"The war Miseria? What's that?" both Shin and Miyu spoke up in unison, puzzled.
Ricky slightly widened his eyes "You guys really don't know anything, do you? Well, I guess that's understandable" Since they are poor they never got any education. But wouldn't their mother have told them? She probably thought it wasn't relevant enough. But it's such an important piece of history tho…
Ricky continued, "Listen carefully, I am about to give you guys a little history lesson and it's really important. The war Miseria started in 1835 and ended in 1850 which is seven years ago. Over the span of the 15 years that the war raged, humanity suffered great losses. Over 1 billion people died and 200 million unidentified dead bodies rotted on the streets and canals. Starvation took many more. It was the greatest calamity humanity had ever faced. A calamity that we created ourselves."
Both Shin and Miyu listened attentively. Shin was puzzled by the numbers "1 billion" and "200 million" because he didn't know numbers above thousands. While Miyu was shocked by the description of the catastrophe.
While describing, Ricky started to make hand gestures and lowered his voice to make the story more dramatic "Lives weren't the only things that were lost, over 1 trillion's worth of assets were destroyed. The entire world reeked of death, suffering, and misery which gave the war its name…Miseria"
Both Shin and Miyu leaned in by the dramatic story with a look of curiosity in their eyes. They were like little kids listening to a fairytale as Ricky continued
"Every nation took part in the war, one way or the other. While the strong countries went at each other's throats like beasts, the small nations struggled to survive. The weird thing was that no one knew why the war had started. Why did all the countries in the world suddenly start a world war out of nowhere?
'The people of each country demanded answers from their respective kings and queens but no matter how hard they persuaded, no answer came. It wasn't until 1839, four years after the start of the war did they finally gave an answer. However the respective governors only said one thing, 'there is a devil under the seas of Antarctica, whoever tames it first will rule the world' This is quite the dramatic answer don't you think? "
In response, Shin and Miyu nodded their heads in astonishment, they were getting excited. As the kids they were, they failed to understand the magnitude of the story.
Ricky was slightly amused by their reactions, "when I first read about this in my history class, I was extremely curious. But the teacher destroyed my curiosity by saying that the devil they mentioned, was later found to be a large amount of treasure.
"At first, it sounded convincing that the countries would start a war if the treasure was large enough. But the more I thought about it the more it sounded ridiculous. No matter how big the treasure was, is it worth fighting over for 15 years? On top of that, why would they call the treasure 'Devil'?
"with the help of my friends from the academy, I decided to do a bit of research on any abnormal events that occurred before the start of the war. We collected a large number of old newspapers by using my dad's social status. We also searched through multiple libraries and multiple old history books but there weren't any significant events that occurred around 1835. In fact, in these old books, there was no mention of the war at all! How strange…
Shin and Miyu fell deep in thought.
"While searching these books, we found something else. The books mention that the vampires appeared during the war. But in every academic textbook, it's said that the vampires only appeared after the war.
"The more I researched the stranger things got. Until yesterday, two men wearing white cloaks arrived at my front door looking for me. I could barely see it but beneath their cloaks there holster-style straps—sleek leather harnesses designed to hold weapons, Compact pouches and sheaths, and small tools, each one carefully placed for quick access. A series of hidden knife sheaths and gun holsters were strategically arranged around their torso, giving them the appearance of someone always prepared for battle. I often saw people like them roaming around the city but as everyone always ignored them, I didn't pay much attention to them either, until now.
"They were really intimidating. They claimed to be from Gehenis, where my father worked as a deputy minister.
Miyu suddenly spoke up, "I remember you mentioning this 'Gehenis' before. But what is it exactly? What does it do?"
"Gehenis is the organization founded by the noble vampires. And Gehenis also rules the entire Antarctic continent." Ricky answered
"The vampires rule the Whole continent?" Miyu asked
"Yes, Gehenis rule the entire continent. Although it's more accurate to say that the vampires rule the whole continent. Unlike other continents where there are countries and kingdoms, this continent is divided into 12 different sectors, each sector is always surveyed by Gehenis. This city Akuro also known as Sector 12 is the headquarters of Gehenis. There is a huge cathedral in the middle of the city, Gehenis mainly operates from there"
Shin's eyes widened similar to Miyu's. they both had no idea how the world operated till now. This was like a whole new world to them
"Anyway, The two white-cloaked men Whispered something in my dad's ear. Immediately, Dad's expression went pale. A tremor ran through his body, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he reached for something to steady himself as if the ground had slipped from under him.
