Time : 8:30 pm
Place : Training Camp
The world seemed to quake. Every Asker had gathered for dinner, but the sudden,
destructive sound froze them in place. An uneasy calm blanketed the camp—too calm, too
still, as if the air itself were holding its breath.
Dim light flickered across the mess hall, leaving the corners drowned in shadow. Cadets sat
on long benches before wooden tables, eating their simple meal of bread and meat soup.
Laughter and chatter had filled the room just moments ago—but now, silence devoured
everything.
The noise had struck like lightning, shattering the fragile peace. Conversations halted
mid-sentence, spoons hovered halfway to mouths, and eyes widened to their limits. Every
face turned toward the sound, hearts pounding in unison, as if the entire hall shared a single
question—
What was that?
A tension gripped the air, sharp and cold. The dim lights flickered once more… and the
silence deepened.
"That sound… it must have come from the market area," one of the cadets shouted, eyes
wide with alarm. "I think someone is battling Hellbornes!"
"Hellborne? How can you be so sure? It could be anything else—an accident, a fire…
something ordinary," Butch replied, his voice hesitant.
"No, Butch," Reez countered, his tone sharp. "Can't you feel it? That dark aura… coming
from the east."
Erina's eyes narrowed, her finger pointing toward the direction of the ominous energy. "He's
right. We should go and check. Something is very wrong."
"But—" Butch started, his usual bravado faltering. "Shouldn't we let the professionals handle
this? Chief Minata and Captain Clement aren't here, and Commander Swart has already
gone to Village Eldoria on a mission to confront another Hellborne. Maybe we should wait for
them."
Erina's gaze hardened. She tightened her belt, rising from the bench with determination.
"Then I won't wait. If something's happening, we can't just sit here. If anyone wants to come
with me, now's the time."
There was a tense pause. Butch swallowed hard, his eyes flicking nervously toward the
eastern horizon. Finally, he muttered, "Okay… I'll come. I shouldn't let you face this alone."
His words were tinged with fear, betraying the unease he tried to hide.
A few other cadets, sensing the gravity of the situation, quickly joined them, while some ran
to alert the remaining core members. The air grew heavier as the mists from the outskirts
spiraled inward, thickening in a swirling, unnatural dance. Shadows stretched unnervingly
across the ground, and the once-calm night seemed ready to erupt into chaos. The sense of
impending danger was unmistakable—something dark and uncontrollable was rising, and no
one knew the full extent of the threat yet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Time : 9:03 pm Hospital
Place : Winerose City
The area around the hospital had turned into hell itself. Everywhere lay the remains of
humanity—scattered limbs, torn flesh, and faintly twitching organs that refused to die. In
some corners, a pair of sightless eyes stared blankly from the ground, their owners long
gone. The bodies were beyond recognition, mangled beyond any trace of identity.
The stench of blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating. The ground was soaked scarlet,
every inch painted with despair. Against a cracked wall rested Ava's motionless body, her
head tilted to the side, blood dripping slowly from her smiling face. It was the kind of smile
that froze the heart—a final echo of courage, now drowned in crimson. Her body looked as if
it had been bathed in blood.
Ignis sat silently on the hospital stairs, his right arm pressed tightly against the wound to stop
the bleeding from what remained of his hand. There was no fear in his eyes now. His
expression was unreadable—empty, distant—as he stared blankly at the ground, lost
somewhere between agony and acceptance.
"You monster! You've killed my sister—the only family I had, my friend. I'll never forgive you.
I'll tear you apart and give you a death you'll never forget, not just in this life but in the
afterlife."
Ignis's voice choked with misery; tears streamed down his face.
He rose to his feet, legs trembling but strong with purpose. Pain vanished from his
mind—consumed by a fire in his chest that even oceans couldn't drown. He took steady,
determined steps toward Nocturo, eyes cold and unblinking. Only one thing burned there:
revenge. Revenge for the countless innocents slaughtered. Revenge for the woman who
had cared for him like a mother.
Nocturo's lips curled into a contemptuous smile. "So you think you can defeat me with bare
hands? How foolish. Your sister is already gone—her heart will still soon. Why risk your life
for someone already dying?" His voice dripped with mockery. "I pity you. Surrender and run.
