Above the endless spires of Null-Flux Bastion, where the highest ring structures circled the core dome like halos, a lone figure sat on the ledge of one. The wind whistled sharply at that altitude, pulling at his clothes and hair, but he didn't flinch. He sat calmly, legs dangling over the edge, his gaze locked on the far horizon where the clouds met the curve of the dome.
In his hands was a sword—thick and jagged, blood red from edge to hilt. It didn't shine in the light. It absorbed it. The weapon looked almost alive, its surface layered like serrated wires twisted into a massive blade. But the boy wielding it seemed... gentle.
He wore a soft brown sweater, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his wrists, and charcoal-black pants that fluttered gently with the wind. His red hair was tousled, swept backward by the breeze, revealing light crimson eyes that shimmered with a strange, serene depth—like warmth held behind battle scars.
His name was Asher.
Asher wiped the sword with a gray cloth, humming faintly to himself, lost in thought as if the world far below didn't concern him. That peace, however, didn't last.
A voice broke the wind behind him.
"So… they called you too, Asher?"
Asher didn't startle. He looked back over his shoulder, the breeze tugging at his hair. He smiled.
"So they called you too?"
The figure behind stepped forward from shadow to sunlight, revealing himself. Another young man—perhaps the same age as Asher—early twenties, but where Asher radiated kindness, this one carried gravity.
He had jet-black hair, short and neatly styled, and sharp grey eyes that scanned the surroundings with military precision. Dressed in a tailored grey coat over a high-collared black inner layer and matching slacks, he looked more like a field strategist than a frontline soldier. His posture, hands in the pocket of his pants.
He walked closer and glanced at the sword.
"What are you even cleaning? That thing's not even dirty."
Asher stood, still holding the cloth. He smiled again, holding the sword at an angle.
"You can't even see properly. Look—dirt. Tiny specks right there."
He pointed at imaginary blemishes. The other man gave him a flat look and shoved him lightly.
"Calm down. You're impossible sometimes."
Asher chuckled but then went still. The moment his fingers loosened, the sword dropped blade-first into the metallic surface—and dissolved. With a soft hiss, it liquefied into a stream of thick blood, which slithered along his skin before being absorbed into his arm.
He flexed his hand once and then turned his gaze back to the city below.
"Do you think what Rhyes is trying... will work?" he asked.
The other man crossed his arms, stepping beside him. "I don't know. But if there's a shot… it's worth it."
Both of them stared toward the center of the Bastion—the gleaming main dome.
Moments passed.
Then, the black-haired soldier turned around abruptly, scanning the upper platforms and aerial rails.
"Where the hell are those shitheads?"
Asher tilted his head and grinned. "I'm not supposed to assume you're talking about your team… right?"
The other man didn't reply.
"Right?" Asher echoed, more insistently, still smiling.
But silence was the only answer he received.
---
The corridors stretched forward in silence, broken only by the rhythmic echo of boots against alloyed steel. Rhyes led the way, his long black coat trailing behind him like a shadow that refused to leave the floor. The Catalysts followed in formation, their steps quieter, more cautious, each of them tense with unspoken anticipation.
They stopped in front of a massive door—towering, ancient in design yet clearly pulsing with some kind of modern energy. It was adorned with smooth interlocking panels and faintly glowing veins of red and silver. The surface rippled with subtle energy, reflecting distorted versions of the people who stood before it.
Miwa tilted her head, fascinated. "Whoa…" she murmured, stepping forward and reaching out with curiosity.
Before her fingers could make contact, Rhyes swiftly grabbed her wrist. His voice dropped into a whisper. "Don't."
She blinked at him, startled. Rhyes turned to face them all, his expression calm but edged with warning.
"Behind this door sit the other seven Supreme Commanders. Together, we eight manage everything that happens in Null-Flux Bastion—every division, decision, and action. Once we're inside, I can't promise what will happen next. But I will stand by the promise I made: your lives are not in danger as long as you're not a threat."
Ai opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Jahanox stepped forward.
"Don't," he said to her, firm. She frowned, but he continued. "You're not the leader here, Ai. That's Zazm. Stop trying to bear the entire world. Leave it to him—or, if it comes down to it, I'll take care of it."
His voice wasn't angry—just focused. A quiet command layered beneath concern.
