Victorian London
Grey clouds lay over the city.
Rain lashes like clinking needles against the windows of a weathered Victorian manor.
Inside hangs the scent of wet stone, mixed with cold candle-wax … and roses.
Their vines wrap like frozen serpents across the carved wall-panels.
On the black-marbled floor golden ornaments lie dormant, half veiled by withered petals and freshly-spilled blood.
At the tall window sits Lucil.
Blood leaves mat tracks across the glass; where his hand rests, the pane stains rose-red.
He wears a long coat—white, trimmed in carmine.
Behind him lie two swords.
One: flawless cobalt, carved through with ruby glyph-veins.
The other: ivory white—yet edges and the tip glows blood-bright.
Three chains hang around his neck.
Two of them carry rose emblems.
The third is a dragon medallion.
On the other side stretches a massive mahogany table.
Eleven Victorian chairs stand around it, empty and still—
as though the house were abandoned
and yet tense with unseen spirits.
His trousers were patched with pockets.
The boots beneath are old and ragged, damp from the outside.
Lucil's left arm grows heavy.
A thin smile flickers across his face—
and fades.
"I guess I didn't make it …"
His coat becomes heavier.
Then—
one drop.
And another.
The fabric can't soak any more blood.
The wound in his belly gapes deep.
Lucil breathes in.
Slowly.
He counts the drops.
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
In that quiet moment heavy iron groans: The main gate swings open.
Lucil lifts his head.
His voice cracks.
"If I'm going to die … then with a bang …"
He musters strength and raises his voice.
"Blood Bre -"
The word freezes, disappears in the air.
Silver stands in the doorway.
A diagonal gash splits his chest; blood falls from his chin to the floor.
His coat is white, silver cuffs shining like frost in the light,
the once immaculate coat is soaked in wine-red now.
Across his shoulder rests a white-silver sword,
its blade shines like the moon.
With every step he leaves traces of blood.
Lucil lifts his head - bloodless lips parting in a thin line.
"I won't resist."
Silver's eyes prowl the room, wary, breath rasping in his chest.
(hoarse) "Lunar Revelation."
He totters close, then lets his shoulder slide against the wall. From the moon fires spectral shackles - then the window bursts.
Lucil raises his hands, a gesture balanced between surrendering and keeping his dignity.
"Stop…" Silver's whisper cracks, crushed by the thick silence.
"Stop -!"
A single command, hollow as thunder. The moon-chains dissolve on the instant, collapsing into frost-cold dust. Despair slices fresh lines across Silver's face while blood seeps from his chin.
"What is this? Fight!"
"No." Lucil's refusal is dry and final.
Silver doubles down, coughing hard enough to spit blood on the marble.
"YOU TOOK SO MUCH FROM ME! EVERYTHING - ALWAYS! My family… WHY?"
Lucil's mouth curves into the faintest arc - already blue from the loss of blood.
"I won't fight you."
"HEY - what is this supposed to be?!"
"My time's almost up, my dear enemy. But if I don't take the step - who will?"
His fingers, trembling, draw a plain knife from his pocket; lightning flashes outside, and the blade glimmers like restless mercury.
"Next time," he whispers, "let's talk everything out."
Eyes closing, he sets the cold steel to his own throat - a hair-thin divide between now and never.
"I… I don't know if I can…" Silver's voice cracks, half plea, half denial.
Lucil collapsed. His body hits the floor hard - yet the drops of fresh blood flutters into scarlet rose petals that scatter across the marble. At that next heartbeat Silver's chest wound gets deeper; he drops to one knee, breathing heavily.
Outside, the tempest splits the heavens apart. A full moon - high, pitiless - floods the hall with a crimson glow.
In his final breath Lucil says:
"You paint the moon blood-red every time… Silver…"
Silver's stare locks on Lucils corpse. His shoulders treample. Blood runs down his body. Slowly he shuts his eyes, as though the dark might undo what he just saw.
(hoarse, regretful) "Yes… and I have taken just as much from you."
