Zephyra walked through the destroyed town, the streets littered with rubble, broken furniture, and charred husks of buildings. Her long, purple hair swayed slightly with each step, catching the remnants of flickering firelight.
Even in this devastation, she moved with a quiet grace, her lithe figure gliding over debris as though the destruction itself bowed out of her way.
She muttered to herself, her violet eyes scanning the ground, every movement precise and deliberate.
"Where did it go…?"
Following a faint trail of disturbed ash, she paused as a distant sound carried to her ears: low laughter, chilling and deliberate. The echoes guided her steps until she found herself at the edge of a small plaza, where a grotesque scene unfolded.
Atop a pile of corpses sat a man whose presence radiated menace. His skin was pale but unnaturally taut over angular bones, and dark tattoos coiled up his arms and neck. His hair was a striking deep blue, shaved at the sides but long at the top, falling messily over one eye. His clothing was ragged yet adorned with metallic studs and buckles, giving him a predatory, almost theatrical appearance.
Around him, a group of terrified humans shivered and trembled, huddled together like frightened animals.
The man's laughter rang out, jagged and cold, cutting through the chaos.
"Now, listen carefully. Let's all play a game, shall we?"
He gestured lazily at the humans beneath him.
"Start killing each other, and the five… yes, the five who survive will be spared."
The crowd froze, their panic palpable. A man tried to protest, voice shaking.
"W-We won't listen to you!"
The assailant's smile widened as he extended his hand. A sphere of dark blue energy coalesced, forming a jagged orb that shot forward like a bullet.
It collided with the man, obliterating him instantly. Flesh and blood sprayed in a horrifying arc, painting the remaining crowd in crimson. Screams tore through the ruins, echoing over shattered buildings.
Brushing a strand of hair from his eyes, the man leaned back, amused.
"Shut up. Start killing each other—or I'll make sure none of you see tomorrow."
It was then that Zephyra noticed something glinting in his hand: her earring. Her lips curved in a faint sigh.
"Guess I have no choice."
She stepped forward, walking with deliberate elegance, her movements fluid despite the chaos around her. Each step was measured, her posture perfect, her violet eyes cold and observant. Flames flickered across her face, reflecting off her delicate features, making her seem almost ethereal amidst the carnage.
"Hello," she called softly, her voice carrying a melodic clarity, "can you please give me that earring?"
For a moment, he didn't react, as if her presence was nothing more than a shadow passing before him. Zephyra's hand swept toward her forehead in a subtle facepalm.
"Alright, I guess I'll have to make myself visible."
The moment she materialized fully, his head snapped toward her, eyes widening. "Where did you come from?!"
Zephyra's gaze remained steady, poised, her voice calm but firm.
"Doesn't matter. Can you just hand me the earring?"
He raised the trinket and chuckled eerily.
"It's yours? I picked it up because I was sensing a power from it… seems I made a good choice."
Zephyra tilted her head, curiosity faintly creasing her brow.
"What power?"
Before she could finish, the man lunged. His hand darted forward with unnatural speed, fingers extended like talons, aimed directly at her eyes. But as he passed through her, they met no resistance.
"What?!" he exclaimed, stumbling backward.
Zephyra's voice was serene, almost teasing.
"I'm just a consciousness. You can't physically harm me."
His laughter was sharp, echoing across the ruined street.
"A consciousness, huh? Then the power I sense must be… the one you serve."
Zephyra placed her hands lightly on her waist, tilting her head with a hint of impatience.
"I don't serve anyone."
He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head as he circled her. "If I catch you, will that master of yours come to save you?"
She exhaled slowly, throwing her hands up in mock surrender.
"Again, he's not my master. And how exactly would you capture me?"
He leaned closer, his voice a sinister whisper.
"Do you know all living bodies are made of atoms?"
Zephyra's brow furrowed slightly. "Just give me my earring."
He smiled widely, lifting a broken shard of wood from the ground. His voice was almost gleeful.
"Atoms respond to energy. If I manipulate it just right…"
Before she could react, he thrust the jagged piece forward. But it wasn't ordinary. The wood didn't pierce flesh—it collided with the subtle energy signature of her consciousness, carefully calibrated to interact with her form as energy rather than matter.
The shard sank through the spectral outline of her body, and she felt the sting of force pass through her, as though it had struck a corporeal being. Pain radiated sharply through her senses, but no blood fell—her physical body remained untouched.
