seraph of the end: I am Raiden

Raiden stood alone amidst the carnage. The smoke from the wreckage hung thick in the air, swirling around him like a suffocating fog. The bodies of the Four Horsemen lay scattered, their twisted forms a testament to the brutal battle that had just transpired. The ground beneath him was stained with blood—his blood, their blood, everyone's blood. The scent was overpowering, a constant reminder of what he had just done.

His body trembled with exhaustion, but it wasn't just the physical toll. There was something deeper, more insidious inside of him. A gnawing emptiness that he couldn't escape. His heart was heavy with grief, guilt, and the gnawing realization that the people he had once fought for, the people he once cared for, thought he was dead.

They think I'm dead.

The thought echoed in his mind like a hollow drumbeat. He had sacrificed so much to protect them, to protect Akane, to protect Yū, and Mika… but in the end, it wasn't enough. He had failed them.

He stumbled forward, his right hand grasping at his chest as if to hold in the emotional wound that was tearing him apart. His left arm—the arm he had lost—was a constant, aching reminder of what he could no longer do. How could he continue this fight? How could he continue to live, when every part of him felt as though it was broken beyond repair?

Why am I even still alive?

The question haunted him, swirling in the dark corners of his mind. Every step he took felt heavier, as if the weight of his own existence was pushing him deeper into despair. The power he had wielded, the blood he had spilled—it was all a mask. A mask to hide the pain, the hopelessness that had settled in his soul.

He moved through the ruins, walking aimlessly, his thoughts clouded by sorrow. He didn't care anymore. The world felt like a desolate, unrecognizable place. His mind wandered back to the memories of his old life, the world of stories he had once immersed himself in—manga's, animes, books. In those stories, the heroes always found a way to save the day, to overcome the odds. But Raiden knew better. Those stories were nothing but illusions.

The real world doesn't have happy endings.

He was no hero. He was no saviour. He was just another lost soul, adrift in a sea of despair. The others—Mika, Yū, Akane—they didn't need him anymore. They had survived without him. They had moved on. And that was fine. He could never go back to the way things were.

Raiden stopped in the middle of the ruined town, the remnants of the Four Horsemen still scattered around him. His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, rage, and sorrow. The loneliness settled in, a suffocating presence that threatened to consume him whole. But there was something else lurking within him, something darker. Something that had been growing since the moment he had become a vampire.

The hunger. The thirst.

He had tasted the power. The strength that came with the transformation—had felt it course through him like a drug, addictive and overpowering. And now, it was all he could think about.

Raiden's hands clenched into fists. He could feel the surge of strength building inside him. It was a primal urge, one that screamed for release, for destruction. He had been nothing but a pawn in this war, a broken piece in a world that had no place for him. But he wasn't a pawn anymore. He was a monster. A predator.

The hunger would not be denied.

He raised his head, his red eyes gleaming in the moonlight as a grin twisted his lips. He wasn't going to run. He wasn't going to hide. If this world had no place for him, then he would carve his own path through the ashes.

Raiden's gaze swept over the darkened landscape, and something snapped inside of him. He could hear the faint heartbeat of the vampires nearby—he could smell their blood. They were close. So close.

They'll regret thinking I'm dead.

He moved like a shadow, silent and deadly, his footsteps soft as he closed in on his prey. A small group of vampires was huddled together in a nearby building, oblivious to the danger that was approaching. Raiden's mind was a blur of thoughts, but one thing remained clear: He was going to make them pay.

With a fluid motion, he sprang forward, his fangs bared as he crashed into the group of vampires. His claws slashed through their throats, and their blood sprayed across his face, coating him in a crimson mask. The vampires tried to fight back, but Raiden was unstoppable. His movements were a blur, swift and precise, as he tore through them one by one.

Their screams echoed in the night, but they were drowned out by the sound of Raiden's heart beating—slow, steady, but filled with an unholy resolve. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care about the cost of his actions. This was the path he had chosen. And he would walk it, no matter how far it took him into darkness.

By the time the last vampire had fallen, Raiden stood amidst the carnage, blood dripping from his fingers, his body trembling with the thrill of the kill. He had massacred them—more than 200 vampires, each one falling to his relentless assault. He had become the predator. The monster.

And yet, there was no satisfaction in it. No relief. Just a hollow emptiness that gnawed at him, deeper than ever before.

This is who I am now. This is what I've become.

His red eyes glinted in the moonlight as he looked down at the blood-soaked ground. He had carved his way through the darkness. But there was no way back.

Raiden was lost.

And in his heart, he knew that the world he had fought for was gone, just like him.