chapter 48: Blood and Shadow

Chapter 48: Blood and Shadow

Rin stepped out of the underground coliseum, the roaring crowd now a distant memory. The neon haze of the Down World swallowed him whole, its streets alive with a symphony of distant shouts, hissing steam vents, and the low hum of passing vehicles. The air smelled of oil, sweat, and the ever-present hint of blood—a reminder that down here, the only law that mattered was survival.

His body ached from the brutal fight against Edmund Verrain, the Phantom Fang, but it was a good pain, the kind that sharpened his senses rather than dulled them. Every movement sent a jolt of soreness through his muscles, but his mind remained razor-sharp.

Then, he felt it.

A presence.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, like a shadow that shouldn't have been there. Rin didn't turn around, didn't let his pace falter, but every fiber of his being was now alert. Someone was following him. Not a common thug. Not a desperate cutthroat.

This one is different.

The way they moved was careful—practiced. A predator, not prey. Someone trained to track and kill without hesitation.

Instead of speeding up, Rin adjusted his stride, deliberately leading his pursuer down a side alley. Broken neon signs flickered above shattered glass and crumbling walls, the alleyway narrowing into a maze of dead ends and fire escapes. The reflections in the dirty windows gave him glimpses of his stalker—a figure dressed in dark clothing, face hidden beneath a hood.

Rin slowed his breathing. Counted his steps.

Then, just as the figure was about to move in—

"Long night, kid?"

The voice was rough, tinged with amusement.

Rin spun, dagger already in his grip.

Hudson the Drunk leaned lazily against the alley wall, hands buried in the pockets of his worn-out coat. His expression was one of mild amusement, but his sharp, calculating eyes told another story.

"You're getting slow," Hudson continued, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke. "Thought I'd find you before they did."

Rin didn't lower his weapon. "Who?"

Hudson smirked, stepping forward. "The Voz family, for starters. But there's another party interested in you now. One that doesn't forgive mistakes."

Rin's grip on his dagger tightened. "And you expect me to trust you?"

Hudson let out a dry chuckle. "Hell no. But I expect you to be smart enough to take advice when it's free." He reached into his coat, pulling out a small folded note. "Lesson one, kid: When the hunt begins, the first mistake is waiting for it to reach you."

Rin hesitated for only a second before snatching the paper from Hudson's hand.

Hudson's voice lowered, all humor draining from it. "Meet me in two hours. Alone."

Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone.

Rin unfolded the note, scanning the single line scrawled in rough ink:

"Edmund moves at dawn. Learn to move before then."

Far above the chaos of the Down World, in a high-rise suite filled with cigarette smoke and quiet tension, Mikhael Voz sat in his leather chair, swirling a glass of dark whiskey. The amber liquid reflected the city lights outside the window, casting twisted patterns across the floor.

Across from him, Edmund Verrain leaned against the glass, arms crossed, gaze locked onto the endless sprawl below. His expression was unreadable, but there was a sharp glint in his eye, something cold and dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

"You lost," Mikhael said, his voice smooth and unreadable.

Edmund's smirk never wavered. "I learned."

Mikhael raised an eyebrow, tilting his glass. "And?"

Edmund's fingers traced the hilt of one of his many knives, the metal catching the dim light. "He's unpredictable. He fights like a survivor. But he's still a pup trying to play with wolves."

Mikhael exhaled slowly, setting his drink down. "Then break him."

Edmund pushed off the window, his movements slow, deliberate. The smirk never left his face.

"With pleasure."

The warehouse smelled of rust, old metal, and sweat. Rin stood in the center, rolling his shoulders, the dull ache of his injuries still lingering. Across from him, Hudson cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing in the empty space.

"You think you're ready for Edmund?" Hudson asked, circling him like a wolf.

Rin said nothing.

"Good," Hudson muttered. "Let's see how long you last."

He moved first.

Fast.

Before Rin could react, a brutal strike slammed into his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. He staggered back, barely dodging the follow-up as Hudson swept low, aiming for his legs. The ground cracked where his foot landed.

Rin twisted away, slashing with his dagger. Hudson dodged with ease, catching Rin's wrist and driving a sharp elbow into his gut.

Rin hit the floor. Hard.

"You're too reliant on tricks," Hudson muttered, stepping back. "Edmund won't fall for them. You need to fight like a hunter, not prey."

Rin pushed himself up, breathing hard. "And I suppose you're the one to teach me?"

Hudson smirked. "Damn right."

The next hour was brutal. Every move Rin made was countered, every strike met with overwhelming force. Hudson wasn't just testing his endurance—he was breaking his old instincts.

Rin adapted. Slowly.

When Hudson went for another strike, Rin feinted—then reversed his grip, using the momentum to drive a knee into Hudson's ribs.

It wasn't perfect, but Hudson nodded.

"Better," he admitted, tossing Rin a small blade. "Lesson one: Always have a hidden weapon."

Rin caught it. "And lesson two?"

Hudson grinned. "Don't die before I teach you."

By the time Rin returned to his hideout, his body was screaming in protest, but his mind was sharper than ever. The training had rewired his instincts, forced him to see the battlefield differently.

That was why, when he reached his door, he noticed.

The lock had been tampered with.

Slowly, Rin pushed the door open.

Inside, the room was untouched—except for a single playing card resting on his bed.

Edmund's signature.

Then—

A whisper of movement.

Rin ducked—just as a blade sliced through the air where his throat had been.

The assassin moved like a shadow, relentless and precise. Rin barely parried the next strike, twisting to counter, but his opponent was faster.

Pain bloomed as a knife cut across his shoulder.

Rin didn't hesitate. He shifted his grip—and revealed his hidden blade.

The assassin wasn't expecting it. Rin struck low, driving the small knife into his ribs.

The assassin smirked.

"He's coming for you," he whispered before collapsing.

Rin exhaled. Slowly.

Edmund had sent a message.

And Rin had answered.

Scene 5: The Blood Moon Rises

Later that night, standing on the rooftop, Rin rolled his aching shoulder, gripping his knife.

Edmund wasn't done.

Neither was Mikhael Voz.

The hunt had begun.

Rin smirked.

Let them come.