Her mind raced, instantly understanding the mechanics. This man had used energy manipulation to force a pseudo-physical strike through her consciousness, adapting the attack to affect her in the only way possible: sensation and feedback, without touching her actual form.
"You are unlucky to come across the strongest person now....," he hissed, laughing, eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction.
---
Rhyes strode forward across the shattered cityscape, each of his steps sending vibrations through the ground that obliterated any remnants unlucky enough to be beneath him. Their screams were cut short in an instant, bones shattering before bodies even hit the earth. The ruins of the city became his stage, debris and flames illuminating his calm, imposing figure as he walked.
Several soldiers flanked him, their combat outfits glowing, weapons ready, and eyes alert to any danger. Rhyes stopped in the middle of the street, scanning the horizon.
"Situation?" he asked, voice carrying authority and calm precision.
The woman in uniform, identical to Rhyes except for a badge of rank, stepped forward, her gaze sharp and unwavering.
"Sir, we've received updates from Sir Zazm. He's currently being protected by Shin and Ruon while preparing to use Erasure."
Rhyes's sharp eyes narrowed.
"He's planning what exactly?"
"To eradicate all two-star threats in a single instant, Sir."
Rhyes let the information sink in. He exhaled slowly, tension in his jaw.
"Did Zazm indicate how long it'll take?"
"No, Sir."
Rhyes nodded, shifting his focus. "And Neo?"
"Sir Neo has already eliminated seven zero-star threats, though he's expended a considerable amount of energy."
Rhyes gave a slight, approving nod.
"Expected. Very well…" He bent down and picked up a communication device, raising his voice with commanding authority.
"Leave all the two-star threats! Kill any one-star threats you see!"
The soldiers surrounding him shouted in unison: "Yes, Sir!"
They vanished in coordinated flashes, each moving with precision across the battlefield. Rhyes's gaze then shifted to the woman beside him.
"You go as well."
"Sir? Where are you going?" she asked, surprise and concern in her tone.
Rhyes's eyes scanned the city ahead.
"Zazm said there were twelve zero stars, correct?"
She nodded.
"I'm the lucky one who gets to deal with three."
Without another word, he launched himself into the air. Each leap carried him across buildings, his figure barely touching the edges as he landed. The weightless fluidity of his movements left no impact, no sound but the rushing wind around him. He landed in an empty plaza, its eerie calm unsettling.
"This area…it is unfathomably calm," he muttered to himself.
Suddenly, metallic bars erupted from the ground, several feet tall, spinning and shifting in impossible angles. Rhyes reacted instantly, leaping high above, narrowly avoiding being impaled. The bars shifted, attempting to trap him from multiple directions, but he landed with poise, his voice calm.
"Quite pathetic for a trap."
A figure stepped forward—a man with silver hair cascading to his shoulders, his body covered by a high-collared coat. He bowed slightly, lips curling into a smirk.
"It's an honor to meet you, Supreme Commander Rhyes Vance."
Rhyes's gaze was cold and unyielding.
"I assure you, the feeling isn't mutual."
The man chuckled darkly.
"Sad to hear… but no matter."
"Why did you do this?" Rhyes asked, his voice calm but sharp, eyes studying the enemy's stance.
The man tilted his head, feigning ignorance.
"Did what?" He paused, then grinned.
"No reason. We just wanted to destroy every one of you."
Rhyes lifted his sword with both hands, the blade gleaming in the dim firelight.
"I have several questions… but I'll ask them to your corpse."
He launched himself forward, a streak of silver and black slicing through the air. But the man pulled back, manipulating an unseen force that yanked Rhyes backward. He landed on his feet, pivoting as a girl emerged from the shadows, fingers flicking in a blur of motion.
Rhyes ducked instinctively, narrowly avoiding a sudden strike aimed at his face. Her weapon—a lattice of sharp metallic threads—shot toward him again, and this time he tracked the motion, parrying with a precision strike.
"Flashy weapon…" he murmured.
The girl leapt, using her threads to climb a nearby tree, attempting to gain height. Before Rhyes could adjust, multiple metal spikes erupted from the ground, some several feet long. He dodged most, but one grazed his shoulder, slicing through his uniform.
Turning, he faced a barrage of attacks, threads lashing out to ensnare him. Suddenly, the girl wrapped his limbs and snatched his sword, intending to crush him beneath the spikes. But as the metal fell, the ground beneath them shattered under the unnatural weight, sending the bars collapsing in on themselves.
