In the dead of night, ten kilometers away and high above the sky, Count Wells' estate lay in eerie stillness, unaware of the destruction looming above.
Ignis, the blazing phoenix, soared in slow, deliberate circles around the area, the night wind rippling through his fiery feathers. Clutched in his beak was Umbra's black feather, pulsing faintly with an ominous glow.
Then, without warning, the feather erupted in dark energy, a ripple of shadows twisting through the air. Ignis flapped his wings, soaring even higher as he released the feather, letting it drift downward.
A surge of energy tore through the sky.
From the feather's core, Aziel—the Dragon of Destruction and Demise—materialized. His form was as monstrous as ever, yet deliberately reduced in size, his massive presence restrained to avoid detection. Despite this, his body still radiated a terrorizing aura, a living force of devastation.
Aziel's molten eyes burned as he gazed down at the estate below. "So, this is the place I'm supposed to destroy?"
Ignis let out a sharp screech, banking through the air in confirmation.
Aziel snorted. "Got it. You're probably wondering why Master gave this task to me and not you, right? It's simple—he wanted destruction, and nothing leaves a mark like a dragon's wrath." Ignis, feigning indifference, continued his graceful flight, his flames flaring brighter as if to flaunt his brilliance.
Aziel chuckled, shaking his head. "Hmph. You birds are all the same. Fine, no more chatter—I'll just get this over with."
The air around him trembled as he began to gather power, preparing to unleash annihilation upon the unsuspecting estate below.
A moment of stillness.
Then—Aziel inhaled.
The air itself seemed to collapse inward, drawn into his expanding chest as the very fabric of the night trembled. The world below—so fragile, so insignificant—had yet to realize the calamity about to befall it. The winds howled, spiraling toward him, as if nature itself was trying to stop what was coming.
Then—Aziel exhaled.
A roar unlike anything the world had ever known tore through the sky.
It wasn't merely a sound—it was destruction incarnate. A blinding torrent of apocalyptic energy erupted from his maw, a spiraling vortex of black and crimson, devouring everything in its wake. The night sky turned blood-red as shockwaves rippled outward, shattering the stillness with merciless force.
The ground below didn't just break—it ceased to exist. The estate, once standing proud, was obliterated in an instant, vaporized before its remains could even be scattered. The land split apart like the heavens themselves had cursed it, a hellish inferno bursting forth as trees, stone, and structures alike were swallowed whole.
Screams—brief, fleeting—vanished beneath the deafening blast. Those unfortunate enough to be caught in the shockwave were hurled like ragdolls, their forms disintegrating before they even understood their fate. The very air quaked, spirals of raw destruction expanding outward, carving deep, endless scars into the earth.
The sheer force of the roar surged beyond the target, tearing across the land like a hurricane of devastation. Villages miles away shook as windows shattered and walls buckled under the invisible force. A ripple of absolute annihilation spread outward, warping reality itself, as if the world could not withstand his presence.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, silence fell.
Where once stood an estate, now remained only a burning abyss—a smoldering crater, deep and lifeless, wreathed in residual energy. Charred remnants of trees stood as skeletal remains, their shadows dancing against the flickering embers of annihilation.
Above it all, Aziel hovered, his molten gaze surveying the destruction with quiet satisfaction. The air around him crackled with lingering power, the aftershocks of his fury still reverberating through the sky.
"Hmph. That should be enough."
Without another word, his wings flared, and in a gust of void-black energy, he vanished, leaving only ruin in his wake.
As Aziel and Ignis vanished into nothingness, the terror they had unleashed lingered in the air—a ghost of destruction. But the brutality of the night was far from over.
Like shadows given form, Perditius and Jim ran through the darkness, moving like wraiths, their purpose singular, their intent merciless.
The first town fell in minutes.
A gang of thugs lounged outside a tavern, drunk, unaware. Perditius descended like a specter of death, his massive hands lashing out. One man barely had time to register the flicker of green light before his skull was caved in with a sickening crunch. Another was lifted off the ground, his spine twisting unnaturally before being hurled through the tavern window.
Inside, screams erupted as Jim burst through the door, two daggers flashing in his hands. A mercenary tried to draw his sword, but Jim was faster—a blade slid across his throat, spraying the wooden floor with crimson. A woman shrieked, but Jim didn't spare her a glance—she was an informant. She died with a blade buried deep in her chest.
Perditius, now fully immersed in slaughter, grabbed a struggling man by the arms and ripped him in half like a piece of rotten meat. Blood sprayed across the walls in grotesque patterns.
The tavern was cleared in moments—gutted bodies, severed limbs, rivers of blood pooling at their feet. But they didn't stop.
They moved on.
The next town saw a bandit stronghold—fortified, guarded, yet ultimately meaningless.
Perditius stormed the front gate, his strength reducing the wooden barrier to splinters in a single punch. The guards barely had time to react before Jim slid into their midst, his daggers working like a butcher's tools—disemboweling one, severing the hamstring of another before jamming his blade through the base of his skull.