I won't harm you further—after all, you've already lost your left hand. Run, kid."
"You think you can pity me? I'll tear you apart first." Ignis lunged, every movement fueled by
grief and rage, and threw a punch with everything he had.
Nocturo moved like smoke—effortless and cruel. He ducked the blow and countered with a
brutal strike to Ignis's face.
Ignis's body skidded across the floor, slammed into the wall, and collapsed in a heap. He
slumped against the cracked masonry, blood streaming from his nose and a deep wound on
his brow. Blood and tears mixed as they fell to the blood-soaked floor, each drop a small,
furious testament to what he had lost.
After all this suffering Ignis stood again , now he stepped again, laming , "I'll not let you go ,
you've to die today ". Ignis said with his last remaining energy.
"Oh, then you will not run. What can I do now—face your death then!" Nocturo's voice
poured cruelty like acid. He clawed at his brow, a grotesque pantomime of disgust aimed
straight at Ignis.
The chain in his hand glinted—a dark, terrible thing. Up close, Ignis could see it was slick
with blood; droplets trembled on its spikes and fell in slow, agonizing beads. Each tiny splash
on the floor sounded impossibly loud in the ruined hall. Nocturo let the chain hang for a
heartbeat, listening to the metallic bass of his own breath, as if composing a final dirge.
Then he moved. The chain sang through the air, a cold, rhythmic clang that matched the
beating of Ignis's heart. With a sudden, cruel flourish, Nocturo hurled the weapon upward. It
hammered into the ceiling like a meteor, and for a suspended second the world seemed to
stop—Ignis's vision narrowing to the arc of metal, the spray of dust, the last sliver of
moonlight glinting on a droplet of blood.
The ceiling groaned. A thin crack slithered across the plaster like a living thing. Then the roof
gave way with a thunder that swallowed sound. Stone and timber cascaded down in a
blinding storm of rubble.
Ignis didn't see it all—he felt it. The crushing weight drove him to the ground, forcing the
breath from his lungs and the life from his eyes. In the suffocating dark, fragments of
memory flashed before him—Ava's smile, her hand on his shoulder, the warmth of her voice
saying "You're not alone." He could almost hear her calling his name now, faint and
desperate.
And there—other voices joined hers. The shouts of cadets, echoing like distant ghosts:
"Ignis! Hold on!" They sounded so real that his fading heart leapt… but deep down, he knew.
They weren't real. None of them were. They were just echoes of a world slipping away—his
mind's final rebellion against the truth.
Nocturo's silhouette loomed through the haze, black against the ruin, his laughter breaking
the illusion apart. The imagined voices fell silent. Only the creak of collapsing beams and the
faint, wet drip of blood from Nocturo's chain remained.
Ignis's hand twitched beneath the rubble, reaching toward a light that wasn't there. The dust
choked him, his vision fading to gray. The world fell utterly still.
And then came silence—pure, suffocating silence. Not peace, not calm—just the hollow
breath of death itself.
Where there was a hospital, there was now only rubble.
And among it all, only one being still stood—the monstrous creature who had destroyed
everything.
"No—this can't be! There's a Hellborne!"
At last the cadets had arrived. Their eyes widened with a raw, animal fear. The sight before
them was worse than any nightmare: blood everywhere, the heavy metallic stench of death
clinging to the air. None of them had ever seen so much carnage. All gazes locked on the
figure in the blue kimono and the black aura that pulsed around it like living shadow.
"Wait—don't get so close. It could be dangerous," Erina warned, her voice hard and steady
despite the tremor in the camp. "If I'm not wrong… that's Nocturo." She swallowed, then
continued, each word measured like a blade. "As the legends say, he's nearly two hundred
and thirty years old. He's a Class-1 Hellborne. His authority—the Authority of Ultimate
Trauma—renders people uncontrollable. They turn on themselves and others. We can't
attack at close range. We should wait."
Her warning fell over them like a cold wave. For a moment, no one moved. The only sound
was the distant drip of blood and the whisper of fabric as someone shifted their footing.
