The sun dipped behind the hills as Fallen walked up the path to his home, the sky bleeding orange and red. The air was strangely still, the usual chirping of birds or rustling of leaves eerily absent—as if the world itself held its breath.
He opened the front door.
"Dad?" he called.
Silence.
He stepped inside, expecting the usual clatter of dishes from the kitchen or the familiar hum of the old radio his father liked to play. But the house was dead quiet.
Too quiet.
Fallen's brow furrowed. He stepped carefully, his sneakers brushing across the wooden floor as he moved toward the study. The door was half-open. Light filtered through the curtains in narrow beams, dust floating like tiny ghosts in the air.
He pushed the door fully open.
Empty.
The room was clean. Too clean. His father's jacket was missing from the back of the chair. The books were neatly aligned on the shelf. Everything was in place—except for one thing.
A folded piece of paper lay on the desk, the only thing out of place.
Fallen's heart pounded in his chest. He stepped forward, his hand trembling as he picked it up. The handwriting was jagged. Rushed. Almost like a scratch on the paper.
> "I killed your mom. If you want the truth, meet me at this address."
Fallen's breath caught in his throat.
What?
His eyes widened as he stared at the paper. His mother… killed? But she had died in an accident years ago—hadn't she?
He read the line again.
His knees almost buckled.
His father was gone. There was no sign of him anywhere in the house. And now this letter… this message drenched in madness.
The grief turned into a cold, violent heat inside his chest.
Rage.
He slammed the note on the desk, stormed back through the hallway, and yanked the front door open. His fists clenched at his sides as his feet hit the pavement outside. Whoever wrote that note—he'd find them. He had to find them.
The street outside was draped in twilight shadows, the streetlights flickering to life one by one. A strange chill hung in the air.
Then—
"FALLEN!"
A voice rang out like a gunshot from the darkness.
He spun around.
Too late.
A flash of movement—a blur—and a blow came whistling through the air. Fallen barely ducked in time, the wind from the strike grazing his cheek.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Slim, fast, his face obscured by a black hood. His voice carried a twisted amusement.
"Didn't your father teach you how to play, boy? The kid of No.1 should be better than this."
Fallen's breath caught. "What... who's No.1?!"
The man tilted his head. "You really don't know?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" he shouted back.
The attacker moved fast. Too fast. A hand slammed into Fallen's neck with terrifying precision.
The world spun. His vision blurred. His knees gave out.
Then—nothing.
---
Fallen's eyes snapped open.
The sky was gone.
Instead, he was surrounded by towering stone walls, cracked and ancient. It looked like the ruins of some forgotten fortress—cold, gray, lifeless.
Except… something was alive.
He wasn't alone.
The man from earlier stood a few meters away. Hood down now. His face sharp, eyes gleaming with something dark. His presence was unsettling—like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
He smiled, revealing bloodstained teeth.
"Welcome to the pit," he said. "Now I'll teach you how to play."
Suddenly, a deafening screech echoed from above.
Fallen looked up—and felt his stomach drop.
Creatures. Falling from the top of the walls like a demonic waterfall. Dozens of them. Twisted limbs. Razor claws. Hollow eyes.
Demons.
They hit the ground running, howling with inhuman rage.
The man didn't flinch. He leapt into them with wild precision—his body a blur. A flash of silver. A crack of bone. A splash of red.
Blood sprayed across the stones like rain. Limbs flew. Bodies dropped.
He laughed. Laughed as he tore them apart with bare hands and blades hidden in his sleeves.
"Your turn, Fallen," he said, his eyes locking onto him. "Let's see if you're really his son."
Fallen stepped back. His pulse thudded in his ears. The demons turned toward him, eyes glowing like dying stars.
He couldn't run.
He could only fight.
---
To be continued...