Chapter 1:The blood road
It was a night painted in terror. Heavy clouds cloaked the sky with eerie elegance, and a creeping fog consumed every street and shadow. The scent of rain dominated the air, while a soft drizzle fell like whispers from the heavens.
A school bus sped along a sleek, modern highway, heading away from the city whose glowing silhouette faded behind them like a forsaken orphan. Inside the bus, students huddled in fear. Some were crying—especially the younger ones—and even the three teachers onboard couldn't hold back tears. But the bus wasn’t being driven to safety.
The driver was one of the hijackers.
There were about ten of them—dressed entirely in spotless, black military gear, holding weapons ranging from M4A1 carbines to katana swords. Their faces were hidden beneath black masks. They stood like statues within the bus, ensuring no one moved a muscle or uttered a sound.
Among them sat Zaqunah, the only one with her mask removed. She was breathtakingly beautiful, cigarette smoke swirling around her like a crown of rebellion. She held no weapon—she didn’t need one. A female teacher seated beside her in a short skirt begged desperately through sobs, “Please, sister... have mercy, there are children here!”
Zaqunah’s cold gaze didn’t flinch.
“Shut up, you little bitch,” she snapped, her voice like a blade. “Before I cut off your throat.”
The teacher whimpered and fell silent, still crying. Rain continued falling outside—soft, smoke-like mist—and the bus kept racing forward.
Then—BANG!
A deafening thud hit the roof. It was so powerful, it left a visible dent inside. The children screamed. The hijackers readied their weapons, alert and tense.
Zaqunah remained still, unbothered, taking another drag from her cigarette.
The driver suddenly spotted something in the middle of the road. He slammed the brakes. The bus swerved, chaos erupted inside. Kids screamed, teachers covered their heads. The hijackers cocked their guns and unsheathed blades.
Still, Zaqunah didn’t even blink.
Outside, standing still in the rain, was a girl. She wore a black hoodie, cargo trousers, black combat boots. Her back was to the bus. A glowing neon logo of an angel burned on her hoodie, too vivid for this misty night.
The driver narrowed his eyes through the windshield, trying to focus. The fog distorted everything. Then the girl turned slowly.
Her face was hidden by the hoodie, but her eyes glowed red, burning like neon fire in the night.
Zaqunah asked lazily, “What’s going on? Why’d we stop?”
The driver replied in a shaky voice, “There’s... a blockade.”
Zaqunah gestured toward the door. “Then remove it.”
The driver took his knife and stepped out.
One of the hijackers started to follow, but Zaqunah said coldly, “Relax. Let him handle it. We don’t need ten men to squash an ant.”
Outside, the driver tightened his grip on the knife. He muttered their mantra—“No fear”—and walked toward the girl. Her hoodie still covered her face, only those glowing red eyes visible.
“What do you want?” he barked.
A deep, almost male voice came from the girl.
“I want your blood.”
He lunged. But she was faster—too fast.
In a blink, she vanished from sight. A violent shock smashed through the bus as she crashed through the windshield—straight to the back—where Zaqunah sat.
Everyone froze. Zaqunah didn’t move, only watched as the driver collapsed, his chest shattered. His blood floated into the air like ink in water, then slithered outward and was absorbed into the hoodie of the girl who now stood in the center of the bus.
The angel logo on her back flared brighter than ever.
After witnessing the chaos, Zaqunah remained calm, untouched by fear. With icy confidence, she muttered:
“Kill it.”
She didn’t rise from her seat. Her gaze fixed forward, cigarette still between her fingers. The children, paralyzed by terror, sat in absolute silence. Even the teachers froze—too scared to whisper.
Zaqunah snapped her fingers.
“Silence.”
The bus fell into an eerie hush.
The hijackers sprang into action, pouring out of the bus like shadows in motion, hunting for the figure outside. But when they stepped into the misty night, she was gone.
They spread out in formation, flashlights scanning through the rain, guns and katanas drawn. Then—WHAM!—one of them was punched so hard, he was launched like a ragdoll into the woods.
All eyes turned.
What they saw wasn’t the girl anymore.
He stood tall now—a massive male figure, same hoodie, same glowing angel emblem. One hijacker fired, but the man blurred out of sight and reappeared instantly, grabbing the attacker’s head—SLAM!—he smashed it into the side of the bus, crumpling the metal and cracking the skull like glass.
Inside the bus, Zaqunah tilted slightly from the shockwave. The children held each other tightly. The teachers whimpered, clueless about what was unfolding outside in the fog.
Then more chaos. Bodies flew.
One with a katana charged—the man appeared behind him. A single punch—fist through the chest—blood levitated into the air, pulled magnetically into the glowing hoodie.
The others fired.
One turned only to have his head crushed by an unseen force—blood again lifted into the air like red smoke and was absorbed by the hoodie. Another screamed as a hand pierced his back.
