Legend of Immortal: Angeloids and Eviloids

Prologue

Amidst the gentle cascade of raindrops, a woman traversed the dimly lit alley with an air of quiet mystery. Her footfalls were nearly imperceptible, swallowed by the damp silence. Enshrouded in a thin, obsidian cloak, she bore a concealed secret, an enigmatic aura that defied definition. Her form was veiled, a shadowed figure, with only the radiance of her crimson lips imbuing her with vitality amidst the somber surroundings.

Each step she took seemed purposeful, a deliberate attempt to shield her true essence from the prying eyes of the world. She moved as though she carried the weight of a hidden truth, her every movement pregnant with unspoken secrets. The night seemed to envelop her, preserving her mystique.

Yet, in the merest fraction of a moment, the balance of the scene was disrupted. Her keen senses detected a man on the verge of occupying a modest, rain-soaked stool. In a swift and decisive maneuver, she closed her eyes, a prelude to an eerie transformation in the man's demeanor. His once mundane countenance contorted into a ghastly grin, and as if emerging from the depths of darkness, his predatory fangs extended like harbingers of dread.

"Thank you, for I now have my dinner," the man uttered with a sinister glee, laying bare their unholy connection.

The woman, an embodiment of unflinching resolve, remained untouched by the man's appearance and his menacing intent.

"Stay away from me," she declared, her voice devoid of emotion.

"Huh? Are you joking? Hahahahahah!" the man erupted in boisterous laughter. "You're just saying that because you want to escape my clutches, hahahaha!" he continued, his laughter an unsettling crescendo of audacity.

"I am not joking..." Before the woman could conclude her statement, the man made his move, launching a predatory assault. Without hesitation, she drew forth the samurai sword concealed at her side. The blade found its mark with uncanny precision, severing the man's neck. A torrent of blood spewed forth, an unholy crimson river staining the alley. The woman left her gruesome masterpiece, the blood-soaked blade, plunged deep into the man's chest. What was once a living, breathing terrorist had now metamorphosed into a grotesque tableau of death.

The terrorist met his gruesome end, his life extinguished in the most macabre of fashions, a chilling testament to the woman's unwavering resolve. As she stood over the nightmarish tableau, her visage bore the twisted grin of a mad executioner. Her gaze remained fixated upon the vanishing specter of the man who had dared to cross her path.

The woman could not help but be drawn into the gravity of this extraordinary occurrence. As time ebbed away, the color of earth and dust enveloped the man's fading existence, like a haunting echo of the violence that had transpired in the hushed embrace of the rain-soaked alley.