4th Day of the 1st Fire Cycle[1], 2000 g.c.
Back in the heart of Talasi, where half-collapsed buildings leaned like old drunks and broken market stalls clung to their last purpose, the air sizzled with tension. The center of town had become a cratered arena, scarred by spells, broken stone, and rage made manifest. There, among the smoldering remnants of Talasi's marketplace, Marzia squared off with my little cousin, Alex, the Tengu Warlord.
Marzia wasn't playing cute anymore.
Once pristine silk-leather, white as bone and stitched with blueish-silver embroidery, her armor was now streaked with deep slashes of burnt blood and soot. The last strike Alex had landed was deeper than a scratch. It was a message. Her lip curled in frustration as she finally acknowledged what the rest of us already knew.
Alex wasn't a simple "monster." He was a problem. A wildfire that could get out of hand in the blink of an eye.
Marzia's aura flared like a flash torn from the heavens. Divine energy erupted from her Soul Core, flowing upward in radiant waves that shimmered like heat rising off boiling water. A pale gold halo appeared above her head, thin as a wedding band and just as binding, pulsing with the unmistakable light of Paradiso. The energy that surrounded Marzia crackled, pure and terrifying, drawn from realms most mortals couldn't even dream of. Paradiso was supposed to be unreachable, yet here she was, pulling from its realm like a demigod. The divine light twisted around her limbs and weapon, dancing in slow, sweeping arcs as if the very world bowed to her sanctity.
But Alex? That nigga wasn't impressed.
The very air around them had thickened with tension, weighed down by pressure that bent light and scattered debris in waves. Wind swept through the plaza like a warning, tossing broken fruit crates, market fabrics, and bits of shattered pottery into a swirling dance of chaos. The city's half-burnt stalls groaned under the shifting weight of unstable mana.
Then, everything stopped.
Like a switch flipped.
Even at that distance, freshly returned from the Spirit Realm, my signature blanketed Talasi like an executioner's shroud. I didn't have to announce my arrival. My presence was the announcement. My mana signature didn't ripple... it rolled, thunderous and inescapable.
A cold, creeping pressure crawled into every space it touched—into bone marrow, into soul cracks, into memory itself. Time didn't slow down, but hearts sure did.
Even those who weren't there turned their heads toward the sky.
Alex stood perfectly still, his shortsword still resting over his shoulder. His scarlet eyes slid toward the violet-tinged clouds as the twilight overhead deepened, dipped in that eerie shade of deep reds and blues that set the stage for me like an omen.
Marzia's whole body tensed. Her eyes widened like she'd seen the face of something primal. Something wrong.
She froze, mouth slightly open, breath caught halfway between a word and a scream. The divine glow around her dimmed, faltering under the pressure of something even higher on the food chain.
Alex smirked.
"Would you look at that?" he said, voice calm, amused. "The Devil of Velonica has made it back."
Her head snapped toward him, snapping her out of her trance. "What?" she hissed, eyes shaking. "That can't be his mana signature I'm feeling. Not like this. It's on par with the Divine Nine..."
Alex chuckled low and dangerous, his sharp canines flashing. "Divine Nine? I guess y'all High Humans really are Super Niggas." He cracked his neck. "Though I doubt they could beat Xiro. Or me, for that matter."
That line hit her like a slap. Her eyes narrowed into slits of contempt. She scanned him from head to toe, as if trying to dissect the absurdity of his confidence with pure malice alone.
"Creatures like you," she spat, "Legendary Monsters... you're the reason humanity hasn't taken full control of Arcadia in over 500 years. Gaia was meant to be ruled by humans. That was the Goddess's divine command. And it's your kind that's kept us from fulfilling it."
Alex shrugged. "You human chicks really are crazy, huh?"
"You're a male. I should've remembered," she said through gritted teeth. "We should've purged all of you two thousand years ago. Then I wouldn't have to deal with this."
"Ohhh," Alex said, tapping his chin like he just cracked a riddle. "You're one of them chicks. Xi warned me about y'all. Mad 'cause y'all never get no love or dick. He said don't argue—y'all just bring trauma, drama, and zero solutions."
Marzia's eye twitched. "Traumas? I'll give you traumas—"
Alex interrupted with a step forward, right hand glowing with Fire Mana as it began wrapping around his fist like coiling flame. "You ready to finish this fade or not? I got people to link up with."
