Under the light of full moon, when the night is dark the creep air of silence rises, howls and cries begins moon strangely takes the blue shade and then completely turns into crimson colour. As if the horror of howls and screams of strange creatures were not enough that the Mother Nature decided to paint the dark night with crimson scene. Not just the moon is red but blood is scattered everywhere. Humans are being hunted. Some crying, some stumbling, some crawling yet all have one thing on their face, fear.

Its the night of blood sought where vampires are being lashed out, humans are being hunted, blood is being shed. At that night there’s no sense remains just a desire to run and hide from the fate of being sucked dried by those blood thirst creatures.

Atop the chaos, on the high branches of tree sits a figure, strangely calm contrasting to the world under him. His long silver hair scattered, some staffed into leaves, some wrapped around the branches. His fingers runs over the object in his hand, slightly caressing it and then presses it against his lips. Sound of flute fills the air and as far as it goes those creatures stops their actions and the next moment all of them are killing themselves, such a massacre of self destruction. Its the white flower, the one cultivator who roams around in these mountains and when humans needs him with the sound of his flute everything settles like lift of his finger.

But one thing he can’t face is supreme vampire, Xenos, his flute doesn’t work on him and neither he has his golden core left to fight him with his sword. On the blood sought night he only hopes that the supreme is not here or else that vampire would bring him trouble. He wouldn’t bring some blood shed but rather bring forth their past… the past they shared centuries ago.

Branches of the tree shakes alarming someone’s presence lifting his eyelids he finds a figure standing in front of him. “I thought you wouldn’t come this year.” He says drifting his gaze back to the fight down there.