Under the gray sky that does not reflect the light of the stars, the ruins of Gaia and the Sanctuary of Oda lay silent like an open grave. Only the sound of crackling fire, the occasional scream of the last victims, and the whispers of mercenaries scavenging for treasure among the debris can be heard. But tonight, Lyssa Marrow, the masked iron commander, called a grand meeting in the midst of the Basilisk ruins—right above the altar of Sheena, which now lay in ashes.
A black flag was planted, forming a large circle of mercenaries, the remnants of the lost Earth forces, and a few protectors pretending to bow. In the center of the circle, an old wooden table—made from looted palace doors—was filled with roasted meat, hard bread, cheap wine, and countless poisons. The aroma was pungent, mixing hunger and fear, creating a suffocating atmosphere.
In the corner of the room, shadows danced in the firelight, as if watching the meeting with indifference. The presence of those united in the circle felt fragile, like themselves trapped in a domino of betrayal. It was as if every step forward was an invitation to stab each other in the back, all watching each other, trying to guess who would fall first.
Lyssa stood at the end of the table, her cold voice slicing through the fog,
"Tonight, anyone with dignity, come to this table. There are no friends, no enemies. Only those who have something to trade: blood, information, or names."
At the edge of the fire circle, Shigure stood tall, his body still wrapped in wounds, his gaze piercing through the shadows of the night. He knew that none of them could be trusted. In his hand, the Kagehana katana—a weapon inherited from the Yamato Clan, gleamed black, containing a glyph that nullified oaths. Every time he looked at his sword, it felt as if his heart was torn between deep respect for his ancestors and profound disappointment over the betrayal that had blinded them.
Behind his calm face, Shigure's heart trembled, tossed by the shadows of the past. He remembered the cheerful laughter of peaceful days, before darkness crept in and changed everything. Once, he fought to protect the things he loved; now, he fought merely to survive. The darkness crept closer, gnawing at the remnants of his hope, leaving only a desire for revenge.
Akiko turned anxiously,
"Are you sure you want to attend that banquet, Shigure? They won't hesitate to stab you in the back even while you speak."
Shigure smiled coldly, a shadow of secrets lurking behind his seemingly calm smile. In his heart, a question flickered; was he strong enough to face this game, or was he just a bird trapped in a cage built from false promises? The creaking wood beneath him seemed to tremble, signaling how vulnerable their position was amid the unseen storm of intrigue.
"Better to know who the real enemy is than to die slowly in the dark. Besides, at the table of traitors, everyone dances on their own tightrope."
He felt his heart pounding, like the drumbeats of war calling brave souls to the battlefield. Each of his words hinted at the tension trapped between them, as if grasping risks like daggers. The darkness of the night seemed to swallow all honesty, leaving only fading shadows among them.
Joanna observed from the ruins' rooftop, accompanied by Zadkiel and Remiel. She did not join the table but sent one angel, Ariel, as a spy. In her gaze lay anxiety; could she trust her companions? Every breeze whispered tales of past wounds, triggering memories of betrayals that had once torn her soul. Joanna knew that the decisions made tonight could change the course of the world—or hasten its destruction.
Ariel stood at the edge of the circle, wearing a dark cloak to hide her wings, watching every word and movement of betrayal. With each heartbeat, she could feel the burden carried by enemies united in lies. The memory of efforts to uphold the truth was wrapped in longing and anxiety, as if the night could deceive her at any moment.
At the table, Lyssa began the feast with a sharp voice, her hopes glimmering among the flickering candlelight. Her voice, like a sharp knife symbolizing power, pierced the silence as if awakening the traitors from their slumber. Dressed elegantly yet lethally, her charming smile concealed unexpected intentions—a game that would end in blood and betrayal.
"You are all here because you want something. Gold, lives, or merely to survive until dawn. But one rule: whoever lies, dies. Whoever tries to steal, loses their hand. Whoever speaks of old oaths, I will burn alive."
The sound of tense breaths filled the space, creating an atmosphere of power. People began to speak, trading information: some whispered softly, while others loudly voiced their doubts. In that dim light, every face appeared vague, forbidden to expose who they truly were. A charged atmosphere of despair and hope was created, gripping each individual's hands on an uncertain fate.
A former paladin of Gaia offered a secret map to the untouched underground of Earth. He spoke with a hoarse voice, as if every word carried the weight of a dark past, recalling his steps on the path of virtue now covered in the dust of memory.
An ex-samurai of Oda revealed the location of leftover food and weapons at the northern altar. His gaze was cold and direct, reflecting the tension of a soul bound by shattered honor. "What does honor mean if this stomach is growling?" he muttered, as if throwing a challenge to a world that had betrayed him.