Inside, men and women screamed as Perditius tore through them like a force of nature. One unfortunate soul had his face slammed into the iron bars of a cell until his features were unrecognizable—a smear of blood and bone.
A fleeing bandit was caught by Jim, his arms twisted unnaturally behind his back before his throat was slit.
The massacre continued throughout the region, one town after another, one stronghold after the next.
Mercenary guilds? Gone. Their so-called warriors found themselves pinned to walls with their own weapons, impaled, gutted, skinned.
Assassin groups? Erased. The killers who once thrived in the shadows now hung from rooftops, their corpses left as a warning.
Bandit camps? Exterminated. Perditius ripped their leaders apart with his bare hands, splaying their entrails like decorations across the forest floor.
They didn't just kill—they conquered.
Spies were hunted. Those that dared to work against Shaun found themselves captured, tortured, broken. Secrets spilled from their lips like blood from their wounds. Some were allowed to die screaming. Others were left barely alive—just enough to serve as a message.
And when their task was complete, one final decree was left behind.
Across every ruin, every guild hall, every battlefield, a message was carved into wood, into walls, into bodies:
"Now all these regions belong to the Nocturne Group. Do not dare attempt anything shady here from now on."
As a parting gift, they captured the heads of guilds and spies, wounded just left alive so shaun can deal with them himself.
Their conquest was absolute. Their message was clear.
This land belonged to Nocturne now.
The morning sun rose, casting golden light over the town, but the streets were already alive with hushed whispers. Rumors spread like wildfire. In mere hours, the chaos of the previous night had become the talk of every tavern, market, and alley. No one knew the full truth—but everyone knew something had changed.
Meanwhile, in the quiet of his study, Shaun sat comfortably, speaking to an artifact pulsing with faint energy—his direct link to Countess Redwood.
A silky voice crackled through the connection, laced with amusement.
"Finally, you agreed to talk to me. I thought you wouldn't even spare me a glance," Countess Redwood mused.
Shaun leaned back in his chair, unfazed. "You must be awfully free if you've responded this quickly." His fingers drummed lightly against the desk. "Anyway, let's get to the point—do you agree to grant Baron Eldric the official rights to govern this region?"
A small chuckle. "I have no issue with it. Baron Eldric seems like a capable individual… besides, you're there as well, so I doubt anything will go astray. I'll handle the paperwork."
Shaun smirked. "Good. Now, what do you want in return?"
A brief pause. Then, in a voice both playful and knowing, she replied, "Come visit me once you're free. We'll talk."
Shaun exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Very well. I'll let you know once my schedule opens up. Hanging up now."
"Oh, come on, let's talk a li—"
Click.
The artifact dimmed as the connection was severed. Shaun leaned forward, fingers lacing together.
Shaun leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the desk. "Umbra. Newspaper."
A ripple of dark energy flickered through the room. In an instant, a folded newspaper materialized in his hand, floating briefly before settling into his grip. He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the front page.
"Let's see what the public has to say about last night's events."
His gaze narrowed as he read aloud:
"Wells County reduced to ashes. A catastrophic attack has left the region in ruins, with massive property loss, widespread destruction, and numerous injuries. Though casualties remain low, the county has suffered irreparable damage, with even the Count's estate reduced to rubble.
Fortunately, Count Wells and his family were not present at the time of the incident. However, the cause of the devastation remains unknown, as does the identity of those responsible. Survivors claim to have witnessed a ray of light descending from the sky, obliterating everything in its path. Investigations are underway, but so far, no leads have surfaced.
Meanwhile, Count Wells faces severe criticism for his lack of security measures and failure to protect the region.The people demand aid, questioning the Count's competence in light of this disaster. This marks the second county to fall to an unexplained calamity in recent weeks, following the sudden devastation of Draemore."
Shaun flipped to another page, scanning the smaller headlines. His eyes landed on an unassuming section.
"A newly emerging group, calling itself 'Nocturne,' has begun seizing control from former ruling gangs and criminal syndicates. Their objectives remain unknown, but their presence in the region is undeniable."
Shaun let out a quiet chuckle, folding the newspaper shut.
"Well… looks like the message was received loud and clear."
A firm knock echoed against the door of Shaun's study.
Without looking up from his desk, Shaun calmly said, "Come in."
The door creaked open, and in stepped Jim and Perditius—both clad in pristine butler uniforms.
Jim's posture was stiff, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. The weight of his last visit to this room lingered in his mind, the memory clawing at the edges of his composure. Yet, he steadied himself, inhaling before stepping forward.
"Good morning, Master," Jim said, his voice measured but tinged with unease. "We're here to join you as your new butlers." He bowed deeply, an old habit of discipline.
Beside him, Perditius mimicked the motion without a word, his expression unreadable.
Shaun's gaze drifted over them, taking in the sight of his newly appointed shadows— two monstrous entity dressed in elegance.
Then, a slow smile crept onto his lips.
"Welcome."