Rhyes disappeared in a blink, reappearing with his sword reclaimed. He leapt onto the tree, landing with deadly precision next to the girl. Her threads lashed at him, but he moved like water, slashing through her form. She split, transforming into a network of threads that fell limp, only to slowly regenerate.
The silver-haired man bled from multiple small and shallow cuts, watching his companion reform.
"Be careful," he warned.
The girl wiped a sweat drop from her brow, sheepish but composed.
"Sorry, I was caught off guard."
Rhyes jumped down, attacking with a precise strike. The man raised two metal rods, clashing with Rhyes in a shower of sparks. They pushed and pulled, strength meeting strength, before Rhyes kicked him back.
The pressure around the man suddenly intensified, an invisible force bearing him down.
"What the..."
Before he could React Rhyes jumped and slammed his knee straight into his Face. The man jumped back from the impact the pressure on him increasing.
'I can't move....'
Rhyes used the hilt of his sword to strike the man's gut as he fell down on his knees.
Before the enemy could retaliate, Rhyes was at his throat, blade poised. But the girl intervened again, transforming into threads and flanking him. He slashed, each attack severing her temporary form, but her regeneration was immediate.
Rhyes's gaze drifted, calculating.
'Her forehead… that's the only part she isn't converting," he noted silently.'
The silver-haired man, now bleeding from multiple cuts, staggered back. The girl reformed beside him, threads writhing like living snakes. Rhyes exhaled slowly, adjusting his stance, analyzing the battlefield, every microsecond accounted for.
Rhyes leapt forward with terrifying speed, sword aimed directly at the silver-haired man. The air around him seemed to hum with power, every movement calculated to annihilate his opponent before they could react.
But just as he neared his target, the ground beneath the man shattered under extreme pressure, collapsing like glass under immense weight. The man screamed, pinned beneath the jagged rubble, unable to move a single muscle.
Rhyes didn't hesitate. He twisted mid-air, redirecting his attack toward the girl who had been darting around with her threads. Her eyes widened in shock, caught completely off-guard.
She lunged to evade—but her reflexes, impeccable as they were, couldn't match the sudden shift in trajectory. Rhyes's sword descended toward her forehead with lethal precision.
Suddenly, a metal wall erupted between them, shielding her completely. The blade struck the edge, leaving only a shallow cut across her forehead. A bead of blood trickled down her face, crimson stark against her pale skin.
Rhyes's mind flickered with calculation.
'That confirms it. Her forehead—her only vulnerability.'
The man beneath the debris remained pinned, grunting and struggling against the impossible pressure.
Rhyes's attention snapped back to the girl as metal strikes continued to swarm him, slicing through the air like a deadly storm. Each strike seemed to gain weight, then vanish, then rebound unpredictably.
Yet Rhyes moved with near-perfect precision, dodging, deflecting, and redirecting the deadly flurry effortlessly.
His eyes flicked, scanning every movement, every micro-adjustment. The girl's threads became his rhythm, and each metallic strike became predictable under his experience. He leapt, twisted, and slashed, and for a brief moment, he became untouchable—an immovable storm of death amidst the chaos.
Then, in a sudden blur, the silver-haired man disappeared from the rubble's confines. Rhyes's eyes didn't waver. He's waiting for an opening. Predictable.
He pivoted sharply, grabbing the woman from the threads she tried desperately to slither out of. Her body struggled, but he increased the gravitational pressure around her, pinning her rigidly mid-air.
She gasped, trying to scream, but the constriction silenced her. Every motion she attempted was met with the invisible walls of Rhyes's experience and power.
A scream tore through the chaos behind him. The silver-haired man launched himself at Rhyes, wielding a massive metal rod, while another rod cut through the air like a missile.
Rhyes dropped his sword with precision, catching the flying rod mid-air. It pierced clean through his hand, metal slicing with a grating, unnatural sound, coming out the other side. Pain lanced through him, but he gritted his teeth, ignoring it.
Using sheer strength and precision, he swung the impaled rod, slamming it with brutal force directly into the woman's forehead. Her eyes widened in shock as she crumpled, her eyes lost the light as she fell unalive.
Before he could recover, the man's other rod struck his torso. Rhyes twisted, feeling the searing pain as the metal tore across muscle and armor.
But he used the momentum against the man, striking back with the impaled rod, hitting him squarely, sending the silver-haired assailant flying backward.
Rhyes's movements were a blur, pain and fury fueling him. He pulled the rod from his hand carefully, every movement calculated, knowing his guard was down for a fraction of a second. And that fraction nearly cost him—
From the shadow behind him, a figure leapt, daggers aimed straight at his neck. Rhyes used the rod to stop the strike and glanched back.
