This is a story long sealed in dust.
Lorenzo stood amidst the desolate wilderness, weak flames flickering as the wind carried dust over the ancient Nail Sword. Corpses had long decayed beyond recognition, and even the evening sun appeared a deathly red.
Unsure if it was an illusion or something else interfering, Lorenzo heard harrowing howls in his ears, the scrape of metal against metal, flesh being torn apart inch by inch, creating a fine, shattering sound.
The Demon Hunters battled upon the wilderness. They were strong, the Secret Blood burning endlessly, releasing forbidden beasts from the cages of their hearts.
Transformed into monsters, yet even so, they still couldn't withstand the most primal malice and baseness.
Blood gushed forth, eventually forming streams that soaked through the parched earth...
