Prologue.

Disaster. Flames consume everything in sight, burning anything that they can grasp without mercy. A ghetto filled with the souls of the tormented and beaten were too given no mercy. Their homes and even their lives were taken from them, even though they had already had nothing. A young boy with shining crimson hair and lavender eyes crawled from underneath the rubble of a collapsed house. He desperately tried to gain hold of any air that he could. But the unrelenting fire continuously beat down on his body until he couldn't even move. The boy's body collapsed lifelessly on the ground, but this was not his end. Though he could not move anymore, he still held on to the desire to live. There were so many things that he hadn't achieved yet, so many places that he still wanted to see, and so many people that he desired to meet again. An image of a young girl with curly crimson hair raced through his mind. She was the only person that he could think about in his final moments. This was truly the end, wasn't it?

2016, Ashford City, Republic of St. Jilena. The irritating sound of chalk scraping across a whiteboard filled the rather silent room. While it was quiet, the room was far from being empty. It appeared as if the room were a large classroom, with rows of tables and chairs seeming near endless. Such a size could only be compared to that of the most elite colleges. Oddly, the ages of the students sitting in the chair didn't reflect those of a college. Ages spanned from the age of thirteen to even nineteen years old. But out of all of these people, there was one very special person in between all of them. 

A loud snore emerged from the back of the classroom, farthest away from the teacher's desk. The once quiet room was now filled with noise, further accelerated by the laughs of fellow students. The professor, who had been writing away on his chalkboard, began to show a hint of annoyance. He was gripping so hard on the piece of chalk that it simply snapped into his grasp. As he turned around to face the back row, it was much easier to see his appearance. He was a man far away from his prime, with jet black hair plagued by gray strands of old age. He wore a simple white coat, which was necessary for teachers to wear on duty. On the left side of his chest hung a badge, reading, "Pr. Adams.".

Pr. Adams: "Laurent!! OR SHOULD I SAY MISTER HANZ!!?" The professor yelled out to the sleeping boy, his voice so loud and so angry that it shook the very ground that they stood on.

Laurent: "Huh..? Uh. W-Whatcha needs Pr. Adooms." Laurent had been startled by the sudden yelling; his head quickly rose from his desk. But he couldn't hide the drowsiness of a freshly awakened mind.

Pr. Adams: "Since you prioritize sleeping over paying attention to my lectures, I assume you have everything memorized. So tell me, Mr. Hanz. What is the main defense mechanism of the Nephilim, and how do we here at the NAF stop that mechanism from happening?" Though it seemed like a rather complicated question, for anyone who had actually been paying attention in the class, it would be no problem to answer.

Laurent: "How the hell should I know!? Do I look like a Nephilim to you, old man?" Laurent wasn't happy that as soon as he was woken up from his nap, he was being asked questions that he had no care for.

Pr. Adams: "Disappointing, but expect from an unintentional child like you. Gram. Would you care to make up for your peer and answer my question?" Pr. Adams had called on the students who had been sitting next to Laurent.

Gram: "It would be my pleasure, sir." Gram replied.

Laurent looked at Gram with an expression that could only be described as pure hatred. Gram was known around the school as nothing more than a prodigy. He had perfect grades and good looks, and he is oh so guaranteed to become a NAF officer immediately upon his graduation. Everyone watched Gram as he stood from his seat. He was fitted in a white shirt, mostly covered by an open brown/vanilla sweater with loose sweatpants and slides. He moved his dim violet hair out of the way of his eyes. Such an action caused every girl's heart to flutter and every boy to reel back in envy. He looked down at Laurent, whom he towered over, before looking back at the professor.

Gram: "The Nephilim use the blood that they consume from humans to conjure blood and manipulate it to attack their target. Since they are nothing more than beasts, they use underhand tactics with a fighting style more resembling animals than actual sentient creatures. But if a Nephilim is unable to consume blood for an extended period of time they will lose their ability to conjure blood while also losing their supernatural physical abilities. In the end, they'll be nothing more than the average human in terms of strength." Gram spoke with a sense of passion and zeal, as if he had seen them use it firsthand.

Pr. Adams: "Thank you, Mr. Lancer. It seems that someone was actually paying attention to at least some of what I've been teaching you all for the past three years." The professor thanked the boy for giving an explanation, though he was still very disappointed in Laurent's inability to remember the simplest things.

Laurent: "Goddamn suckup. I'd rather be stuck in a room with a Nephilim than sit next to this douchebag." Laurent abruptly stood up from his seat.

Laurent: "Since I'm such a failure as a student, I'll spend my time doing something else." He shouted as he quickly found his way out of the room, but not before kicking the door open and exiting.

Pr. Adams: "If only that boy could take some attributes from Gram, then he would be an excellent student." Adams mumbled to himself.

Pr. Adams: "Well, that is all; class is dismissed." The old man waved his students goodbye as everyone exited the classroom.

Laurent roamed the hallways of the gigantic school. It was an academy made directly to groom the next generation of the NAF, "Nephilim Annihilation Force." A task force was funded by the Republic of St. Jilena to erase Nephilim, who caused problems inside and outside of the Ghetto. Many students have their own reasons for wanting to fight off these monsters, but all of them lead back to the Nephilim. Laurent angrily stomped, still pissed off by Gram. Who was he to think he's better than him? So what? Maybe Laurent wasn't a prodigy, but he still had skills and talents of his own. The boy huffed out air as he sighed. He was determined to become an officer because of what the monsters took from him. But as he thought on it, a sudden, searing pain emerged from the side of his face. A crimson-red liquid poured down from the side of his cheek. As he looked to his side, a shard of glass had been lodged in the side of his face from the window beside him. The window itself had been shattered by the force of someone ramming directly through it. Who had done it? That question was answered quickly as a mob of Nephilim came rushing into the school from the open entrance.

Unknown Nephilim: "Your blood smells... tasty!"