Jahanox looked at the others next. "Don't provoke anyone. We're the ones in a deadlock here. Remember what he said." He nodded at Rhyes. "We're not in control. Act like it."
Zazm stepped forward calmly, his tone cold and composed. "It's out of our hands for now. All we can do is see this through."
Rhyes gave a single approving nod and then placed his hand on the surface of the massive door.
Light crawled up his arm and spread across the surface. One by one, the door's panels began to disintegrate—not opening outward or inward, but vanishing into particles that shimmered like dissolving snow. Soon, nothing remained but a vast, winding staircase carved into the structure ahead.
Without a word, Rhyes began climbing. The Catalysts followed.
Each step echoed with a sense of gravity, of unseen eyes watching. When they reached the top, they entered an expansive hall.
Weapons floated above golden pedestals, encased in stasis fields. Elegant decorations lined the walls—banners of crimson and obsidian, inscribed with unfamiliar sigils. The very air felt thicker here, humming with energy and history.
But before anyone could fully process what they were seeing—a red droplet drifted through the air.
It hovered in front of them, suspended.
Then it exploded outward.
Tendrils of blood lashed across the room, expanding with terrifying speed. Before they could even react, they were all restrained.
Arms pinned. Legs bent. Mouths sealed.
Only Rhyes remained untouched.
Kiyomasa, the only one fast enough to speak, shouted, "BLOOD MANIPULATION?!" His voice was cut off as the restraints closed over his mouth.
Silence fell.
The Catalysts struggled, but it was useless. The red tendrils had moved faster than thought. Whoever had done this—had done it with precision, control, and overwhelming power.
The moment the blood restraints seized them, a mixture of panic and resistance spread across the Catalysts.
Kiyomasa struggled first, thrashing with frantic strength before the bind on his mouth silenced his cries. Miwa followed, squirming in protest, her wide eyes darting to the others. Ai's pupils narrowed, trying to analyze a way out, her expression sharp. Minos clenched his teeth, arms pushing against the red bonds as if sheer force would break them. Jennie whimpered faintly, visibly shaken, frozen in place. Only Zazm and Jahanox remained still — unfazed, eyes narrowed. They understood. Resistance here was pointless.
A voice echoed across the vast chamber:
"Supreme Commander Rhyes... that's some real nice toys you found."
The Catalysts looked up. Above them floated nine grand platforms — regal command chambers suspended mid-air like celestial thrones. Seven were occupied.
The speaker lounged lazily on one of them — a tall man with long, tied-back green hair and sharp, pointed ears. His eyes glowed emerald, mirroring the vibrant embroidery of his forest-green suit. But it wasn't the clothes that caught their attention — it was the aura he gave off. His presence felt wrong in the most natural way, as if the laws of reality bent around him in jest.
"Teroth," Rhyes said, eye twitching slightly, "nice to see you too. As always... you have no manners."
Teroth laughed, genuinely amused. "If not you, who else would I have fun with, Rhyes?"
Another voice interrupted him sharply, calm but cutting:
"Teroth, enough."
A woman stood tall in her own chamber, regal and composed. Her green hair fell freely over her shoulders, darker than Teroth's, her eyes deeper, older. She wore a dark ivory cloak — high-collared and pristine — buttoned from her left collar down to her right thigh in an elegant curve. A matching white cape draped down like snow, giving her an appearance both serene and commanding.
"Sorry Sorry miss loliel." Toreth spoke putting his hands on the back of his head.
"It's Iorriel," she corrected.
Rhyes gave a nod of respect. "Good to see you, Miss Lorriel."
"Same here, Rhyes," Iorriel replied. "And I apologize for my dumb brother, but before anything else… I'd like to ask you about the people behind you."
Rhyes closed his eyes briefly and responded, "That is the purpose of this meeting."
But before he could continue, another voice tore through the room like an accusation:
"Explain? What's there to explain, Supreme Commander Rhyes? You've brought seven Zero-Class threats with you! Why haven't you eliminated those damn remnants yet?!"
The voice came from an older man, face twisted with fury. His white beard shook as he stood, the deep lines of his face rippling like cracked marble. His hair was thin and swept back, revealing sharp, angry eyes.
