Nai City, Plea Nation
Zigeyr drained the last of his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he stared out the wide window of his penthouse. The world outside was fracturing — nations on the brink of war, others already consumed by it.
He allowed himself a wry smile.
Though he was the God of Chaos, this time the disorder was not of his making.
So it was inevitable after all, he thought, rising from his chair and making his way toward the rooftop.
"I should at least fulfill my promise to him."
The words left his mouth like an oath. His gaze fell upon the sleek, cobalt-blue helicopter waiting for him, rotors idle but primed. He slid inside.
The pilot was already seated — a man of about twenty-eight, his eyes two pits of absolute darkness, void of life or emotion. Looking at him was like staring at a corpse still somehow upright.
As the helicopter lifted, Zigeyr leaned back, his gaze drawn once more to the city below. Children were laughing in a square, playing without a care. For a moment, their laughter seemed to defy the tension that hung over the world like storm clouds. A rare smile softened his features.
Though I could simply bend space and be at my destination in an instant… why waste my power on something as trivial as a promise?
Capital City, Aliana Country
By the time Zigeyr arrived, devastation sprawled before him. Aliana's proud capital, once a beacon of order and prosperity, was now half reduced to ash and ruin. Streets were littered with rubble, civilians scavenging for food, eyes hollow with despair.
The Malsic Uprising had torn into the nation like a knife. Aliana was a secular state, its people a mosaic of faiths and ethnicities, though more than eighty percent followed Yani Religion. The rebels, however, sought to remake it into a Malsic theocracy.
Despite Aliana's formidable strength — for it was counted among the world's most powerful nations — the rebellion festered. Enemy states circled like vultures. Rival nations supplied the insurgents with weapons and funds, bleeding Aliana from within. And one of those rivals was Plea, slightly stronger and equally ruthless.
"Find somewhere clean to land," Zigeyr instructed.
The pilot obeyed in silence, setting the helicopter down in a desolate clearing untouched by the fighting. As soon as Zigeyr stepped out, he snapped his fingers. The helicopter and its soulless pilot vanished, as though they had never existed.
Zigeyr's eyes — divine, luminous, and merciless — swept across the city. In moments, he saw everything. His gaze settled upon a heavily fortified district.
"That should be where the prime minister hides."
And with that, he was gone.
In the next instant, he stood high in the air above a massive compound bristling with barricades and hundreds of armed soldiers.