SUPERNATURALIS

Heavy rain poured over Hong Kong, drumming against the neon-lit streets. The glow of signs reflected off the slick pavement as people hurried by under umbrellas, their footsteps merging with the hum of the city.

In a shadowed alley, a group of pale men walked together, their laughter echoing softly—until they froze. An unseen force pressed against them, a silent warning. They exchanged wary glances, instincts sharpening. Their teeth elongated into fangs, their eyes flaring an eerie blue as they scanned the darkness for a threat.

Then, a flicker of movement—behind them.

Figures clad in black, dressed like a shadow, a modern phantom in ninja garb. Without a word, long blades, resembling katanas, gleamed in the dim light. One of the vampires clicked his tongue, stepping forward with measured confidence. "Listen here," he said in Chinese, his voice calm but edged with danger. "Whoever you are, you don't want to do this."

The air shifted—a blur of movement slicing through the shadows. Dark figures surged forward, their speed unnatural, their presence a sudden gust of death and precision.

Steel whispered through the rain-soaked air. One by one, the vampires collapsed, severed at the throat, their bodies crumbling before they could react. The swords glowed faintly in the night, runes shimmering along the metal as they drank in the life they had taken.

Then—another noise.

The club doors swung open, and a man stepped into the dim glow of the neon-lit street. His sharp red-and-white suit caught the shifting lights, the colors dancing across the fabric. His features were distinctly Asian, his gaze flickering with both curiosity and irritation.

His voice cut through the rain, edged with impatience. "What the hell is going on out here?"

He barely moved before a shadow streaked toward him, a blade glinting in the neon haze, aiming straight for his throat.

But before steel could taste flesh, his hand shot up—fast, precise.

With nothing but his fingers, he caught the sword mid-swing. Crimson eyes glowed as he studied the assassin before him. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he carved through his attacker's body—tearing them in half with nothing but his bare hands.

He exhaled, shaking the blood from his fingers. "Ah," he muttered, glancing at the fallen bodies of his men. "It seems I have some cleaning up to do."

He wiped the blood from his hands with the handkerchief tucked into his suit pocket, each movement deliberate, almost calculated. His eyes scanned the remaining enemies, a cool indifference in their depths.

"Now then, you lot should surrender and tell me who sent you."

One of them hesitated, his voice faltering. "It… it's the noble vampire!"

The air thickened with tension as a man snapped, "Now, do it!" Another voice followed, sharp and commanding, "Do it, now!"

Above, dark figures loomed on the rooftop, their robes billowing as they chanted in eerie unison. Arcane whispers twisted through the air, crackling with energy.

The noble vampire's gaze lifted, his crimson eyes narrowing. His lips curled in disdain. "Casters," he muttered, the word dripping with contempt.

A sudden shimmer flickered around him. In an instant, golden light surged to life, forming a cage that pulsed with raw magic. He barely spared it a glance, exhaling a bored sigh. "Is this supposed to stop me?"

Power swelled within him, his aura flaring as blood magic coursed through his veins. But before he could strike—

A sharp force slammed into his chest.

His body stiffened. His breath faltered. His gaze dropped.

A sleek golden spear had run him through, its divine glow searing his flesh. It remained lodged in the cement, its shaft still quivering from the force of its descent—hurled from above with deadly precision.

His pupils dilated. The realization struck first. Then, the fear. Then, the pain.

The weapon ignited. Holy fire erupted from within, spreading through his veins like a ravenous plague. A scream tore from his throat—a sound of pure, unrelenting torment—as the flames consumed him from the inside out. His body crumbled, turning to ash in the wind, leaving nothing behind.

The shadowed figures glanced around, their eyes gleaming with triumph as the others erupted into cheers. They had done the impossible—they had slain a noble. And this was only the beginning.

A tall figure stepped forward, his grip tightening around the spear embedded in the cement. With a single pull, he wrenched it free, power crackling through his veins like a storm barely contained.

He raised a hand, and the murmuring crowd fell silent. His voice sliced through the night, steady and commanding. "Listen well, gentlemen. These are the final days of vampire and werewolf rule. Their reign is over. Now, it is our time—to take back what was once ours!"

The air trembled with their roars of approval. Then, as if swallowed by the darkness itself, they vanished.

The rain had ceased, giving way to the pale light of dawn. A man in a dark suit approached the crime scene, his steps measured, his expression unreadable. He spared no glance at the mutilated vampire remains strewn across the ground—his focus lay elsewhere.

Kneeling, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold ashes. As he grasped them, a chill ran through him. A vampire's death was not merely an end—it was felt by those bound to their sire.

A heavy realization settled over him. His master was gone.

He clenched his fist around the ashes. He had no time to waste. The others had to know.