Part 3: “War Between Brothers”

Rasen had spent weeks in isolation, locked within his own darkness. It was a constant war against the demons tearing him apart from within. Sariel's presence felt like a foreign heart beating inside him, a second rhythm echoing with a ravenous hunger and a desperation that threatened to consume him entirely.

At Rasen's door:

Lionel stood tall, firm as a sentinel.

—"If you go in now, Cristal, I can't promise you'll come out alive," he warned, his eyes showing a rare flicker of concern.

Cristal stared back at him, determined, her brow furrowed and fists clenched.

—"I don't care. He needs me, Lionel. If it means risking my life, I'll do it."

—"Your stubbornness is going to kill you one day." —Lionel sighed, stepping aside with a glance at the closed door. There was something in his expression that hinted at guilt.— "But if he loses control in there, not even I can save you."

Inside Rasen's room:

Rasen was trapped in his own storm. His veins burned like they carried liquid fire. Sariel's voice was a soft blade, seductive, whispering promises of freedom in exchange for blood. Rasen clenched his jaw, feeling his body slip further from his will. The boundary between him and the other was blurring with every passing second.

In a barely audible whisper, Sariel spoke in his mind:

—"You're no longer you, Rasen. You are us."

And with that echo, the window shattered. Rasen let out a piercing scream before hurling himself through it, leaving behind a thousand shards and a room filled with silence and destruction.

Like a projectile of fury and despair, his body tore through the night with no clear direction, guided only by the darkness swelling within him.

Meanwhile, in Darían's office, atop the Community of the Thirteen:

Sanathiel sifted through files with surgical precision, his eyes scanning each document with contained fury.

—"Liar... always looking after his own interests," he muttered, gripping an incriminating letter in his hand.

Suddenly, a crash tore through his focus. The window exploded in a shower of glass, and a figure burst in from the night. For a second, he didn't see an enemy.

Time rolled back.

He saw a child running through the halls, wide-eyed, filled with fear and hope. He saw the same face now twisted by hatred and darkness.

—"Brother..." he whispered. An inevitable loss.

But what left his lips was the name that still hurt to say:

—"Rasen."

It was all too sudden. He felt Sariel's presence—his brother's, the soul that shouldn't be there... but also the simple human—and that terrified him.

The man before him was a shadow of who he once knew. His eyes burned crimson like smoldering coals, and a dark energy cloaked him like a living shroud.

—"I'll tame the wolf... and get drunk on your blood." —Rasen's voice was a low growl, laced with a cruelty that chilled the bones.

Sanathiel didn't flinch. His gaze hardened as he murmured:

—"The bearer of the second heart… impossible."

Rasen smiled, but there was no humanity in that grin. The chains around him sprang to life, lashing toward Sanathiel with lethal speed.

The clash was brutal, each blow echoing like a storm unleashed. The chains coiled around the wolf, tearing at his flesh, but Sanathiel held his ground. With a guttural snarl, he broke one of the chains at the cost of an injured arm.

—"You're strong... but not enough." —Rasen laughed, but it was a hollow echo.

Sanathiel fought back with a ferocity born from his very core.

—"You're just a vessel, Sariel. A hollow shell for something you'll never understand."

Rasen struck again, this time pinning the wolf to the ground. His fangs gleamed in the dim light, and in one swift motion, he sank them into Sanathiel's neck.

The metal of the medallion burned like a coal, but it didn't stop him.

His face twisted in immediate disgust.

—"Your blood... bitter, empty... it's worthless."

Rasen released him, letting him fall like dead weight. He stood over him, gaze cold.

—"You're a pawn, Sanathiel. An animal trapped in a game you'll never understand."

With those words, Rasen turned and vanished into the night, leaving the wolf wounded but his spirit unbroken.

But he didn't stop. The night called to him, dragging him across rooftops, tiles, and alleyways until the blood on his hands was no longer enough to calm the echo of the second heart.

Under the rain, in a distant park where the world seemed to forget the war:

Aisha and Skiller walked under the curtain of water, but the blood dripping from Aisha's wound stained the ground with every step.

Suddenly, an umbrella dropped, and a figure emerged from the shadows.

—"I like your pendant, Aisha."

Rasen's voice sliced through the silence like a blade. His eyes, still red, locked onto hers with almost painful intensity.

Aisha stared, her breath caught in her throat.

—"Rasen..."

Skiller tried to step in, but Rasen cast him aside with a single motion, his gaze never leaving Aisha.

—"Don't compare me to Noah," he growled. "That traitor no longer exists."

Aisha trembled, but didn't look away.

—"Rasen... you're still in there. I know you are."

Rasen's laugh was bitter, like an open wound spitting poison.

—"You think that matters? Still as naive as ever, Aisha."

Her knees threatened to give out, but she forced herself to stand tall. There was something in her eyes—a mixture of resentment, pain... and a love she had never been able to forget.

"I always tried to protect him," she thought, clenching her fists. "But... was I ever enough for him? For anyone?"

Rasen's gaze was a knife, cutting through her soul.

—"You're just a useless memory, Aisha. Nothing more."

And with those words, he turned and vanished into the night, leaving her standing in the rain, the drops mixing with her tears. Yet as he walked away, his heart —his own, not Sariel's— ached as if every word he had spoken had been a bullet to himself.

He didn't look back.

He couldn't.

The rain kept falling, relentless. But it was no longer just water that touched the earth.

It was forgetfulness.

It was blood.

It was the beginning of the end.