"He looked at me in shock with widened eyes. He was looking at me as though he was looking at a criminal." Ricky's eyes showed a hint of frustration and betrayal.
"Then, one of the white-cloaked men grabbed me by my arm and practically dragged me out of the house. My dad did nothing to stop them. He didn't even say anything. Neither did my mother. Dad closed the door behind me and Mom broke down in tears as if I had just died. Back then I didn't understand the reason behind their actions."
Miyu had an eerily feeling about where this story was going. Something bad is about to happen…she thought.
Ricky then began to recall the horrors that left him in his current state. Memories started to drift one by one.
Ricky was brought to the cathedral of Gehenis. His wrists ached from the tight grip of the two white-cloaked men as they dragged him through the towering cathedral doors. The heavy wooden entrance groaned open, spilling cold air onto his skin, thick with the scent of old stone, burning incense, and something else—something metallic, almost like blood.
The moment he stepped inside, the ceiling seemed to stretch endlessly above him, supported by jagged black columns that twisted like the ribs of some ancient beast. The crimson light of the moon bled through the stained glass windows, painting the polished floor in haunting patterns. He barely had a second to take it in before the men jerked him forward again, their silence more unsettling than any words they could have spoken.
Their boots echoed sharply as they ascended a narrow staircase, each step colder than the last. The second floor was dimly lit, long hallways stretching into darkness. Flickering lanterns revealed doors of iron and heavy oak, their surfaces marked with scratches—some deep as if made by fingernails.
One of the men finally spoke, his voice as hollow as the cathedral itself. "Inside."
Ricky was shoved into a small chamber, the air damp and heavy. Two wooden chairs along with a wooden table sat in the center beneath a hanging lantern. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, shifting unnaturally as if they were alive. The door slammed shut behind him, the lock clicking into place like the snapping of a trap.
Ricky's breath felt loud in the silence. He forced himself to stay still, but his heart betrayed him, hammering against his ribs.
A second later, another door creaked open. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate.
And then, a voice. Smooth, controlled. Almost amused.
"Now then… let's have a little chat."
Ricky sat stiffly in the wooden chair, his fingers gripping the worn edges of the seat as the interrogator stepped into the dim light. The man wore a dark, well-fitted coat with a high collar, the fabric slightly worn but still carrying an air of authority. A silver pocket watch glinted at his waist as he moved, his polished boots clicking softly against the stone floor. His face was unnervingly calm as if this was just another routine conversation.
A slow sigh escaped the man's lips as he took a seat across from Ricky. He folded his hands together on the table between them, studying Ricky with the patience of someone who already knew all the answers.
"You've been busy," the interrogator said, his voice smooth, almost conversational. "Visiting libraries, collecting newspapers, digging into things best left forgotten."
Ricky felt his throat tighten, but he forced himself to speak. "I was just researching history."
The interrogator tilted his head slightly as if considering the words. "History," he repeated, dragging out the word. "No, Mr. Rick Falkner. What you were doing was committing a crime."
A cold weight settled in Ricky's stomach. he never imagined Him doing simple research would come to this.
The interrogator leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to something just above a whisper. "The war you've been researching—Miseria—is forbidden knowledge. It is not history. It is a mistake that was buried for good reason."
Ricky clenched his fists, his mind racing. "Why? What is so dangerous about knowing the truth?"
The interrogator let out a quiet chuckle, almost as if he found Ricky's defiance amusing. He reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of crumpled papers, tossing them onto the table. Ricky's stomach twisted when he recognized them—his own notes, the old newspapers he had collected, the fragments of history he had pieced together.
"Proof of your curiosity," the interrogator murmured. "You and your friends have gone to great lengths for this. But tell me, was it worth it?"
Ricky's breath caught at the mention of his friends. He hadn't seen them in days. His heart pounded as the interrogator continued, his tone almost mocking.
"They fled the city, did you know that?" He leaned back in his chair as if savoring Ricky's reaction. "They thought they could escape. But don't worry—we will find them soon enough."