Marzia's anger had reached a level so intense that even the goddess she worshipped might've felt the heat steaming off of her.
The divine aura cloaking her thickened, layer upon layer of radiant energy curling around her body like threads of sanctified silk, now so dense it almost obscured her form entirely. The halo above her cracked with a thin line of light, flickering unnaturally like it had just been hit with a surge it wasn't ready for. Her boots crunched against the broken cobblestone, and then the ground beneath her trembled. Not dramatically—more subtle, teeth-rattling shake to the soul.
Twin ruby-bladed shortswords spun to life in her hands, flaring with glints of sharp red mana at the edges. Her hands didn't shake. Her shoulders didn't lift. She was calm in that eerie, spiritual way that only meant one thing: she was ready to kill. Her soft blue mana leaked from her eyes like glowing tears, giving her the look of a vengeful archangel—divine, beautiful, and full of malice.
That's when Alex saw it.
Between the slight part in her armor, nestled just above her breastplate and hanging between her breasts, a Magic Gem began to flicker. For a moment, it glitched, flickering like a broken projection. Alex narrowed his eyes, squinting at it as it shifted forms—first distorting like static, then glowing again before finally solidifying… not as a gem, but as a silver medallion. The faint outline of Pisces—the twin fish—etched along the surface, pulsing with quiet energy.
Alex tilted his head.
Something about it looked familiar. He couldn't place it, though. The shape, the vibe… it stirred a memory deep in the back of his skull, but not enough to surface. His instincts whispered to reach into his chestplate and grab his dawnstone necklace—the one he kept for luck, especially when the odds felt like they might tip. But he stopped himself.
He didn't need luck.
Not against her.
Or so he thought.
Then she whispered the words that made his shoulders tense and his heart twist.
"Grant me strength, Guardian Angel—Awaken Tiger of Pisces!"
The medallion responded… but not the way one might expect. The soft glow it carried immediately dimmed, then died altogether, like someone yanked the soul right out of it. Alex raised a brow.
"The hell?"
Before he could even form the question in his mind, a chill wrapped around his spine like a wet towel fresh outta hell's freezer. That creeping dread you only get when something big, wrong, and probably sentient is watching you. His body stiffened.
It was the air. The shift. The pressure.
Then, boom.
Marzia pulsed. Hard.
It rippled outward like a gong being struck with heavenly judgment. Her golden aura began to morph, flickering like the surface of disturbed water, then changing entirely. The golden-white light dissolved into an ethereal blue-green glow, dancing with faint hues like auroras underwater. Her silhouette blurred, and what replaced it was chilling—a transparent tiger-shaped shadow clinging to her body, made entirely of flowing water. Its jaws snarled in silence. Its tail coiled behind her in vengeful grace.
The holy energy didn't feel holy anymore.
Now it radiated something different. Something primal, ancient. Still divine, yes—but not the choir-singing, cloud-floating kind. This was predatory faith. The kind that demands a sacrifice.
The pressure around her tripled. Not metaphorically. Literally. Even the cobblestone beneath Alex cracked in tiny spiderweb patterns from the sheer weight of it.
Alex clenched his fists. "Why does her mana suddenly remind me of that Trapper bull?" he thought.
That's when [Morning Star: Lucifer] chimed in. Smooth, deep, and vexed like a leopard just woken from a nap.
"Let no minion of the Heavens stand in our way. Staple the fear of Alexander Mikazuki Zo into her spirit."
Alex flinched internally. "Really, bro? My whole clan-registered name? Now?"
Marzia narrowed her glowing eyes and raised her swords again.
"It's been fun playing with you, monster," she said, her voice distorted under layers of water-magick reverb, "but now it's time you die."
Then she moved.
Dashing forward, her form shimmered like heat above pavement. That tigress-aura of hers twisted around her limbs, reinforcing her body in an aquatic film that made her look half-ghost, half-predator. Her silk-leather armor, once pristine and regal, now looked like the liquid fur of a hunter.
Alex braced himself. Saw an opening.
He pivoted and brought his leg around for a brutal spinning kick to her head, aimed with perfect precision. He was fast, powerful, and dead on.
Only when his foot connected, it passed clean through her skull like he kicked a waterfall.
The sensation was sickening. Cold. Wrong. There was no impact. No resistance.
Her head simply reformed behind his kick in a swirl of liquid energy, and she was already cutting him before he could pull his leg back.
SHHHINK!
