The moon hung low over the capital, casting a pale silver glow across the cobblestone streets. Kain moved like a wraith through the shadows, his cloak blending seamlessly with the darkness.

His boots made no sound as he trailed the covered cart rumbling through the quiet alleys, its wheels creaking under the weight of its mysterious cargo. The guards escorting it were tense, their hands gripping sword hilts, eyes darting to every corner.

They knew they were being watched, but Kain was no ordinary hunter. His senses were sharper than any human's, honed by years of stalking creatures that thrived in the dark.

He crouched behind a crumbling wall, his breath steady, his eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural amber hue. The air carried a faint metallic tang, mixed with something else—something otherworldly. Kain's lips curled into a faint smile. "They're coming," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

He pressed a hand to the ground, and a subtle pulse of energy rippled through his fingers, sensing vibrations in the earth. The guards were oblivious, but Kain could feel it: the faint tremor of something stalking them. Succubi, or worse.

The cart slowed as it approached a narrow bridge, and Kain's gaze sharpened. He reached into his cloak, pulling out the metallic tube he'd used on Serpha earlier. But this time, he twisted its base, revealing a series of glowing runes etched into its surface.

The device hummed softly, and Kain's eyes flickered as he scanned the darkness. A faint red glow pulsed in the distance, marking the presence of something unnatural. "Got you," he whispered, his smile widening.

Kain wasn't human—not entirely. Decades ago, a botched ritual had fused his soul with a fragment of a demon's essence, granting him abilities no mortal could claim.

He could sense demonic auras, move faster than the eye could follow, and withstand wounds that would kill a normal man. But it came at a cost: a constant hunger, a pull toward the darkness he fought to suppress. That was why he hunted. It kept the beast within him sated.

As the cart crossed the bridge, Kain leaped silently onto a nearby rooftop, his movements fluid and precise. He crouched low, watching as a shadow detached itself from an alleyway below. It moved with predatory grace, its form humanoid but wrong—too fluid, too perfect. A succubus.

Kain's grip tightened on the tube, but he didn't act yet. He needed to know where the cart was headed—and why.

The guards halted at a small gate on the city's outskirts, and Kain's eyes narrowed as a cloaked figure emerged to meet them. The figure's voice was muffled, but Kain's heightened hearing caught fragments of the conversation. "...Marciel mansion... Juno... no one must know." Kain's jaw tightened. Juno. The sword. This was no ordinary transport.

He slipped closer, his form blurring as he activated another of his abilities—a partial phase into the shadow realm, rendering him nearly invisible.

The cloaked figure handed a sealed letter to the lead guard, who nodded curtly. "Move quickly. The king's orders." Kain's smile faded. The king. So Serpha's suspicions were right—something was rotten at the top. As the cart rolled forward, Kain followed, his mind racing. If Juno was being moved, the succubi would strike soon. And he'd be ready.

Meanwhile, across the city, Serpha crouched in the dense shrubbery outside the Marciel mansion. Her knights, cloaked to conceal their armor, were positioned at key points around the estate. The mansion's once-grand facade was now scarred with dull lights and choked by depressing looking nature. The air hung heavy, an unnatural stillness prickling Serpha's instincts.

She tightened her grip on her dagger, her green eyes sweeping the grounds. Torren had reported eerie disturbances earlier—shadows that defied the moonlight, whispers slithering through the dark.

Serpha had known the Marciel family for years, their lineage steeped in the kingdom's deepest secrets. If the succubi were targeting them, it wasn't merely for giggles or fun. They wanted something specific—perhaps the ancient sword, Juno, or Daniel, the young master of the house.

A piercing scream shattered the silence, raw and desperate, cut short too soon. Serpha's stomach twisted. She signaled Lira, who nodded and crept toward the mansion's side entrance. Serpha followed, her movements swift and soundless.

Inside, the stench of blood hit her like a wall, followed by a scene of devastation. The grand foyer was a wreck—furniture toppled, tapestries shredded, bloodstains streaking the marble floor. Servants lay crumpled against walls, their eyes hollow, throats pierced with the telltale marks of something demonici.

"Damn it," Serpha hissed, her voice taut. She knelt beside a fallen guard, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. Her gaze darted to a crumpled form near the staircase—Daniel's younger sister, the Marciel family's only daughter.

The girl's body was mangled, her once-vibrant face frozen in terror, her chest torn open as if clawed by something feral. Blood pooled beneath her, still warm. Serpha's breath caught, rage and grief warring within her.

