2025-12-17 05:57:04The apartment stank of rot, mold, and old regret. Rats scurried in the shadows, nibbling on long-forgotten takeout boxes. Trash covered the floor like dead leaves after a storm.
Bjorn sat in the middle of it all, eyes locked on a glowing screen. His body moved on instinct, his face blank — not out of pleasure, but desperation. He muttered under his breath.
"Ugh... I'm almost there…"
And then — click. Darkness.
The screen died, the light gone. The electricity had cut again.
Bjorn blinked, frozen mid-motion. "...Fuckin' electricity bill again."
No rage. No panic. Just exhaustion. He let out a slow breath and stood, stepping carefully between piles of trash and empty bottles toward the door. As he moved, a thought drifted through him like a ghost.
It's been a while since I've seen the sun.
He opened the door, and light flooded the room, piercing his eyes. It was too bright. Unnatural.
Creeeeeak.
Outside, the traffic screamed past. Engines, horns, curses — the world was loud, overwhelming, alive in a way Bjorn hadn't felt in months. He squinted and stepped closer to the crosswalk, waiting for the lights to change.
That's when he saw her.
Across the street, lost in the crowd, stood a woman dressed in old, tattered, almost witch-like clothing. A suitcase in one hand. Pale skin. Wrinkles that bent unnaturally. And a smile.
Bjorn blinked. Who the hell is that hag?
The light was still red. But the woman stepped forward anyway — right into traffic.
"What the hell?!" Bjorn shouted. "She's not waiting?!"
But no one screamed. No car hit her. She simply... passed through. Untouched.
And then she was gone from the other side. Instead, she was suddenly there. Right in front of him.
Bjorn staggered back. How—? When did she get this close?!
She leaned in, the scent of dried roses and something rotting clinging to her breath.
"You were never given a choice," she whispered, her voice curling into his ear like smoke. "Only the illusion of it. Destiny marked you. My will claimed you. You are mine—by right, by force, or by fate."
Bjorn's legs gave out. His vision spun. The street, the cars, her eyes — all of it blurred and broke apart.
"What the hell is this?!" he gasped, falling. "What did she do to me?!"
—
Clouds. Gray, endless, spinning. He awoke in a strange realm — no walls, no sky, just haze and whispers. People were around him. Dozens. Confused. Panicked. Ordinary people — students, workers, children. All lost.
"Where are we?" someone asked.
Bjorn looked around. "So… I'm not the only one she snatched."
Then a voice rang out — echoing through the clouds like thunder laced with laughter.
"I reckon you all are having a great day?!"
Bjorn's stomach turned. That voice...
A smile behind words. A hook beneath honey.
The old woman.
Her voice crackled like fire.
"This is the night of Walpurgis. A reckoning," she said. "Face your demons... or be devoured."
The clouds pulsed. The people started to panic.
"One wish," she continued, "for the last one standing. Twisted or true. Whatever your heart begs for most."
Silence.
Then her final words dropped like a curse:
"Make your sins... entertaining.”
