4th Day of the 1st Fire Cycle[1], 2000 g.c.
The very atmosphere around Talasi began to twist in on itself, as if reality was reacting to something too powerful for its seams to hold. The clouds churned faster, crackling with pulses of lightning that weren't born from nature, but something far more wrathful. A storm of mana and raw fury danced at the epicenter—and in that nucleus stood my baby brother.
Steez.
Mana steamed off him, electrifying the air into a living haze. Even from a distance, the charged pressure was tangible. That same sensation wrapped around him in visible arcs, like threads of blue and violet fire etching his outline with godly malice. He didn't know the full story. He didn't need to. Seeing our mother injured—her body leaking blood through punctures in her side, her breathing shallow and wet—and the carnage around her was enough. More than enough.
Kimmi, groggy but lucid, blinked rapidly as the world came back into view. It hit her all at once—the fact that she and Billie Holiday had been moved with superspeed. Her vision was still adjusting, but her heart didn't need eyes. She could feel him. That mana signature was embedded in her soul. That was her baby brother, without a doubt.
"Steezy!" she cried out, tears sprinting to the corners of her eyes.
Steez didn't even turn his full head, just shifted enough to let her know he heard. "What up, big sis?"
Kimmi dropped beside our mother's body, placing both hands over the worst wound. "Steez… they hurt Momma and Auntie Glynis. And... they killed Uncle Shukaku."
Steez's aura stopped wavering and instead condensed inward, sharpening. "So that's what happened," he muttered, kneeling beside Mom for just a moment. He reached out and tapped two fingers gently to her forehead, his voice calm but heavy. "I slowed down Mom's temporal field. She should be in a suspended animation of pocket time. That should stop her from getting worse."
"I'm going to try to heal her," Kimmi said, her voice tight, fingers glowing with faint blue-green light as healing energy began knitting over our mother's wounds.
"Cool. You take care of this." Steez stood to his full height. His tone dropped an octave. "I'll deal with these niggas."
He turned.
The sound of his boots on dirt echoed unnaturally loud, like each step was pressing into time itself. His eyes scanned the battlefield—behind to the barrier of raw mana holding Talasi upright—across Auntie Glynis's battered body, and finally to the worst sight of all.
Shukaku. Headless. Cold.
He gritted his teeth, the atmosphere pulsing in rhythm with his rage.
"Fuck," he thought. "They really killed Unk… Oh no! Alex." He clenched his fists, lightning dancing at his fingertips—just long enough for the agony of loss to settle in.
And that's when Beau went for his sneak attack.
Steez's attention wavered for only a second—just enough for someone like Beau to take a gamble. Thinking he had an opening, Beau moved. He gripped his spear and vanished from sight, accelerating beyond normal limits. His body skated at the peak of light speed, weaving through pockets of atmospheric distortion.
It might as well have been a toddler learning to crawl.
To Steez, Beau's high-speed blitz was a slow-motion whisper. He turned to meet it—not with any panic, but with the lazy grace of a man swatting away a mosquito. His head tilted slightly, just enough for the spear to whisper past his ear. With his eyes still locked on Beau's, Steez met him in the middle with a headbutt so savage and deliberate, it echoed like a thunderclap. Beau's body flew backward like a human ragdoll, bouncing off the dirt in an uncontrolled roll before skidding to a stop in a crumpled mess.
That was [Temporal Control] mixed with the hyperspeed granted by [Afternoon Star: Belphegor]—a combo that let Steez fine-tune his perception and reaction to the quantum level. The combo was comparable to my old [Danger Sense], making him near-impossible to surprise.
Beau tried to get up, but he was glassy-eyed, blood pouring from his nose, eyes puffy and filled with tears that refused to fall. The move had rattled his skull. He didn't even register what hit him. It all happened in a flash.
Abdul Vega was next, the brute who thought his size would give him an edge. But not against Steez. When Abdul charged. Steez pivoted, his heel whipping around in a back kick that shattered the ground beneath him. Abdul flew.
And right into the waiting arms of someone worse.
