Deep within a musty cellar, the stagnant air was cut by a scent none of those demons had ever smelled before. It wasn't the usual metallic smell of local blood; it was a dense, earthy, potent perfume that seemed to vibrate in their nostrils. Unable to resist, the pack growled orders at the weakest member: he would have to venture out into the sun to discover the source of that impossible fragrance.
The lesser demon left the cave. He was a miserable creature: gray skin, a single horn cut close to his head, and a body so thin that his ribs seemed to pierce his skin. He wore only dirty rags tied around his waist, like an old skirt. He had pointed ears, a long nose, and a mouth full of crooked fangs that never stopped drooling. His expression was one of constant fear, and his eyes were completely yellow, with no pupils.
The sunlight burned his gray skin immediately, causing terrible pain, so he ran desperately, trying to stay in the shadows of the trees, but every second of exposure made his flesh smoke. Hidden behind a thick trunk a few meters from the main road, he stopped. His eyes widened.
On the road, the man advanced with heavy, uncertain steps. At his side, a child with an angelic face, blue eyes, and long brown hair tried to support him, holding his arm with her small hands. She wore an impeccably clean floral kimono and high wooden shoes, ensuring that not a speck of dirt stained her clothes, contrasting with the figure she was trying to help.
The fatigue did not come from the child; it came from the tall man who faltered with every step. He was covered in a worn and dusty cloak that hid his physical constitution. A traditional cone-shaped sun hat with wide brims, made of bamboo interwoven with palm leaves, covered his face, creating a deep shadow that prevented the demon from identifying him. However, his hair was visible and strange to the demon: thick, solid white dreadlocks that hung down to his shoulders. The demon, hidden behind the thick trunk, had never seen a hairstyle like that before.
On the man's forearm, the white bandages were dirty and revealed traces of wounds that had not yet healed. It was then that the demon noticed his hand. The tone of his skin was unlike anything else in those lands. It was brown, a deep ebony. "Has he been burned? Is his body decomposing?" thought the monster. But the smell emanating from that man was not one of rot; it was an intense and delicious odor of liveliness that whetted the creature's appetite.
Almost fainting, the man leaned against a tree on the other side of the road. He whispered something to the girl, who let go of his arm and ran towards the village ahead. The demon decided to wait, as the midday heat was too strong for him to move now.
It was then that the man took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow.
The demon froze. The stranger's face was neither burned nor camouflaged. That was his natural color. It was the first time the monster had seen a man with that skin tone. In his primitive mind, the conclusion was immediate: because he was different, he must be a special human, a rarity with blood more powerful than others.
Lost in the reverie of capturing that prey for himself, the demon stretched his hand forward, leaving the protection of the forest.
The roads were built with defensive architecture. They were wide and completely stripped of trees or cover in the center. The goal was to ensure that the sun hit the ground directly, without creating a single spot of shade where a demon could pass. As soon as the creature's hand touched the light, the sound of frying flesh echoed and gray smoke rose instantly.
Afro, even with the bandana covering his eyes, turned his head sharply to the left. He sensed the sound and smell of something burning. But when he focused in that direction, he saw no one. He only felt the warm breeze touch his face and heard the movement of the leaves on the trees. He was too weak to investigate. He rested his head back under the tree, while the demon, with his hand on bone, retreated into the shadows, panting with pain and excitement.
The lesser demon ran like mad, ignoring the pain of his bubbling wounds. As he entered the darkness of the cave, he fell to the damp, steaming floor. His gray skin began to slowly regenerate as he tried to catch his breath.
"I saw it! I saw it! I saw it!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "The man who gives off that smell! He is special!"
The cave was huge, dark, and lit only by the pale glow of fungi growing in the dampness. Around the newcomer, dozens of lower and middle-ranking demons began to gather, curious and hungry. One of them, a fat demon with wide eyes and black skin, struck the messenger violently, silencing him. "Speak calmly, worm!" growled the fat man.
Suddenly, a voice from the depths of the cave cut through the air. "Silence, creature!"
The buzzing stopped instantly. "The Lord..." some murmured, stepping aside to make way. The lesser demon turned his body, immediately prostrating himself before his master. In that band, the demonic pact was absolute: the weak surrendered their loyalty in exchange for power and protection. Lying was impossible; the pact forced the truth.
Deep inside, sitting on a makeshift throne, was Lord Takamura.
He was an imposing being, two meters tall, with gray skin covered in black tattoos that seemed to move. He wore black armor that covered almost his entire body, extremely detailed, with sharp spikes protruding from the shoulder pads. His torso was broad and protected by black metal plates that glistened in the pale light of the fungi. He had no nose, just two holes in the center of his face that emitted a light gray smoke every time he exhaled.
Takamura was completely bald, and his muscles, visible where the armor articulated, were dense as stone. At the bottom, the armor completed the ensemble, leaving only his bare feet, whose claws dug into the damp floor of the cave. With his four arms and horns in place of eyes, he looked like an ancient war statue brought to life.
At that moment, two of his arms held a human body that was still writhing. Takamura chewed slowly, tearing off pieces of flesh while his victim cried out in terror. He savored every sob, for to demons, fear was the spice that made living flesh truly nutritious.
The messenger began to recount what he had seen. When he mentioned the dark-skinned man with white dreadlocks, the cave erupted in noise. The demons stirred, amazed.
In those lands, where everyone had fair skin, Afro's description seemed like that of a deity or an unprecedented biological anomaly.
Takamura stopped chewing. His horns vibrated intensely, focused on the messenger. The Lord listened with predatory attention. "If this human is so different, his blood must contain an energy that no demon has ever tasted," Takamura thought.
The fear in the cave gave way to bloodthirsty euphoria. They didn't just want to eat; they wanted to find out what made this ebony man so "special."
"Tell me, worm," Takamura's voice was a deep, metallic sound. "This dark-skinned man... did he carry any relics? Any metal that shone brighter than normal?"
The hornless demon, trembling on the floor, replied with a broken voice: "He... he had a sword, Lord. But it was wrapped in rags. As I said, what shone were his white hairs, like strands of spider silk, but thick... and his skin... it doesn't reflect light, it seems to swallow it!"
Takamura remained silent for a moment, his sensory horns vibrating. "And his strength? Did you feel the weight of his spirit?"
"He was weak, Master! He could barely stand. He leaned against the tree as if life were draining from his feet."
The four-armed Lord clenched the hilt of his giant sword. The smoke rising from his face grew thicker, a sign that his curiosity had been piqued. He knew the legends. In the dark courts and blood pacts, there was talk of the 7 Specialties, seven humans born with biological conditions so rare that they were considered keys to immortality or destruction. To eat one of these seven was to leap centuries of demonic evolution in a single feast.
"I see," Takamura murmured. "A rare delicacy, weakened and trapped in a village of humans. If the color of his skin is what you say. His blood must contain secrets our bodies have never processed..."
The Lord's sensory horns glowed slightly. He tried to recall the accounts of the Seven Specialties, but none described a man with ebony skin and snow-white hair.
"Is he one of the seven?" Takamura wondered. "Or one that the world has not yet cataloged?"
The Lord did not know, but Afro was the missing piece on the board. Officially, there were only seven. With Afro, the world was about to meet the Eighth Specialty, the most complete being on the face of the earth. For Takamura's gang, capturing him was not just a matter of hunger; it was a chance to become one of the most powerful gangs in all the provinces.
"If he's one of the Specials, his power will be ours," Takamura continued. "And if he's something new... even better. We'll be the first to taste the unknown."
"Use the Red Core. I want him alive, if possible. I want to feel his fear turning into power inside me."