Both ruby blades slashed across his chest, throwing sparks as they kissed the obsidium plates of his armor. The force of it sent him flying backwards through the air, one of his swords flying free from his hand as he crashed into the wooden shell of a once-busy shop. The structure groaned before collapsing, burying him in a rain of splinters and broken barrels.
For a second, all he saw was dust and his own blood flicking across the air.
Then he was up again, fast. Brushing his white dreadlocks out of his face, eyes burning. But she was gone.
He scanned the plaza.
Nothing.
His mind reached out, senses on full alert—then he caught it. A flicker. A blur. Marzia was everywhere. Dashing from spot to spot at impossible speeds, like reflections caught in different parts of a river.
Alex gritted his teeth. He moved with intent, predicting where she'd jump next. He lunged, blade slicing through the air at her mid-section, only for his sword to pass through her again. Like slicing liquid smoke. Or trying to fight a dream underwater.
None of it made sense to Alex.
Then she was behind him.
CLANG!
Her twin swords came for his neck, only to be blocked by a hard cross of Alex's remaining blade. The impact rang out like metal on metal, sparks flying in all directions.
But she didn't stop.
She flickered again.
From his left.
From above.
From behind.
She struck like a phantom born from seafoam and holy vengeance, swinging with surgical precision, each blow testing his stamina, his guard, his mind. He blocked as best he could, sword flashing in every direction—but he couldn't touch her.
None of his strikes landed.
None of them mattered.
Because right now, the Scarlet Wolf of Velonica… was fighting a ghost.
And that ghost wanted him dead.
Most of the Wolfpak and the Saint Disciples were too wrapped up in my entrance to notice it, but fate was moving other pieces into place while we played tug-of-war over Talasi.
Three women—two walking and one barely breathing—were quietly making their way toward the city's edge.
It started days earlier, during the Illuminati's march toward Talasi. That's when Melech Una, the Electric Blade of Velonica, had a not-so-peaceful run-in with one of the Panty Raiders seeking the return of his younger brother. That wouldn't have been news—except this time, Melech wasn't alone.
His daughter, Ameera Una, had been traveling with him. A Vulpin Lycanthrope, Ameera looked like the halfway point between a warrior priestess and a fox pinup model—orange and snowy white fur, slender athletic frame, and a crescent moon mnemonic crystal nestled at the base of her throat like it had grown there. But all that grace was long gone now.
Her body was a ruin.
Blood crusted across her fur in matted blotches. Her once-glowing Magic Gem ring was cracked and dim, and her breathing was so shallow you'd think she was trying not to wake Death himself. She'd had the unlucky pleasure of crossing paths with Kiranna—the Blood Witch of the Panty Raiders.
After the ambush failed and her father was captured, the Illuminati did what goofy movie villains often do: they left her behind to die in the mud. Cold. Alone. Forgotten.
But fate was working overtime.
Because Ameera was found.
By the two women now hauling her broken body toward Talasi.
On one side was Nicole Kanra, the pale-skinned, violet-haired, ex–Vice Captain of Vivian's M-Cee Unit. She had tracked her old Captain Melech from the shadows, too late to help him, too early to give up. And on the other side was a whole new flavor of trouble—Dream Flower, a mocha-skinned beauty whose presence felt like a mix between a fever dream and divine prank. If you didn't immediately notice the small pointy ears hidden within her raven-black hair, you would easily mistake her for a Celestial or a Half-Dark-Elf.
Nicole huffed as she adjusted Ameera's arm over her shoulder again. "Oh my goddess, Dream Flower, are you even lifting on your side? It feels like I'm carrying all of her body weight."
Dream didn't miss a beat. "What are you complaining about? It's not like she's heavy. She's just taller than you."
Nicole groaned. "In that case, why don't you carry her the rest of the way?"
"Why should I? She's your friend," Dream shrugged with a smirk. "I'm only here because you said you were going to see the Devil of Velonica, and I couldn't not tag along for that."
Nicole's jaw clenched, her tone sharp. "One, this is my captain's daughter, not my friend. Two, you don't even know the Devil of Velonica. Why do you think he'll listen to your request?"
Dream winked. "Same reason you think he'll accept yours. Faith in my natural charm."
Nicole rolled her vermilion eyes, sarcasm dripping. "You think you can charm a Demon Lord?"
"If not, I'll just shapeshift into different people and keep asking him until he thinks an entire country is begging for his help." Dream grinned. "He can't turn down that kind of worship."
