Ronnie's police transport screeched to a halt as the night sky lit up in an unnatural glow. Entire blocks were aflame, the heat warping the air for kilometers around.
He stepped out, the sting of the heat hitting instantly.
From the center of the destruction, something moved—a towering, jagged figure, its crusted black shell cracking with blinding white fire.
Ronnie's breath tightened.
"That… is nothing I've ever seen."
The creature turned toward him, slow and deliberate. In the moment their eyes would have met—if it had eyes—the air snapped.
Ronnie's body blurred with lightning as he closed the distance, slamming his electrified fist into its chest. The ground shattered beneath them from the force.
For a heartbeat, the impact seemed to matter—then the crust shifted, absorbing the blow. A white-hot blast sent Ronnie flying back through the side of a burning car.
Snarling, he tore his jacket off, arcs of blue lightning whipping around him like chained serpents. His voice was a low growl:
Ronnie: "Alright… Let's see what you've got."
He launched into a storm of blows, lightning erupting with each strike, using speed to keep the monster off-balance. Buildings flickered from the strobes of their clash—fire against neon-blue lightning.
Every time he landed a solid hit, the thing roared, releasing shockwaves of heat that bent steel and cracked stone.
Ronnie went for a killing blow—a concentrated bolt straight into the creature's chest—but the result made his stomach drop.
The crust drank in the energy, glowing brighter before discharging it back as a wave of molten fire that engulfed him completely.
He barely rolled away, coughing from the searing air, heart pounding with the realization:
"I'm not stronger than this thing."
The monster advanced, each step cracking the street. Ronnie darted in again, keeping the fight away from trapped civilians, lightning surging in desperate arcs.
But it wasn't enough.
For every strike he landed, the monster unleashed three—each hotter, heavier, and faster than before.
And as Ronnie hit the pavement, gasping, he couldn't shake the thought that chilled him even through the heat:
"If this thing keeps moving… Neoterra Prime won't survive the night."
Elara sat in the dark, knees to her chest, the television muted but flashing images of chaos outside. She didn't need the sound—she could feel it in her bones.
When the camera panned past the burning streets, her breath caught. The way it moved, the way the fire clung to it…
She whispered, barely audible:
Elara: "Elion…"
Without hesitation, she bolted from the room, bare feet hitting the cold tile, then the stairwell, then the street.
Ronnie's arms trembled, lightning sparking weakly as the liquid red- and black-crusted monster bore down on him. His body ached from burns and blows, his lungs scraped raw by the heat.
He forced himself forward again—if he stopped now, the thing would burn through the next city block. But each punch felt slower and weaker as the searing heat kept pressing him back.
The creature raised a molten arm for a killing strike—
Elara (screaming): "BROTHER!"
The sound cut through the roar of the fire like a blade.
Ronnie blinked, thrown off by the word.
The monster froze mid-strike, its jagged head twitching toward the sound.
Elara stood only meters away, eyes locked on the blazing figure, not on Ronnie.
Ronnie (screaming): "ELARA! GO AWAY, PLEASE. IT IS DANGEROUS!"
A guttural noise came from the creature's throat—not a roar, but something almost human. The liquid crust began to flake away in pieces, revealing scorched skin beneath.
Ronnie stared in disbelief as the molten shell peeled back until the face beneath was finally visible.
Elion.
Breathing ragged, eyes wide, heat still shimmering around him—but undeniably Elion.
His gaze drifted past Ronnie, over the burning ruins, the mangled streets, and the bodies half-buried in debris. The light in his eyes broke.
Elion (hoarse, to himself): "What… have I done…?"
His knees buckled, hands trembling.
Ronnie (silent): "Elion…what happened…"
Without another word, Elion turned—a flash of fire and heat kicking up dust—and ran. Not toward home, not toward safety, but away from Neoterra Prime entirely.
Ronnie took one step forward, hand half-raised.
Ronnie: "Elion—"
But the boy was gone, swallowed into the smoke and night.
Elara stood frozen, the heat of his departure still clinging to her skin, her voice barely a whisper:
Elara: "Brother…"
From that day on, Ronnie and Elara never saw Elion again.
Nobody knew that the monster was Elion.
Elara never smiled again; she gave herself fault for all this.
But it was Ronnie who had been hit the most by it.
Every day afterwards he would remember the promise he made Elion all those years ago, that he would keep him safe, and every time he would remind himself how he had failed the boy.
The Circle was defeated afterwards, all of its members killed by fire.
Ronnie knew that it was Elion. Traces then led him out of the country, going on an adventure before meeting a guy with explosive abilities years later and joining his group—The Soul Reapers.
Elion gave himself fault for his mother's death, for all the people that died that day, and for the emotional pain he had brought towards his dad and sister.
He couldn't return back to normality, not after what he had done.
His abilities and skills, with which he was able to nearly always succeed in his missions, earned him the rank of 4 in the group.
He didn't care anymore what he was doing or what would happen to him; he hated himself, but somewhere inside his heart, he was still the kid from the slums, wishing for a normal life.
The memory faded, and Ronnie's voice went quiet.
For a moment, the only sound in the destroyed penthouse was the faint hum of the city outside.
Henry leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his expression unreadable. Jack exhaled slowly, glancing at Lenny and Emilia, who were both still processing what they'd just heard. Ichiro kept his gaze on the floor, his usual bluntness softened by the weight of the story.
Ronnie's eyes moved from one face to the next, as if expecting the worst.
Ronnie: "…I lied to protect him. To protect all of you. And for that… you have every right to hate me."
Henry shook his head.
Henry: "I don't hate you, Ronnie. But this—" he gestured to the floor between them "—this doesn't work if you keep things from us. No more lies. Ever."
Jack stepped forward, voice low but firm.
Jack: "We've all got scars, Ronnie. You've just shown us yours. That doesn't change the fact you've had our backs when it counted."
Lenny gave a faint, reassuring grin.
Lenny: "Guess we're all still in this together, then."
Emilia crossed her arms but gave a small nod.
Emilia: "Just… no more secrets."
Ronnie's shoulders loosened for the first time since he began the story.
Ronnie: "…You have my word."
In the corner, Elara had stayed silent through the entire exchange, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Hearing the group's decision, her lips trembled.
A smile broke across her face, and tears rolled freely down her cheeks. She didn't speak—she didn't need to. The warmth in her expression said everything: relief, gratitude, and something deeper.
Henry caught her gaze and gave a small nod, one she returned through her tears.
For the first time in a long while, the air in the room felt… lighter.