PROLOGUE

The land of devastation was called Paradise.

The young man stopped by the courtyard and tore his eyes away from the destroyed gate which carried name of the place. He only stood there, gaping. He never knew Paradise would look so desolate and forbidding.

The old mansion was in ruins. The crumbling walls were crawling with insects. Moss, filth and age clung to them longingly. The courtyard was covered with unkempt and overgrown grass, and the corners of the main walkway leading up to the front doors have become muddy. The whole place spoke of peace and love that was once extinguished and replaced by misery, despair and violence; the young man knew that the two brothers they were looking for spent their innocent days with their parents here, when they were both oblivious to the danger that lay before them. That was short-lived, the stories have said. On the day of their seventh birthday that very danger came to them, killing their mother in front of the older brother and taking their father to eternal punishment—that triggered the transformation of these two little boys, turning them into the person they were to be one day.

At least, that was what this young man had come to know so far, aside from the fact that the younger brother—he would have been glad to say he was acquainted to this one—had been parted from the other for many years. He left the people who helped him rise eventually, to search for his brother. From then on, the young man had not heard any news from him. He only hoped that his task today revealed of whatever had happened between the two, for a lot have already occured and it was only getting worse. The younger brother was said to be standing against the older brother now. He didn't know how that was to be, and he did not have the slightest idea why either. He assumed it affected the youngest's past with their leader. All he knew was that this brother might be an enemy of theirs as well.

Heaving a deep breath, the young man walked across the courtyard towards the door of Paradise.

The young man was running. He'd been running for the past half-hour now, and his years of training was not helping; he was shocked, confused, and scared out of his wits to try to focus on what to do next.

He was not able to find any clues about the brothers' whereabouts, but he was able to find signs that one of them (or probably both) had stepped foot here recently, although that was all there was to it. He was about to leave when he thought of visiting their mother's grave by the far side of the mansion to give his respects to her, but then he felt something: a presence, so powerful that he wondered what it was, braving the area to check it out when he saw, to his horror, someone within the vicinity, and that someone was—was that even human?

Was that him? the young man thought desperately. The form was of a human being's, but the appearance—that was not human at all. It can't have been. The blue light, the glowing white eyes, the voice when he addressed him—they were of a demon's. And demons have been missing for the rest of the year.

Damn! the young man screamed in his mind. He had to get away, his strength was not enough. Trying to hold him back from headquarters would be a stupid thing to do, obviously: whoever, or whatever, was after him would definitely be able to kill him in less than a second because his presence was that strong. But if he had to keep silent about the others' location if he was found, then . . .

He shook his head.

The young man ran into a ruined bedroom and slid under the bed. The mansion was mostly derived of its furniture, and even though hiding under beds was a very cliché thing to do, he had no other choice. If he had a chance of escape—any chance at all—he had to try. Dying was not a part of his task today. He should have expected some sort of danger to come his way, but dying?

He took a deep breath, ignoring the coat of sweat that dripped down his forehead. His heart was banging against his rib cage; it seemed as if it was also forcing its way out of his chest, like what he was trying to do now, away from this demonic being that roamed the walls of Paradise.

The young man bit his lip. Would he be able to escape?

"You can't hide from me forever, Arwin . . . ," a hollow voice said darkly. "At least show me that you're glad to see me. Then we'll talk."

The young man stared wide-eyed at the bed springs above him. His heart seemed to stop beating.

"Come on, Arwin. It's still me . . . ," the voice continued.

The young man glanced up, on the floor. Footsteps were echoing throughout the corridor outside, and when he focused on the door, a pair of feet emerged and stepped in the room, disturbing layer upon layer of dust. He gulped.

"I can see you, Dunn. Get away from my bed."

The lad tightened his hand on the long dagger in his belt. Numbness ran through him as he pushed himself away from the bed and stood, staring through the figure. He did not want to look straight at him. If he was about to die, he was not going to waste the last seconds of his life looking at his horrid face.

"You're avoiding me." The demon sneered. "You hurt my feelings."

The young man glared, but not at him.

"Where is your brother?" he finally spoke. He was shaking. He had to think, he had to somehow think about how to get away.

"Oh, him. He's just out there. I imagine he is having a hard time dealing with the situation he is in, but that is exactly what I'm wanting. He's going to have to get ready for the next things to come his way."

"You've changed."

"If you're talking about my appearance, well, you're not getting that wrong."

"What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" the demon snapped. "This was my home."

"And it looks like you never went back to stay."

The young man saw the demonic figure study him carefully, his white eyes austere and shrewd. He kept his right hand on his dagger, slowly stepping away.

The figure noticed his movements, however.

"You can try, Arwin. But you're not getting away from me. All of you won't be able to."

The young man grabbed something from his pocket and threw it on the floor. There was a small explosion and smoke covered the whole scene. The lad backed away and ran out of the room, sprinting with all his might to the other side of the mansion, to the drawing room where he hid, behind a moldy old couch, grabbing his phone from his jacket pocket, tapping rapidly on it. He quickly jabbed it on his ear.

"Andrew," he gasped. "I'm here—I-I've found him—God, I'm not even sure if it's him, he's trying to kill me—I don't know! No! Don't come here! Don't—fuck that, don't take her with you! No, listen to me! If it's really him, he's not the same anymore! Andrew, for fuck's sake, don't come here!"

The young man hung up his phone and went to call another number. As he brought it back to his ear, tears began to fall from his eyes.

"Raia. Hey. I-I know this is weird for you since we're through, but— Forget it, I'm almost done here anyway," he said. He strained from sobbing. "No, I . . . I don't think so. I . . . I'm not coming back. I can't come back." He closed his eyes. "I love you. I'm sorry, and I love you."

Something hit the couch inches from his face. He dropped the phone without ending the call yet for the demonic figure was now suddenly standing before him, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and looking extremely outraged by now. The young man closed his eyes, hearing a girl's voice which came from the phone, and the figure's last words to him.

"I tried to be friendly with you, Arwin. But you're not with me."

There was pain. But it was immediately gone.

"I am sorry for your loss. But this is all your fault. If you'd only stuck with me, all this would have not come to a more violent end. You always like to think about yourself, how important you are, don't you? Huh. I'll be here to stop that. Don't even think that, with this death, I am done.

"I'm just getting started, brother."