A long table stretched out like a carpet of grandeur, around which dozens of leaders sat, each carrying in their eyes a gaze of authority, or ambition hidden beneath a mask of calm.
At the center of this gathering sat Shiryu — heir of the Kinzo family, bearer of the Mark of Destruction, a power that sent tremors through the balance of power. Yet despite the weight of his name and the immense strength he carried, he did not belong to the Shinda, nor was he drawn to the clamor of battle. He chose the palace, chose solitude, chose a quiet life that stood in stark contrast to the clashing of swords and the thunder of war.
But that tranquility, in the eyes of the Black Mark's plan, was the greatest danger. For Shiryu's power, even while dormant, remained an existential threat. The heir of Kinzo could not be left alive, not while destruction itself flowed in his veins.
Thus, Yamato and Zina were sent, disguised, into the heart of the palace on the night of the family's founding celebration—where lights illuminated the corridors, music whispered through the halls, and no one knew this night would soon turn into a night of blood.
Yamato and Zina entered in silence, like shadows slipping through the folds of darkness, blending into the crowd. Yet Yamato's aura—unlike that of any human—sent shivers through the hearts of some soldiers. They grew suspicious, approached, inspected. Then suddenly, they discovered the truth: this was no human.
The soldiers attacked him, five at once, but Yamato did not flinch. He bared his fangs and began to kill.
Each of his movements was like a thunderbolt, each strike like an irreversible judgment. The soldiers fell like autumn leaves, one after another, while the news spread through the palace like fire through dry grass: "An assassin! A vampire in the palace!"
Meanwhile, Zina moved in secrecy, like an unseen shadow, slipping through side corridors, avoiding guards, making her way toward the banquet hall where Shiryu was believed to be, intending to complete her mission without a trace of noise.
As for Yamato, he had now been exposed and targeted. He fought through every corridor, every path, carving his way through rivers of blood that left nothing behind. Then, before him stood Rindo—one of the family's leaders, a man who wielded a long chain, at the end of which swung a massive iron ball, dragging behind him like prison shackles, tearing through the ground wherever it passed.
The moment Yamato finished off a soldier, the iron ball shot from behind him, pierced the wall, then tore through his abdomen. Yamato was stunned, a look of surprise flashing across his face, followed by sharp pain, before a rough voice emerged from the rising dust:
—"Vampire... you have no choice... surrender."
Yamato ignored the words and smiled a terrifying smile, as if pain meant nothing to him, as if the wound were merely a line drawn on paper. Then suddenly, he heard the ground cracking beneath his feet. He vanished from the spot and reappeared directly in front of Rindo's face, a sharp wooden stake in his hand, as if time itself had paused during his disappearance.
Rindo reacted swiftly, pulling the ball back toward him, but Yamato dodged with supernatural agility. Instead of returning, the ball struck Rindo himself in the chest. He dropped to his knees, blood pouring from his mouth, coughing violently, his voice trembling. Inside, a whisper arose:
—"He's far too clever..."
Some soldiers tried to protect him, but Yamato gave them no chance. Each received a single blow and fell like dead leaves.
Then Yamato lunged toward Rindo. Rindo struggled to rise, desperately launching rapid strikes with his iron ball, creating chaos in the corridor, but suddenly he stopped, hunching slightly forward, sweating profusely, gasping as if each breath were being torn from him one by one.
At that moment, Yamato appeared before him, standing like the shadow of death, and said coldly:
—"You're slow."
Then he added:
—"Tell me... where is Shiryu?"
Rindo lifted his head and laughed a strange laugh, a mixture of mockery and sorrow:
—"Do you really think you can fight Shiryu? You'll die before you even see him."
Yamato stared at him with piercing eyes, as if lightning burned within them, then whispered short, sharp words like a blade:
—"Cutting Flame."
He extended his hand in a straight line, as if the air itself split apart. The force passed through, slicing Rindo from top to bottom, splitting him cleanly in two. The body collapsed to the ground, blood gushing like a river, flooding the corridor in crimson.
Yamato stood over the corpse, gazed at it for a moment, then murmured to himself:
—"If the strongest is here, he'll be on the highest floor of the palace... I suppose I should head upward."
At that moment, another commander arrived, standing before Rindo's body, seeing the bisected corpse, the pooling blood, the chains scattered on the ground. He looked at the body, then whispered softly, yet with unwavering resolve:
—"Rest in peace... I will repay your debt."
---
Thus, in the silence of the palace and the chaos of blood, the massacre continued, and the steps of fate advanced toward the inevitable confrontation.