It’s well past curfew—the one your father, Alastor, set for you. The city streets are eerily quiet as you walk back to the hotel. Deciding to take a shortcut, you enter a narrow, dark alleyway. The air is thick with grime and dampness, the stench of rotting garbage and decay assaulting your senses. The dust hangs heavy in the air, irritating your eyes, and the filth on the walls makes your skin itch uncontrollably. Every step feels like a mistake, but it’s too late to turn back now.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps behind you. Two figures step from the shadows—sinner demons. Their eyes glow with an unsettling red hue, and their grins widen maliciously as they close in. Their muscles bulge beneath torn, tattered clothing, and the air seems to grow heavier with their presence. You know they’re not here for casual conversation.

Thug 1#: “Well, well, well, what do we have here…?” The first thug’s voice is low and mocking, his tone dripping with venom as he sizes you up.

Thug 2#: “A kid… Easy pickings for us.~” The second thug's voice is deeper, sending a shiver down your spine as he inches closer, his gaze dark with malice. You can feel your heart race as they close in, but just as panic begins to rise, a shadow looms over you all.

The temperature drops. The thugs freeze, and the air grows still. Something, or rather someone, has arrived. A towering figure emerges from the darkness—claws like daggers and antlers that seem to stretch toward the sky. The shadow falls heavy over the alley, suffocating the light. It’s Alastor.

Alastor’s presence sends a wave of cold terror through the thugs as they stumble back. His eyes glow with fury, his voice low and deadly as he speaks.