She continued, "Besides, it's hard to actually believe some of the rumors about him. They say he was behind the Great Earthquake. I have to see this strength in person."
Nicole sighed again, tired and tense. "I'm not even sure he's going to help us. Oni aren't known for being… friendly. Or charitable."
Then, from between them, a weak voice broke through the haze of pain.
"He must… my father… needs him…"
Ameera's words barely rose above a whisper. Her ears twitched once, then dropped again. She was still fading, even in their arms.
Dream gave a sly grin. "You heard the talking unconscious fox—he's needed." She chuckled, the sound almost musical.
Nicole didn't smile.
She didn't know if this was redemption or recklessness—but either way, she'd owe Ameera's father and Roman an answer.
Then Dream's expression shifted—her wide eyes suddenly narrowing, her nose twitching like a hound catching wind of something unnatural.
"Wait… do you feel that?" she asked.
Nicole froze mid-step. "…The hell is that? If that's the Devil, I really hope this ain't a bad time."
Dream took a sharp inhale, her tone laced with excitement and slight reverence. "It feels so dark. And endless. Hot damn… You didn't tell me he was this strong."
She looked to the distant skyline, where the twilight was thick and the clouds above Talasi were bending unnaturally. A tremor—almost invisible—rippled through the earth beneath them.
"He's gotta enter the tournament now," Dream whispered, awestruck. "No one could beat him… We could actually win Denise's freedom."
Without waiting for another cue, Dream Flower bent and scooped Ameera's battered body like she weighed nothing, tossing the unconscious girl over her shoulder with the casual strength of someone used to carrying burdens far heavier than they looked.
She started jogging, each step crunching gravel and snapping twigs as she picked up speed toward the signature on the horizon. It was like the pull of gravity—it called to her.
She looked back with fire dancing in her bright yellow eyes. "You coming, snowflake?"
Nicole swallowed her dread. With a gentle self-slap on the cheeks, she was ready for whatever the future held.
Her eyes flicked once toward the trail of power ahead, then down to the dust cloud Dream was kicking up.
"…Shit."
And then she ran.
Both women, one excited and the other uncertain, made their way toward the chaos swallowing Talasi whole, dragging a broken Ameera behind them. They hoped that whatever waited at the end of the road would save them… and not finish the job.
The skies were slipping into the last breaths of twilight, painted in long streaks of purple and deep blues, like bruises on the heavens. That late-evening hush just before nightfall wrapped around Talasi like a silent witness to the chaos unfolding at its heart.
Alex and Marzia were locked in a duel that'd pushed past elegant combat and slammed headfirst into desperation.
Marzia had been controlling most of the fight. She was beyond a problem—she was a full-blown tantrum. Her Vessel Skill, [Ruby Veil: Kitsune], worked on a passive trick of the senses. That V-Skill alone could be a nightmare in close quarters, but the damn cherry on top was her medallion's ability. Whatever mix of heavenly juice that necklace gave her, it made her illusions harder to track than a dream inside a lie.
And unfortunately for my boy, Alex, holding back was becoming his greatest weakness. The town around them—our home—was why he hadn't gone full-on warlord from the jump. He was trying to preserve what remained. That restraint gave Marzia every opening she needed.
The frustration was written all over his face, and I know Marzia fed off it.
She was grinning widely, her periwinkle glare sharpened by bloodlust.
"Hahahaha! Stupid monster," she shouted. "You never stood a chance against the power of the Heavens. Only those truly blessed by the Goddess Laniakea can even wield it. Consider your last moments on this world to be a gift from above."
Alex barked back through gritted teeth, "Goddamnit, shut the fuck up!"
Then, boom.
With a thunderous roar, Hellfire exploded out from Alex's body. Black and white flames tore through the ground around him in an eruptive shockwave, the heat so cold it cracked the stone beneath his feet. The pressure folded the air in on itself, sounding like thunder screaming through a hollow cave.
Marzia didn't block it—she didn't get the chance.
She was blasted off her feet, hurled through the air like a paper doll, and slammed onto a nearby rooftop, crashing hard into the tiles.
That was when Alex triggered [Lucifer's Wrath]—a form I hoped he'd never have to use again.
From what I could tell through the feedback of our Crest Link, Alex's mind wasn't completely gone, but he wasn't fully there either. The Hellfire had taken hold. His eyes smoked with thick azure mana, his entire face swallowed by shadow and flame. Black fire rolled off him in thick ribbons, like a pyre had learned to walk.
