The night was breathless.
The sky above, veiled in starlight, offered no moon to weep for the fallen.
The ground was littered with armoured bodies, sprawled like discarded puppets across the blood-stained soil.
They bore the crest of knighthood, yet none stirred.
Some clutched weapons still warm with battle, others lay face-first into the dirt, as if the very earth refused to remember them.
Not far from the silent massacre, at the heart of a faintly glowing ritual circle, a lone figure lay motionless.
Delicate patterns of ancient runes surrounding the corpse like an unfinished prayer.
The air was thick with residual energy, the kind that whispered of forbidden magic and irreversible acts.
A tall silhouette stood nearby, silent at first, his presence somehow heavier than the death around him.
His silver-white hair caught what little starlight there was, flowing like spectral silk in the breeze.
A long black coat billowed at his heels, the tailored suit beneath catching flecks of starlight, he observed the scene in contemplative quiet.
Then, a voice
Smooth, noble, yet touched with something wry and cold broke the silence.
I had anticipated the odds… though I dared entertain the fantasy of success.
There was no anger.
Just the faint trace of amusement behind the disappointment, a gentle smirk tugging at his voice like a man who'd just lost a wager he expected to lose, yet bet on anyway just for the love of the game.
He stepped closer to the body, gazing down at it with a quiet pause, almost respectful.
Still, what a fascinating attempt you were. Let this failure be buried in silence... for now.
He lowered his head slightly, as if offering a final condolence.
Then, with a sweep of his coat and a gust of chilling wind, he vanished... leaving behind only stillness, a circle scorched into the earth, and a body the stars refused to mourn.
---
Under a star-strewn sky.
On the empty stretch of highway, a single car sliced through the silence, its headlights painting pale arcs across the asphalt.
Inside, Ray sat behind the wheel, one hand steady, the other tapping faintly against the steering.
The low hum of the engine was the only sound accompanying him.
His phone buzzed, screen lighting up with a familiar name.
Dad
He picked up, voice light.
Hey, Dad. What's up?
A pause.
Then came his father's voice, uneven, edged with panic.
Ray… where are you right now?
Ray's brows furrowed.
I'm heading home. Why? You sound... off.
A shaky breath.
It's Victor.
He's planning something... something bad. I heard enough to know you're the target.
Be careful, son. I'm coming home too.
Ray sat straighter, his fingers tightening on the wheel.
Victor? That bastard..Don't worry Dad, I'll be carefu—
The line was cut short.
A roar of an engine.
Blinding headlights.
A black van barreled out of the darkness, smashing into the side of Ray's car with brutal force.
Metal screamed.
Tires lost grip.
The car spun, then slammed into the sidewall, crumpling on impact.
And silence returned to the road once more.
About four or five men poured out of the black van, the crunch of gravel beneath their boots the only sound cutting through the night.
They were armed.
Bats, metal rods, even a glint of a knife under the dim starlight.
One of them let out a coarse laugh.
What a hit, boss!
Their leader, a rugged man with a stocky frame and a permanent scowl, stood at the center.
He fished out a phone and dialed, eyes fixed on the smoking wreck ahead.
The job's done, sir.
He said into the receiver.
Good work, Marcus. But make sure the brat's dead. I don't want surprises.
Victor's voice crackled back, cold and sharp.
Understood.
Marcus replied, nodding.
He gestured with his chin.
Go check the car.
Two of his men approached cautiously, kicking aside glass and metal.
One peeked into the crushed vehicle, flashlight sweeping the dark interior.
Boss... he's not in the car.
What?
Marcus snapped, his grin fading.
He's gone!
Marcus cursed under his breath.
He couldn't have gotten far. Find him.
The men spread out, fanning into the roadside brush.
The silence stretched.
Until a scream tore through the night.
One of them dropped like a stone.
Shit!
The other bolted toward him, only to find his comrade lying sprawled across the ground, eyes wide in unconscious shock no wounds, no sign of struggle.
Just fear frozen on his face.
A cold chill prickled down his spine.
Then... a breath.
Right behind him.
He spun around just in time to catch a flash of red-drenched hair and the burning glare of a young man probably in his twenties.
Blood streaked down the left side of his head, his shirt torn, but his eyes blazed with something primal.
Rage.
Before he could shout, the fist connected...
Everything went dark.
It was Ray.
The scream had barely faded when the rest of the crew came rushing in.
Their boots pounded against the pavement, weapons raised, eyes wild only to find two of their own sprawled on the ground, motionless.
And no sign of the attacker.
Marcus narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening around the knife in his hand.
Stay sharp!
He growled.
If that bastard takes you out, I'll kill you myself.
Then—
*Scrraaaape.*
The screech of metal dragging across the asphalt echoed from the shadows.
All heads turned.
A silhouette emerged from the darkness.
Bloodied, limping, but standing tall.
A metal rod dragged behind him, its tip carving lines in the road.
His clothes were torn, one side of his face streaked with blood.
He didn't say a word, but the raw fury burning in his eyes said more than enough.
Ray.
His vision was starting to blur, his legs felt heavier with each step.
He knew he didn't have much time.
If this dragged on, he wouldn't survive.
Three of them stood between him and any chance of escape.
Two broke forward, charging in sync to overwhelm him.
Ray moved first.
With a sharp grunt, he hurled the rod like a spear
*Craccckkk!*
The first man dropped, the metal colliding with his skull mid-run.
The second flinched but charged through his fear, screaming, bat raised.
Ray ducked under the swing, then drove his knee straight into the man's jaw.
A sickening *crack* followed as the attacker crumpled to the ground.
Marcus, stunned for a second, finally lunged with his blade.
His strikes were wild, desperate, erratic.
Ray dodged the first two slashes but stumbled.
His body was failing him.
The third cut grazed his side.
Then another tore through his sleeve, slicing skin.
His movements slowed.
Pain blurred his focus.
But his eyes caught it.
The rod lying just feet away.
He rolled, grabbed it, and with a raw, guttural shout, swung it with everything he had.
*Thud*
Marcus dropped.
Silence.
Ray stood over him, blood dripping from his temple, his grip trembling.
The rod clattered from his fingers.
He turned and staggered toward the van, every step heavier than the last.
Just a little more...
A sudden stab of pain shot through his skull like lightning. He gasped, clutched his head and collapsed to the ground.
His vision dimmed, the world fading into shadow.
But just before the darkness swallowed him whole...
He saw someone.
Not one of them.
Someone else...
A lone silhouette standing above the chaos.
And then—
Nothing.
Darkness...
Then breath.
Eyes snap open.
New air, new body, but a lingering weight in the soul.
A heartbeat echoes like thunder in his ears.
Cold stone beneath his fingertips.
The scent of earth and ash.
Then—
A voice.
Soft, urgent.
Feminine.
Karma...?
He turns his head slowly, vision still swimming in the haze of return.
And there, framed by the pale starlight.
She stands.
The first face his new eyes would ever see.
To be continued...