"The blood seems to have undergone corruption!"
Master Thadd’s voice cracked like the floorboards in a haunted mansion, and honestly, Victor couldn’t decide if it was fear or just his vocal cords protesting the sheer drama of it all. Either way, the guy sounded spooked, which was rare.
Thadd wasn’t exactly known for being emotional—unless you counted his passion for chain-smoking and delivering cryptic one-liners like a budget prophet.
Victor tilted his head. This entity that had apparently RSVP’d to Noel’s demise was starting to sound like a real headliner. And for some reason, it made Victor oddly excited. Not scared—excited. He wasn’t exactly the "cower in fear" type, unless it was tax season.
Maybe I’ll surpass Master Thadd someday, Victor thought, barely hiding a smirk. Then I’ll take the throne. Pope Victor the First! The Cool Pope. The Fun Pope. The guy who makes ’Casual Friday’ a holy tradition. He even imagined himself lounging on a throne made of gold, declaring new holidays like "Nap Day" and "Free Pastry Monday."
"Victor!" Thadd’s bark snapped him out of his daydream, which was a shame because the next part involved him wielding a scepter made entirely of baguettes. Speaking of dream, just the other day he had a wet dre-
"Yes, Master Thadd?" Victor straightened up, trying to look like someone who hadn’t just been mentally redecorating the papal palace. Or trying to remember his memories when sleeping.
"Details," Thadd growled, setting Noel’s body down with the same care you’d give a ticking bomb. "I need details about Noel’s recent missions. What could have led to this mess?" His hands landed on Victor’s shoulders, not quite forceful but heavy enough to feel like a weighted blanket—if weighted blankets were judgmental. "We can’t face this enemy without knowing what we’re up against."
"As you command," Victor said, slipping out of Thadd’s grip like a particularly ambitious bar of soap. "But, uh, forgive me for asking, Master—why are you so convinced this blood-corrupting whoever is such a big deal? Do you know them?"
Thadd let out the kind of sigh that said, Oh, you sweet summer child. He plopped onto the bed, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with a flair that suggested he’d practiced for dramatic effect.
"There’s only one artifact capable of corrupting blood," he said, taking a puff like he was narrating a gritty detective novel. "It’s a nasty piece of work. Drives people insane—like, full-on paint the walls with conspiracy theories insane. And yet..." He paused for effect because Thadd was nothing if not theatrical. "There’s one person who’s managed to stay sane while using it. They call them the Brute Phoenix."
Victor’s eyes widened. "Sounds... fiery."
"But," Thadd continued, ignoring the comment, "there is another name for that person... the name—is the Scarlet Eclipse. The one who brings death under the crimson moon."
Victor leaned in. "The Scarlet Eclipse? That sounds like a terrible wrestler gimmick. What do they do? Body slam people under a red disco ball?"
Thadd, unimpressed, took another puff. "No. They bring death under the crimson moon. Are you retarded?"
Victor blinked. "Crimson moon? Like, what, an evil full moon that decided to go goth?"
Thadd pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you want answers or not?"
Victor raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. No moon jokes. Tell me more about this spooky eclipse person. But first..." He shifted gears. "About Noel’s recent missions—here’s what I know."
He cleared his throat, adopting his best storyteller voice. "So, Noel was tasked with assassinating the young lady from the Drakonis family. Supposedly, he pulled it off. But honestly? I call nonsense. It’s the Drakonis! They probably bleed fire and sneeze explosions. There’s no way he took her out that easily."
Thadd raised an eyebrow, his silent way of saying go on.
"The mission itself was dodgy from the start," Victor continued, gesturing like he was narrating a tavern tale. "It showed up on a branch notice board in Limdon instead of going through HQ even though it was such a dangerous mission. Weird, right? And the poor worker who posted it—he went totally bananas when the police asked him about the massacre in the branch. Like, eyes twitching, foaming at the mouth bananas. Then—get this—the branch got obliterated right after. Real subtle, whoever did that." Your adventure continues at freewebnovel
Victor leaned back, arms crossed like he’d just cracked the world’s biggest conspiracy. "We traced things to the Church of Night—big surprise there—and got some intel that matched our suspicions. But here’s the kicker: we were warned that their minions are the kind of crazy folks you don’t want to meet in a dark alley. Or a lit alley. Or, you know, anywhere."
"And Noel’s wife?" Thadd asked, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.
"Oh, right. Isadora." Victor scratched his head. "There were reports of them fighting, but nothing too dramatic. No transforming, no power surges, nothing. We think her energy might’ve stabilized, which is, y’know, science-y mumbo jumbo I won’t pretend to understand. Anyway, after Noel left for his final mission—poof. No word, no reports. And now here he is, deader than my last attempt at cooking."
Thadd nodded. Just nodded. Like Victor had just told him about a minor inconvenience, like spilling tea on a new shirt. Or the meat being sold out just before they could buy it for dinner.
"Then we must find Isadora at all costs," Thadd said firmly. "Have you tried using the ether chaser?"
Victor smirked. "Already done, Master. Orders are out. I’m expecting results any moment now."
"Good," Thadd said, leaning back and taking a contemplative drag from his cigarette. "While we wait, let me tell you more about the Scarlet Eclipse."
Victor didn’t say it, but he was already planning his own smoke break. After all, if he was going to hear about death under a spooky moon, he might as well enjoy it with a cigar in hand.
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———
During the time when I was still young, naive, and foolishly dreaming of becoming unfathomably strong, my team and I were assigned a mission that was meant to push the limits of our courage—or perhaps reveal the depths of our stupidity. Our task was simple, or so we thought: eliminate the target if the assassination failed to deliver results.
It was twenty years ago, but the memories are burned into my mind like a brand. And among those memories, one detail stands out with terrifying clarity—the mask. A plain, black mask, unadorned and devoid of expression, with nothing but two empty holes for eyes. Yet those holes... They stared into you like they could see every sin, every doubt, every flicker of hesitation in your soul.
To this day, I don’t even know the person’s gender. Perhaps the mask was meant to hide it, or maybe they were something beyond such mortal distinctions. What I do know is that the figure beneath the mask—no, the child beneath the mask—was no ordinary being.
Short white hair framed their head, a shocking contrast to the darkness of their mask, and their eyes... I have never seen anything like those eyes. They burned like twin crimson flames, unyielding, unblinking, as if the fires of some ancient, bizarre rage had taken up residence there.
When they turned those eyes on me, I felt an icy fear grip my very being. It wasn’t fear of death. No, it was the fear of something far worse—it was like a ghost, a force that had nothing left to lose, nothing left to fear, and no reason to hold back.
The assassination attempt? I still don’t know if it succeeded or failed, but I remember the assassins telling us about their plan to inject the poison with a single pin shot from a pipe. They managed to strike, to deliver the venom meant to silence that child forever.
And yet... they didn’t falter. The child didn’t weaken. Instead, the child changed.
The transformation was immediate. One moment, the person stood as a mere figure in the shadows, unassuming despite the fiery gaze. The next, it moved—no, the person erupted—with the ferocity of a wild beast set loose from its cage. Like a mad hound driven to frenzy.
There were five assassins, each stationed at a carefully chosen vantage point, prepared for every contingency. Or so they thought. Five highly trained killers, getting ready to strike again. But none of them even had the chance to scream.
They all fell.
In an instant.
No warning, no sound, no cry of pain. Just the soft, sickening thuds of lifeless bodies hitting the ground. One moment they were alive, the next, they were not.