"Gotcha." Rhyes already knew he was there and was waiting for him to show himself.
He twisted sharply, the increase in gravitational force around him magnifying the impact exponentially.
The figure was slammed into the ground with a force that cracked concrete, bones shattering under the sudden pressure. His body splintered, torn open, blood spraying like a crimson fountain.
Without hesitation, Rhyes reclaimed the rod in one hand, sword in the other, and advanced on the silver-haired man.
"HOW ARE YOU FIGHTING WITH A HAND LIKE THAT?" The man shouted desperate however Rhyes kept attacking.
Every step was deliberate, every swing of the rod or blade precise. He exploited openings, timed counters to perfection, and relentlessly pressed the advantage.
The man tried to retaliate, but Rhyes's battlefield awareness was unparalleled. Every attempt to move, to attack, was preempted by Rhyes's intuition and brutal efficiency.
A final, explosive clash of steel against rod sent the man hurtling into rubble. Rhyes's sword traced a deadly arc across him, severing any chance of recovery.
He exhaled slowly, the city around him a symphony of chaos and ruin, but his composure remained absolute. His gaze scanned the battlefield, every fallen enemy, every ally in motion, every threat calculated. The woman, the crushed figure from his shadow, and the silver-haired man now lay defeated.
Rhyes dropped to one knee, the weight of the fight pressing against him, though his breathing remained controlled, measured. The city around him still burned, metal and stone scattered like toys beneath the chaos. For a brief moment, he let himself assess the damage—not enemies, not strategy—but his own body.
The silver rod had left a deep gash across his shoulder, blood seeping steadily, while the impaled hand had been managed with sheer reflex. He stood, unflinching, and reached for the long coat draped over his shoulders.
With precise, practiced movements, he peeled the coat from his body. The fabric rustled sharply in the acrid air. He tore the sleeves clean off, one by one, the material thick and sturdy enough to function as makeshift bandages.
The first sleeve he wrapped tightly around his pierced shoulder, knotting it so the pressure would slow the bleeding. The other sleeve he wrapped around his hand, covering the wound from the rod, keeping it stabilized.
Finally, he grabbed the cape, heavy and lined, and wrapped it securely around his torso, over the remaining injuries, providing a layer of protection and compression. Every movement was methodical, almost ritualistic—efficient, deliberate.
He stepped back, adjusting his posture, his eyes scanning the battlefield once more. The debris, the fallen enemies, the distant fires—they all bent around his focus. Blood smeared across his body and blades, but his expression remained calm, unreadable. He was ready to move again.
The cape, the sleeves, the improvised bandages—they were not a sign of weakness. They were tools. Weapons. Preparation. And Rhyes, as always, would turn every resource—even the torn remnants of his own clothing—into an extension of his control over the battlefield.
With a subtle inhale, he flexed his fingers, letting the blades hum faintly in his grip, and then he stepped forward, moving with the same unstoppable precision as before. The next wave of threats would not wait—and neither would he.
---
The chaos spread like wildfire. Across the fractured city of Uroun, streets had become rivers of fire and rubble, punctuated by the sounds of gunfire, metal clashing, and anguished screams. Soldiers of Obsidian Fang fought relentlessly, their movements trained but fraying under the sheer numbers of the remnants swarming them.
In one district, a squad ducked beneath falling beams, blades slicing through the air as they deflected relentless strikes from remnants wielding crude axes and spears. Sparks flew whenever metal clashed with metal, and a soldier's arm was nearly severed when he misjudged the swing of an enemy. He grunted, stepping back and firing his rifle with trembling hands, cutting down a charging remnant just in time.
Elsewhere, another group ran through a shattered alley, dodging the debris of crumbling buildings. Smoke choked their lungs, dust stung their eyes, and the heat of burning streets threatened to overwhelm them. Yet, they fought. Swords, rifles, and explosives tore through the remnants' ranks in a desperate ballet of survival. Even as exhaustion began to etch itself into their movements, they pushed forward, motivated by instinct, training, and a sliver of hope.
Above the chaos, Zazm stood on a fractured rooftop, a cold, unyielding figure in the midst of absolute disorder. Shin and Ruon were beside him, both soaked in blood, limbs scratched,, but their gazes were locked on the battlefield.
Every movement, every strike from them was precise, yet fatigue threatened to slow their pace.