"Then there's no point in fighting now," Reez said, forcing his voice to steadiness. "There are
barely any survivors left inside. We should fall back—hide and regroup. Am I wrong, Erina?"
The cadets breathed—some shorter, some sharper—relieved by the plan, though fear still
clawed at the edges of their courage.
Nocturo moved back and took a single step from the hospital gate, his chains dragging
behind him, whispering across the blood-stained floor.
"Now I think everything has been finished," he muttered to himself, his tone cold and empty.
"Now I should move on… there's no fun left."
But then—
The ground trembled.
The shattered remains of the hospital groaned as if something ancient was stirring beneath.
The heavy wall fragments began to shift, one after another, grinding against the concrete.
A shadow emerged from within the dust. Slowly—deliberately—it rose.
The air turned suffocating. The mist, once thin, now flowed thick and restless, swirling like
ghostly waves around the figure.
"Haven't you seen him…?" Butch's trembling voice came from behind a bush. "That figure
looks very well known, right?"
"Speak slowly," Erina whispered, her eyes locked on the haze. "I… I also think I've seen him
before."
The figure straightened completely, its outline sharpening through the storm of debris.
Nocturo froze. His pupils shrank, his pale skin turned almost translucent. His usual grin
dissolved into something twisted—pure fear.
From within the haze, a red light flickered—then flared to life.
A single eye, glowing like molten ember, piercing through the smoke.
It didn't blink. It didn't tremble. It only watched.
The figure's hands hung loosely, calm and composed, while his steps echoed
faintly—steady, certain, unstoppable.
Nocturo's breath hitched. "Why… why am I frightened?" he whispered, his voice cracking.
"I'm the Hellborne of Trauma… I can't be affected by any negative emotion unless…"
He hesitated. His voice dropped to a shaken murmur.
"Unless… the Authority of Thrilling Horror."
He shook his head violently. "No… no, that's impossible! Master Craneas hasn't found the
Pillar of Horror—it can't be here!"
He laughed nervously, trying to convince himself, but his laughter only echoed back—a
hollow, dying sound swallowed by silence. The closer the red eye came, the louder his
heartbeat became. His throat tightened.
"That eye… why is it making me so… uncomfortable?" he gasped, his words trembling with
every breath.
Then—
A voice came from within the mist. Calm. Low. But it sliced through the night like a blade.
"Now," it said, "you should count the rest of your life."
The haze began to clear.
Step by step, the figure emerged—burned, bloodied, but standing tall.
It was Ignis.
"No…" Nocturo's body went rigid. "I cut off his hand… I saw him die… this—this can't be
real!"
Ignis's crimson eye gleamed, cold and merciless. "No," he said, his tone chillingly steady,
"you should fear me."
Nocturo staggered backward, clutching his head. "Fear… what's happening to me? Whose
memory is this?"
And then he screamed.
Images flashed through his mind—fire, blood, pain not his own. The faint memory of another
life, another soul, clawing its way inside him.
His knees hit the ground. His chains fell silent.
And in that suffocating silence, one truth became clear—
for the first time in two hundred and thirty years, the Hellborne of Trauma was truly afraid.
Narrator's Stylus: [In this segment, the narrator will guide you through the entities, relics, and unfolding phenomena of this dark world.]
Nocturo - The Hellborne of Trauma
A Class-1 Hellborne, feared for his dominion over agony and madness. Within a 250-meter radius, his Authority of Ultimate Trauma drives people into chaos-forcing them to destroy others and themselves without reason.
Ability: Immune to every emotion except Greed and Horror, Nocturo conquered the first through centuries of ruthless will. Yet Horror-his only weakness-still lurks in the depths of his mind, waiting to consume him.
Weapons:
Chain of Ultimate Trauma: A blood-soaked chain with shrieking spikes, extending as far as his authority allows, tearing both flesh and sanity.
Shattered Mirror: A cursed relic that bends space and traps foes in their own distorted reflections.
He does not need an army.
He is the calamity.
Where Nocturo walks, sanity becomes a myth-and silence screams louder than death itself.