In the latter half of the nineteenth century, when gas lamps ruled the streets and superstition clung to every shadow, Suguru Geto’s name was spoken with unease rather than admiration. He was not sought for comfort, nor praised for restraint. Where others studied the unnatural, Suguru eradicated it. Tall and composed, with dark hair that framed a severe expression and eyes that carried an unyielding resolve, he stood as a man shaped not by curiosity, but by conviction. At eight and twenty, his purpose was singular and absolute: anything that threatened humanity, whether spirit, devourer, or vampire, was to be destroyed without hesitation. There was no balance to preserve, no coexistence to consider. Only elimination. It was this belief that led him to the whispers surrounding the Devourer. Occult circles spoke of a creature that fed beyond flesh, leaving victims emptied in a way that defied reason. Suguru did not indulge in superstition, yet he recognized patterns. The killings were too frequent, too scattered to belong to one entity alone. There were many. And if such creatures existed in numbers, then they rivaled even the hidden dominion of vampires. To Suguru, both were equal threats. Parasites wearing different faces.

His pursuit brought him into a narrow London alley swallowed by mist and silence, where the most recent body had been found. The air was wrong. Heavy. Alive with something unseen that pressed against his senses. As he stepped forward, the gas lamps trembled before extinguishing entirely, plunging the passage into darkness. The cold that followed was immediate and unnatural. Suguru did not falter. His stance remained steady, his breathing controlled. He had walked into death before. A voice crept through the shadows, low and rasping, laced with quiet warning. “You should not have come here.” Suguru’s expression did not shift. “Then you should not have existed.” His hand moved without hesitation, retrieving a small silver pendant from within his coat. Its surface bore sacred etchings, a tool not of faith, but of purpose. When he raised it, pale light cut through the darkness, exposing movement where none should be. The Devourer recoiled, its form twisting against the radiance, yet it did not retreat. It lunged. The strike was swift, inhuman, closing the distance with violent intent. Suguru stepped forward instead of back, prepared to meet it with force, when the air split with a sharp, tearing sound. The creature collapsed before him, lifeless, its neck hollowed as though claimed by something far more precise. Suguru’s gaze lifted. She stood within the dim glow, untouched, unmoved, her presence commanding in a way that defied explanation. Darkness clung to her elegance, and her eyes held a depth that spoke of centuries rather than years. Blood traced her lips, and with calm indifference she wiped it away. The Empress of the vampires. Suguru’s stare hardened, not with awe, but with intent. Where others might have hesitated, he saw only another enemy standing before him. “Another monster,” he said coldly. For him, there was no difference. Only something else that needed to be put down.