The pressure he was putting out began to bend Talasi's protective barrier. One I made when I was just a kid trying to repair my mistake. That shit was not strong enough to hold back Alex in Demon Mode.
His voice was no longer his own. It rumbled, distorted, a gravelly echo soaked in fury.
"I'm sick of your stupid voice."
From the rooftop, Marzia pushed herself up, sneering through her pain.
"Good!" she spat. "I've been sick of your existence."
Then she clutched her medallion tightly.
"Superior Angel Mana Gem: Whisperfang Mirage!"
A surge of Water Mana exploded outward in concentric ripples, laced with celestial particles of Angel Mana that shimmered like starlight underwater. In an instant, dozens of mirage clones of Marzia bloomed across the battlefield, standing on rooftops, crouched in alleyways, walking calmly down the street like divine assassins.
Each one was a perfect match.
Same clothes. Same stance. Same smirk.
Alex didn't hesitate.
A flash of movement—his leg spun into a roundhouse kick that cracked the nearest Marzia right in the jaw—only for the image to burst into vapor with a faint shhhhk of boiling mist.
That's when the real Marzia slashed him across the back from behind.
He growled, twisted—only to catch another mirage with his elbow. Again, it vanished. And again, another strike raked his side. Over and over. The illusions created a chaotic waltz of smoke and stings. It was pissing him off.
Then he stopped.
Still as a tombstone. His eyes flicked from one Marzia to another. Then… he smiled.
He threw his remaining sword aside, letting it clatter against the cobblestones.
And then…
He started dancing.
Or at least, that's what it looked like to Marzia.
Alex began stepping side-to-side, his weight shifting smoothly, rhythmically. At first, Marzia thought he'd snapped. But that's because Gaia lacked knowledge of many martial arts from Earth.
Like Capoeira.
See, the Church of Holy Madness may have trained its disciples to face artists, soldiers, mages, even assassins… but not this. Especially not a magick-boosted version.
Thanks to my mnemonic crystals, Alex had fallen in love with the dance-fight style ages ago, but he never trained in it. Instead, I took it into my own hands. I'd secretly installed the subconscious memory of the martial art into his Soul Core during downtime, using the [Crest Link] sync. Guess it decided now was the perfect time to kick in when he couldn't overthink it.
Alex's body moved before his mind could protest—legs sweeping into a motion he'd never learned, yet felt as natural as breathing. For a split second, he wondered if I'd slipped another "upgrade" into his Soul Core.
Marzia cackled from above.
"Hahaha! Did I break you, stupid monster? Dance yourself into the flames, your fate's already sealed!"
But Alex kept moving.
His leg swung behind him, slow at first, then accelerating—until his whole body spun into a one-handed cartwheel. With every rotation, Hellfire flared out like blades of wind. The flames twisted into a typhoon of black and white, ripping through the illusions like tissue paper.
One by one, the clones disintegrated in bursts of boiling mist.
Then—
He caught her.
The real Marzia was snatched mid-spin by one of his kicks, dragged into the raging tornado of Hellfire. She screamed—shrieks filled with pure agony.
The black flames cut through her mana defenses, slashing across her armor, searing her skin. The wind swallowed her cries, and the illusions were gone now—just her and the pain.
Then came the finale.
Alex launched himself upward from the center of the typhoon and came crashing down with a spinning kick, slamming his foot into her ribs with a crunch that echoed down the block. It sent her flying.
She smashed through one wall.
Then a roof.
Then another wall.
She finally rolled to a stop on the cobblestones near the edge of town, blood painting the stones beneath her.
Her body twitched, struggling for breath. Blood dripped from her mouth in a thin red stream. Her swords were gone—scattered—and the glow around her body had dimmed almost completely.
She was running out of mana.
And worse?
She felt him coming.
The Scarlet Wolf.
Panic gripped her chest harder than the pain.
"Why is this monster so strong?" she thought. "The reports didn't mention opposition like this… Did I misjudge his battle power? I've got to get back to the captain. I need the pill… I need it if I'm going to kill this creature."
Clutching her broken side, she forced herself up, staggering and spitting blood. She murmured a Yang Mana Art, golden light pooling under her hand, just enough to mend the bones poking at her lungs.
Then she ran.
As fast as her battered legs would carry her.