Japan | Tokyo | Estate of the Red-Dragon Clan
Sultry early-summer air presses through the window and mixes with the dusty scent of worn tatami.
Lucil wakes up - and wrinkles his nose at once. A sour, bestial stench drifts from his crumpled T-shirt, as though the sweat of every fight he has ever fought has soak into the fabric and bred a life of its own.
"I hate it when everyone's right," he mutters, annoyed.
He lifts one arm, sniffs - atrocious. The smell clings to his skin and jacket like putrid blood. A dull klonk breaks the hush; the door slides open and Mai bursts in, already wearing the black school uniform with a dark-red crocheted rose on her chest. Across it reads "Uria High School."
"Wake-up service isn't required today." Lucil says without looking up.
"Hmm… all set? Last day before summer break." She grins and pushes the door wider.
Lucil peels the offending shirt away on two fingers, as if it might fall apart. "Sure. Go ahead—I'll take a shower."
Mai blinks, genuinely surprised. "You… practise hygiene?"
"Enough self-discovery. Time to start a new chapter."
"Image change?" she asks, with a mischievous smile.
His gaze hardens. "Something more impactful. Wait for me - on the campus."
Frowning, Mai heads for the stairs. Lucil slings the reeking shirt over one shoulder and walks along the corridor. Several clan members pass and look at Lucil in disgust.
He reaches the bath just as Rei steps out, hair still wet, a simple white dress flowing to her ankles.
"Morning, Mom," he says.
Rei starts, surprise bright in her eyes. "Oh… taking a bath?"
"Yes."
A flicker of amazement plays across her face. "You're actually taking care of your body."
Lucil breathes in - deep enough to catch a second wave of his own acidic perfume - then slides the door shut with a decisive bang.
Rei chuckles softly, shakes her head, and drifts away down the hall. "He's still a mystery to me," she murmurs.
In the bath, white pillars stand on the ground, which is paved with black-green marble tiles. Dozens of golden dragon heads sculptures, pouring steaming spring water into the bath. The steam is illuminated by the pale light and forms a natural warm fog.
Lucil steps inside and tosses the reeking shirt aside. Across his chest run scars and marks, Along his back blooms a rosen tattoo.
"It's about time", he said quietly, dull.
He unclips the two chains around his neck. Between his fingers flashes the edges of the rose pendants, as do the dragon pendants: With a dull motion he cuts both his palms. Blood drips constantly and cuts his throat with the dragon medallion.
Then he goes through his hair with his bloody fingers and strokes it straight back. The dragon amulet pulses - as it would call for him.
He puts both necklaces back on and slowly steps into the basin. The clear water turns scarlet; rose petals appear and float on the surface. A scent of roses settles over the steam, the steam turns red. Little by little, the steam becomes a red mist.
The mist grows thicker. Lucil's skin turns bluish, his gaze determined. Water spills over the edge, mixes blood into dark drops that splashes onto the marble steps.
The eyelids sink, anemia creeps forward. At the edge of consciousness, an ancient sound suddenly rises up an unfamiliar scream from a beast.
Lucil sinks deeper into the water, instead of death, a domain forms.
He opens his eyes.
In front of him rises a weathered stone temple, half overgrown with climbing roses, statues of various magicians shatter. At the gate of the stone temple, two more statues materialize. One of a man with a fedora and a black suit with a three-day beard. The other statue is a likeness of Lucil.
Lucil laughs and says, "It's time, my girl."
In the middle of the illusion, all of Lucil's injuries have vanished.
He steps inside the stone temple.
The area reveals itself, full of roses, yet they do not remain still. They dance with Lucil's steps, as if they were alive.
Slowly, unnoticed, the rose red turns into violet. As Lucil pulls away, the roof of the temple is gone - only an abyssal night sky, as if no star had ever touched it.
He smiles faintly and moves on. The halls seem endless, gradually Lucil weakens.
Lucil sighs, 'If you do not reveal yourself to me now, it will be my end, girl."
He moves on, the surroundings change into a frightening violet light.
After a while, he sees his goal: first mist in the now violet temple, then slowly a colossal dragon statue reveals itself to him - scales made of rose petals, thorns around the legs with outstretched wings.
