Branches tore at his skin like claws. Blood streaked his face, mixing with sweat and dirt. Every breath burned in his lungs, shallow and desperate. Reika Kazanami didn't know how long he'd been running. Hours? Days? The pain had blurred time.
Behind him, the woods howled with shouts.
"Unholy filth!"
"Demonspawn!"
"Only a monster survives hellfire!"
The knights were close—too close. Steel clashed against undergrowth. Their blades gleamed with holy blood, weapons sanctified to cut deeper than flesh. Arrows hissed through the dark, glowing faintly, blessed to pierce the very night.
One struck Reika's leg again. A searing, gnawing pain.
He didn't scream.
He couldn't.
He wouldn't give them that.
Reika stumbled, fell to one knee, heart hammering. He gritted his teeth and pulled the arrow from his thigh. Blood gushed out, but he pressed on, dragging himself behind a thick pine. Bark scraped his back as he pressed into shadow.
The hooves grew louder. Heavy. Rushed. Confident.
He waited.
One rider passed. Another.
And then—he struck.
Reika lunged, slamming the broken arrow into the rider's throat. The man gasped, a wet gurgle lost to the night. Reika barely managed to climb onto the horse before it bolted.
The wind screamed in his ears. His leg throbbed with every gallop. Behind him, the remaining knights gave chase, roaring in fury.
But Reika didn't look forward.
He didn't see the cliff.
The horse did.
It skidded to a stop, rearing back. Reika, off-balance, went flying.
He didn't scream.
Just fell.
Into the roar of the waterfall.
Down below, the knights took another path, following the river's curve to search for his body.
There, on the rocks near the base of the falls, they found ash.
A smoldering corpse, bones blackened. Scorched cloth still clung to what had once been armor.
One knight knelt, inspecting it.
"Could this…?"
"Look," another said, lifting a half-melted bottle of gasoline from nearby. "He must've burned himself trying to hide the evidence."
The leader grunted. "Poetic. The monster dies by flame."
They turned back, satisfied.
None noticed the pair of eyes watching from behind a veil of shadow and moss.
Reika crouched among the rocks, soaked and trembling. His teeth chattered from pain and cold. He clutched his wounded leg, silent.
The body they found wasn't his.
It was the knight he killed, set aflame to fool the pursuers.
It worked.
For now.
But Reika knew they wouldn't stop.
And neither could he.
-----
The trees whispered as Reika stumbled through them, shadows closing in with every step. Blood streaked his leg, drying and sticky, while his breaths came in ragged gasps. He had lost the horse. Lost the cliff. Lost everything.
Now, all he had left was the cold… and the growing fear gnawing in his chest.
A low cave yawned open between the roots of the mountain. He dropped to his knees and crawled inside, dragging himself over sharp stones and dried leaves. The pain in his thigh was sharp, but duller than the storm inside his head.
He dug into his pack, found a small cloth, and tried to stop the bleeding. The pain was unbearable—but he gritted his teeth and worked in silence.
Then the exhaustion took him. He leaned back against the stone wall and let the dark swallow him.
He was in a field of ash. The sky above was black, split by streaks of blue fire falling like comets. And in the center stood a man—no, a creature—wreathed in flames that didn't burn.
The figure turned, eyes molten gold, and smiled.
"You fear it now, but one day, you'll beg for it."
Reika tried to move, but the ash pulled him down. Fire licked at his feet, climbing, climbing…
He woke with a violent gasp, breath seizing in his chest.
Flames.
They danced across his body—blue, pure, silent.
His eyes went wide. He scrambled back, but the fire moved with him. It didn't hurt. It didn't burn. Instead, it healed. He watched in disbelief as the wound on his leg closed, leaving only torn cloth and dried blood.
A soft ball of blue flame swirled in his palm, alive and pulsing like a heartbeat. He stared, shaking.
Then, as quickly as it came… it vanished.
Smoke curled from his fingers. Silence filled the cave again.
Far above the treetops, a man stood on a crooked tree branch, arms crossed. His silver eyes tracked the boy inside the cave.
He tapped a sigil on his wrist, and a whisper of magic shimmered in the air.
"Elias. The boy's fire has awakened."
A pause.
Then static. Garbled noise. Screaming.
Zariel's eyes narrowed. "Elias?"
There was no response.
Somewhere far from the forest, in a cell walled by sacred chains, Elias struggled against holy bindings as knights in white cloaks surrounded him. His face was bruised, but he didn't speak a word.
A young scout nearby overheard the magical communication. He looked up, confused. "The fire… awakened?" He shook his head. "What the hell is happening…"
And in the bowels of Hell, Asmodai smiled.
He raised a hand, and from the shadows crawled a slender, faceless creature—its limbs long and fluid like tar, its head twitching unnaturally.
"Do not kill him," Asmodai commanded.
"Test him. Make him remember."
The Puppeteer bowed and vanished into smoke.
The cave grew colder.
Reika sat at the edge of the firepit, trying to steady his breathing, when the air turned sour. The shadows twisted.
A figure crept from the mouth of the cave—slender, twitching, grotesque. Its face shifted constantly: sometimes Vivian, sometimes Elias, sometimes himself.
Reika stumbled back. "What…?"
The Puppeteer struck.
Reika was thrown against the wall, ribs cracking from the impact. He coughed blood, barely able to move. The demon slithered closer, claws reaching—
And then—
A flash of steel. A blur of movement.
Someone entered the cave like a storm.
Cloaked. Silent.
The figure unsheathed a katana in one smooth motion, raising it to the light. His voice was low, calm, laced with something ancient:
"Kahien No Arashi."
The blade ignited with burning red script.
One swing.
The Puppeteer screamed—then split clean in two, dissolving into black mist.
The figure lowered his sword, inspecting the ashes.
"Low-level demon," he muttered. "I'd say Level 1."
Reika blinked, frozen, unable to speak.
The stranger turned, lowering his hood to reveal sharp eyes, hair tied back, and a scar trailing down his jaw.
He looked down at Reika.
And smiled.
"You're not dead. That's a good start."