Lira, pale and trembling, appeared at her side. "The young master—Daniel—he's gone. And… the Duke and Duchess Marciel… no one's seen them."

Serpha's jaw tightened. "They're missing too?" She stood, forcing her focus past Liora's brutalized body. The succubi, she thought. It had to be them.

But then she heard something, she found even more confusing. "Young Master Daniel had been missing for days. I heard from servants who were alive that they asked Order one to take care of it. No wonder...we didn't know about this."

Daniel's kidnapping days prior, Young lady of Marciel family's savage death, and now the Duke and Duchess vanished—it reeked of their calculated cruelty. The Marciels were keepers of secrets, tied to Juno and the castle's hidden power. The succubi must be after that power, using Daniel as leverage or does he carry some of Juno's power.

They moved quickly through the halls, boots silent on the carpet. The study door hung ajar, and Serpha pushed it open, dagger raised. The room was empty but bore signs of a struggle—shattered inkwell, scattered papers, a single window agape, its curtains fluttering. On the sill, a faint shimmer caught her eye—demonic residue, or so she believed. The succubi's calling card.

Serpha's mind churned. Daniel, the last male heir, was already in their clutches. Young Marciel lady's death was a message, and the missing Duke and Duchess Marciel only deepened the mystery. The succubi were relentless, their motives tied to the Marciel lineage and its secrets. "Get Torren," Serpha ordered. "Lock down the mansion. We search every corner—no one leaves until we know more. Let other orders know what happened here."

Lira nodded and bolted off, leaving Serpha alone in the study. She stared at the shimmering residue on the windowsill, her resolve hardening. "You think you're clever," she muttered, convinced the succubi were behind this chaos. She'd find Daniel, uncover the Duke and Duchess's fate, and make the creatures pay for young girl's blood.

***

The 5th Order's safehouse buzzed with tension as Shennong burst into the main room, his coat still dusted with frost from the Mage Sanctuary. Rilith and Velara, the two succubi guarding the room, froze, their glowing eyes wide with surprise. Rilith's silver hair shimmered as she stepped forward, her voice sharp. "Shennong? You're back already?"

Velara's crimson gaze flickered with relief, her tail twitching. "Good timing. We're drowning in trouble here."

Shennong barely caught his breath, his sharp eyes scanning the cluttered table of maps and reports. "What's going on? Speak."

Rilith gestured to a crumpled parchment, her voice low. "We spotted succubi near the docks—three of them. We kept our presence hidden, but it's bad, Shennong. They're not random. They're followers of Yenissa's old enemies."

Velara crossed her arms, frowning. "This was Yenissa's territory once, but she hasn't claimed it in years. They probably think she's dead—or they're hunting her. She's a criminal by succubi standards now. If the Queen is awake...this all make sense."

Shennong's jaw tightened. Yenissa and the queen. The same queen he was trying to summon. "If the queen's awake, doesn't that mean things re moving in our favour?" he muttered. "Why are they here, then? If Yenissa's gone, why risk it?"

Rilith's eyes narrowed. "They're either taking over her old ground or tracking her. Either way, it's dangerous. If the queen's stirring, they'll be bolder."

The door creaked, and Cassandra and Christina entered, fresh from the baths. Cassandra's eyes lit up as she rushed to hug Shennong. "You're back! How's the Sanctuary?" Her voice was warm, but her gaze betrayed her worry for her fief.

Shennong managed a small smile, patting her shoulder. "It's… complicated. But we're close." He saw the plea in her eyes—her longing to return home. He turned to Rilith and Velara, his voice firm. "We need to capture those succubi. Now."

Velara's tail lashed. "That's reckless, Shennong. If we tangle with them, we risk drawing out someone like Yenissa. Or worse."

Rilith nodded. "They'll sense us. It's a trap waiting to happen."

Shennong's gaze hardened. "No more 'what ifs.' We need answers. Locate them, and I'll handle it."

Velara sighed, her claws flexing. "You're insane. If they spot us, we're all exposed."

"I'm ready to fight," Shennong said, his tone like iron. "Find them. We move tonight."

Cassandra gripped his arm, her voice soft but urgent. "Shennong, be careful. We need you."

He met her eyes, nodding. "I'll end this, Cassandra. For all of us." As Rilith and Velara exchanged wary glances, Shennong steeled himself.

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