Ricky's fingers dug into his palms. He wanted to believe the interrogator was lying, but deep down, he knew this was how things worked. No one outran Gehenis.
The interrogator's smile faded, his expression hardening. "Now, Ricky," he said, voice quieter now, more dangerous. "I will ask you only once. Who else have you spoken to? Who else has seen your research?"
Ricky swallowed. He could feel the weight of the room pressing down on him, the walls seeming to inch closer.
His mouth felt dry as he met the interrogator's gaze.
And then, he made his choice. He told the interrogator everything.
After hearing Ricky's confession The instructor nodded toward the white cloaked men, standing outside.
The white-cloaked men once again grabbed Ricky by his Wrist, dragged him out of the room, and brought him to the underground dungeon of the cathedral where they held prisoners captive.
Ricky assumed he was going to be imprisoned as well but he was wrong. There were indeed prison cells in the dungeon but Ricky wasn't brought there. The white-cloaked men took him to the opposite side of the dungeon.
Ricky's heart hammered in his chest as the massive, looming figures stood at the entrance to a secret entrance. He wasn't surprised by their appearance. He had seen them before—these terrifying creatures that stalked the city at night, their grotesque forms barely visible in the shadows.
Their towering figures were draped in tattered black robes, and their hunched bodies barely fit in the narrow space leading into the underground chamber. Massive scythe-like weapons were slung across their backs, and their skeletal faces were covered with stretched, dark-red skin, veins pulsing with an unnatural blackness. their hollow eyes locked on him as if sensing his every thought.
Grim Wardens? Ricky immediately recognized these creatures.
But Ricky was past being afraid of them. This place—the cathedral, the headquarters, and now the dungeon—was far worse. It was the terrible weight of what awaited him that had his breath caught in his throat.
The demons stepped aside with a slow, deliberate motion, allowing him entry into the depths. He walked through the threshold, the sound of his boots muted against the cold stone beneath him, swallowed by the thick, oppressive air. The further he went, the darker and colder it became.
The stench of chemicals, blood, and something else—something sour and wrong—hung in the air. The low light flickering from weak torches cast twisted shadows against the stone. He could hear faint cries—muffled at first, but growing louder as they moved deeper. The sounds of chains clinking, of people whimpering in pain, echoed through the halls.
Ricky's stomach churned as he stepped into the first room.
The floor was cold, and slick with something that wasn't water. His eyes flicked over the scene in front of him. The room was filled with rows of tables, each one with a figure strapped to it—people, or what was left of them.
Doctors in blood-stained white coats moved between the tables with grim efficiency, tools gleaming like the promise of pain. Amputation saws, sharp knives, and needles filled the air with the scent of iron and chemicals. The patients on the tables were of all ages, from children no older than ten to the elderly, their eyes wide with fear—or worse, empty of it. The whole place was a darkened nightmare that seemed to go on forever, the sounds of whispered prayers and muffled screams filling the corners of Ricky's mind.
He couldn't help but look away as a doctor moved to a child on the far table, lifting a saw with a practiced hand. The child whimpered, but there was no escape. The doctor's eyes didn't flinch as they worked, cutting through flesh and bone. Ricky's stomach twisted, but he forced himself to stay silent. He had seen enough horror for one lifetime, but this was a new level of evil.
In the far corner of the room, another doctor was injecting a sickly green liquid into a frail old woman. She screamed, her body writhing in pain, but they just held her down. They were used to this.
The whole place felt like a tomb of suffering.
In another corner, Ricky noticed a man with his jaw broken, and blood dripping from the wound. He was silent now, his lips sealed tight. He must have screamed before, but they had broken him—physically and mentally.
The doctors seemed unfazed by the agony around them. To them, this was just another day in their research, another step toward their unholy goals. They treated their victims like lab rats—cutting, testing, and torturing.
Then Ricky's eyes fell on another child who looked around the age of 9 strapped on a table.
The child barely had time to scream before a rough hand seized his hair, yanking his head backward. His eyes widened in terror, but the grip on his scalp held firm, locking him in place.
A split second later, a fist crashed into his jaw with brutal force—an upward strike, fast and calculated. A sickening crack split the air. His mouth snapped open unnaturally, a shuddering gasp escaping as his jawbone fractured under the sheer impact.