Before Rhyes could reply, another man stepped forward from a neighboring chamber. He wore the same military uniform as the older man — black with green designs instead of crimson. The chest of his coat bore the insignia of a vault with intricate locks glowing faintly.
He was young — maybe late twenties — but his presence was reptilian. His eyes gleamed with hues of green, yellow, and orange, slit like a predator's. Brown hair framed his scaled under-eyes.
"Sir Paul is right," he said coldly. "You should execute them right here and now."
Rhyes frowned. "Sir Gilgamish, let's not get hasty here."
Before tempers could rise further, a gentle voice tried to cut the tension.
"Let's all calm down."
A soft smile spread across a woman's pale face. She wore the same elegant uniform as Iorriel but with a long skirt, underneath which white leggings traced down to her boots. Her skin was nearly translucent, her eyes colorless yet glimmering like crystal. Her white hair fluttered gently as she leaned forward.
"That's our Aina," another voice chuckled, booming across the chamber.
Aina turned toward the massive man who'd spoken. He towered, easily over ten feet tall, his sheer bulk swallowing his brown baggy clothing. His voice was thunder, but his tone was warm.
"Sir Renzo," Aina said with a polite nod, then addressed the room. "We can't make hasty decisions. They might be allies — just as Sir Rhyes says."
Renzo nodded with a firm grunt. " You're correct and I believe Sir Rhyes is right aswell. We ought to atleast hear them."
"I agree. I trust Rhyes's judgment even over my own."
All eyes turned as another chamber turned, revealing a stern figure — older than Rhyes, dressed in the same command uniform. She was missing an eye her eye socket was hollow and it had a circular scar on it as if her eye was gauged out.
Paul scoffed. "Of course, Miss Myrtle, you'd support Rhyes. You're from the same faction."
But before the conversation could escalate again… silence washed over the room.
From a hidden chamber above — higher than all the rest — another platform glided into view, regal and untouched.
A figure stood upon it.
Every Supreme Commander rose to their feet and lowered their heads in immediate reverence.
The air turned still. Sacred.
And none of the Catalysts, still restrained, could even move.
---
Jahanox's vision sharpened as his body remained frozen in the grip of the blood restraint, limbs twisted down into a kneeling position, mouth sealed, eyes narrowed. He didn't panic. Not yet.
'This is bad, he thought, internally grim. We can't use our powers, and now we can't even use our bodies. We're completely locked down.'
His gaze flicked sideways.
Everyone else was struggling—Miwa thrashing in disbelief, Minos twitching with frustration, Ai's eyes scanning rapidly for some unseen escape, Kiyomasa looking like he'd break down any second, Jennie trembling in silent fear. Only two weren't reacting that way—himself, and Zazm.
'Everyone's panicking… makes sense. His eyes narrowed. But why isn't Zazm panicking? He doesn't have a shred of fear.'
He studied his friend again.
Zazm's face remained unreadable. Blank, cold, unmoved.
'He's changed… but no. No, that's not it. He hasn't become emotionless. Otherwise, he wouldn't have taken time to explain things to Jennie and Kiyomasa back in Rhyes's office.'
A chill ran down Jahanox's spine.
'It's something else. Something deeper.'
He kept watching Zazm, his brows furrowed, thoughts swirling.
'Why does it feel like he already knows how this ends? Like none of this is surprising him. Did he really…?'
Before the question could finish forming, Teroth's voice echoed across the room.
Jahanox's head snapped up. His eyes widened.
'Wait a minute… those ears. Pointy?'
His brain clicked into place.
'That guy's an elf. Elves exist here? In this world?'
Then came Lorriel's voice—her gentle scolding of Teroth.
Jahanox's eyes moved to her. The resemblance was clear.
'She's his sister. That explains the matching hair and eyes. But that coat… he examined her outfit carefully. Looks like a doctor's. No—it's different. Military, but elegant. She doesn't look as dangerous.'
Then came the thunderous voice of the old man—Paul.
Jahanox's jaw clenched.
'Let me out of this. Just once. That old bastard would be the first one I take out.'
He forced himself to breathe, slow and steady.
'Corrupt trash like him always float to the top. Destroying order from inside the hierarchy. Probably thinks he's a hero.'
His gaze shifted to Gilgamish.
