Returning Storms
Until a few days ago, the old Obsidian King had called him back from Africa, summoning him to return to Japan.
So he came back.
The cold mountain wind swept across the dark hillside, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and blood. Moonlight spilled across the uneven rocks, painting long shadows over the silent forest. Standing atop the hill like a lone executioner, Steffan slowly lifted his head toward the distant night sky.
His black hair moved lightly with the wind beneath the ghostly mask covering half his face. Those pitch-black eyes behind the mask were calm… too calm. The kind of calm only born from countless deaths.
Besides helping the old Obsidian King with some matters, he had other things to take care of.
The battlefield in Africa had changed him completely.
No…
It had carved something monstrous out of him.
