Black Blood:Anathema 01-When Illusion Begins

[Author’s Note]

To everyone who decided to read this story—thank you. This novel was born from rejection, frustration, and the feeling of wanting to start over again.

There were moments when I almost abandoned this world completely. But even so… I still couldn’t let go of these characters.

So instead of giving up, I chose to rewrite this story once more. Black Blood is not a story about heroes.

It is a story about cursed beings, broken identities, and people trying to find warmth in a world that rejects their existence.

At its core, this is the story of a monster who was never meant to have a name… and the human who gave him one.

I may still have many flaws as a writer, but I truly hope this story can leave something in your heart.

Thank you for giving this world a chance.

Rexdeus had long stopped counting time. Within the territory granted to him by the Anathema, days no longer held meaning.

Darkness remained darkness, and silence stretched endlessly through the crimson halls he had built. The corridors felt deathly quiet. Even the slightest movement caused echoes to spread through the empty chambers. There was no one there besides himself.

Ever since the ritual of the True Anathema had been completed, everything had changed. The declaration still lingered around him like a curse.

A declaration that denied the very intensity of his existence as a living being. As though everything he had done until now had meant nothing at all. Like some kind of cruel joke.

After that day, Erebos—the leader of the clan and the figure Rexdeus once called father—ordered him to remain within his territory and await judgment.

So he waited.

Not out of obedience. Simply because there was nowhere else left for him to go. As an Anathema—a cursed being.

The laws of the Anathema did not imprison with chains. They imprisoned through isolation. A prison of silence that severed his connection to the outside world. Knowing nothing. Able only to surrender himself to whatever fate awaited him.

Then one day, a magical telegram arrived.

The paper emerged silently from the black flames burning within the communication altar before falling onto the cold floor near his feet.

Only a single word was written on it.

Haka.

The borderland between the territory of the Anathema and the lands of the living.

A mass grave.

Long ago, countless holy knights from the clans of women had marched toward that place for the sole purpose of exterminating the Anathema.

But in the end, not a single one returned. Their bodies remained buried beneath the black earth, entombed together with endless hatred and prayers meant to calm their restless souls.

Then the Anathema, in their arrogance, built a massive black structure atop that graveyard.

And as both a warning and a mockery toward the living beings who dared attempt to eradicate them, the Anathema turned it into a gathering ground and meeting place for their kind.

Rexdeus understood the meaning behind the summons. It meant Erebos had finally made his final decision.

The crimson sky still stretched endlessly across every corner of the Anathema territory. Day or night, it all looked the same. Nothing ever changed. Even so, without delay, he departed.

A massive black dragon descended from the shadows beyond the walls of his castle, its enormous wings swallowing even the pale glow of the black moon itself.

Rexdeus climbed onto its back without a single word, and moments later, the creature shot through the crimson sky.

Cold winds swept across the dead lands beneath them. From above, Haka resembled a massive wound carved into the world itself.

Endless graves stretched beneath the crimson sky like silent cries mourning the dead, while broken swords and rotting crosses remained embedded within the black earth along every dirt path.

At its center stood a gigantic black structure. A monument dedicated to death itself.

When the dragon finally landed before the entrance, Rexdeus stepped down onto the cold stone floor.

The creature remained silent behind him. Waiting.

Rexdeus placed one hand against the dragon's dark scales. "Return."

The dragon released a low growl before disappearing back into the crimson sky, leaving him alone before the massive black gates.

Silence welcomed him. There were no signs of the other Anathema. The enormous doors slowly opened with the heavy sound of grinding metal. Cold air flowed out from within like the breath of a corpse.

And—

The moment Rexdeus stepped into the hall, something felt wrong. There was only silence and emptiness.

His gaze swept across the dark chamber beneath the towering black ceiling.

There were no elders of the clans. No seven family leaders of the seven races within the Anathema. Not even Erebos.

Nothing remained except hollow silence. Rexdeus stopped walking. For the first time in a very long while, faint uncertainty flickered within him.

Then—

A voice echoed from the darkness behind him. "You finally came."