Bone snapped. Screams cut short. Silence.
He didn't look back.
He seized the controls, sending the train hurtling down the track, toward the haunted peaks of Kurgansk's mountain.
The world outside blurred, smoke, fire, people running with nowhere to go. Demons hunted the survivors. Cities crumbled in silence beneath screaming skies.
"I'm coming for you, Refel," Azra muttered under his breath, clenching the wheel. "Just… hold on."
But fate had other plans.
A storm slammed into the train, unnatural, angry. The engine shrieked. Steel twisted. The train flipped violently, metal crunching like bones in a grinder. Sparks flew. Fire licked at the wreckage, and the scent of burning wires and blood filled the air.
Azra crawled out of the wreckage, face soaked in red, breaths shallow. He stood, swaying, his hands trembling.
"Alright… come on then…"
With a roar, he summoned a poisonous flame, flinging it toward the approaching demon. Wind spiraled behind it, deadly and wild.
But the demon blocked it —effortless. Mocking.
"Old tricks," it growled, a sneer carved into its face.
Azra didn't retreat. He cast the three-stone incantation, turning flame into cold water, an impossible fusion. The air rippled. His next strike was primal, a sword of wind and steel piercing the demon's heart.
Silence followed.
♪♪Ominous music, slow…. building tension♪♪
Then, the demon's form twisted… shrank… changed.
"Azra..." it said, voice weak. Human.
Azra froze.
The light faded. His bloodied face paled as he stepped closer.
"No…"
The demon now lying in the dirt, bruised, dying—wore a face Azra hadn't seen in years.
"Refel…?"
His twin brother looked up, eyes dimming.
"Why, Azra…?"
Azra staggered back, a breath caught in his throat.
"No…"
Fade to black.
{Exeunt….