Zazm's hands hovered in front of him, fingers curling slowly as if the air itself obeyed him. His eyes absolutely black, Nexus's gaze fully activated staring into the fabric of space time fabric.
He drew them together with a deliberate motion, closing them as though he could compress the very essence of the world between his palms.
Time seemed to stutter for a heartbeat; the roar of the city, the cries of men, and the clash of weapons all faded into a singular, tense pause.
Then, with a smooth, controlled rotation—his hands moving as if twisting the axis of some invisible globe—the impossible happened.
A wave of silence erupted across the battlefield. Every two-star remnant, those that had seemed unstoppable, those that had been a pain because of their numbers, vanished. Dead, gone, wiped clean from the streets and alleys.
Where millions had threatened to overwhelm the Obsidian Fang soldiers, now only a handful remained. The air seemed to exhale, as if the city itself had been momentarily stunned by the magnitude of what had just occurred.
Soldiers froze, eyes wide, jaws slack. Some whispered, "Did… did Sir Zazm just—?" Others could only stare at the empty streets, the sudden absence of the monstrous foes they had been fighting mere moments ago.
Slowly, the shock transformed into action. Where once they had been retreating under unending pressure, they surged forward, cutting down the remaining remnants with newfound confidence, every strike precise, every movement surer.
Neo's voice, low and cold as ever, pierced the sudden quiet as he reappeared mid-stride, spinning his dual blades to cleanly decapitate two remaining one-star remnants in a single motion. He clicked his tongue.
"That bastard… took long enough," he muttered, eyes scanning the battlefield for the next threat. The faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, sharp and emotionless.
Rhyes, still holding his bloodied rod and sword, paused for just a moment, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the aftermath. The pressure of the fight had lifted in an instant, but his instincts screamed caution. "Huh… that's one way to thin the herd," he said quietly, almost to himself, before leaping forward to intercept a remnant that had survived Zazm's display.
On the ground, soldiers of Obsidian Fang roared in unison, their morale skyrocketing. Where only fear and desperation had reigned, now came fury and resolve. They pushed, cutting through the few remaining enemies with efficiency born of relief and adrenaline.
Zazm remained above it all, cold and composed, his expression unreadable. Shin and Ruon, battered and bleeding, pressed on beside him, but even they felt the weight of awe at the power just unleashed. No words were exchanged.
No celebrations. The battlefield itself bore witness to a single undeniable truth: the balance had shifted, and humanity, for the first time in this devastating onslaught, had the upper hand.
The air was thick with smoke and ash as Zazm, Luna, Yuna, Shin, and Ruon appeared back at the makeshift command site. The battlefield they had just left still echoed faintly in their minds, but the moment they arrived, a fragile sense of calm settled. Shin and Ruon sat heavily on the rubble, bloodied and bruised, their breathing ragged.
"Insane," Shin muttered through clenched teeth, flexing his hands as if to make sure they were still intact.
Ruon let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Sir Zazm… you're just… amazing." His usual calm voice carried a hint of awe.
Suddenly, Luna and Yuna appeared, materializing out of the ether as if the world itself bent to Zazm's will. "Did you… really kill them all?" Luna asked, her calm, precise voice betraying only a hint of disbelief.
Zazm gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "I had some additional energy left. Took care of a few 1-star threats as well."
Yuna, still slightly shy, kept her eyes down before looking up at him. "Th-That's…amazing, sir Zazm."
Ruon, though still nursing his injuries, struggled to his feet. "So what happened on your end?"
Luna gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "We saved all the civilians. Everyone who could be evacuated is safe in the bunkers."
Zazm's gaze drifted across the scarred horizon. His expression remained cold and unreadable, though his mind was elsewhere.
"Is something wrong, sir Zazm?" Luna asked cautiously.
"No," he replied, shaking his head, the cold steel of his gaze cutting through the smoke-laden air.
Yuna stepped forward toward Shin, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"
Shin grinned, brushing dirt off his arms. "Yeah. Had fun slicing those assholes up." His usual anger barely restrained, it was almost a thrill for him.
Luna looked around the group, her tone precise. "We should reunite with everyone now."
Zazm nodded.
In a blur, the five of them vanished and rematerialized near Rhyes and Neo. Rhyes sat calmly on the rubble, his hands resting lightly on his knees, while Lorriel hovered behind him, her aura of healing calm as she had just finished restoring him.
Neo leaned back on a large, shattered chunk of concrete, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon with his usual cool detachment.
