The Akai family mansion—Coral Eldarian—is known for its spires. Twelve of them, in varying sizes, stretch toward the sky like Gothic fangs.
Built in heavy imitation of 18th-century British Gothic Revival, the place earned global fa as one of Japan’s finest Gothic structures and was nad a World Heritage Site thirty years ago.
The estate sprawls across seven wings and four districts, with the main building at the center like a heart pumping arcane lifeblood through its veins.
Its crown is the tallest spire of all—the “Mage’s Spire”—rising 110 ters from the roof. Add the mountain’s elevation, and the thing looms 430 ters above the slope’s base.
A century ago, tradition said the clan head’s office had to be at the very top. That was scrapped after one fed-up head called it “a pain in the ass to climb every ti.”
The main building holds 584 rooms. It’s ho to the Akai bloodline, their household mages, young scholarship recruits, and the servants who keep it all running.
But this isn't just a mansion. It’s a research fortress. It’s packed with labs, enchantnt workshops, vaults of holy relics, beast enclosures, shrines, and gods know what else.
Coral Eldarian is the Akai family’s power base.
And right now, it's burning to the ground.
"Hah… hah hah!"
I tear through the smoke-filled Gothic corridors, boots slapping stone.
Bodies litter the courtyard and halls—nobles and Demons both, tangled in final battle.
Noble corpses. A mountain of them. People with power. People who sneered at firearms, calling them peasant tools, and insisted on facing Demons with blades for the sake of form.
Their magic could flatten a battlefield. Their combat arts were damn near divine.
And now they lie still. Cold and broken.
Sothing happened here—sothing so catastrophic even the elite couldn’t stop it.
CRASH!
A shockwave splits the air.
"What?!"
I look up.
The red moon glares down over the Mage’s Spire—just in ti to see it buckle. The rooftop’s gone. The tower caves in on itself, dropping like a dying beast.
I don’t stop running.
Through choking smoke and searing heat, I reach the ballroom. I slam open the double doors.
Once, this place was a palace. Aristocrats in jewels and satin, dancing under chandeliers, laughter echoing off marble.
Now it’s an inferno.
Charred husks scatter the floor. Human shapes. Skin carbonized, arms curled inward from the heat—classic posture of bodies boiled alive from the inside.
This wasn’t a slow fire. It was fla magic. Instant, brutal, and final.
That’s an Akai specialty.
Smoke blinds .
I drop low, scanning faces—what’s left of them.
My throat scorches. My eyes water.
But I keep going. I have to know.
A mory sneaks in.
Just months ago, the Akai young ladies ordered new dresses for the upcoming birthday party of the year. The n of the family grumbled about the waste, as usual.
I’d get dragged in to diate—usually by throwing the girls a lifeline. “Father wears the sa formal wear every year. It's embarrassing.” Their words, not mine. I just passed them along.
Playing the loyal go-between takes guts and a strong stomach.
Over there.
In the far corner of the ballroom, slumped beside a collapsed, soot-slicked beast, is a man in scorched vermillion formalwear.
I sprint over, drop to one knee.
"Lord Jinichiro."
He’s fifty-five. Sharp-featured with eyes always glinting with sothing deeper.
Clan head of the Akai. My master.
His staff’s snapped in two. His hair is matted with blood. Robes are shredded, blackened, soaked with the sa crimson red.
I dig out a vial of Ichor and inject it into his neck. It's a regeneration compound. Only works if you have Akai blood—and he does.
"Lord Jinichiro. Can you hear ?"
I grip his hand, lean close.
His eyelids twitch. Then—eye contact. Focused and sharp.
He’s still in there.
“…Ikaku. You’re safe.”
“I just returned. I’ve administered the Ichor.”
“…Probably too late.”
“Don’t say that. You’re not allowed to give up.”
“Ikaku, my loyal retainer… the only man I truly trust…”
His hand, slick with blood, lifts and lands on my shoulder.
“The Akai Clan… must not end. I give you a new role.”
“A role, sir?”
“From this mont… you are Coral Terminator.”
My breath catches.
“Change your na to Ikaku Akamuro. Do you understand?”
“…I accept this appointnt.”
“Good. Ikaku, extend your arms. Both of them.”
I strip off my coat and roll up my sleeves.
Lord Jinichiro raises a trembling finger, and power floods through it. He scorches both my forearms with his magic.
Flesh sizzles. Bone-deep pain.
I grit my teeth, and lock my arms in place, neither flinching nor moving.
He brands with the seal of gnosis and a single line of Latin across both arms: Non est occultum quod non revelabitur.
When I cross my arms, the seal locks into place.
What is hidden will surely be revealed…
“Your personal Code,” he mutters. “Use it well… in the hunt… Ugh!”
“Lord Jinichiro—”
His bloodied hand pushes against my chest.
“Enough. No more words. Coral Terminator Ikaku Akamuro… I give you your mission. Survive. Reclaim what’s been stolen from the clan. I entrust my daughters… to you.”
His voice is a whisper, paper-thin. The proud head of the Akai family fades like smoke in the wind.
“I accept this appointnt, my lord. Please leave everything to .”
No reply. His hand slips away.
No more strength. No more breath. Yet, a smile of relief clings to his lips.
I cross myself and rise.
The fire has swallowed the room, blazing beyond what human flesh can endure.
I run. Fast and low. Through corridor after corridor, calling nas, checking bodies.
Looking for anything—anyone.
I find no one. No survivors. No Demons. Nothing but the dead.
If I keep searching, I’ll die too.
I make the call and flee the mansion.
Outside, in the garden, I watch it burn.
My ho. My mories. My world.
Gone.
“Don’t move! Hands up!”
Boots behind .
I lift my hands, turn slowly. Guns trained on —eleven, maybe more. P90s. They don’t shoot.
Behind them, vehicles arrive in succession, and Exorcists disembark.
“...Coral Terminator Ikaku Akamuro. Who are you?”
“Exorcists of the Akachi Clan. We ca as backup.”
“A survivor. Report to Lady Kimiyo. It’s a Terminator.”
They lower their weapons. One speaks into a radio, calling in the find.
Kimiyo—that’d be the previous Akachi head. She’s here?
Checking my watch, I see it’s past 11 p.m.
I evacuated ten minutes ago. Their response is reasonably fast.
More vehicles arrive. Firetrucks. Ambulances. Police. They swarm the grounds.
Teams split—so fight the blaze, others search the ruins.
I join them. Protecting the noncombatants. Pulling out bodies. Counting the dead.
The night stretches forever.
When dawn finally breaks, the ominous blood-red moon is gone.
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