The morning came, grey and too quiet.
Jimmy was already up, slipping on his sneakers by the front door.
He glanced back once, half-expecting someone to stop him. No one did.
Jake hadn't come out of his room.
Sarah's door was still closed.
Jimmy opened the door and stepped out into the cold morning light, unaware that everything was already beginning to crack.
Far east—beyond reach, beyond reason—lies a cursed island.
Steeped in myth. Veiled in mist.
Ruled by fang and fury.
Long ago, the werewolves came.
Since then, no man who sets foot there ever returns.
Some say the island itself is hungry—it's soil fed by blood.
That's how it got it's name: Blood Island.
Now, the world fears it.
And those who rule it… even more.
They call themselves the Blood Fang Pack.
A ruthless, ancient clan born of carnage, forged in bloodshed, ruled by one name feared above all:
Mikasa.
No ordinary Alpha.
Black-haired. Silver-eyed.
Raised by the blade. Crowned by her kills.
And today, the stone floors of her mountain stronghold run red once more.
Because someone dared step foot on her island.
The intruder lay sprawled across the stone floor, blood pooling beneath him. His breathing was ragged—desperate.
"P-please…" he gasped. "I'm not an intruder—I was sent… by Verek…"
At that name, the air shifted.
A low murmur rippled through the wolves, but Mikasa didn't flinch.
She stepped forward—boots silent on the blood-slick stone.
"Verek?" she repeated coldly. "What does he want?"
The man coughed, trembling. "He said… the attack on the Obsidian Crimson Pack—the elimination of the one known as The Alpha—is about to begin."
That made her pause.
She smirked. "You just made my day."
Then the smirk vanished.
"But that doesn't change the fact that you trespassed on my island."
Her katana slid free with slow, deliberate finality.
"Still… since you brought such delightful news, I'll keep your suffering brief."
"No. Plea—"
Her blade cut through him in a split second.
Clean. Precise. Inevitable.
His severed head hit the floor before the word could even finish.
"「地獄で待っていろ」" (Jigoku de matte iro), she whispered — wait for me in hell.
Something she always said after a kill.
No one knows when she started saying it.
But every time her blade takes a life, the words follow — quiet, cold, final.
「地獄で待っていろ.」
"Wait for me in hell."
Some say it's a promise.
Others say it's a threat.
But Mikasa?
She sees it as both.
To her, death is never the end — only a delay. She believes she's damned, that every kill is another nail in the coffin of her soul. So she tells her victims to wait for her in hell… because one day, she'll be there too.
And when she arrives, she plans to finish what she started.
The phrase became legend. A ghost-story told in whispers across rival packs.
Say her name, and warriors shiver.
Say her words… and you're already dead.
No one dares ask what it really means.
But everyone knows — when Mikasa speaks those words, another soul is lost forever.
"Get rid of this," she said, sliding her katana back into its sheath with a practiced motion.
She turned, an eerie grin crawling across her face.
"…It's about time," she murmured — and with those words, the room fell still again.
The blood hadn't even dried.
And already, she was ready for the next name on her list.
No rest. No mercy.
Phylax
The Veil — a shimmering barrier separating the mundane world from the realm of the supernatural. It was meant to keep chaos hidden, to protect humans from creatures they could never understand.
All supernatural beings were bound by its laws: stay beneath the Veil, stay hidden.
Most obeyed.
Most.
But not Mikasa.
She refused to stay cloaked beneath it's shadow, choosing instead to linger just beyond — not harming innocents, only those who dared trespass on her island.
Her defiance didn't go unnoticed, but Verek—chose to overlook it.
Tonight, beyond the Veil, into a place few dare enter: deep in the Claw's Heart, the stronghold of the Obsidians.
The Claw's Heart was no paradise. It was a scorched wasteland—cursed and cracked—where nothing bloomed and the air tasted like soot and forgotten screams. Black sand shifted in restless dunes, and the skeletal remains of long-dead beasts littered the ground like relics of an ancient war. Above it all, the sky bled red beneath swirling black clouds, as if the heavens themselves had abandoned the place.
But deep within that desolation—beneath a sky that never knew peace—stood a fortress.
Dark. Towering. Carved from blackened stone and reinforced with iron scorched by time.
It was here the Obsidian Crimson Pack made their home.
Few ever laid eyes on the stronghold and lived to tell of it. Fewer still dared approach.
The land was cursed—for it bore the scars of the First Uprising.
Here, the earth split beneath the feet of monsters and men. Here, humans, beasts, and nightmares clashed in a battle that nearly shattered the world. All to stop him.
The Apex.
A being so powerful, so uncontrollable, that even monsters feared him.
But this is not his story.
Not yet.