Zazm approached, his posture still cold and rigid. Rhyes rose, stepping toward him. "Thanks to you today, for the first time in history… less than a hundred thousand deaths occurred."
Zazm's gaze didn't waver. "Still… a lot of people died."
Rhyes nodded solemnly. "They won't be forgotten. But otherwise… the death count would've been in the millions."
Luna, Yuna, Shin, and Ruon walked toward Neo, who clicked his tongue in his classic sour tone. "Y'all look beat up."
Yuna shook her head. "We're fine. Don't worry, Captain Neo."
Neo's sharp gaze turned toward Lorriel. "Heal them."
Lorriel approached, her hands glowing softly as she began fixing the small but lingering injuries. Rhyes's own wounds had already vanished, fully healed by Lorriel's precision and assistance.
Rhyes leaned closer to Zazm. "Are you okay?"
Zazm nodded. "It took time to use erasure. I had to calculate the precise space around every enemy and ensure allies were untouched."
Rhyes exhaled. "It's fine… but the planet is now unlivable. Completely destroyed."
Zazm remained silent, his gaze scanning the horizon.
"Well, let's see what happens next," Rhyes murmured, walking closer before turning back. "Sit. Rest. Everyone's gone now."
Zazm's eyes wandered, restless. His mind raced—Zephyra should be here by now. He turned sharply, only to find himself surrounded.
'I can't teleport.'
He clenched his fists, knuckles whitening in his pockets.
---
The scene shifted to a dim corner elsewhere. A man sat hunched, heavy breaths fogging the air around him. He clutched something tightly—a USB-like device.
"We were defeated… this badly?" he muttered, smirking faintly. "But… I have information on the abilities of all the major players now."
He glanced around, wary. "If I leave now, Zazm will detect me through the space fabric… better to stay hidden."
An arm suddenly landed on his shoulder. He jumped, turning to see a man with crimson hair and red eyes.
Asher chuckled, voice calm and almost teasing. "Man, such a hard life, isn't it?"
The man stammered, fear evident. Before he could react, Asher's hand shot inside his chest, crushing his heart in one brutal motion. He picked up the USB-like device and smirked. "You were the last one."
A sudden presence filled the air. A masked figure appeared before him, small and childlike in tone.
The reaper's voice, soft and eerie, cut through the tension. "Oh… you killed him?"
Asher froze, instinct screaming at him to flee, but the sheer weight of the reaper's presence pinned him in place.
"Well… not like I need that information. You can have it, friend."
"Wait—" Asher started, but the reaper vanished from his immediate proximity.
Asher lunged with his blood sword, desperate. The reaper, almost playfully, dodged. "Hey, hey… calm down, calm down."
Asher attempted to manipulate the blood within him, but failed utterly. The reaper giggled, voice childish and teasing. "You're a bad person. Attacking me… I'll complain to your mother."
Asher gritted his teeth. "You'll have to complain to her grave."
The reaper's tone shifted to a sad whisper. "You don't have a mom… or a dad either?"
Asher glanced down. "Neither."
"Oh you're just like me..."
The reaper waved his hand carelessly. "We'll meet again." And just like that, he vanished, leaving Asher panting, covered in sweat.
---
After a long pause, Asher appeared where the others were gathered, casual and smirking.
"Hey. How'd it go?"
Neo's cold eyes shot up. "Where did you come from?"
Asher laughed, brushing off the aftermath. "I was cleaning your leftover mess."
Rhyes looked up sharply. "If you're here… who's at the EIAA?"
Asher waved a hand lazily. "Don't worry. I'll ask Zazm to teleport me now."
Meanwhile, Luna, Yuna, Shin, and Ruon remained near Neo. He observed them coolly, his detachment still present as he assessed their injuries and fatigue. "You all got sloppy out there. Don't think I didn't notice."
Ruon smirked, rubbing his bruised shoulder. "Sir… we survived, didn't we?"
Neo's gaze softened fractionally, still sharp but protective. "Barely. Don't make me repeat it next time."
Luna straightened, her composure immaculate despite the chaos. "We followed your lead, Captain."
Neo clicked his tongue, leaning back. "Good. Keep it together, and maybe next time you'll make it out without half the city breathing down your neck."
Yuna nodded silently, hiding a small smile behind her sister's calm presence. Ruon simply chuckled, brushing debris off his uniform.
The group, battered but alive, began to settle. The battlefield behind them might have been destroyed, but in that quiet moment, amidst the smoke and the lingering tension, there was a fragile, fleeting sense of victory.
________________________