Several years ago...

  Kage walked through the halls of the Assassin's Guild, his footsteps eerily silent despite the weight of his presence. The once timid boy—who barely scraped through training—was now a legend among killers. His contracts were executed flawlessly, his name spoken in hushed tones, his rise meteoric.

  The air seemed to chill as he passed, other assassins pressing themselves against the walls to avoid touching him. Not out of respect, but fear—an instinctual reaction to a predator in their midst.

  And yet... was it worth it?

  The blood. The bodies. The cold, empty victories. The nightmares that visited him less and less as his emotions dulled into nothingness.

  As Kage exited the guild, he passed by his sister, Emi. Her face was a mirror of his own, but where his had become a mask, hers remained expressive—calculating, ambitious, deadly.

  There was a time when her approval had meant everything to him. He had trained, fought, and suffered to one day stand as her equal. To see pride in those eyes that matched his own.

  Now?

  They didn't even exchange a glance. Two strangers sharing blood and nothing else.

  He sighed and kept walking, the sound barely audible. To show emotion was to show weakness. Somewhere along the way, he had lost himself—sacrificed on the altar of ambition.

  He hadn't visited home in years. Not because he didn't want to—but because he couldn't. His name had grown too big, cast too large a shadow. If he returned, his family would become targets, marked by his reputation.

  Driving through the empty streets, Kage kept one hand on the wheel, his mind drifting. The moon hung full and bright above him, casting its silver glow over the highway, painting everything in ghostly light and ink-black shadow.

  Then—

  A shadow flickered in the rearview mirror.

  Kagawa Masaki.

  Kage tensed, muscles coiling like springs. He hadn't seen that red-haired bastard in years. He shook his head, brushing it off as exhaustion playing tricks.

  He kept driving, the engine's purr the only sound breaking the night's silence.

  Then—something darted into the road, a blur of movement.

  Kage honked, swerving slightly, not wanting to scratch the sleek, midnight-black Mercedes AMG S63 he had spent too much on—one of the few indulgences he allowed himself.

  But the figure vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving Kage questioning his senses.

  Kage exhaled sharply, hands tightening on the wheel. Hallucinating? No. Something was wrong. His instincts—honed through years of life-or-death situations—screamed danger.

  The laughter started.

  Soft at first—then growing louder, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.

  Reflections of Kagawa appeared in every mirror, flashing in and out of existence like a phantom, his crimson hair vivid even in the darkness. The mirrors multiplied his image, an audience of identical faces watching with amusement.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Kage gritted his teeth and slammed the brakes. The tires screeched in protest, burning rubber as the car skidded to a stop on the side of the highway, leaving black marks on the asphalt.

  Kage threw open the door and stormed out, his shadow flickering unnaturally beneath the moonlight, stretching and contracting as if alive.

  "If you want me, then show yourself!" His voice echoed into the night, bouncing off distant hills. "I'm done with these games!"

  The wind howled in response, whipping through his clothes. The moon's glow intensified, bathing everything in a supernatural silver light.

  And then—

  Kagawa stepped forward, standing in the center of the road, drenched in the silver glow of the moon.

  His crimson hair, soaked from the light rain, stuck to his face like trails of blood. His breathing was slow, methodical, almost ritualistic.

  The sight made Kage's instincts scream at him to run—a warning he ignored.

  Kagawa slowly raised his arms, basking in the moonlight like a worshipper before a god, his face tilted upward in ecstasy.

  His lips parted. His voice came out in an eerie whisper that somehow carried clearly through the night air.

  "I do this for you, Kage..."

  A shiver crawled up Kage's spine, ice spreading through his veins.

  "Lucifer's return is imminent," Kagawa continued, eyes wild with fervor, pupils dilated to near-blackness. "No longer can he watch in jest as you deny his glory!"

  Kage's muscles tensed, ready to strike or flee. "The hell are you on about?"

  "You are his chosen," Kagawa whispered, reverence dripping from every syllable. His gaze drifted downward. "Look at it. Look at your shadow."

  Kage's eyes flicked downward, drawn by an instinct deeper than thought.

  His shadow writhed unnaturally, like a living, breathing entity beneath him. It stretched and contracted, formed shapes and patterns that had nothing to do with the light source above.

  Kagawa took a step closer, his presence pressing down on Kage like an unseen force. "Do you reject his hand, even as he stands before you?"

  Kage exhaled, glancing at the moon, which seemed larger than it should be, impossibly bright. "Look, ginger," he muttered, his voice sharp with contempt. "I don't accept Lucifer. My strength comes from me." He clenched his fist, veins standing out on his forearm. "You cursed me with this shadow, but I made it my own."

  His voice grew sharper, edged with steel. "The strain. The battles. Losing myself. I conquered all of it." He took a step forward, shadows dancing around his feet. "So take your god and shove it—I spit in the face of your so-called blessing."

  A slow, eerie chuckle escaped Kagawa's lips, spreading across the empty highway like oil.

  And then—

  The air snapped—like reality itself had cracked.

  A pulse of raw, suffocating pressure erupted outward, flattening the grass on the roadside.

  Kagawa's laughter distorted—his body twisting unnaturally, bones cracking audibly as they rearranged.

  He dug his nails into his face, tearing his own skin apart, blood streaming between his fingers as he laughed harder.

  Kage's instincts screamed. He readied a defensive stance—

  Then—

  An explosion.

  A shockwave tore through the highway, sending cars veering off the road. The asphalt cracked beneath the force, spiderwebbing outward from where Kagawa stood.

  Smoke and debris filled the air, a haze of destruction.

  And when the dust settled—

  A new figure stood where Kagawa had been.

  Taller. More beautiful.

  The dark crimson hair had lightened, now a striking shade of amber that seemed to glow from within.

  His facial structure—inhumanly symmetrical. His cheekbones, jawline, perfection itself, as if carved by a divine hand.

  A pair of small, black wings unfurled from his back, casting impossible shadows.

  His skin glowed as if carved from celestial light—yet the air around him was wrong. Twisted. Corrupted.

  Lucifer.

  Partially reborn.

  Kage's breath came out slow and steady. His heart pounded violently against his ribcage, but his face betrayed nothing.

  Kagawa—no. Lucifer—stepped forward.

  He moved soundlessly, each step effortlessly divine, leaving no footprints despite the soft ground.

  Then—

  "Now, Kage."

  His voice.

  It echoed. Two voices speaking in perfect harmony.

  One was Kagawa's.

  The other—something else. Something ancient and terrible.

  "Sweet Kage, my child..."

  Lucifer's glowing amber eyes locked onto him. His smirk dripped with amusement, like a parent watching a child's futile rebellion.

  His voice curled around Kage like an inescapable whisper, seeping into his consciousness.

  "What were you saying about spitting on my name?"

  Kage clenched his fists, nails digging crescents into his palms.

  For the first time in years—

  A shiver ran down his spine.