Gunfire. Screams. One tried to run—too late. He was caught, skull crushed. Blood gone, soaked invisibly into the hoodie.
Then silence.
The man stood still among the corpses. Bloodless. Calm.
A voice called from the bus door:
“We’ve been looking for you.”
It was Zaqunah—still poised, still defiant.
The man turned. The glowing angel on his back flared. His neon eyes lit up as he faced her.
“And you,” he growled, “do you want this too?”
Zaqunah smirked and plucked a single strand of her hair. It turned into a black spear in her palm. She grinned wickedly.
“Come, you bitch.”
She launched forward, spear spinning with dark energy. The man dodged effortlessly, countering with a devastating roundhouse kick.
Zaqunah barely blocked it—the impact flung her backward into the side of the bus with a thunderous crash. She coughed blood, touched her lip—but her blood rose and floated away... straight into the man's hoodie.
Zaqunah froze. She looked at her hands—no blood. Her face twisted in disbelief.
She stood slowly.
“Who… are you?”
The man’s body shimmered—shrinking slightly, reshaping. And then, the truth appeared.
She was female again.
Tall. Elegant. Glowing eyes. Powerful.
She walked toward Zaqunah with the calm of a goddess and spoke with a confident, commanding voice:
“My name... is Mefrinah.
Everyone who ever learned my name is dead.
Except you.
Because I know you.
But you… you don’t know me.”
Zaqunah, bruised and bleeding, still smirked with arrogance.
“Fight me.”
But Mefrinah didn’t answer. She turned her back and boarded the bus. Taking the driver’s seat.
The students and teachers, still confused and trembling, sat frozen as the mysterious woman drove them away—through the rain, through the fog.
Zaqunah stood alone in the drenched forest, surrounded by death and silence. Watching the bus vanish into the night.
A thousand questions plagued her:
Who was she?
Why did she let me live?
What is that hoodie?
Why does it drink blood?
And why… does it glow brighter with every soul it consumes?
As the last red tail light faded into the mist, Zaqunah whispered to herself:
“This isn’t over.”
_____
Zaqunah was left alone.
He slowly began to rise, rain soaking him as mist engulfed the world around him. He dropped his spear to the ground and dragged himself forward, walking with pain and heaviness. The darkness didn’t bother him — not after what he had faced.
As he limped on, thunder roared wildly above, slashing across the sky in relentless fury. Still, Zaqunah did not flinch.
But he could feel it.
Something was not right.
Suddenly, a blue light flashed behind him — not just light, but a cleansing glow that touched his soul. Zaqunah turned without fear.
And there…
Up in the air…
He saw someone hovering, wrapped in lightning.
Calmly, Zaqunah said:
“Thunder Dove... at last, I’ve seen you with my own eyes.”
He gazed at the floating figure — slim yet healthy, eyes glowing electric blue like lightning frozen inside glass. His long black hair flowed down to his back, and he wore a dark suit that made him look like a hero of legends.
Across his chest was a symbol of an angel — glowing softly, dangerously. Electricity danced around his body, crackling and snapping. But what caught Zaqunah’s breath were the massive dove wings — glowing, alive, overflowing with charged power.
Zaqunah spoke again, voice firm:
“King Goda told me about you. He told me stories of how you destroyed cities just by brushing your left wing, how you devastated entire nations with a single strike of lightning. But I’m not afraid of you.”
The girl — yes, it was a girl — flapped her wings gently, hovering as lightning spun around her like a shield. She spoke coldly, emotionless:
“My name is Qanny, if you didn’t know. But you may still call me Thunder Dove, as you used to.”
She descended slowly, shining as she touched the ground. The wings vanished into her back, and with them, all the lightning disappeared. She walked toward Zaqunah without hesitation.
Then, she said:
“Welcome… to worship the true God. My glorious God — Voltranah Electricah, the god of charge, who gave me this mighty power.”
Her eyes locked on his.
“And I know you’re part of that little group — the ones who dream of killing all gods. But the truth is… you can’t. You never will. It’s better you stop.”
Zaqunah didn’t answer. He just listened.
Thunder Dove went on:
“You want to defeat gods? While you’re still being hunted down and slaughtered like nothing? The creature you fought today — that’s the real devil. If it ever gains the Superblood… it’ll be unstoppable.”
Zaqunah narrowed his eyes.
“You know it?”
Qanny nodded slowly.
“Not the face. But the hoodie. And its dark reputation.”
“First, it drinks blood. Second, and more dangerous... it releases an energy that makes you believe you can win. Even if you’re wounded and weak — it tricks your mind. You’ll feel confident. You’ll fight. And then you’ll die. And with your blood, it gets stronger.”
Zaqunah clenched his fists, remembering the voice that whispered “fight me”, and how unnatural it felt to keep fighting something… he should’ve lost to.
