The night reeked of blood and damp stone as Zaion moved through the city's underbelly, a shadow among shadows. His target tonight was a man who had grown fat on the suffering of others—a tax collector whose ledgers were stained with the hunger of orphans. The nobleman's young son clutched his hand, oblivious to the darkness that stalked them.
"Papa, why are we taking this path?" the boy asked, his voice small in the echoing alley.
"Quiet," the man snapped, his beady eyes darting nervously.
Then—Zaion struck.
His greatsword carved through the noble's spine before the man could scream. The body crumpled, and the boy, wide-eyed with shock, launched himself at Zaion with tiny, furious fists.
"YOU KILLED HIM!"
Zaion staggered back. The child's tears mirrored his own from long ago—another boy, another alley, another corpse that would never rise again.
"...I'm sorry, little one," he rasped, dissolving into the night.
But the boy's cries clung to him like a curse.
Wanted posters plastered the city, his name etched in bold, accusing letters: SANGUNE
Monster. Cannibal.
Zaion ripped one down, his reflection warped in the ink. "They love the wolves that devour them," he muttered. "But they call the hound that bites back a beast."
Then—the voices came.
The whispers of the dead he had consumed slithered into his mind.
"You're no different from us," hissed the ghost of a slaver.
"Does your justice taste sweet, hero?" mocked the specter of a corrupt merchant.
Zaion clutched his skull. "SILENCE!"
A lash of searing light coiled around his throat.
"Enough running, Sanguine."
Valia.
His sister stood before him, her silver armor battered, her sword steady. The royal knights fanned out behind her, blades gleaming in the torchlight.
"I've heard such fascinating tales about you," she said, though her grip on her weapon trembled. "Tell me—why hide behind masks and shadows? Afraid to show your true face?"
Zaion laughed, the sound jagged. "Why? Because your precious king pardons butchers if they fill his coffers! That man I killed tonight? He taxed widows into the grave—and you call me the monster?"
Valia's jaw tightened. "My brother once said life is like glass. Tilt it, and you see what you refused to before." She stepped closer. "That thief you slaughtered last week? He stole medicine for his dying wife. The noble tonight? His son will starve without that gold."
"LIES!" Zaion roared, and with a surge of stolen power, he shattered the light binding him. "You're as blind as the rest!"
He lunged—his greatsword aimed for her heart—
—but a knight threw himself into the blade's path.
"Your sacrifice will be remembered," Valia whispered, her voice breaking.
This was not duty. This was grief.
Their swords clashed. Zaion snarled, "Ice Field!" and frost exploded outward, encasing three knights in frozen tombs. He swung at Valia—
—and his blade passed through her like mist. A light clone.
"Judgement."
A beam of searing holy fire tore through him, reducing flesh to ash. He collapsed, smoke curling from blackened bone.
Valia stood over him, breath ragged. "What a disappointment." But her swordtip wavered. She had expected a mindless beast—not the echo of her brother's stance, his footwork.
Zaion's charred hand shot up, impaling her from behind. "Gotcha."
The remaining knights attacked. He slaughtered them in seconds—firestorm, blade-dance, the stolen skills of the dead flowing through him. Only Valia remained, her healing magic stitching her wounds shut.
"It's just you and me now," Zaion panted.
"Fine." Valia raised her sword—
—and he tore the world apart.
"Cancer: Hand of Shadow!"
The air shattered like glass, revealing a yawning void. A monstrous clawed hand erupted from the abyss, crashing toward Valia—
But she whispered, "Time Freeze."
Seven seconds. Seven steps. Her blade pierced his heart, then his throat.
His head hit the ground—then his body stood, flesh knitting back together, Before striking the surprised Valia.
Zaion was victorious. But as he stared at Valia's unconscious form, the boy's screams echoed in his skull.
"...Live with this," he muttered, consuming the fallen knights instead.
Their voices would join the chorus. They always did.
Zaion knelt in the ruins, piecing together the fragments of his broken mask, when Moonlight's voice slithered into his mind.
"Pathetic," it crooned. "Seven knights, and you still needed to regenerate?"
Zaion growled. "What do you want?"
"To remind you of your place," Moonlight hissed. "You are one of twelve vessels, Zaion Arcadia. The weakest of my chosen. The others hunt the Cosmic Crystals—fragments of the Cancer Artifact that killed you. Claim them, or I will discard you like the rest."
Zaion's breath caught. "The king has one."
"The first of many. Fail, and I will rip my gifts from your rotting corpse."
Moonlight's laughter faded, leaving only silence—and the crushing weight of competition.
Lyria Ashbourne, the royal physician, adjusted her spectacles as Valia jolted awake.
"You're the only survivor," Lyria murmured. "The others... there was nothing left to bury."
Valia's fists clenched. "His techniques—the Arcadia style. His regeneration..."
A memory surfaced—Zaion's headless body in the cave. The missing skull.
"That thing ate him," she whispered. "It's wearing his skills like a second skin."
Lyria recoiled. "That's impossible—"
"I'll carve the truth from its ribs," Valia swore, snatching her sword.
The grief was gone. Only fury remained.
"I'll kill you, Sanguine. Even if it's the last thing I do."
TO BE CONTINUED--