'And that other one—what the hell is that face? Those scales under his eyes? His pupils are slit too. Is he some lizard-born? Dragonkin? Mutant? Whatever he is, I already hate him.'
He stared harder at the man's uniform.
'Same design as Paul's… yeah. Definitely partners. That smug look makes me sick.'
Then his eyes wandered to Renzo.
He blinked.
'…What the actual hell.'
His mental voice stuttered.
'Is he really that massive, or am I hallucinating? He's like… ten feet tall. What even is he? A giant? A titan? Whatever, dude looks like the type to punch first and then maybe talk.'
But Jahanox's opinion wasn't quite same about Renzo after he spoke.
Finally, Jahanox's gaze landed on Aina.
He blinked again. Slower this time.
'Okay. She's… something else entirely.'
Her presence was calm. A soft smile. Her voice tried to de-escalate, to guide. Her aura wasn't power—it was peace.
'An angel. She's literally an angel in a room full of maniacs. The only one here who doesn't make me want to scream.'
But then came Myrtle.
He didn't miss the look in her eye—the sharp calculation, the measured silence, the scar across her missing eye.
She's probably the most dangerous of them all, he thought grimly. And she knows it.
He sat there in complete restraint, body aching but thoughts racing.
Seven of us. Eight of them. One misstep and we're done. This room… is a lion's den.
And we just walked into it wearing meat suits.
Jahanox looked around once again his mind constantly thinking of possibilities of what can be done in this situation.
Jahanox's gaze shifted sharply as a new figure emerged onto the largest floating chamber—the one towering above all others. Instantly, every Supreme Commander rose from their seats and bowed their heads in solemn respect.
Jahanox observed, thoughts racing. 'None of them are pretending… they're all genuinely showing respect. But who is this guy?'
The man walked slowly, his figure broad but plain—he bore no armor, no elegant robes, no striking aura like the others. In fact, he looked ordinary—massive in build, yes—but his face… it was half burned, the skin raw and puckered, a line of burn covering his half face and even half the neck.
Jahanox's eyes narrowed, analyzing. 'His face is scorched, and that arm… the way he lays it on the table, like it pains him just to move it. But no one says a word. And what are those shadows behind him?'
Two indistinct shapes loomed behind the man, hazy and unreadable, as if they existed in another layer of reality.
'Bodyguards?'
Jahanox thought. 'No... they don't feel like ordinary guards. Something's wrong with the air around them.'
The man finally sat down. His voice echoed calmly through the vast room.
"Perhaps we all know why we've gathered here today. Now please, take your seats."
The rest of the council lowered their heads once more and sat. Even the more prideful among them obeyed without hesitation.
The man turned to Rhyes, still standing at the forefront beside the Catalysts.
"Rhyes, why haven't you taken your seat?"
Rhyes bowed his head. "Because I brought these kids here, sir. And because I've guaranteed them their survival—even over my own. How can I sit when their lives rest on my word?"
His voice was solemn, layered with a weight no one dared interrupt. Jahanox felt it—a surge of silent tension running through the chamber.
The man nodded slowly. "That's a heavy vow you've made. Can you back it up?"
Rhyes looked up. "I can."
The man accepted the response with a nod. "Then begin. But… before you do—"
He raised a hand. "Move aside. I want to speak with them myself."
Rhyes stepped back respectfully. Now the Catalysts, still bound in blood restraints, came into clear view.
The man's gaze passed over them—not cruelly, not gently either. Just… decisively.
"I am Mark Rowasia," he began. "Aside from the nine Supreme Commanders who oversee this Bastion, I stand above them all. I hold no seat in their decision-making, but when a problem threatens the balance, I appear to resolve it. And right now…"
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"…I believe your existence is that problem."
No one moved. The room hung in absolute silence.
"But hear me," Mark continued. "I do not support the taking of innocent lives. If you children truly mean no harm, if your hearts are pure… then I will let you walk free. You will even be given the choice to live a peaceful life—if that is what you wish."
He raised a hand and gestured to Rhyes. "Now, Rhyes. Go on."
Jahanox swallowed dryly, stunned. 'This guy is… different. That speech—he just silenced the room and gave them hope all at once. Even Minos and Miwa look less tense. Damn… I owe him a thanks.'
