The porcelain teacup exploded, not with a gentle crack, but with a sharp, ceramic shrapnel shriek. Ovidia Vencenza didn't flinch. Instead, she hummed, a small, thoughtful sound escaping her lips as a silver-tipped crossbow bolt, still quivering, embedded itself precisely where her pinky finger had rested moments before. The delicate floral pattern of the cup was now a jagged blossom of destruction. "Oh, *darling*," she murmured, plucking a stray shard of teacup from her auburn braid. "So dramatic. A love letter from a secret admirer, perhaps? Though, one might suggest a scented parchment over a poisoned projectile for future romantic overtures." She leaned back in her wicker chair on the stone balcony, adjusting the lace shawl draped over her shoulders. Below, the quadrangle of Bastione's academy hummed with the usual morning chaos: noble scions practicing their Rapier of Retribution forms, junior alchemists setting off minor explosions, and the occasional flurry of panicked doves. It was all so wonderfully *edgy*, just like the romance games she used to play. Every red flag was merely a charming personality quirk in disguise. Her gaze drifted to the distant, shimmering haze of the Salt Spire district, where the bursar's offices were located. Ten years. Ten long, arduous years, and her royal stipend was almost within reach. The plan had been simple: take in a tragically abused boy, send him off to the borderlands to earn his stripes, and collect a lifetime stipend once he achieved the rank of ‘Royal Guardian’. A win-win, really. He got a purpose, she got a guaranteed retirement fund for herself and Tullio, her frail younger brother, who deserved a quiet life away from Bastione's gilded cages and subtle poisons. Nereo. She remembered his wide, bruised eyes, his thin frame shivering even in the midsummer heat. So lost, so broken. A perfect male lead for an edgy, dark romance, just like this world seemed to be. He'd been an abyssal test subject, they said, a 'failed experiment' with an unnerving stillness to him. But she'd seen potential. Raw, untamed devotion, she’d assumed. All he needed was a little guidance, a little push in the right direction. A 'Hero's Journey' arc, complete with a dramatic return. She idly picked up the crossbow bolt. It was exquisitely crafted, dark iron, tipped with a sickly green sheen. Definitely poison. "My, my. Someone has high expectations for my affection. A pity I prefer my tea *without* neurotoxins." She chuckled, a bright, airy sound that made the passing majordomo flinch and quicken his pace. Just then, the sky ripped open. Not metaphorically, not metaphorically at all. A jagged, crimson fissure, like a fresh wound in the cerulean dome above Altamare, pulsed with an unholy light. A low, guttural shriek echoed from it, a sound that rattled the institute's marble foundations. Students screamed. Knights drew their blades. Ovidia, however, merely straightened her posture, a flutter of excitement bubbling in her chest. *He's here!* she thought, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. *Right on schedule for the dramatic reveal!* A colossal, chitinous monstrosity, all barbed limbs and multiple rheumy eyes, plummeted from the tear in reality, slamming into the central fountain of the courtyard. The stone plinth shattered, water erupting skyward in a geyser of spray and debris. It was an Abyssal Behemoth, a creature of nightmare known as a 'Skulker-Serpent', easily the size of three carriages. And riding its back, like a rider atop a warhorse, was a figure in tattered, blood-soaked armor. His hair, once dark, now had streaks of silver, and his frame was impossibly broader, the muscles beneath his ruined cuirass corded and dangerous. He moved with a speed that defied the eye, leaping from the monster's back before it even fully impacted. He landed, soft as a whisper, amidst the chaos. The Skulker-Serpent, still thrashing, let out another ear-splitting shriek. The figure didn't hesitate. With a roar that wasn't quite human, he plunged his bare hands, not a blade, not a spell, but his *bare hands*, into the behemoth's thick, armored hide. There was a sickening *rip*, a sound of tearing flesh and shattering bone that made even the most veteran knights pause. He pulled, muscles bulging, veins standing out like cords on his neck, and with a final, visceral *CRUNCH*, he tore the colossal beast in half, lengthwise, spilling black ichor and twisted organs across the pristine cobblestones. The air, thick with the stench of abyssal gore, seemed to crackle. Students had stopped screaming, replaced by a terrified, awed silence. The figure stood amidst the carnage, drenched head to toe in ichor, a grotesque shadow against the morning sun. He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the horrified faces, over the petrified knights, until his eyes landed on Ovidia, still perched serenely on her balcony. His blood-splattered lips curved into a smile. It was a sweet, innocent smile, one she remembered from a decade ago, though now it held a chilling edge, a predatory gleam in eyes that had seen too much darkness. [+90 Bright Pink Hearts!] The cheerful system notification popped up, its vibrant hue a stark contrast to the horrific scene below. Ovidia clapped her hands together, a delighted squeal escaping her lips. "Nereo!" she called out, waving brightly. "Oh, you've grown! And what a grand entrance! Talk about making an impression!" She ignored the way the surrounding students visibly recoiled from her proximity. Nereo, her former ward, now a towering, formidable man, began to walk towards her, each step purposeful, leaving bloody footprints on the ancient stones. The terrified crowd parted before him like water. His eyes, fixed solely on her, held an intensity that should have been alarming, but Ovidia merely found it endearing. *What a passionate paladin!* she thought, her heart swelling with pride. *Ten years in the borderlands, and he’s clearly taken his role to heart. He’s back, and he's ready to present those parchment vouchers! Goodbye Bastione, hello quiet country estate!* Nereo reached the base of the stone steps, his gaze never leaving her face. He was a vision of raw power and brutal efficiency, a walking nightmare made manifest, and yet, his smile remained soft, almost bashful. He took one more step, then stopped directly before a short, nervous-looking man in an embroidered tunic – Baron Felis Corvo, the crown bursar, who had foolishly wandered onto the mezzanine to investigate the commotion. Baron Corvo, already pale with fright, stammered, "Sir… Nereo? I-is there a matter I can assist with?" Nereo didn't answer. His hand moved with a terrifying casualness, a blur of motion. There was a wet, tearing sound, far less grand than the Behemoth's demise, but infinitely more chilling. Baron Corvo's pupils contracted, his mouth fell slack, and his body slumped to the ground. Nereo held something in his hand, something still dripping. He took another step, climbed the low balustrade, and knelt before Ovidia, his beautiful, terrible smile still in place. With a soft thump, he placed his offering at her feet, right beside her discarded teacup fragments. It was Baron Corvo’s severed head, his eyes staring blankly skyward. "Who else has been looking at you?" he asked, his voice a low, possessive rumble.

The Blood-Stained Homecoming