“It killed my comrades… the Carotid Carters. But left me alive,” he said quietly.
Thunder Dove replied calmly:
“It’s not evil. It’s a girl — a shapeshifter, really. Can appear as male or female. I’m not here to chase it. I was sent to stop you.”
Zaqunah asked:
“Why? We’re powerless.”
“Orders,” Thunder Dove said.
“From the High Priest of the Voltranah Faith.”
There was silence between them for a moment.
Then Zaqunah said:
“Fine. I’m leaving.”
He turned away and started walking, limping through the wet, broken earth — his body aching, but his soul unshaken.
Thunder Dove extended her wings again, lightning flashing bright — and in a burst of speed, she disappeared into the sky.
Zaqunah didn’t look back.
He just kept walking… heading toward the city.
LOCATION: BLAKODON CITY
The bus rolled into the city, its body scarred and dented in several places. Mefrinah, the driver, stepped out in silence, leaving behind the kidnapped teachers and students inside. They looked at each other, confused and shaken, all wondering:
“Who just drove us here… and why did they save us?”
But no one dared to look at the figure directly when she got out — fear still clouded their hearts.
Clad in a black hoodie, Mefrinah never looked back. She stepped off the bus and vanished into the shadowy alleys of the towering metropolis.
Meanwhile, the teachers began exiting the bus cautiously, checking if the coast was clear. No one was in sight — but in the distance, police sirens howled, growing louder. Relief washed over them.
“We would’ve died back at that school... God, thank you,” whispered one teacher.
---
The Shift
As Mefrinah reached the darkness of the alley, something changed. Her body began to shift — she grew slightly taller, more muscular. In moments, she transformed into a young man, lean and athletic, built like a trained fighter. Still wearing the same black hoodie.
He sprinted out into the open streets. People gasped.
Children in nearby buses and passersby pointed with amazement.
“It’s Hoodie Man!” someone shouted.
A small boy, wide-eyed, whispered to his mother:
“Mom, that’s my hero... Hoodie Man.”
Then, with powerful energy, Hoodie Man stomped the ground and launched into the air, soaring high above the skyscrapers. He landed on the rooftop of a tall building — then jumped again, moving from tower to tower with calculated precision, avoiding any major damage.
Eventually, he reached a distant building and landed in a hidden alley behind it. There, out of sight, he shifted once more — back into a girl.
She removed the hoodie, folded it, and tucked it into a bag hidden in the alley corner. Calmly, she walked out, crossed the street, and climbed the steps of a quiet building. She reached a door and stepped inside.
She was home.
---
At Home
The apartment was cozy, modern, and oddly serene.
She sank into the couch, just as someone emerged from the hallway.
It was her sister — Marinah.
Marinah was stunning. She had short blue hair, glowing blue lashes, blue eyebrows, and pupils the same shade. Her build was similar to Mefrinah’s, though clearly older — around 28. She wore a soft nightdress and moved with elegance.
She saw Mefrinah lying on the couch, pretending to sleep.
Marinah smirked.
“Faking it, huh?”
“You just got here. You weren’t here a moment ago.”
Mefrinah opened one eye, smiling sheepishly.
“Okay, okay. You caught me.”
Marinah laughed.
“Food’s ready. I cooked. But I’m heading out to a party... you wanna come?”
Mefrinah hesitated, looking away shyly.
“Nah. You go ahead.”
“Alright, no biggie.”
---
The Transformation
Marinah returned to her room and began getting ready.
She showered, then slipped into a beautiful short dress. Her makeup was subtle but flawless.
Finally, she picked up a silver hair clip. As she pinned it into her hair — it instantly turned black, along with her lashes and eyebrows. She inserted black eye lenses, covering her bright blue pupils, making her appear like a normal human.
Then she drank a glass of pink liquid, thick and glowing faintly.
Back in the living room, Mefrinah still lounged on the couch.
She looked at her sister and spoke softly:
“Your scent is really strong today, sis… stronger than usual.”
“Did you take the suppressant?” she asked, a bit more firmly.
Marinah nodded.
“Yeah. Once I’m there, the dose will kick in fully. It won’t attract everyone like last time.”
And with that, she stepped outside — walking calmly into the night.
⚔️ A Warrior’s Den
After she left, Mefrinah rose from the couch and walked into the inner room.
Inside was something extraordinary:
A battle suit, black with glowing blue circuit-like lines. It pulsed faintly with power — clearly Marinah’s gear.
Beside it lay two modern katanas, elegant but deadly.
Mefrinah stood still, staring at the outfit. She reached out, slowly, as if wanting to touch it — to become part of what it meant.
The room was filled with strange and advanced equipment:
Rare books, futuristic rifles, ancient armor, racks of sharpened swords and spears.
She carefully took her hoodie and placed it on a hanger inside.
Then stood silently… surrounded by secrets, weapons, and the legacy of something much, much bigger
