The scene opens in a wide and dark room.

  Heavy wood.

  Walls covered with old maps of the continent.

  A massive office desk dominates the room.

  Behind it sits Ivanov Migirosu.

  Jet-black hair slicked back, with gray at the temples.

  Defined jaw.

  Short unkempt beard.

  A deep scar runs from his mouth to his cheekbone, creating a permanent broken “smile”.

  He wears an open red silk shirt with pendants made of teeth and bullets.

  Black suit pants.

  Boots.

  Rings engraved in Cyrillic shine on his fingers.

  He smokes a handcrafted cigar whose aroma mixes incense and gunpowder.

  Behind him rests his weapon.

  Krov-Led.

  A cursed kindjal saber.

  Wide, curved, dark blade.

  Covered in symbols from a forgotten language.

  Sheath made of black bone.

  On the living room sofa, sitting sprawled out, is his son.

  Zavidan Migirosu.

  The imperfect copy of the king.

  Bald.

  Face almost identical to his father’s.

  But more swollen.

  The long unkempt beard tries to imitate Ivanov’s style, without achieving his brutal elegance.

  He wears exactly the same clothes as his father:

  But everything fits him too tightly.

  In his hands he always carries his weapons.

  Metal fists with reinforced knuckles.

  And right now…

  He is eating chicken.

  Like a wild animal.

  Grease falling through his beard.

  Bones crack under his teeth.

  The door of the room opens.

  A firm step.

  Silent.

  Rusalka Tsarovich enters.

  Deep dark green hair, almost blackened emerald, slicked back with impeccable precision.

  Some loose strands fall across her face when she moves.

  Sharp cheekbones.

  Pale skin marked by sleepless nights.

  Her smile is perfect.

  Seductive.

  But her metallic green eyes never smile with it.

  She wears a tight black shirt.

  Reinforced fitted pants.

  On her chest and neck can be seen criminal tattoos from Continent 3.

  Initiation symbols.

  Rusalka stops in front of the desk.

  She looks first at Ivanov.

  Then at Zavidan.

  Who keeps eating as if nobody else existed.

  She smiles slightly.

  —The guests have arrived.

  Ivanov exhales smoke slowly.

  The cigar’s aroma fills the room.

  His gray eyes barely shine.

  —Let them in.

  The door behind Rusalka begins to open.

  The door of the room opens slowly.

  The hinges creak.

  The smoke from Ivanov Migirosu’s cigar hangs in the air.

  The first figure enters.

  Heavy.

  Calm.

  As if he had no hurry anywhere in the world.

  Narrator

  Inuzora Saketsu

  A veteran of too many wars.

  Dark red hair, shoulder-length, almost always loose and messy.

  Thick wild beard with white streaks covering his chin and part of his neck.

  His wide square face shows scars on his eyebrows and cheeks.

  His nose has been broken more than once.

  His amber-brown eyes seem tired…

  He wears a thick red flannel shirt with rolled sleeves.

  Worn leather suspenders.

  Military pants full of patches.

  A metal flask hangs from his belt.

  On his back rest two enormous axes.

  Height: 1.98 m

  Back wide as a barn door.

  Thick arms full of veins.

  Hands calloused like tree trunks.

  Rusalka Tsarovich points to an armchair.

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  —Sit.

  Inuzora does not respond.

  He simply drops into the seat.

  The wood creaks under his weight.

  He pulls out the flask.

  Drinks a long swallow.

  He does not even look at anyone.

  As if he were waiting for the war to begin.

  Then…

  The door opens again.

  But this time silence does not enter.

  Spectacle enters.

  A sandal hits the floor.

  Then another.

  Flip-flops.

  A silhouette appears with a relaxed step.

  Sunglasses.

  Arrogant smile.

  A shining sword resting on his shoulder.

  Narrator

  Sokuto Hayaoka

  Bright platinum-blue hair, short and spiky, as if charged with electricity.

  Young attractive face with a permanent mocking smile.

  A thin scar crosses his right eyebrow.

  His light gray eyes with yellow reflections look like living sparks.

  He wears an open tropical shirt.

  Thin gold chain.

  White shorts.

  Flip-flops.

  On his shoulder rests his weapon.