Rhyes stepped forward and began to explain everything. "These children call themselves Catalysts. They claim to have come from another universe, and their goal is to locate an anomaly within ours that's causing multiversal distortion. They do not know how they got their powers… but I believe their intent is pure. And if we work with them, I believe this war can end."
Myrtle raised a brow and tapped her fingers against the arm of her seat. "How much of what they told you do you believe, Rhyes?"
"All of it, everything they've told is the truth" Rhyes said plainly. "And more than that—I believe their intentions are sincere."
Paul scoffed. "Let's say they aren't lying. Fine, we can take your word for that. But their intentions? That's a guess at best. What makes you so sure they won't betray us?"
Gilgamish added smoothly, "If they do turn on us, what guarantee can you give that we'll survive the fallout?"
Rhyes met their eyes without flinching. "None. I cannot guarantee the future. But I can guarantee the present."
Lorriel leaned forward. "I hate to agree with that crusty relic Paul, but I must. These are seven Zero Class threats we're talking about. Seven. If even one goes rogue, it would be a disaster."
Renzo chuckled, voice deep. "Yet from what I see, they carry a loyalty for each other most soldiers don't even dream of."
Lorriel nodded slightly. "True. Their bond… it's dangerous, in its own way. If that unity ever shifts, it wouldn't end well."
Aina fidgeted with her sleeves, speaking softly. "But there's still a chance… that they help us, right?"
Teroth lazily leaned back in his seat. "I'm not one for politics. But if I had to pick a side, I'd side with Rhyes. Just because Rhyes is my bud."
Suddenly, Mark tapped his fingers—firmly, rhythmically. The sound echoed in the chamber, halting all voices.
He leaned forward.
"You're all right," he said. "Every single one of you. Paul, you're right. They could be the greatest threat we've ever faced. Aina, you're also right—they could be our greatest allies. It's all true."
His gaze settled on Rhyes. "You stated in the report that their threat level is Zero Star. Is that true?"
Rhyes nodded. "That's the calculated potential. They've shown signs of Zero-level capabilities. But their current power levels… remain unconfirmed."
Myrtle's eyes narrowed. "Why leave that out of the initial report?"
"I had a reason," Rhyes said evenly. "And I intend to share it now."
Mark gestured for him to continue.
Rhyes opened his mouth.
But before he could speak, another voice cut through the silence.
"They're not Zero class."
All heads turned.
"They're Omega class."
A hush fell over the entire room.
Every eye widened. Every Supreme Commander stiffened.
And Jahanox's heart dropped.
"…Omega…? That's… "
The words hung in the air like a guillotine.
Even Teroth, who had looked the least interested this whole time, leaned forward—his joking demeanor vanishing in a blink. Aina, usually composed and gentle, visibly stiffened. Something primal stirred in the room.
Mark didn't waste a second. His voice sharpened like a blade. "Explain."
Rhyes took a breath. "We didn't measure their current power levels. When Commander Keith initially found them, he ran their data through a potential-measurement system."
He paused.
"The meter reached a million units, then… it just stopped. Gave up, if you will. We assumed a technical malfunction."
The moment the word 'technical malfunction' left Rhyes's lips, Teroth shot up with a scoff. "Don't insult me, Rhyes. I made that meter myself. There's no way it malfunctions."
Rhyes gave him a slow nod. "Exactly. Which means the only explanation left is that their potential surpasses even Zero-class threats."
Mark's brows furrowed deeper, tone lowering. "Then what is their current level?"
"We wouldn't know… unless we perform tests," Rhyes admitted.
Silence followed, heavy enough to make the air feel solid. Mark leaned back, one arm still aching, shadowed eyes clouding with thought. "What have you brought to us, Rhyes?" he muttered under his breath.
Renzo was the one to break the silence. "We've never even seen an Omega threat in person. Let alone seen one fight."
He trailed off.
Teroth finished the thought, somber and flat. "We lost a lot. And we only know of two."
Lorriel reclined in her chair, fingers brushing against her temple. "To think… we'd be looking at remnants with Omega-level potential. And seven of them, no less."
It felt like time itself had stopped.
Mark sat forward, his voice cutting through the silence. "Who's your leader?"
The blood-red restraints covering Jennie's mouth dissolved. She blinked, nervously glanced at Zazm.
She didn't need to speak.