A sinister smile stretched across Marzia's face. She unsheathed her twin shortswords in a flash and stabbed them both into Abdul's back as he flew into her. He hit her blades like a slab of meat slapping a butcher's hook. Blood jetted from the wounds, dripping down her arms as she held the Demihuman up like a grotesque trophy. His face, already purple from Steez's kick, twisted further in agony as he shrieked.
"BLEGAHHH!"
Marzia cringed. "Ew. Stupid, fat, human-looking monster, get away."
She tossed his heavy body aside like trash, and he landed at the feet of someone significant—Jojo. The holy man stiffened. Krystal stood beside him, looking down at Abdul with a sneer. But Jojo's expression shifted. His gut tightened, but not from fear. It was something else… sympathy.
Jojo focused on [Lady Red: Billie Holiday]. Despite her reputation as a Demon Lord, her overwhelming mana signature didn't feel evil to him. It wasn't dark or monstrous. It felt… faithful. Righteous, even. That contradiction sent a ripple through his soul.
Unconsciously, his [Miracle Star: Jesus] activated a subskill—[Faith's Miracle]—and holy energy began to gather in his palm, transforming nearby magitons into a bright lemon-yellow, swirling light. Jojo blinked in surprise and forcibly shut the skill down before anyone could notice.
Almost.
Marzia's eyes twitched toward the energy, but she said nothing. The moment passed.
"Marzia," said Januelle, her voice commanding and cruel, "take care of the town's destruction. Leave no one alive."
"You got it, Captain."
"Decima, you and Novara—handle the newcomer. Use team tactics. He could be the Devil of Velonica."
"I'm on it, Captain!" Decima grinned.
"Yes, ma'am," Novara answered, already analyzing.
"Lord Jojo," Januelle continued, "you and Ms. Sento will help me finish off the Demon Lord."
As the Saint Disciples began to shift into coordinated movement, Kiranna—the Blood Witch—felt the fade of the Cultivation Buff. Her veins pulsed with anxiety. The Illuminati of Velonica were running out of time, and she knew it. No more pills meant no more protection. Staying there would be suicide.
She reached into her pouch.
The vial of Telepuddle shimmered like liquefied galaxies—a spatial artifact that could warp her to any previously visited location. But a problem emerged: the Illuminati were all scattered. Too far to gather. And she really didn't like any of them, especially Yoona.
Well, except one…
Beau.
Using her [Blood Manipulation], Kiranna summoned blood from his wounds and the battlefield itself, crafting a liquid cocoon around his limp body. With a flick, she slid him across the terrain like soap gliding across a slick floor. Steez didn't move. He watched her play unfold with a calmness that was almost arrogant.
He already had a plan.
Mom had taught us a trick while hunting—when a Dire Turkey can't scare away an enemy, it flees to the nest. This would take us to a location where we could capture more.
Kiranna grabbed Beau and smashed the vial at her feet. The spatial liquid burst open like shattered mercury, consuming her legs first. As she began to sink, she flicked both middle fingers toward Steez, smirking.
But something was… wrong.
Her vision blurred. She couldn't tell why. Her equilibrium failed. Her senses dimmed.
She realized then—her glasses were gone.
Right before she vanished, she spotted them—clutched in Steez's hand, already returned to his original position.
"Hey! What th—"
Too late.
Across the battlefield, Decima and Novara had their eyes locked on their target.
"Okay, Novara," Decima said, flexing her fingers, "he's the one we've gotta kill. Don't take it easy on him just because he's got a cute face. He's still a monster."
"Understood. Preparing for combat."
Steez turned to face the two approaching women.
He couldn't afford to waste time.
Mom's life was in the balance. But even as he prepared for battle, I knew one thing for certain:
They were about to find out what it meant to pick a fight with the wrong clan.
The wind danced with embers and flakes as three divine warriors—Januelle, Krystal, and Jojo—approached Kimmi like specters of judgment. Their boots barely made a sound on the scorched and cracked gravel of Kimmi's shattered garden. Beneath the fractured arches of the once-beautiful town entrance, Kimmi knelt beside our mother's still body, her face covered in sweat and tears. The wounds across Vericka's chest had finally stopped bleeding, but only because Kimmi's hands were glowing with Angel Mana, a radiant mist of holy gold swirling from her palms like the breath of heaven.
