Night had settled over the city. Streetlights glimmered weakly, casting elongated shadows across empty streets.
Kylori Meykami Genesis moved through the quiet like a ripple in reality itself. Each step was precise, deliberate, as though the world beneath him bent subtly to accommodate him.
He reached the small alley behind his building—a mundane, dim space that to a passerby would seem ordinary. But to him, it was a threshold.
He paused. His eyes dark pools of focus. The air trembled. Shadows shifted. From the corner of his perception, whispers floated:
We hunger…
We see…
We follow…
Kylori did not flinch. Not a muscle twitched.
> "Sit," he whispered.
The shadows obeyed. Tendrils, wraiths, reflections—all pulled back, coiling into the nothingness he commanded.
From the darkness behind him, forms began to emerge. Puppets. Creatures collected over countless encounters. Not bound willingly. Not allies. Not servants. They were his trophies. His permanent captives.
Some had shapes too grotesque for the human mind to comprehend: eyes where there should be none, limbs that twisted impossibly, teeth like black shards of thought. Yet they obeyed. Their wills could not touch him. Not one could challenge the horror that he himself was the doorway.
And yet, Kylori did not revel in cruelty. His movements were calm, measured. His Gothic mind saw order in what others perceived as chaos.
He observed them, mentally cataloging, adjusting, commanding. A shadow separated from the mass, stretching long and thin across the alley. A tendril of darkness moved as though alive, curling to inspect a crumpled piece of trash before recoiling.
> "Not worth the energy," Kylori murmured.
The puppets bowed subtly, acknowledging his focus.
> Curious creatures… dangerous minds… insignificant in the presence of the Door.
He walked forward, the alley narrowing, shadows trailing behind like obedient serpents. Each step felt heavier than it should, and yet lighter—because reality itself feared him.
Somewhere in the city, he could feel her—Akira. Not nearby, but her presence brushed against his awareness. Bold, persistent, curious. A flicker of human warmth. Not yet dangerous. Not yet intrusive enough to irritate him. But intriguing.
He allowed himself a faint thought of amusement.
> So… someone dares observe without fear. Curious.
And in the dim glow of the alley, Kylori Meykami Genesis—handsome, elegant, terrifying—stood amid shadows that could devour a city and puppets that had once been gods, rulers, nightmares themselves. All of them feared him. All of them obeyed him.
And yet… he was not complete.
The whispering continued.
The shadows waited.
The Door of Beyond pulsed quietly in him, not a tool, not a gateway. He was it.
> And the night… just begins.