The restraint on Zazm's mouth faded like mist, and he lifted his gaze. Calm. Unmoving. Unbothered.
Jahanox, even bound and tense, couldn't help but smirk internally. 'Zazm's got this.'
Zazm spoke, voice low but clear. "I may be the leader. But I believe there are things I can't explain as well as someone else can."
A ripple of confusion passed through the room.
Paul leaned forward, voice coarse. "And who gave you the right to decide that?"
Zazm's tone didn't shift. "Please let my friend Jahanox speak."
Paul spat back instantly. "We won't let tha—"
But Rhyes raised his hand, his expression no longer courteous.
"Let him speak," he said with force. "Let this man speak."
Paul turned to him, stunned. "You're being too soft on these remnants. Have you forgotten who you are, Rhyes?"
Rhyes opened his eyes fully. There was no warmth in them now.
"I remember who I am, Paul," he said coldly. "But if you insist... I can make you remember it too."
The room dropped into a tenser silence.
Gilgamesh sneered. "Now he's resorting to threats."
Rhyes didn't even blink. "No threat. Just a reminder: I stand here out of choice—not obligation. Rank does not diminish with where you sit."
Renzo raised both palms, trying to ease the fire. "Let's calm it down, everyone."
Myrtle, still as a blade in its sheath, turned to Paul with ice in her tone. "Remember your place, Paul."
Mark finally broke through the noise, voice resonating like a gong.
"This is not the time for squabbling. We have a bigger storm on our doorstep."
The blood restraint on Jahanox vanished.
Jahanox exhaled sharply, collecting himself. The pressure of all those eyes was immense, but he held firm.
Mark's voice slowed. "To all present… you are hereby ordered to remain silent. Only I, Supreme Commander Rhyes, and the remnant named Jahanox will speak from this point forward."
He turned to Jahanox. "I'll only ask once. Answer shortly. Can we trust you?"
The room froze.
Jahanox paused, letting the weight settle before saying: "Depends."
Gasps.
Ai nearly recoiled. 'Is this guy trying to get us all killed?'
But Jahanox didn't stop. "Since the day we started this journey, we've stood for what's right. That's why we left our homes… our families… our peace. To fix what's broken in the multiverse."
Far behind, Zephyra floated over Zazm's shoulders, draping herself lazily. Her head rested on his, arms around his neck.
"I think your guy's trying to get everyone buried," she muttered.
Zazm sighed inwardly. 'Get off.'
Jahanox looked around.
The pressure from every angle was suffocating—some stares full of admiration, some doubt, some outright rage.
Mark's voice came again. "So by that... do you mean we're in the wrong?"
Jahanox shook his head. "We don't know yet. We only arrived this morning. That's not enough time to understand anything."
Mark's gaze bore down on him. "What if we are the bad ones? What if our goals are corrupt? What would you do?"
"I can't even move a finger right now," Jahanox answered honestly. "What could I do?"
Mark didn't blink. "So what happened to all that righteousness? All that justice? Would you die quiet, then?"
"I never said I'd give them up," Jahanox replied. "But if the only choice left is to die for them—then that's an honor I'll take."
A hush fell.
Mark leaned forward, eyes cold but almost... nostalgic.
"You know… we've been at war with the remnants for centuries."
He stared at Jahanox. "Do you even understand what war is? Have you ever experienced one?"
Jahanox shook his head. "Never."
Mark nodded, as if expecting that. "Of course."
Rhyes turned to Jahanox. "Do you know what war really is?"
Jahanox hesitated. "Pardon?"
Mark's tone dropped like iron.
"War doesn't care for who's right or wrong. It devours both soldier and child, hero and villain. Peace, joy, homes, families—burned away without mercy."
He paused.
"In war, there's no such thing as truth. Only survivors."
Jahanox lowered his gaze, jaw tense. "I… suppose that's true. In the end, the victor writes what's 'right.'"
Mark shook his head. "No. The war never truly ends. Not for anyone."
His voice grew heavier with each word. "It ends only for those who die. But for those left behind—their wounds remain open. Their grief, eternal."
Jahanox was speechless.
Mark sat back slowly, hands steepled. "That's why I'm telling you this… because if you really want to stand on the side of 'right'—then maybe the best thing you can do is... not choose a side at all."
______________________