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chapter 30: The Wolf Falls
The hammer came down.CRACK.For a single heartbeat, the entire world seemed to stop.Aira saw it.The brutal impact.The way Mia’s hammer crashed into Bjorn’s skull with a sickening sound that echoed across the burning camp.Bjorn’s body collapsed sideways into the mud like a puppet whose strings had been cut.“No—!”The word tore from Aira’s throat before she even realized she was screaming.Her legs moved on their own.She ran.Boots splashing through wet mud, slipping across blood-soaked earth as she forced her way deeper into the burning compound.The camp had become a nightmare.Rain-damp ground hissed beneath spreading flames as torn tents burned slowly despite the soaked soil. Smoke crawled low through the clearing, thick and choking, stinging Aira’s eyes as sparks drifted upward like dying fireflies.Injured Lust faction members scrambled everywhere.Some kicked mud onto the flames.Others dragged burning canvas away from nearby tents.The smell of smoke mixed with wet earth
Chapter 29:The Wolf Beneath the Crimson Moon
The camp had become a furnace.Rain-soaked earth hissed beneath the spreading flames as burning canvas collapsed inward, sparks drifting into the damp night like dying stars. Smoke clung low to the ground, thick and bitter, crawling through the torn tents and shattered lanterns of the Lust faction’s compound.Bjorn moved through it like a wounded animal refusing to die.Mia’s hammer roared past his face, the wind of it tearing through his tangled hair. He twisted aside, boots sliding in wet ash as the weapon slammed into the soaked soil with a violent crack. The ground shuddered. Bjorn answered with a low swing toward her ribs, but Mia pivoted smoothly, her body turning with the grace of someone who had fought countless battles. Her second hammer came in fast from the side.Bjorn raised his forearm to intercept.Pain exploded through his injured wrist.His guard faltered for half a heartbeat.The hammer glanced off his shoulder, forcing him backward through a curtain of smoke. His boo
chapter 28: a face to bite, a name to curse
They say beauty is a blessing. They lied. Beauty is a weapon — and I was born holding it. I bent the world with a glance,made gods and beasts alike kneel for a touch they could never keep. Even in this cursed realm, thrown here by that wrinkled witch, I believed my charm would conquer everything. But then came the two who would not look at me. Lucien ......pride carved into flesh. A man too immaculate to be tempted. And Bjorn......the broken wolf, silent, scarred, and maddeningly indifferent. Their refusal was a wound… and a challenge. I craved the taste of what denied me. To chase Lucien is to chase war......and I am not a fool who wastes her soldiers before Walpurgis. So I chose the smaller beast. The one who defies beauty itself. The one who makes my hunger feel human. --- The drums had gone quiet. Only the wind spoke now— a low, rhythmic moan that slipped between the torn veils and half-burned lanterns of the Lust camp. The moon bled down like an opene
chapter 27: the critic and the flame
The eve of Walpurgis dripped crimson beneath the moon. Its light seeped through the thin fabric of the Sloth faction’s tent — a slow pulse of red that moved like breath.Inside, the air was dense with the scent of herbs and burnt incense. The canvas walls sagged slightly, weighed down by damp mist. A small brazier hissed weakly in the corner, giving off a lazy glow that barely chased the shadows away.Aira sat on a mat, her fingers tracing the rim of a half-empty cup. The world outside murmured — distant laughter, the crackle of torches, the restless wind.Her gaze drifted toward the flicker of light that cut through the tent’s entrance.Bjorn’s name still echoed in her mind — captured by the Lust leader.Her heartbeat quickened. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, quietly, she began to rise.The shift of fabric, the creak of the floor mat — that was enough to stir the figure reclining on the couch nearby.Lan, the Slot
chapter 26: eve of the red moon
(volume 2)The night before Walpurgis bled quietly into the Lust faction's camp. Moonlight dripped through torn silk canopies and broken lanterns, painting everything in shades of pale desire and decay. Perfume and blood mingled in the air — sweet, cloying, wrong. Bjorn stirred. His body screamed in protest. Every muscle felt torn. His wrists were swollen and raw, skin rubbed bloody where the ropes had bitten too deep. He'd fought before — tried to break free when they first dragged him here — but exhaustion had conquered rebellion. Now he hung against the log, bound by thick cords slick with sweat and rain. His breath came in short, cracked bursts. His vision swam. The world around him was sound before shape — laughter, whispers, the faint rhythm of drums somewhere in the dark. He blinked. And then he saw them. Figures — dozens of them — forming a half-circle around him. The Lust
chapter 25: the strong survive
The night air was heavy, the echoes of music and drunken cheer still spilling faintly from the great hall. But outside the dojo gates, the mood was far colder.Seven disciples stumbled in through the courtyard, their robes dirt-stained, their lanterns dim. Faces grim, they bowed low before the dojo master, their leader stepping forward.Disciple (bowing, voice low):"Master… we searched the roads, the riverbank, even the shrines in the woods. Ashura… he was nowhere to be found."The words rippled through the silence like a blade.Lan clenched his fists, teeth grinding. His voice cracked with restrained anger as he turned to his father.Lan:"Father, this is why I told you to let me go myself! You think your disciples could bring him back? He's my brother — I would've found him!"For the first time since the duel, the dojo master rose fully from his seat. His presence silenced even the murmurs of the crowd still lingering in the hall. His eyes were sharp, unyielding, and his words rang
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