  A collector sword in Excalibur style.

  Golden hilt with gems.

  He always wears expensive sunglasses.

  Even at night.

  Height: 1.78 m

  Athletic, light body.

  But with abnormally muscular legs.

  He smells of expensive perfume…

  Sokuto looks around the room.

  Looks at Ivanov.

  Looks at Zavidan eating chicken.

  Looks at Inuzora drinking.

  He smiles even wider.

  He spreads his arms.

  —What a peculiar meeting!

  He walks inside with total confidence.

  —I should charge just for being here.

  He sits down without asking permission.

  Leans the sword against the table.

  Crosses his legs.

  —Well… what do you need?

  Behind him two enormous figures enter.

  Bodyguards.

  But completely different from each other.

  One:

  Kind face.

  Too kind for this world.

  Deep dark circles from working nights and caring for his mother.

  Large honest blue eyes.

  He wears a simple security uniform.

  Rolled-sleeve white shirt.

  Black pants.

  Low cap.

  Height: 1.90 m

  Huge robust body.

  Very broad shoulders.

  Giant arms.

  Beside him enters his complete opposite.

  Very short black mohawk.

  Wide face with powerful jaw.

  Nose flattened from too many fights.

  Dark brown eyes with an aggressive stare.

  He wears a reinforced vest.

  No shirt.

  Military pants.

  Heavy boots.

  On his shoulder is a rhinoceros tattoo.

  Height: 2.03 m

  Enormous back.

  He looks like a walking wall.

  The two position themselves behind Sokuto.

  Silent.

  Like living statues.

  Sokuto raises one hand.

  —Don’t worry, guys.

  He leans back in the chair.

  Bright smile.

  —If someone tries to kill me… he’ll die first.

  —Wait outside.

  The two men look at each other for a second.

  Then they obey.

  The door closes behind them.

  Now in the room only the real predators remain.

  The smoke from Ivanov Migirosu’s cigar slowly swirls in the air.

  Ivanov smiles.

  A twisted smile because of the scar.

  He speaks with a calm voice.

  —I will be simple.

  He takes a drag from the cigar.

  —I want an alliance.

  He looks at each person present.

  —We are going to end the Krov.

  Pause.

  —And create something new.

  He places his fingers on the table.

  —The New Krov.

  His gray eyes shine like cold steel.

  —We will control this part of the continent.

  —Markets.

  —Routes.

  —Cities.

  The silence becomes heavy.

  In the armchair, Inuzora Saketsu stops drinking.

  The flask remains suspended in his hand.

  His eyebrows furrow.

  Surprised.

  Then…

  A laugh breaks the room.

  Loud.

  Shameless.

  Sokuto Hayaoka is laughing out loud.

  He leans back.

  —HAHAHAHA!

  He removes his sunglasses.

  Wipes a tear.

  —Sorry…

  He looks at Ivanov.

  —But… what do I gain from this?

  On the sofa, Zavidan Migirosu jumps to his feet.

  The chicken bone falls to the floor.

  —HEY!

  His metal fists collide with each other.

  —Don’t laugh at my father!

  His face twists with childish rage.

  —Show some respect!

  Then—

  FSSSH

  A movement.

  So fast that almost nobody sees it.

  Suddenly…

  Sokuto is no longer in his chair.

  He is in front of Zavidan.

  His shining sword presses against the giant man’s neck.

  The blade grazes the skin.

  A red line appears.

  Sokuto’s smile has disappeared.

  Now his voice is cold.

  —Shut up.

  He leans a little closer.

  The tip of the sword sinks slightly.

  —The bosses are talking.

  At the desk, Ivanov watches.

  Without intervening.

  Sokuto smiles again.

  But this time it is a cold smile.

  —Let’s be honest…

  He slightly moves the sword away.

  —The one who really needs my help here…

  He looks at Ivanov Migirosu.

  —Is you.

  He sheathes the sword elegantly.

  Takes a few steps toward the door.

  —You want my weapons.

  —My routes.

  —My buyers.

  He turns slightly.

  —The Blue Lightning Network belongs to nobody.

  Pause.

  —Except me.

  He starts walking toward the exit.

  Then Ivanov’s voice stops him.