The air shimmered around them, thick with mana and tension. Each of Kimmi's exhales poured more power into the healing flow, a steady stream of sparkling light cascading over Vericka's cracked Soul Core. The image of [Lady Red: Billie Holiday]—our mother's Guardian Armament—flickered and wavered above her heart like a vinyl spinning too slow. Her spiritual form was ghostly, barely stitched together by threads of song and sorrow. Steez's time distortion had nearly unraveled her existence while also saving it. Without the fierce devotion of her children… Vericka would've died.
But nah. My siblings weren't letting that happen.
Januelle moved first, her armored fingers brushing the hilt of her long silver-blue blade. She was a vision of nobility turned wrath—her yellow cape fluttering in the heated breeze, her ice blue eyes locked onto Billie with chilling precision. Krystal and Jojo flanked her like a holy tribunal, their postures rigid, righteous… and misguided.
"Farewell, Demon Lord Vericka," Januelle said, each word crisp and final, like frost on a coffin.
Kimmi didn't even flinch. She didn't look up. Didn't pause the Mana Art.
"Get away from my momma…" Her voice cracked—but not from fear, from the kind of pain that burns into a purpose.
Januelle took another step, raising her sword high. As the blade rose, delicate snowflakes began to spill from its edge, melting before they hit the scorched ground. That was her tell. The air dipped, frosting the grass with a dusting of frostfire.
"I said—GET BACK!!"
The sky flickered.
And then it hit.
A shockwave of heat blasted outward like a solar flare, the ground beneath Kimmi splintering as her [Heat Dome] activated on instinct. The spell burst into existence—a cerulean-blue and yellow orb of pulsating flame encasing her and Vericka in a radiant shell. It was less like a barrier and more like the birth of a second sun, hot enough to warp light and make the air ripple in psychedelic waves.
All three Humans recoiled.
"OW, hawt-hot! Shit!" Jojo jumped back, fanning his shirt.
Krystal shielded her eyes. "What is that? A Fire Barrier?"
Januelle's lip curled. "A pathetic attempt to stall for time."
But her tone faltered just slightly.
Mana particles began to spiral toward Januelle's blade, drawn from the air like iron shavings to a magnet. The magitons twisted as they neared the Magic Gem embedded in her sword, morphing into Ice Mana. The process was beautiful in that eerie, elemental way—tiny blue crystals forming midair before fusing into the blade, making the metal glow with frigid brilliance.
The air thickened into fog as Kimmi's flaming sphere and Januelle's sub-zero sword clashed in temperature. The atmosphere warped violently, bipolar energy boiling and freezing in split-second cycles. Thunder cracked overhead without clouds. Birds fell from the sky.
"Succumb to the Cold," Januelle whispered. "[Art of January: Polar Fang Slash]."
With the elegance of a reaper, she brought her sword down.
The impact was catastrophic. Her blade hit Kimmi's dome like a meteor strike—exploding into a shockwave of icy light and molten shards of broken mana. The energy blast hurled the Ascended and High Humans backward, each of them raising their arms to shield their eyes from the flare.
Smoke. Steam. Silence.
But as the dust began to settle, a silhouette stood tall in the cerulean haze.
Kimmi. Unbent.
Her fists were clenched, her arms scorched, her eyes burning with molten will. Her hair lifted slightly, heat curling from her body in slow, rising waves. Red and orange mana licked across her skin like flame tattoos, slow and deliberate. There was no panic in her stance anymore, only a promise.
No more damsel. No more retreat.
She was Vericka's daughter.
"The death of you monsters will be celebrated all across the Kingdom of Madness," Januelle spat.
"It's a shame that'll never happen."
The voice came smooth as silk and deep as judgment.
From nowhere—and everywhere—Luda appeared beside Kimmi like he'd stepped out of a comic book panel. The Prince of Braye. His long, dark teal duster fluttered dramatically in the boiling wind, his boots cracking the earth beneath him as he landed with composed weight. Golden mana shimmered around his body in slow, molten streams, peppered with emerald sparkles like cosmic dust.
Kimmi's eyes widened.
"Luda!"
