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The night was dark and windy. In Tokyo, a towering five-tiered pagoda rose into the cloudy skies. Its ancient, broken copper bell clanged with a long, low, somber toll as the wind blew, like a high monk reciting Sanskrit mantras. Suddenly, several bats flitted over, clinging to the eaves with their tiny red eyes staring, hanging ominously and giving off a ghostly vibe.
The man cloaked in a black trench coat was burly, wearing a hood, and faintly radiating a bloodthirsty killing intent. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps bulging, his blue eyes cold and deep, malignant and resentful like a vulture preying on carrion, haughty and abrupt.
Perched atop the tower as if he were a nocturnal predator, he looked down upon Isabella who was arriving belatedly at the foot of the tower.