Episode 1

“Fire,” the general whispered to himself, as he watched the roaring flames dancing over the burning town, “it really is the loveliest magic, isn't it?”.

Gray smoke and floating embers covered the dark skies, painting the evening with orange, red, and shadows. Crackling sounds of wood, stone, and people being slaughtered provided music for the general. He took his flask of wine, sipped, took a deep breath, then sighed. He hated killing people — unless it was by burning. Fire makes everything beautiful, he thought to himself.

A lieutenant approached the general, dragging a battered old man. “Sir. I found someone."

The old man trembled. “Spare me, my lord… please! I…”

The general studied the old man. The general sighed, and gestured for him to continue. "Speak."

The old man whispered. “At the bar. The townsfolks. They called him Aruviel. He came a week ago.” He hesitated, nursing his broken arm. “But I recognized him. From the War.”

Fear flickered in his eyes as he stared at burning town, but his words echoed hate more. "He was one of those filthy blood mages."

“Vlads. That’s what they are called.” The general laughed. “And no, I don't believe you. You’re lying to save yourself. Or him. Whoever he is.”

The old man whimpered in protest. “How can I lie right now? Please, I am telling you the truth! I saw him with my own eyes, as he stood against the angel!”

The general studied his nails. I need to have my nails trimmed when I get back to the kingdom, he thought. Then, he snapped his fingers. Flames from a burning house nearby rose to the air and formed a pulsating ball of fire. The lieutenant saw it, and instinctively took several steps back. The old man started screaming. “PLEASE SPARE ME!”

“Then stop wasting my time,” the general impatiently shouted. “What was his weapon? Was it red, silver, or gold?!”

“But I really did not— AHHH!” The old man shrieked. The ball of fire had elongated and transformed into a firesnake, which quickly slithered on ground, scorching the grass as it raced towards the old man. Before he could move, it coiled around his foot, and bit off his toe. The smell of burning flesh reminded the general of barbecued boar. He raised his hand; the snake snacked on a second toe.

“BLACK! HE WAS HOLDING SOMETHING HORRIBLY BLACK!” The old man cried out.

The lieutenant wanted to laugh, but stopped. The general’s face had suddenly become passive and emotionless — but the shock was obvious in his eyes. A lone perspiration formed on the side of his head, and slid down his cheek.

“You lie.” The general spoke, almost growling.

“It was black, I swear! Sir, I—“

The general flicked his hand, as if to dismiss the old man’s words. The fire snake quickly wrapped itself over the old man, then bursted into a blaze. The extreme heat melted the old man’s bones in an instant. It was a merciful death, and an efficient method to silence him.

Lieutenant. “Sir, what did he mean—“

The general angrily turned towards his subordinate. “Do you want me to execute you as well?” The lieutenant anxiously shook his head. The general stared at the glowing remains of the old man. “Then speak no more. And tell no one about this.”

“But… what will we tell the Aerch Angel?” The lieutenant asked. “How do we explain this incident? Angels can’t be killed by any normal means.”

“True. Even magic can only do so much.” The general sighed. “I really was hoping to get my hands on one of those divine weapons — the only other thing that can really hurt an angel.”

“The only other thing?”

The general smirked. “You really don’t know? One can only hurt an angel using a divine-class weapon… or blood magic.” He paused, as if in deep thought. “Come to think of it, even divine-class weapons are actually by-products of blood magic.”

“I don’t understand.” The lieutenant said.

“All magic,” the general cautiously explained, “is formed with a contract. Fire, water, earth, air — we are able to control them through a magic covenant. But blood magic is far more powerful. It allows a person not only to move and mold the element, but to transform it.”

“Like what you did when you created that fire snake?”

The general laughed. “Oh, that? That’s a simple trick, though only highly-skilled practitioners like me can achieve it. Yes, I imbued it with my own soul, concentrating its form to make it more lethal — but in the end, it’s nothing more than fire. It can only harm what is in the physical realm.” He stopped again, as if checking if someone was eavesdropping. “Blood… it is both the core and the aggregate of all elements. It is both created… and creator.” The general’s voice was filled with both awe and dread as he said those words, his tone wishful yet regretful.

The lieutenant was about to say something, but the general cut him off. “I know what you’re about to ask, 'Why not learn blood magic, then?' Fool! I would have, if I could. But it’s not that simple, nor easy. In order to learn and master blood magic, one must have a special blood affinity.” The general grimly gazed at the town. The afterglow has started to dim, and so did the distant screaming. “That is why the divine weapons are important — weapons soaked in or smithed with blood. Yet not just any blood, but with the blood of angels, even gods!”

“So the divine weapons were heaven’s gifts to us?” the lieutenant looked confused, “But if so, why would they give man something that could kill them?”

The general laughed so hard, clapping his lieutenant on the back. “It was because of the Nephilim.”

The lieutenant stared at his general. Are you mad?! “Sir, I may be your subordinate, but I am not a fool. Nephilims don’t exist.”

“Of course not… at least, not anymore.” The general whispered bitterly. “The angels… gave us weapons for us to help them kill their enemies… then after the Nephilim were wiped out, they forcibly took it all back. And now, we are nothing more than mere servants under heaven’s mercy.”

“I can’t recall if the Nephilim was an angelic tribe who chose to live on earth, or were exiled from heaven. But still, why would the angels want to kill their own kind?” the lieutenant asked. The general sighed. “You sure ask too many questions, and the dangerous ones at that.”

“I— I’m sorry, sir. Please forget what I said.”

“Good. Tell the men to start packing, we’re heading back to—“

The glow had been fading gradually for quite some time, but the sudden darkness sent chills to the general. It was as if something sucked all the flames, all the embers, from the town. The fire in his own blood quickened like goosebumps, warning him instinctively of grave threat.

“Run.” The general said quietly to his lieutenant.

“Sir?”

“I SAID RUN! TELL GENERAL CALIDERA: THE VLAD LIVES!”

“He? Who? What? How about our troops—”

The general kicked the lieutenant with all his might. His subordinate tumbled down the hill. He turned around quickly. A figure strolled calmly towards him from the smoking remains of the town. A person clad in smoke and embers. In his hand was a blade of obsidian with an aura of unholy red iridescence.

Not embers, the general thought, as shivers ran through his spine. Blood.

“So it was you.” The general said. “You were supposed to be dead.”

“I was. Maybe I still am.” The person spoke. “But now, you will be. As you should have been years ago.”

“I will not be afraid of you, you filthy vlad!” The general snarled. He stretched his arms wide, then crossed them together. His crimson bracers were specially crafted to ignite and create flames through friction. Without a pause, he launched his attack at Aruviel. Three massive fire snakes undulated and swirled into a vortex. Aruviel smirked.

“Fiat Sanguis: Let there be blood.”

The world turned scarlet — like fire, enveloping and staining the skies and earth and everything in between. Fire always filled the general with a mixture of awe, fear and respect. Within the red world, the general could only feel emptiness. And it was beautiful.

For the first time since the war ended, the general prayed.

“Amen.”

* * *

Reinforcements came the next day. As the soldiers scoured the town ruins for loot and survivors, the lieutenant hurried back to where he last saw his general.

He only found the general’s bracers: one was broken, the other warped but still wearable. A faint trace of blood was left on the straps. The lieutenant thought of those stories told at night when he was still a child. A monster, he bitterly thought. Vlads are monsters.

He wrapped the bracers in cloth and hid them on his horse. Nobody must find out what really happened last night, he reminded himself, as he fled away from everyone.

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