He smirked under his mask. "Hope you don't mind me inserting myself, Kimmi."
She breathed out, relieved. "Not at all. Anything to get this over with quickly."
Jojo rubbed his neck and stepped up beside Januelle.
He eyeballed Luda's shimmering aura. "Say… you the Devil of Velonica?"
"No," Luda replied with calm immediacy.
Kimmi's fierce glare never wavered, but a flicker of worry crossed her eyes at Jojo's words.
Jojo squared his shoulders. "I'm Jojo King—the Hero of Mankind. I've got two targets today: the Demon Lord and the Devil of Velonica. Point me to him."
Luda paused. Blinked. Analyzed.
Luda studied Jojo from head to toe—his stance, his bleary-eyed confidence. He read Jojo's battle power like a book, and nearly laughed aloud at the fantasy.
"Kill Xiro? Is this nigga serious?"
He cracked up—shoulders shaking, laughter like warm thunder—then quickly recomposed himself, brushing dust from his sleeve.
Jojo tilted his head. "You okay?"
"Kill the Devil?" Luda replied, his tone sharp now. "Please. Don't be stupid. You should focus on the danger before you."
He stepped forward, aura coalescing.
"I am the Star Lion of Braye. Your journey ends here."
Then he let it drop.
His magick pressure unfurled like a lion's roar made visible. The entire battlefield dimmed, the twilight sky overhead fading beneath a golden veil of starlight. Time itself seemed to slow under his presence. The nearby trees bent outward. The ground trembled with quiet reverence.
Kimmi, undaunted, raised her output to match.
Her Bio Mana surged. She reached deep, calling on every spark in her Soul Core. Flames poured from her hands, feet, and even her hair, creating a glowing burning ponytail. The heat wrapped around Luda's light like two suns locking arms, blending and booming with supernatural harmony.
Januelle blinked, then frowned. A single drop of sweat slipped down her brow. She wiped it away with a flick, scowling as her fingers shook slightly.
She glanced at her allies, expression tight.
"Prepare to engage."
Jojo nodded. "Right."
Krystal readied her bow. "On it."
Now it was two-on-three.
But with Luda at Kimmi's side? Oh, they didn't stand a damn chance.
Meanwhile, inside the protection of the town barrier, the chaos in Talasi reached a fever pitch. The once tranquil streets, paved with light tan cobblestones, echoed with a cacophony of panicked screams, splintering wood, and the shuddering boom of collapsing buildings. Among it all moved a storm in human form—Marzia Judas, the Saint Disciple of Holy Madness.
She strolled through the inner roads like a queen among ants, her smile wide with ecstasy, her pants splashed in crimson from those too slow to flee. Her delicate hands, glowing with concentrated elemental fury, sculpted Mana Arts mid-motion, launching gouts of fire, jagged wind blades, and kinetic shockwaves into buildings, crowds, and anything else that dared exist in her path. The Arts burst with grotesque beauty—flames that roared like wild beasts, wind slicing through flesh as if the air itself sought vengeance, stone and bone shattering into a blend of rubble and red mist.
No one was spared. Whether Celestial or Elf, old man or babe in arms, Marzia's prejudice was blind and her hatred feral. Even when Humanity's own children tried to run, her Mana chased them down like a beast with a blood scent. One child, a Dark Elf boy, didn't even make it to the alley before a spear of lightning pinned him to a fruit cart, the impact detonating the stand in a shower of apple pulp and limbs. Mothers screamed. Fathers ran. Lovers died clinging to each other in the ashes of their homes.
Talasi burned under the twilight sun, and no Devil had come to save it.
The town's center became a funnel of chaos as frightened citizens crowded to escape, their confusion working against them. They jammed alleys, crashed through doors, and trampled one another in frenzied desperation. Marzia watched with tilted joy.
"Lambs before the slaughter," she muttered, sending a wall of fire crashing into a group that had taken shelter behind a stable.
The blast cooked the air with sulfur and smoke, turning panicked whinnies into a chorus of death cries as both animals and people were reduced to shrieking shadows inside the blaze.