The final veil of twilight dimmed above her, and the three moons watched silently from on high, like judges witnessing a twist of fate. The predator had become the prey, and the Saint Disciple's arrogance was unraveling with every blood-stained step.
The air outside the gate was heavy with that kind of tension that wraps around your lungs and dares you to breathe too deeply. Twilight had dimmed into something more royal—deep violets swirling with bluish shadows—and with every second, the sky flirted with full-on night. That was when I stood face-to-face with the Hero of Mankind.
Jojo King.
White trench coat catching the last remnants of sunlight, gold accents tracing over his shoulders like ceremonial armor. It had Church of Holy Madness written all over it, though they tried to dress it up as "divine fashion." A circlet crown hugged his head, its five white-hued Magic Gems glowing like LED lights waiting to detonate. On his fingers, eight rings glinted with different cuts of embedded Magic Gems, hinting at just how wide his deck of tricks was. But it wasn't the gear that caught my attention—it was his eyes.
Jojo didn't look like a man following orders.
He looked like a man wondering if he'd been lied to his whole life.
The fact that I was my mother's son—that former Demon Lord whose name still made humans flinch—should've been reason enough to come at me swinging. But Jojo had seen her. Heard her voice. Felt her welcoming aura, even on the battlefield. And that cracked something in him. Made him hesitate. Made him curious. He didn't know if the devils he was sent to kill were really the villains in this story… or if the Saints he called comrades were just demons with prettier halos.
Jojo rested his scythe on his shoulder, tilting his head with a faint smirk.
"You won't mind me skipping some of the warm-ups, will you?" He asked, voice casual like we were playing cards and not getting ready to throw down. "Your other friend already gave me my cardio workout for the day."
I smirked. "We might have to make you do some push-ups. You know, to help get that bitch up outta you."
Jojo actually laughed. "Hahaha. I've never heard that one before. Well then, here's hoping I don't disappoint."
"Give it your best, my nigga."
He twirled Dusk—a scythe longer than he was tall—with the flair of someone used to being watched. The curved blade spun like a silver disc around his body until the haft slammed into the ground. Mana rippled out in a circular wave, tearing across the earth with enough force to kick up grass, rocks, and dust.
"Let the light swallow you whole—Art of Jonah: Divine Whale!" he shouted.
Then came the light.
A flame of mana—green and white, holy but wild—swirled around Jojo like someone had turned him into a beacon. The pressure of it tugged at my instincts like a memory. And I wasn't the only one who noticed.
Luda's voice cracked through the background like thunder. "He's using Divinity Mana? So humans can use such an affinity?"
"Like that Trapper nigga," Steez muttered.
Kimmi, sharp-eyed and hushed: "I've never seen that kind of mana before."
Jojo raised his scythe and brought it down with violent grace. From the arcing slash, a massive wave of holy energy roared forward, shaping itself into a rushing orca made entirely of Divinity Mana. Its translucent body reflected the light of the three moons and shimmered as if carved from sacred water and sun-kissed flame. The air itself warped around it as it lunged toward me with supernatural speed, like a torpedo shot from heaven's gates.
It was a breathtaking move.
Too bad it was also too damn slow.
I stepped forward, calm. Steady. And drove my fist up into the damn thing's face.
BOOM.
The uppercut wasn't simply force—it was the [Love/Hate] Ultra Skill made manifest, allowing me to treat raw mana like it had bones to break. The orca buckled. Then it launched skyward like a comet given bad directions. The divine creature shattered apart in a splash of white-green sparks before vanishing into the sky, swallowed by the deepening dark.
I looked over at Jojo.
Jojo blinked, sweat dripping from his brow, eyes wide—not in fear, but in disbelief.
My [Kaleidoscope Eyes] glowed in their rotating tri-colors—one for each soul, each truth, each weight I carried. He was gasping, chest heaving. That move he just used? That was his big one. And now, it was gone.
Nothing.
"I'm not sure if that's the right way to Free Willy, but I guess it works." I joked with a devilish grin.
Jojo's smirk twitched. Just slightly. But his eyes? They told a different story. A silent one. A trapped one. He couldn't use that Combat Art again right away. Cooldown was probably brutal, and the stamina it ate up was no joke. I knew that look—he was calculating his odds now. And they weren't looking great.
On the sidelines, the Saint Disciples looked like they'd seen a god get slapped. Januelle's jaw tensed so hard you could probably snap a diamond between her molars. She practically vibrated with frustration because, without Novara's [Scan] for data, they were flying blind. They didn't know what I was. They didn't understand what I could do.
