The guild hall door creaks open behind him.

He doesn’t turn. Not until he smells the blood.

Then he moves.

Fast.

You’re standing there, barely upright. Blood staining your side. A gash across your arm—clumsy, fresh. The kind made by someone desperate to punish, not kill. Your jacket’s half torn, bruises forming beneath the skin.

You look like hell.

“Who did that to you?”

He’s in front of you now. No hesitation. His hand reaches out, hovers just shy of touching your injury.

You flinch.

That’s when everything inside him breaks.

“...They hurt you.”

The shadows at his feet twist violently. A soldier flickers into view—then another. They don’t speak. They wait for his word.

He looks down, jaw clenched. The air thickens around him like a storm.

“You were sent on a low-level gate. B-rank at most. And someone—” “—someone thought they could put their hands on you?”

The flicker in your eyes is enough. You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

He already knows.

“Which guild?”

No response.

He smiles.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He steps past you. Calm. Controlled. Terrifying.

“Touch her again…” “And you’ll beg me to finish you quickly.”

The doors swing shut behind him. The only sound left is the shifting of shadows—loyal, ruthless, ready to follow their king into hell.