She spoke in tongues under her breath, cursing the town with every step. Homes were no different from idols of sin to her, and the market stalls, the small gardens, even the decorative fountains—blasphemous to her goddess. One by one, she reduced them to nothing but smoldering ruin. Her eyes, periwinkle blue and twitching, danced with divine delirium. She was the saint of destruction, and this was her gospel.
Then she reached the Talasi Inn.
Percy Clark, a kind Light Elf woman known for brewing the best spiced honey mead this side of the Marie Pond, was hurrying to the door with her human husband, Wooden Clark. They had been packing to evacuate, but the sounds outside had come too fast, too loud. As she turned to bolt, her sharp Elven hearing picked up the sound of boots crunching glass behind her. Her instincts screamed—but it was too late.
Across the street stood Marzia, her head cocked, smile wide, fire coiling around her fingers like a snake with fangs made of heat. The firebolt left her palm with a shriek, glowing with orange mana so bright it painted the walls in the color of a barnfire.
Wooden Clark didn't think. He just moved.
He hurled himself in front of Ms. Clark, taking the full brunt of the mana bolt. The explosion blew the air from the street, lighting up Wooden like a torch doused in oil. His screams were short—his lungs turned to vapor before he could finish them. His body hit the ground, blackened and stiff, still smoking. The scent of burning flesh rolled into Percy's nose as she fell to her knees.
"WOODEN!! No! Somebody help us! My Wooden!" she cried, her voice cracking into hysteria.
Marzia laughed.
"I guess he couldn't wait for his turn," she sneered. "Oh well."
Her tone was casual, like she was commenting on a missed dinner reservation. She lifted her hand again, fire condensing into another bolt, this one even hotter than before—white at the center, blistering with power. Her eyes locked on Ms. Clark.
But the second firebolt never landed.
Out of nowhere, a blur of red and black slammed into Marzia's cheek with the force of a collapsing mountain. The impact launched her off her feet, spinning through the air like a discarded doll before she crashed into a market stall across the street, obliterating it in a plume of dust, splinters, and broken pottery.
It was as if the Outer Gods had finally heard someone's prayer.
Descending like a vengeful spirit, Alex Zo had arrived.
He stood there in his dark crimson gi, his shoes cracking the still-hot cobblestone as he landed from his leap over the outer wall. His eyes, a deep burning red, scanned the ruin before falling on Percy. With one hand, he kept her upright.
"Run toward the southeast exit," he said, calm but firm. "That's the safest route out of here."
Ms. Clark nodded, breathless and shaking. She gave one final glance at the scorched husk of her husband, her lip quivering, before forcing her legs to move. She ran. Limping. Sobbing. Alive.
Alex turned his gaze to the collapsed stall, where Marzia was dragging herself from the rubble, spitting blood and dust.
"I don't know who you are," he said, "but this is the wrong hood to come disrespect."
Marzia wiped the blood from her chin and squinted through her bangs.
"Who are you, demon?" Her eyes narrowed. "The Devil of Velonica?"
Alex smirked. "Xiro? Nah. I'm the Scarlet Wolf of Velonica. Your death dealer."
Marzia barked out a laugh, sharp and cracked.
"You insufferable monsters think your legendary titles scare me?" she howled, stumbling to her feet. Her mana flared—a writhing, bile-colored aura, like holy fire corrupted by madness. "I've killed plenty of you so-called M-Cees. I will rid the world of your kind. Every last one."
She stepped forward, glass crunching beneath her boots. "You creatures are a blight on this planet. A mistake. And I won't rest until every blemish is removed."
Alex didn't respond at first. He just looked at her with a mix of pity and disbelief, as if he couldn't tell if she was serious or stupid. Then he reached behind his back.
The moment his hands touched the hilts of his twin swords, a pulse of magickal pressure rippled outward. It was like the atmosphere inhaled, preparing for the carnage to come. His eyes ignited with an amaranth-red glow, and the cobblestones cracked beneath his feet.
"So…" he asked, tone as casual as flipping a coin. "Do you want this fade, or nah?"
The war for Velonica had truly begun. The Wolfpak was here, and though the Devil himself hadn't stepped onstage yet, the opening act was already raising hell.
[End of Chapter]
[1] April on Earth