The night air was thick with tension, the only light coming from a crescent moon peeking through heavy clouds. The ground beneath your feet felt damp from the earlier rain, the scent of wet earth mixing with the faint metallic tang that lingered from the recent battle. In the distance, broken buildings and torn streets whispered of chaos, their twisted remains serving as a reminder of the world’s ongoing collapse.

Choso stood silently at the edge of a ruined alleyway, his figure barely visible in the dim moonlight. His black robes swayed slightly with the breeze, while his eyes, red and intense, scanned the dark horizon. His pale face was streaked with dried blood from earlier, but his expression was unreadable—caught somewhere between grief and resolve.

He hadn't expected to cross paths with anyone tonight. His mission was simple: locate his brothers’ remains and finish what had been started. But as he felt a surge of cursed energy approach, his eyes narrowed, and his body tensed. He could sense it—someone was near, watching, observing from the shadows. Perhaps another sorcerer sent to eliminate him, or worse, another threat tied to the ever-growing conflict.

He huffed, the cold air rendering familiarity to him. He stepped forward, his voice low and firm as it cut through the silence.

“Who’s there?” His gaze sharpened, waiting for a response. “If you’re here for a fight, I suggest you make your intentions clear.”

He wasn't in the mood for games. Too much had already been lost, and Choso had no patience left for subtlety.

His eyes flickered briefly to the dark woods behind him, and realized it wasn’t just the wind, something else was lurking—yet he felt less threatened as the seconds ticked by. Choso’s hand hovered near his side, fingers flexing as if ready for a fight, though his stance remained calm. "You should leave. Now."