Three thousand years ago, four mighty factions ruled the underworld from the shadows. They were ancient, powerful, and secretive—capable of upending the balance of the world if they had ever revealed themselves. Today, they exist only in myths, whispered tales passed down through generations. Yet their legacy still lingers, etched into the bones of the earth and the bloodlines of man.
The Vampire Faction—elegant predators who traded humanity for demonic power, sustained by the crimson nectar of human blood.
The Wolf Faction—feral warriors whose dominion was the battlefield. Though politically sluggish, their martial might made them near-unstoppable, and their eternal rivalry with the Vampires was infamous.
The Hunter Faction—born of vengeance and hatred, a brotherhood formed solely to destroy the demonic. To them, the Vampire and Wolf alike were abominations to be purged.
And lastly, the Mage Faction—shrouded in myth, their origins rumored divine. They were humans, it is said, touched by the gods, wielding forces no other mortals could.
---
Within the Crimson Citadel of the Vampire Lords…
Dark velvet curtains billowed softly in the breeze as the moonlight spilled across the obsidian floor of the great hall. The air, heavy with the scent of blood and rosewood, trembled under the weight of suppressed fury.
"Lord Cain, we cannot allow those traitorous Bat Elders to continue their provocations!" Lance's voice cracked with fury, his knee planted to the ground before the throne. "They've unleashed feral beasts upon our lands—beasts with our blood, twisted and maddened!"
Cain stood by the tall window, the moonlight gilding his pale features in silver. His crimson eyes, cold and unblinking, watched the distant forest where shadows moved unnaturally.
"They believe my patience eternal," he said calmly, yet every syllable carried the weight of millennia. "Let them learn otherwise."
Cain turned, the hem of his black cloak whispering across the marble. His gaze fell upon Lance like a storm cloud, and the air grew dense.
"Mobilize the Shadow Hounds. Inform the faction—we will strike back. Those who dare stand against us will find no sanctuary, not even in death."
"As you command, my lord." Lance bowed low, then vanished into the darkness, consumed by shadow.
Moments later, another presence approached—gentler, yet no less powerful.
"I have come, brother. You summoned me?"
Cain gestured toward the seat across from him. "Noctis, how go the negotiations with the Wolf Faction?"
Noctis, younger in appearance but ancient still, took the seat. His deep violet eyes shimmered with curiosity. "Well, brother. Surprisingly well. Their chieftain respects strength, and your reputation precedes you."
A flicker of something unreadable crossed Cain's face. "Then my gamble was worth it. We may yet find allies in unexpected places."
But Noctis narrowed his gaze. "You speak as if preparing for your own eulogy. What troubles you?"
Cain looked away, silence stretching between them. Then, with a sigh so quiet it almost wasn't there, he replied, "Perhaps it is nothing. Or perhaps... the wind simply feels colder tonight."
Before Noctis could press further, Lance emerged again from the shadows. "My lords—the Shadow Hounds are in position. Our forces are ready."
Cain nodded once. "Then let us greet our enemies."
---
Beneath the crimson banners of the Vampire Faction, an army of dark-clad warriors gathered before the great citadel. Shadows danced under torchlight as Cain, Noctis, and the third lord, Enosh, led the charge. Swords drawn, sigils burning upon their arms, they clashed against the corrupted beasts of the traitorous Bat Elders.
The battle was savage.
And then, treachery.
"I didn't think... you'd resort to curse magic."
Cain fell to one knee, his body wracked with pain. The curse coiled around his immortal form like black chains, leeching away the essence that made him undying. His fingers trembled. His breath shortened. His vision blurred.
"No..."
"Lord Cain!"
Lance, roaring with fury, cleaved through the enemy ranks. With a sweep of his blade, he decapitated the traitors. But the damage had been done.
---
Days later, the once-immortal lord lay in his chambers. His skin was pale, lips tinged grey, and his once-fiery eyes now dim embers of a dying flame.
"Lance... bring my family. I would see them... before the end."
His voice was a hoarse whisper. Lance bowed, his expression carved in stone, and departed.
Soon, Cain's room filled with the scent of lavender and sorrow. Astrid, his beloved, clutched his cold hand. Beside her, their daughter, Anne, barely eight, clung to a toy bear, tears streaking down her cheeks.
"Father!" she sobbed.
"Anne," Cain whispered, his lips barely moving, "Would you... tell me your story once more? One last tale before I slumber."
"I-It's the story of the boy... the one born in the East." She sniffled, voice trembling. "He was small, and people mocked him, but he trained hard. He made friends from all the factions and... and one day, he became king. He stopped the wars, and everyone lived happily... together."
She wiped her eyes. "Isn't that your dream, Father? Unity?"
Cain smiled, faint but proud. "Yes, little one. That is... my dream."
Astrid rose, gently taking Anne by the arm. "Come, dear. Let Father rest."
As they left, Cain turned his eyes to Lance one final time. "For the prophecy... you know what must be done."
Then, silence.
Cain's breath faded. His gaze emptied.
---
The Blood Shrine—a place once believed to heal any vampire ailment—failed. The curse had severed his ties to immortality. No blood ritual could reclaim what had been lost.
Lord Cain, the Crimson Shadow, was no more.
---
Three thousand years passed.
The factions, shattered by internal strife and time, vanished into myth. They scattered across the western continents, vanishing beneath history's dust. Their names, once feared and revered, became little more than stories to frighten children.
And in the year 2022, far from the ancient castles and blood-stained fields, in the quiet suburb of Saitama Prefecture, Japan...
"Let me go! Please!"
A boy screamed, struggling against the grip of cruel hands.
Angel Hughes, a foreign teenager and a regular target for his classmates' amusement, was dragged deep into the Musashino Woods, toward the gates of an abandoned mansion.
He didn't know it yet...
But the blood of a forgotten king still flowed in his veins.
And tonight, the underworld would awaken once more.