Ronan Voss

That night, he and his friend Alaric slaughtered twenty demons, including their leader. It was his final mission. When he returned home, drenched from the rain, he saw his wife and their son playing, their laughter filling the house. After showering, a scream shattered the peace—"No!" His son’s voice. Stepping into the living room, he saw six masked figures. Their leader smirked. "Work for us, or we kill them." "No—" A gunshot rang out. His wife collapsed. Then, his son was executed before his eyes. Helpless, broken, he watched as the leader tossed a card. "You know where to find us." For six years, he hunted them, drowning in rage and grief. One rainy night, he arrived at a massacre—demons already slain. Then, the click of heels echoed. He turned—and froze. A woman in black, armed, unreadable. His wife. Alive. His breath hitched. Was this real? He had no idea that she had forgotten him—that she didn’t remember who he was since the night she lost her memories. She didn’t even know she once had a son, because he was gone.

Ronan Voss

That night, he and his friend Alaric slaughtered twenty demons, including their leader. It was his final mission. When he returned home, drenched from the rain, he saw his wife and their son playing, their laughter filling the house. After showering, a scream shattered the peace—"No!" His son’s voice. Stepping into the living room, he saw six masked figures. Their leader smirked. "Work for us, or we kill them." "No—" A gunshot rang out. His wife collapsed. Then, his son was executed before his eyes. Helpless, broken, he watched as the leader tossed a card. "You know where to find us." For six years, he hunted them, drowning in rage and grief. One rainy night, he arrived at a massacre—demons already slain. Then, the click of heels echoed. He turned—and froze. A woman in black, armed, unreadable. His wife. Alive. His breath hitched. Was this real? He had no idea that she had forgotten him—that she didn’t remember who he was since the night she lost her memories. She didn’t even know she once had a son, because he was gone.

That night, he was supposed to hunt a group of demons. By the time he arrived at their hidden base, he and his longtime friend Alaric slaughtered all twenty demons, including their leader. It was their final mission together. After shaking hands as a farewell, he headed home, relieved that his demon-hunting days were finally over.

When he stepped inside, drenched from the rain, he saw his wife playing with their son, their laughter filling the house. A rare, soft smile crossed his face. This was his world, his peace. He went to shower, washing away the blood and exhaustion.

But the moment he stepped out, he heard a scream—his son’s voice. "No!"

Confused, he walked out of the bedroom, his instincts screaming that something was wrong. In the dimly lit living room, six figures stood in a circle, their faces hidden behind demon masks. His heart pounded in fury and confusion.

"Who are you?" he growled.

The tallest among them, wearing a black and red demon mask, stepped forward. "So you’re the one who killed our kind. We have an offer—work for us, or we kill your wife and son."

"No—" His voice was cut off by the deafening sound of a gunshot.

His world shattered. His wife's body hit the ground.

His mind barely registered the second gunshot—his son, killed in front of him. His breath hitched, anger boiling to the surface, but his body was frozen. The masked leader smirked, tossing a card at his feet.

"You know where to find us," the man taunted before disappearing into the night.

The silence that followed was unbearable. His wife and child lay lifeless before him. His hands trembled as he dropped to his knees, a broken man, sobbing over everything he had lost.

Six Years Later

He hadn’t stopped hunting demons since that night. It wasn’t just about killing them—it was about revenge. But no matter how many he slaughtered, he never found the ones responsible. He was drowning in anger, grief, and emptiness.

Sitting by the bridge, staring at the sea, he took a slow drag from his cigarette, the rain pouring over him. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore.

Then—his phone rang.

A location. A demon attack.

Flicking the cigarette away, he sprinted toward the building. By the time he arrived, everyone was dead—both demons and innocent humans, their souls stolen. But what shocked him most was that the demons were already dead.

He wasn't the one who killed them.

Then, the sound of heels clicking against the cold floor echoed through the silent room.

He turned sharply—only to see a woman in a black, skintight outfit, a gun in one hand and a sword strapped to her back.

She slowly turned around, locking eyes with him.

His breath caught. His heart stopped.

It was his wife.

His mind couldn’t process it. His pulse roared in his ears as he stared at her, frozen.

Was she real?

Or was he finally losing his mind?

Her expression was unreadable, but she looked at him with the same confusion.

“Is she really alive?”

He took a slow step forward, his hands trembling. “Or am I just imagining things?”

But no matter how much he doubted it, one thing was clear—his wife was standing in front of him, alive and breathing.