The discarded Earth soldier sold a glyph spell that could destroy angelic shields—with a price of blood. He smiled cynically, watching how desperation turned his comrades into predators willing to sacrifice their souls for a piece of hope. "In this world, blood is the highest currency," he whispered, pressing the glyph to his palm, as if binding the dark industry to his tattered life.
Shigure observed calmly, occasionally nodding to old allies who had now become enemies, sometimes stifling a bitter laugh at seeing former friends now selling their honor for a piece of bread. In the chaos, his soul was tossed between nostalgia and anger; for a moment, he envisioned the times when they stood together at the front lines, becoming hope for the oppressed.
Before long, one by one, guests began to fall—some poisoned by wine, others stabbed by daggers beneath the table. Lyssa laughed, making no effort to stop the chaos. She became the spirit of disruption in the circle of darkness, relishing the descent into disorder with a sneering smile. "Is this what you call honor?" she mocked sarcastically, cheering in an unnamed abbey as blood began to spill.
"This is the new world: you eat or be eaten."
Suddenly, an Earth soldier attacked the former paladin, splitting his head open on the table. Blood flowed into the bread bowl, and not a single person stopped eating. The bloodshed seemed to become a magical solution that enhanced the flavor of the dishes on this night full of lust. In another corner, the ex-samurai of Oda plunged a glyph needle into the neck of his old enemy, whispering, "For all the betrayals that have never been avenged." The lives here were part of a larger game, each drop of blood etching a new, unavoidable story.
"For every broken trust, we will take this life in exchange."
Shigure himself was approached by two mercenaries trying to offer an alliance, but he severed their hands with a single swing of his katana. With every movement, the moonlight illuminated the blade of his sword, creating dark shadows that seemed to tell tales of deep-rooted betrayal. "Don't come closer if you don't want to lose your life."
"Don't come closer if you don't want to lose your life."
Ariel, the infiltrating angel, saw it all—and knew that no one could be saved at this table. Behind her softly glowing eyes lay eternal sadness. She sent a mental message to Joanna:
"None of them will survive until dawn without blood and betrayal."
As the night wind blew colder, half of the guests at the table had died. Lyssa stood, raising a glass filled with blood, where every drop seemed to tell the long journey of the traitors trapped in a longing for power.
"This is the price of the traitor's banquet! Tomorrow, the world will only be filled with those brave enough to wash their hands in their own blood."
Shigure raised his sword, staring into Lyssa's eyes, in a gaze full of determination, like a storm ready to strike. The wind whispered around them, as if supporting the death vow that was spoken.
"I will not drink the blood of traitors. But I will rewrite the oath, starting tonight."
He flipped the banquet table, slashing anyone who tried to stab him, igniting total chaos in the midst of the blazing fire circle, as if swallowing all hope. The fire danced, creating a play of light and shadow that reflected despair on the faces of the remaining guests.
Ariel flew away, signaling the angels to prepare—a new war would begin, not between nations, but among humans who had lost their dignity and oaths. In every flap of wings, hope that had faded was etched, and she felt the burden of this fight growing heavier, like an invisible web binding her to a dark fate.
As dawn crept up, only a handful remained—Lyssa with a cold smile on her lips, Shigure standing atop a pile of corpses, and Joanna descending from the sky with a somber face. Beside Lyssa, the shadows of the past were silenced, a distorted image of friendship now twisted by betrayal. She gazed bleakly at the ashes of hope, as if recalling the laughter that once filled the air. "How ironic," she whispered, her voice piercing like a thorn of a rose buried in blood. "We are shattered, not by enemies, but by our own hands."
Shigure grinned, the brilliance in his eyes like shards of ice in the midst of a blazing fire. He stepped confidently, as if on that pile of corpses lay a throne, and his old foes were merely shadows that now meant nothing. "Courage is born from despair," he said softly, as if recalling the battles that had forged him into a monolith amid emptiness. "We are creatures born from darkness, here to weave a new destiny from the remnants of death."
What remained were only those cruel enough to betray anyone, even themselves, and those who chose to write a new oath upon the ashes of the old world. Joanna, trembling beneath the weight of the dark sky, hesitated to acknowledge her pain. She buried her face in the deep shadows, feeling it like a fine net that ensnared her. "What does loyalty mean if it only leads us to destruction?" she asked softly, rising from the thick darkness. Her voice was full of doubt, yet within her heart, a new flame ignited—ready to burn all that obstructed the path to vengeance. "We will create a new world," she shouted with determination, "from the ruins of this betrayal."