  —Today you are a known figure in the Fangdrift black market.

  Sokuto stops.

  Ivanov takes a drag from the cigar.

  Smoke leaves slowly.

  —But…

  —Don’t you want more?

  Silence.

  —More power.

  —More money.

  Sokuto still does not turn around.

  But his smile slowly appears.

  —Of course I want it.

  He turns over his shoulder.

  —But if I gain money and power…

  —What do you gain?

  Ivanov slowly stands from his chair.

  His height dominates the room.

  —Destroy the bastards who are dragging the Krov reputation through the mud.

  His gray eyes shine.

  Then he looks toward the armchair.

  At Inuzora Saketsu.

  —And you…

  Pause.

  —I offer you the chance to recover your honor as a soldier.

  The room becomes silent.

  Ivanov continues.

  —We all win.

  —We only need to finish…

  His voice becomes colder.

  —Uta Dragunov.

  The flask in Inuzora’s hand creaks.

  He is squeezing it hard.

  His amber eyes darken.

  Sokuto repeats the name.

  Thoughtful.

  —Uta Dragunov…

  He sighs.

  —Damned people from Continent 3.

  He shrugs.

  —Always talking about honor.

  He puts the sunglasses back on.

  —And honor doesn’t feed you.

  Ivanov walks until he stands in front of him.

  Dominant.

  —Do you accept?

  Sokuto stays thoughtful for a few seconds.

  Then he raises a finger.

  Smiles.

  —Fifty.

  Pause.

  —Fifty.

  —Half and half.

  The room becomes completely silent.

  Ivanov watches him for a few seconds.

  The cigar smoke rises slowly.

  Then…

  He smiles.

  —I accept.

  And in that moment…

  The New Krov have just been born.

  Night falls over the city.

  Rain strikes the mansion windows.

  Drops slide down the glass like slow tears.

  Inside the office, Ivanov Migirosu watches the storm with his hands behind his back.

  The lit cigar briefly illuminates his scar every time he takes a drag.

  Behind him, leaning against the wall, is Rusalka Tsarovich.

  Her green eyes shine with a mix of mockery and excitement.

  She breaks the silence.

  —You sold the Krov… just to finish Uta Dragunov.

  Ivanov releases a small laugh.

  Deep.

  —Sell…

  He takes another drag from the cigar.

  —That is an ugly word.

  He watches the rain fall.

  —I would say… restructure.

  Smoke slowly leaves his mouth.

  —When Uta dies…

  Pause.

  —The rest will be simple.

  He turns slightly.

  —Sokuto Hayaoka is useful now.

  His gray eyes harden.

  —But he is nothing more than an arms dealer.

  —A child playing at being a legend.

  He smiles with contempt.

  —No experience in real war.

  Rusalka slowly licks her lips.

  She enjoys hearing it.

  —You are very confident in yourself…

  She pushes away from the wall.

  Walks toward the window.

  The rain reflects green flashes in her eyes.

  A crooked smile appears on her face.

  —I like it.

  She turns toward him.

  —Then…

  Her fingers tap the wet glass.

  —Let the era of the New Krov begin.

  Outside…

  Thunder breaks the sky.

  Rain also falls over Uta’s mansion.

  The sound strikes the roofs and the trees in the garden.

  Inside, in the main hall, Uta Dragunov puts on his coat while adjusting the belt of his sword.

  His steps are calm.

  Determined.

  From the sofa, a voice growls.

  —Kuro, where are you going?

  Kuro watches him with crossed arms.

  Uta does not turn.

  —I’m going to negotiate.

  Pause.

  —With the Queen of the continent.

  Silence lasts half a second.

  Then Kuro almost jumps from the sofa.

  —WITH THAT CRAZY WOMAN!?

  Uta lets out a small laugh.

  He finally turns.

  —Exactly.

  He adjusts his glove.

  —I think she will be a good ally.

  Kuro looks at him as if he were completely insane.

  But Uta approaches.

  He gives him a small punch on the shoulder.

  —Take care of the mansion.

  Pause.

  —And the boys.

  His smile is calm.

  —I trust you.

  Kuro looks at him for a few seconds.

  Then he smiles too.

  He raises his fist.

  —That’s done.

  The two bump fists.