And it killed her.
Krystal, on the other hand… her heart started to race. I felt it through the spiritual tension in the air. That kind of fear doesn't lie. Her eyes flicked toward Jojo and then back to me, her fingers twitching toward her bow even though she hadn't drawn it yet.
She knew.
Knew the vibe in the air. Knew it like she had five years ago—when Taurus descended upon their little world.
"This feels like the Ogre Village again… but worse."
She was starting to understand something no one in their little holy army wanted to admit:
I wasn't just another demon.
I wasn't just another monster.
I was an unknown.
And unknowns?
Unknowns get people killed.
Krystal clenched her fists, her mind already racing for a solution. Because if Jojo lost this fight again…
She knew she wouldn't survive watching it.
The world around us stilled for a breath. The tension that had wrapped the battlefield like a tight noose suddenly twisted tighter, just before snapping altogether.
Then—
BOOM-SPLAAASH!!
A deafening crash rang out as the main gate behind me exploded in a violent eruption of high-pressure Water Mana. The walls, once fortified, shattered like soaked paper under the force of the blast. Chunks of sacred stone and soaked steel flew in every direction, raining down with a weight that matched the panic they brought with them. A jetstream of aqua-blue mist flooded outward, coating the earth in a chilling spray as the mist swirled in spirals like a hurricane's breath.
And through the rupture, she stumbled.
Marzia Judas.
She was limping, her short, mauve hair stuck to her cheeks with sweat and blood. Her ceremonial breastplate was torn at the waist, scorched on the back, and stained with what looked like steam-burns across her ribs. The glow of soft green Yang Mana danced around her fingertips as she pressed one hand against her injured side, desperately trying to mend broken bone and torn flesh.
But when her soft blue eyes locked with mine—those wide, frantic eyes, full of dread and fading courage—her steps froze. Her breath hitched.
She recognized me.
My horns left no room for error.
Her voice broke from her throat like a sob caught in a prayer. She turned to Januelle.
"Captain Peter! I need permission to use the emergency item! Without it—"
But she'd never finish her sentence.
A shadow moved behind her like a flicker of wrath.
Before she could even inhale again, Alex appeared. The Tengu Warlord's figure was ablaze with cold black Hellfire, his silhouette licking upward with violent trails of nightmarish flame. His azure blue eyes locked onto her with a soldier's focus and a predator's promise.
With one clean motion—a spin faster than the eye could follow—he unleashed a kick so brutal, so sudden, it looked like the air itself bent around his leg.
CRACKKSHH!
Marzia's head snapped from her shoulders with horrifying precision. Her body stood for a half second longer before collapsing with a lifeless thud. Her severed head spun mid-air before landing—almost poetically—just a few feet in front of Decima.
"Marzia!" Decima's scream cracked through the silence like a broken bell.
"No!" Novara shouted, rushing forward a step before freezing in disbelief.
"Marzia!!" Januelle's voice boomed like a final judgment, but her body didn't move—her knees shook, her fists clenched, but she couldn't bring herself to look away.
The battlefield was gripped by a hush so heavy it felt like the wind itself had died.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Even the mana in the air went still, as if mourning.
The only sound left was the crackle of Hellfire burning around Alex's form. Black flames licked the air like cursed tongues, casting eerie shadows on the lifeless body at his feet.
Krystal's head bowed slowly, her hands clasping in front of her heart. She murmured a farewell prayer beneath her breath. Her lips trembled, not with fear, but with sorrow.
Novara, always composed, now stared with wide, hollow eyes. Her gaze slowly drifted from the flames to Marzia's body. She looked lost in a different world, shaken not by the violence but by the ease of it.
And then came the sound I was waiting to hear.
The wailing.
Decima fell to her knees, her voice breaking open like a dam as sobs tore their way from her soul. Her fingers reached out toward the severed head of her friend, but she didn't touch it. She just stared at it. Screamed at it. Cried for it. Her armor clinked as she collapsed forward, her tears soaking the earth below her.
She was hit with the memory of her promise to celebrate with Marzia after the mission. She remembered how they both graduated from the Knight Academy together.
"Marzia… no… No, please… Please wake up…"
Her cries shattered what little quiet remained, with no one to wake her from the nightmare she was now a part of.
[End of Chapter]
[1] April on Earth.