The cult's underground fortress was trembling.
Zairon and his team stalked through the flaming corridors like ghosts of retribution. Every corridor, every chamber, every shrine that once pulsed with dark faith was now lit by fires of chaos and vengeance.
The Prophet was dead—but the cult wasn't finished. Yet.
"Split up," Zairon ordered, eyes burning like dying stars. "No mercy. Not today."
With nods, the group scattered like knives.
Kai fried a trio of zealots with a casual flick of lightning, his body glowing in electric arcs. Rysa danced through the shadows, blades leaving trails of fire, cutting down priests mid-prayer. Mira's shields smashed acolytes into walls like divine hammers, while Yue carved sigils that made entire altars implode.
But Zairon? He didn't hunt. He hunted with style.
He burst into the central sanctum, laughing manically, cloak blazing red from blood and aura. A high priest tried to flee—Zairon threw a brazier into his back, then walked through the fire and kicked it aside.
"You served a dead prophet. Want to join him?"
"P-please—!"
Too late.
Crimson Crescent Slash.
The wave of energy bisected the priest and the altar behind him. The walls cracked and light from above poured in, as if even the heavens were watching this massacre.
Annihilation.
One hour later, the cult was no more.
Not a whisper left.
Not a glyph intact.
Not a believer breathing.
Zairon stood at the center of the crumbling compound, shirt burned, bloodied and bruised, but still smiling. No—grinning. Like a mad god who just smashed a kingdom for fun.
Yue walked over, eyes full of awe and worry.
"You burned them all."
"They earned it," he said, licking blood from his lip. "Tried to open the gate. Failed. That's what happens when you gamble against me."
"Zairon," Mira said cautiously, "you're getting… darker."
He turned, smile widening. "Stronger, you mean."
Later that night…
In a bustling market far from the ruins, the group finally relaxed. Or tried to.
Meat skewers in hand, Zairon devoured his fourth like a starved beast, sauce dripping down his chin. "You know what's better than killing a dark cult?"
"No," Kai deadpanned. "But I'm sure you'll tell us."
"Skewers!"
Laughter rippled through the group. The tension cracked for just a moment—just one—but Yue caught something in Zairon's eyes.
While everyone laughed, his gaze drifted skyward, toward the endless veil above.
That night…
Zairon stood alone on a rooftop, wind whipping his hair, the stars distant and cold.
"The Prophet was strong," he muttered. "S-rank. He could've wiped cities."
But he wasn't enough.
Zairon clenched his fists. "What if someone stronger comes? S-rank isn't the peak. Not here. Not in Raur."
He remembered the feel of the ritual—how it pulled at something far beyond even his madness. He felt it in his bones: an abyss deeper than what they just faced.
"If a god steps through that gate one day…"
He grinned, teeth gleaming like a predator. "Then I'll tear god apart too."
His eyes glowed crimson. The rooftop cracked beneath his feet as his aura surged uncontrollably. Not from training. Not from enlightenment.
From desire.
From madness.
"I'll become something they've never seen before. Not just strong. Not just unstoppable…"
He raised his arms to the sky like he was challenging the stars themselves.
"I'll become the storm that crushes the world!"