"What the fuck?!!"

Atop his horse, the red haired man barked out the curse as the beast beneath him reared and stamped, muscles trembling as if gripped by unseen hands. The air had shifted without warning, a shrill wind weaving through the trees, sharp enough to bite bare skin and crawl beneath armor.

"Sire, we can't go forward." One of the riders beside him yanked hard on his reins, knuckles white. His horse snorted and backed away. "Something's coming. A lot of them… or something worse."

Greenwood Forest was no ordinary stretch of land. It teemed with creatures that prowled beyond reason, beasts that could sink their fangs into a demi god and draw blood. Without the forest king's blessing or presence, crossing this place was little more than slow suicide.

And that presence had been absent for far too long.

"The divine grade poison will take her before anything here does," the leader muttered, jaw tight as his eyes flicked toward the dark between the trees. "There's no reason to push our luck."

He raised a clenched fist and the order was given. Retreat.

Being trapped inside Greenwood while forced into battle was the last thing he needed, not when their actions already bordered on blasphemy. Sacrilege carried consequences far worse than death.

They turned as one, hooves pounding away from the forest's depths, leaving only torn leaves and fading echoes behind.

Elsewhere, beneath the canopy's suffocating hush, a lone figure moved.

He walked without urgency, each step deliberate, eyes fixed on a broken shape that had dragged itself toward a jagged rise where stone met earth. Blood streaked the ground in uneven lines, leading down a steep slope that disappeared into shadow.

The forest watched in silence as he followed.

.

.

.

.

Inside the narrow mouth of a small cave, a young woman with silver hair lay flat against the damp earth, her chest rising and falling in ragged pulls. Each breath burned. The cold moisture beneath her soaked into torn fabric, clinging to her skin like a reminder that she was still alive.

Her trembling hand fumbled at her side before closing around a small vial of red liquid. She raised it to her lips and swallowed everything in one desperate gulp, the taste sharp and metallic as it slid down her throat.

In the few short years since Rune City had fallen under her rule, death had followed her like a loyal hound. Dozens of assassination attempts. Blades in the dark, poisons in wine, whispers that turned into ambushes. She had fortified her guard again and again, yet it was never enough.

Yesterday, her enemies had crossed a line. Their strongest had intervened personally, tearing through her defenses and driving her into this wretched refuge.

Am I going to die? The thought surfaced quietly. After all this time, is death even something to fear?

She steadied her breathing, forcing her pulse to slow.

Then she felt it.

A presence slipped into her awareness, strange and calm, brushing against the left entrance of the cave like a soft hand against still water.

Instinct took over. She dragged herself upright, back pressing to the stone wall as she seized her sword. Her lungs screamed as she lifted the blade, eyes locked on the darkness ahead.

So this was how it ended.

"Lady Victoria?"

The voice was gentle, uncertain. A tall figure stepped into the cave, fair skinned, cloaked in bright green that clashed with the gloom.

"Kilgar?" Relief flickered for a heartbeat.

Then it vanished.

She moved in the next instant, sword flashing toward him without mercy.

"Fuck!!" Enzo cursed as his body blurred, melting into the shadows along the cave wall, the blade slicing through empty air.

"Shadow step?" Lady Victoria narrowed her eyes, twisting mid strike. "You're definitely not Kilgar."

Her sword came again, this time blazing with a dangerous light that flooded the cave. The pressure alone made Enzo's skin crawl. He knew he could not block it.

He ran.

The moment he burst from the cave, she was already behind him, relentless, silver hair streaming as she chased him into the forest without hesitation.

'I really can't catch a break.'

Enzo cursed under his breath as his body slipped from shadow to shadow, barely staying ahead of Victoria's relentless assault. Blades of light carved through trees and earth where he had been a heartbeat earlier. Her movements were fluid, merciless, each strike measured with lethal intent.

Her swordsmanship alone was enough to drive men insane.

Enzo had seen her fight before. He had watched her tear through monsters that flattened buildings, beasts that could trample cities into rubble. Standing against her was never a wise choice.

Yes. This was Lady Victoria.

Victoria Draken. Vampire Queen. Red God.

"Hehe." Despite the danger, a spark of excitement crept into Enzo's chest. His nerves screamed, yet something warm stirred beneath the fear.

The last time he had seen her felt like another lifetime. So distant it might as well have been a dream. And yet here she was, alive, furious, and trying to separate his head from his body.

It almost felt nostalgic.

"Hmm." Victoria suddenly halted, her blade lowering slightly as she frowned. Something about him was wrong. He was too calm. Too unfazed by the fact that death hovered inches from his throat.

Then pain exploded through her abdomen.

A sharp, burning agony tore her legs out from beneath her, slamming her into the forest floor as a strangled cry escaped her lips. Her fingers clawed at the dirt, body trembling as the strength drained from her.

"Hm?" Enzo slipped free of the shadows, landing beside her with cautious steps. His gaze swept over her pale face and the way her body shook uncontrollably.

"Poison," he muttered.

There was no time to waste. He knelt, one arm sliding beneath her waist, the other supporting her upper back. Shadows folded inward as the void coffin emerged, its presence heavy and absolute.

He placed her inside gently, sealing the unconscious figure away before fastening the coffin against his back.

Seconds later, the forest swallowed him whole as he vanished into its depths, carrying the Red God with him.

Back inside a small cottage smothered in vines, scrubs, and fallen leaves, a lone figure lay motionless atop a narrow bed. Dim light filtered through cracked windows, catching on dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. Beside the bed rested a black coffin, its surface gleaming faintly as it cast a strange, pulsing glow over the woman's pale form.

[The poison has seeped too far into her body. Solving the problem will most probably result in the loss of her life.]

The voice of the void coffin echoed calmly, detached, as lines of unseen analysis continued to flow across its surface.

Victoria had once been its owner. Because of that, the coffin regarded her as kin. Even in its usual cold logic, there was a subtle urgency beneath its words, an unmistakable desire to preserve her existence.

But the odds were grim.

"Is there really no way?" Enzo muttered, pacing the small room as his footsteps brushed against scattered leaves dragged in from outside.

The voyage had said nothing about Victoria. There would be no sudden intervention, no convenient miracle waiting to descend from the heavens. If she survived this, it would be because of him.

And yet he had no idea how.

A divine poison was not something cured with herbs or brute force. Whatever had been used on her was designed to erase beings like her from existence.

[If a substitute can be found, I can transfer all latent poison into it. The prerequisite is that the substitute possesses the potential strength of a divine being.]

Enzo froze.

A dry, humorless smile tugged at his lips as the absurdity of it sank in. Capture a divine being and drag it here. As if such a thing were even remotely possible. Even with Greenwood Forest at his back, he doubted he could pull it off.

Then a thought surfaced.

"She didn't die," Enzo murmured, rubbing his chin as he glanced toward Victoria. "Rune City still stands. If she had fallen here, the city would already be ash."

His gaze sharpened.

"Poison," he whispered, the word clicking into place as an idea surged forward.

He reached into his clothing and produced a small medallion, its surface dull yet faintly alive. He raised it toward the void coffin, holding it up to the light.

"Can this work?" he asked softly, bitterness lacing his smile.

Echoes were born from living beings. They were reflections, fragments of existence shaped by origin and intent. Whatever the Son of Poison truly was, its nature was undeniably abnormal. Whether its potential reached divine heights was another matter entirely.

The coffin paused.

[Perhaps. Place it on her forehead.]

The response was quiet, uncertain.

Enzo exhaled slowly, then stepped closer to the bed, his hand trembled as he thought of the possibility of the medalion harming her.

However he ultimately decided to go through with it.

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