Within the dimly lit corridors of Amaforth Academy, a figure emerged from the shadows, his presence as unexpected as the moon on a cloudy night. This man, known only as the Supernova Dragon Slayer, was a warrior summoned by obligation—a blade drawn in the darkest hours to combat a threat steeped in secrecy. His target was a phantom known to few, a figure whose machinations in the underworld had rattled the chains of power across the continents, inciting the Rune Knights to action.

The character in question was not merely a rogue with ambitions; they were a conqueror whose appetite for dominance had led to the systematic seizure of territories. This was no mere thug risen through the ranks through brutality alone but a mastermind whose strategic acumen posed a genuine threat to the stability of realms. To underestimate them was to court disaster, a lesson inscribed in blood for those foolhardy enough to dismiss the tales of the Sanguine Requiem. Navigating the arcane corridors of the academy, the dragon slayer relied on his Birdman Cape for the final leg of his journey, grateful for the respite it provided from his usual bouts of motion sickness. His arrival was shrouded in the secrecy of night, affording him the element of surprise—a necessity when dealing with a foe as formidable as the famed assailant.

As he moved silently through the halls, his figure cloaked in a dark gray mantle that hid his arsenal, he followed the unique scent that marked his quarry. The building was a labyrinth of scholarly pursuit by day, now a potential lair for those who dealt in darker deeds. His instincts, honed through countless encounters, guided him confidently through the maze. Standing at a junction, the vast network of hallways branching before him like the roots of an ancient tree, he faced a multitude of doors—each a gateway to potential confrontation. Decision weighed on him, the stillness of the night amplifying the gravity of his mission.

Unable to contain his warrior's spirit or perhaps driven by a strategic impulse to flush out his adversary, he broke the silence that had been his initial ally. "OOOOOI! I KNOW YOU’RE HERE! JUST COME OUT!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the stone corridors, a clarion call to the shadows. Whether this would draw out the Sanguine Requiem or simply disturb the spectral quiet of the academy remained to be seen, but Tōga was ready, his every sense alert for the slightest response, prepared to spring into action at a moment's notice.

---

wc: 449

In the shadow-streaked hallway of Amaforth Academy, Tōga stood firm, his silhouette barely illuminated by the slivers of light that escaped the partially drawn curtains. Arms crossed, his stance was relaxed yet expectant as he tapped a rhythmic pattern against his elbows, filling the silence with a soft echo. The scent was unmistakable, distinctly out of place amidst the academy's usual aroma of aged books and polished wood. It cut through the air, sharp and intrusive, like a foreign predator entering an untouched wilderness. It was accompanied by subtle noises from a nearby room—muffled but clear enough to suggest occupancy.

His previous call had been loud, a booming challenge that echoed down the corridors. Yet, there was no movement, no signs of alarm or retreat. It was as if his presence had been anticipated, or perhaps, ignominiously dismissed.

This piqued Tōga’s interest further, weaving a thread of danger into the fabric of the night.

Then, she emerged. The door creaked open, and she stepped from the dimness into the sparse light, her figure defined by the eerie glow of her red eyes and aura. It was a spectacle that painted the darkness with a spectral red, reminiscent of a moonlit night drenched in blood.

“You’re a hard one to find, Crimson Requiem?” Tōga called out, deliberately using her notorious alias rather than her actual name which he had glimpsed in briefings and reports. His voice carried a mix of challenge and a playful taunt. “I half expected you to try and flee,” he continued, his smile broadening, revealing a row of teeth that gleamed faintly in the low light. She stood about twenty-five meters away, her presence commanding and her physique sculpted as if from the very essence of strength and mystery. Her plum-colored hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that had been immortalized in the underworld’s whispered tales.

“What brings a fugitive to a place of learning? Looking to enroll?” he jested, his tone light yet edged with the seriousness of their encounter. This woman, known for her deep plunge into the dark currents of power, stood before him in a place built for enlightenment. The juxtaposition wasn’t just ironic; it was a puzzle he was intent on solving. As the tension hung between them like a thick curtain, Tōga prepared for any outcome, his senses sharpened and his body ready to respond. Whatever her reasons for being here, they were unlikely to be innocuous, and he was determined to unearth the truth behind the Crimson Requiem’s unexpected visit to Amaforth Academy.

---

wc: 460 [909]

The hallway of Amforth Academy stood as a stage for an impending clash of titans, its normally peaceful atmosphere shattered by the presence of two formidable beings. While other corridors basked in nocturnal serenity, this particular passage crackled with tension, as if divine forces had conspired to place both moon and sun in a single, confined space. The demi-god and vampire's presence filled the air with an almost tangible weight of hubris and malevolent intent.

Tōga's brown eyes remained steady, refusing to shy away from Zariya's bronze-hued form. His stance embodied patience incarnate, each muscle coiled with purposeful restraint rather than nervous energy. Experience had taught him well - Zariya was no mere opponent but a walking catastrophe, leaving chaos in her wake like autumn leaves scattered by a tempest. To rush headlong into confrontation with her would be akin to seeking death's embrace willingly, an outcome Tōga found neither appealing nor necessary.

"Oooooi! Don't talk like that to Zariya-chan!" Her voice shattered his composed facade, drawing forth irritation that betrayed his earlier stoicism. True to her nature, Zariya wielded words like an artist's brush, painting new meanings onto clean canvases of conversation. She expertly twisted the narrative, transforming Tōga's calculated confidence into a performance of desire, casting herself as the prize and him as an eager competitor in a game he had no interest in playing.

Frustration finally broke through his reserve. "No one wants you! Corpses aren't good to cuddle with!" The attempted insult fell flat, revealing Tōga's inexperience in the art of verbal warfare - a battlefield where Zariya reigned supreme. However, her subsequent words would prove the catalyst that ignited the powder keg of tension between them.


Silence descended, heavy and oppressive. Tōga, normally vibrant with energy and voice, became eerily still.

"What did you just say?"


The air around him began to shimmer as mana leaked from his form like steam rising from hot springs. Tendrils of silver, red, and brilliant yellow energy wove through the space around him, their ethereal dance accompanied by whispers and howls of raw power. Despite the midnight hour, the temperature rose steadily, as if the sun itself had descended into the hallway.

Everything after Zariya's mention of Ursula faded into meaningless background noise. Tōga entered an almost trance-like state, his breathing slowing to near stillness as his eyes narrowed to razor-sharp focus. When they snapped open again, they fixed upon Zariya with an intensity that could pierce steel.

"What did you say about Ursula-chan?" The words emerged low and dangerous, like the first tremors before an earthquake. What had begun as a verbal sparring match now teetered on the edge of something far more devastating. Though Zariya had issued the initial challenge, it was Tōga who stood ready to escalate it beyond mere words.

The hallway itself seemed to hold its breath, ancient stones bearing silent witness to the gathering storm. Magic crackled through the air like lightning seeking ground, the very atmosphere heavy with the weight of impending violence. In this moment, the difference between demi-god and dragon slayer blurred, both figures radiating power that threatened to reshape their surroundings. Zariya's provocations had struck a nerve deeper than she perhaps intended, awakening something primal and protective within Tōga. The mention of Ursula had transformed this encounter from a simple clash of egos into something far more personal, far more dangerous. The playful facade of their earlier exchange had evaporated like morning dew under the harsh sun of genuine anger.

Don’t poke and prode a dragon, fairytales said.

It seemed some didn’t remember the warnings of old.

---

wc: 649 [1,558]