Pain flooded his senses, white-hot and unbearable. His breath came in strangled gasps, his mouth hanging uselessly, no longer able to form words—only wet, broken gurgles. Blood pooled along his lips, a string of saliva dripping from his slackened jaw. He tried to move it, to scream, but the pain shot through his skull like a hammer to glass.
The doctor in blood stained coat didn't let go. Instead, he gripped the ruined jaw with one hand, fingers pressing deep into the broken bone. With a sharp, violent twist, he wrenched it sideways—dislocating it completely. The child's body convulsed, his muffled cries reduced to pathetic, choked whimpers.
Then, he crumpled to the floor, trembling, jaw hanging at an unnatural angle, broken beyond repair.
The room fell into silence—except for his ragged, agonized breaths.
Ricky's breath quickened as he backed away from the scene, his mind spinning, a whirlwind of horror and disbelief. This was what happened to those who dared to uncover the past.
"This is your future," the interrogator's voice echoed in his mind. "This is what happens to those who cross Gehenis."
Ricky swallowed hard, his body shaking. The nightmare wasn't over. He wasn't sure how long he'd last down here, but one thing was certain: He had to find a way out—before he became another nameless victim in the dark, forgotten corners of this hellish place.
Ricky's heart pounded in his chest, his breaths quick and shallow, his body trembling in sheer terror as the white-cloaked men forced him onto one of the cold, metallic tables. The leather straps bit into his wrists and ankles as they bound him tightly, the rough material cutting into his skin. He tried to struggle, but it was no use—their strength was unnatural, and the fear that gripped him made it nearly impossible to fight back.
His eyes blurred with panic as he glanced around, seeing the cruel faces of the doctors in their bloodstained white coats, moving about the room with an eerie calm. The sickening smell of chemicals filled the air, thick and metallic, mingling with the dampness of the dungeon.
One of the doctors stepped forward, holding a syringe filled with a strange, translucent liquid. Ricky's stomach twisted, and he recoiled instinctively, but they held him down, forcing the needle into the vein of his arm. The liquid burned as it coursed through his bloodstream, a searing heat spreading through his body, numbing his senses. His vision began to blur, but through the haze, he saw the glint of a sharp instrument in the hands of another doctor.
"No... no, please..." Ricky gasped, his voice trembling with fear. "Please, don't—"
But the words were meaningless here.
The doctor didn't listen. With a cold, detached expression, he picked up a gleaming amputation saw. The sound of it cutting through the air was deafening.
Ricky's breath hitched as a wave of nausea crashed over him, but it was nothing compared to what came next. The doctor pressed the blade against Ricky's right arm, and with a sudden, brutal force, the saw began its work.
It wasn't like anything Ricky had ever felt before. The pain exploded through his body, a white-hot agony that consumed him whole. The teeth of the saw dug into his flesh, scraping bone with every agonizing movement. Blood poured from the stump of his arm, hot and sticky, staining the table beneath him. Ricky screamed—no, shrieked—but the sound was muffled by the drugs flooding his system. The pain intensified, suffocating him, drowning him in a sea of unrelenting torment.
The drug in his veins did nothing to ease the pain. If anything, it made it worse, sharpening every sensation until Ricky was sure his body was on the verge of shattering. He could feel the saw bite deeper, could feel the bone crack and splinter beneath the weight of the blade. Every inch of his arm felt like it was being torn apart.
His vision wavered, black spots dancing in the corners of his eyes, but the pain was still there—agonizing, overwhelming. He could feel his own blood soaking into the table, slick and warm, but the horror of it all seemed distant like he was detached from his own body.
And then, with one final pull of the saw, his arm was severed. Ricky's body jerked violently, his muscles spasming in pure, uncontrollable agony as the pain hit its peak. His scream was raw, primal—torn from somewhere deep inside him, the kind of scream that came from the very core of his soul.
He was no longer sure of what was real. His mind was a fractured mess of screams, of blood, of pain, and the heavy darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision. His right arm—his hand—was gone, and in its place, only a mangled, bloody stump remained.
In his haze of agony, the only thing Ricky could think of was the suffering that seemed endless, the agony that wouldn't stop. He could feel the life draining from him, the pain like a bottomless well, threatening to swallow him whole.
At that moment, with his chest heaving and the world spinning, he barely managed to choke out the words:
"Kill me."