The urgent cry of a trembling officer shattered the tense silence of the vast throne chamber. The heavy doors smmed open as the soldier sprinted forward, chest heaving, his uniform drenched in sweat.

  Lionel sat upon his throne, fingers tapping together in slow, deliberate rhythm. The sharp crack of magic twisted through the air, and the woman before him—his current pything—let out a hoarse, strangled scream. Her body convulsed, blood seeping from her nose, veins bulging grotesquely beneath her skin as his power slithered through her like writhing serpents.

  His golden eyes flickered with annoyance. "Speak."

  The officer gulped, spine snapping straight under Lionel's withering gaze. "Sentryon has escaped…"

  Silence.

  Lionel's fingers stopped moving. His golden irises fshed with sudden fury.

  Then—boom.

  The throne room trembled as a surge of dark energy exploded from Lionel's body, bck tendrils of raw power shing through the air. The woman crumpled like a discarded doll, her body reduced to ash in an instant.

  "Get him contained. Now!" Lionel's voice thundered, shaking the very walls.

  The officer flinched. "M-my Lord… he's too strong. He—"

  "What?" Lionel snapped, his voice like a bde against flesh.

  The officer swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "He took down Rank 2… with ease."

  A chilling silence swallowed the room.

  Lionel's grip on the throne tightened, nails digging deep into the dark metal. "What…?"

  Arms bred. Red lights pulsed through the prison corridors, painting the scene in flickering hues of chaos.

  The bodies y scattered.

  Guards. Soldiers. Demon Users.

  Sughtered.

  The metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air, clinging to the walls, seeping into the floor.

  Alexander stood in the center of it all, his body drenched in crimson. None of it was his.

  Not a single scratch marked him.

  At his feet y Rank 2. The Demon User's lifeless body was twisted unnaturally, the massive gauntlet on his right arm still humming with residual energy. His shattered mask y beside him, and the 2 had been carved deep into the wall behind him—a scar left by the force of the final blow.

  Alexander exhaled slowly. His breath remained steady, unfazed.

  Stepping over the corpse, he made his way to the central control panel. The screen flickered, its surface marred with cracks, but his hands moved with eerie precision, bypassing security, overriding every st failsafe.

  Power grids failed. Surveilnce colpsed. The citadel's defenses fell apart, piece by piece.

  He should have kept moving.

  Instead, he sat down.

  Leaning against the cold wall, he let his head tilt back, blood dripping from his fingertips. The distant hum of arms faded into the background, their rhythm pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

  "Blood Wolf…" he murmured.

  The voice stirred within him. Familiar. Watchful.

  "Before I go… I need to know…" His breath hitched. His fingers twitched. "Is Markus alive?"

  A pause. Then—

  "Yes."

  A slow, bittersweet smile curled on Alexander's lips. For the first time in years, relief washed over him.

  His eyes glowed just a little brighter. "Good…"

  He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply.

  Dying wouldn't be as hard now.

  A quiet chuckle escaped him, empty of humor. "I just wish… I could have done more. If only…" His voice faltered, thick with regret. "If only I was there… my family wouldn't have had to go through this…"

  The countdown began.

  Three.

  His vision blurred. A strange, warm light flickered before him.

  Two.

  He saw them.

  Three figures.

  Glowing. Ethereal. Their silhouettes wavered, but he knew them. He had seen them before, long ago.

  Demi-Wolves.

  One was a young girl. Her eyes shimmered with innocence. A look he remembered—a look he had failed to protect.

  His breath caught. His chest ached.

  Tears welled in his Crimson eyes.

  The figures reached for him.

  His body trembled. His lips parted, breath shaky.

  He reached back.

  "I'm coming…"

  His fingers brushed against theirs.

  Markus… I'm leaving.

  His smile softened.

  "Sorry I couldn't say goodbye."

  One.

  He took their hand.

  The explosion consumed everything.

  And just like that—it was over.

  "LORD LIONEL!!"

  The desperate cry tore through the throne chamber as the officer burst in, his uniform scorched, his breath ragged. He stumbled forward, barely keeping himself upright.

  "Prison 15 just went up in fmes…"

  Lionel sat still. His fingers, which had been idly tapping against the arm of his throne, paused.

  "What?"

  The officer hesitated, watching for a reaction. The silence between them stretched thin, but then—

  Lionel smirked.

  "So many innocent people…" His voice was light, almost amused. "I held them prisoner there."

  His fingers resumed their slow, deliberate rhythm. "And he just killed them. Every st one."

  A scoff left his lips.

  "Just to finish himself off."

  The officer swallowed hard. "But Lionel… isn't that bad?"

  Lionel let out a quiet chuckle. It cked humor.

  "His son is dead," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Satsujin says he blew him up."

  The officer's breath hitched.

  Lionel leaned back in his throne, exhaling slowly.

  "I believe him."

  "TALION" Lionel shouted.

  Talion sat in his dimly lit chamber, the soft crackle of the firepce the only sound accompanying the weight of his thoughts.

  His butler stepped inside, bowing deeply. "Yes, my lord."

  Without looking up, Talion spoke. "How far along are we?"

  The butler straightened. "Until it's complete… I would like to tell you soon, but it's still at least four years out."

  Silence settled between them. Then—

  Lionel exhaled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I can wait."

  His fingers curled into a tight fist, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

  "Oh, great spirit," he said, his voice ced with mockery.

  His ughter deepened.

  "Soon, I'll be knocking on your door…" He tilted his head, his tone almost pyful.

  "Hope you're ready."