In front of the statue lies a wide stone step.
"There we go, girl!", Lucil says.
Lucil walks on toward the statue, steps over the stone step. He places his hand on the cold face of the dragon.
"Will you make a pact with me once more?" Lucil reminiscences
He sits down cross-legged. The frost-blue of his lips reflects the critical state of his body; it seems as though a timer is running, measuring how long he is allowed to remain in the domain. Yet the dragon amulet on his chest burns as if calling out to him, protecting him from his end. Lucil knows at that moment what to do..
"LuSilfer, my dragon! Help me break fate! Be my avatar - LuSilfer! MY ROSE DRAGON!!!"
Silence. No wind, no rustling. Only trust that his call will be heard.
Slowly, the violet sea of roses withers. The slowly withering petals drift toward him, turning to ash before Lucil as soon as they touch his skin - and ignite in bright sparks. A hostile greeting and a sign that he has no time left. He doesn't feel the pain, he only smiles even as the withered roses begin to take his body with them.
He looks up at the sky convinced, waiting for what will reveal itself. Afterwards he closes his eyes.
A mighty beat of wings lashes the air, as if the sky itself had shattered. A thunderous scream - half storm-breaker, half roar - makes the temple tremble.
A cataract of pink-red blazing fire crashes down, obliterating the scorched roses and engulfing Lucil like a burning aurora. On his back, the rose tattoo begins to glow, spreads, shattering its old form and forming a blossom with outstretched dragon wings. The violet blaze bathes the entire temple in blinding light. The once hostile, corrupted roses burn down in embers.
The ground trembles beneath a landing. Lucil opens his eyes; his pupils now reveal a precisely drawn rose pattern. A gigantic head approaches from the left: scales like opened pink petals, a mouth full of pearl-white teeth, and a hypnotically glowing eye in red that looks directly at Lucil.
Lucil raises his hand, touching the warm scales; the creature exhales a soft, weighty breath that smells of roses.
"Good girl, LuSilfer..."
The dragon silently pulls away from Lucil's side, stretching its massive wings. Its body - a moving cathedral of rosy scales and chapped flowers - tenses, then LuSilfer spits a pillar of fire high into the void. Sparks rain down like comets, and the entire temple glows in a new violet-red.
"Thanks…"
The heat thickens. With a barely audible beat of its wings, LuSilfer thrusts upwards, circling above the halls and scorching everything in violet flames.
Lucil straightens up, cracks his stiff neck - krrk - and there, behind the burning curtain, a black shadow bends. First a silhouette, then a growing colossus: scales of a lizard intertwining into grotesque muscles. The creature swells upward, taking on a behemoth-like form. A black mist forms beside the behemoth. A tall man made of pure shadow appears.
"LuSilfer - this time, I have no sword. Still, a fist speaks louder than a thousand words." says Lucil dryly.
The violet flames flow downward, gathering around Lucil's body like a living armor. LuSilfer lands silently behind him and dissolves into countless rose petals that collide with Lucil. With each petal, Lucil grows stronger. He holds onto his dragon amulet. His tattoo begins to glow, the wings of the tattoo spread wide.
"The trail.I get it."
The man of shadow looks at Lucil focused. Lucil's eyes burn ruby red; he raises his left hand, his scarf materializes, and he wraps it around his right hand to fight with it.
He takes a deep breath, then lifts his gaze - an empty, deadly stare meets the shadow.
"I fight dirty. That's why I'm sorry."
The shadow holds for a single breath, then lowers its torso - its behemoth draws forth claws of obsidian. Black mist surges around its limbs, as if trying to swallow the very color of the world.
Lucil rolls back his shoulders. A crack shoots through his joints; rose-veins glow beneath his skin, the scarf around his wrist ignites. He clenches each fist so tightly that blood pearls from his hand - and the blood transforms instantly into a rose blossom.
Stone trembles between them. The air seizes, as if bracing for an incoming impact. For a heartbeat, pure silence flashes -
and then both launch forward-