The flames, the voices, the explosions—everything was everywhere.
The houses were destroyed, smoke covered the skies, and the ground trembled beneath the dying cries of the city. People ran out of the city gates to save their lives, clutching their children, their loved ones, everything they could carry in their trembling hands. The chaos had no direction—just screams, dust, and fear that filled every corner.
But then...
A red thunder struck in the middle of the city. It wasn't lightning—it was something far worse. The ground rumbled like a beast awakening from a long sleep. The thunder's echo roared through every alley and every broken wall, shaking what little remained of the once bright city. People panicked, trying to get out, thousands of them clashing at the gate, crying and pushing, desperate to escape death itself.
Zord stood still amidst the ruin, his cloak torn by the blast, his eyes locked on the red flash in front of him.
Zord: "What is that...?"
In front of him, where the thunder had struck, a man slowly rose. His skin mutated crimson, veins pulsing like molten lava beneath his flesh. His eyes glowed red like burning coals, and two blackened swords were graved deep into his hands as if his body itself had forged them.
From far away, deep inside a cave, Zeiris watched through the crystal's reflection, his voice echoing with a mad laugh.
Zeiris: "Hehehe… Let's see now what you can do, Zord Skeeth..."
The battle had begun.
Zord kept his stance, watching every movement of the red creature before him. The man—no, the thing—in front of him carried no emblem, no mark, no name written on his back. He was like a ghost of rage and blood.
And then—BOOM!
The clash of their blades split the air like thunder. Sparks flew. Dust erupted. The red devil struck first, fast and merciless, his blades cutting through air with pure hatred. The impact forced Zord back, sliding across the shattered stone, his boots cracking the ground.
But then Zord found his rhythm. His eyes sharpened. His sword began to dance.
With a clean spin, Zord whispered, "Chronological Swing."
The strike tore the air apart. The red devil was blown through several houses, crashing through walls, leaving behind a line of destruction. For a moment, silence.
Zord stood there, breathing lightly, his sword dripping with dust and red sparks.
"Is he... alive?" he muttered.
But then—
Red Devil: "Looking for me?"
Zord's eyes flicked up. The red devil was already perched on a broken rooftop, sitting casually, staring down at him with a grin that looked carved by the devil himself.
Zord: "He dodged...? What's your name?"
Red Devil: "They call me the Red Devil. And you... tell me yours. So I can remember you after you die."
Zord: "Zord Skeeth. And now... I shall remove your presence from this earth."
Zord raised his hand. With his left index finger and thumb, he made a small circle and placed it over his right eye. He closed his left eye with the other three fingers, locking his vision straight onto the red devil.
At first—nothing.
The red devil laughed mockingly. "You think tricks will—"
Before he could finish, the world split open.
A straight line of pure incineration sliced through the battlefield, vaporizing everything in its path. The night turned into day—bright, burning, divine light filled the land, erasing shadows.
Zord stood firm, his hand still glowing. "I still believe you're alive," he said coldly, "because I know when one dies."
Smoke cleared. The red devil lay on the ground, half of his body gone—burned, melted, nothing but ash and molten flesh. But slowly, painfully, he regenerated, his laughter still echoing.
Red Devil: "You're full of tricks…"
Steam burst from his body as rage consumed him. He charged, his roar shaking the ruins. The two blades clashed again, metal screaming with fury. Zord twisted his leg, blocking the heavy strike, parrying the next one, and countered with a hit to the devil's neck, sending him flying back.
The explosions around them still raged. Every few seconds, another blast echoed, tearing what little was left of the city.
Zord's eyes caught an opening. He stepped in close, punching the devil's gut three times in lightning speed, then placed his palm against his stomach.
"Zintan."
A shockwave burst. The devil was thrown meters away, crashing into the dirt with a thunderous boom.
Zord walked toward him, crouched down, grabbed him by the hair.
"I still can't kill you. I need you alive... for answers."
Once again—it was over. Once again, Zord's pure dominance decided the battle.
Far away, inside his cave, Zeiris clenched his fists.
Zeiris: "Who is this man? How can he defeat the red devil so easily? What a waste of time...!"
The scene faded. The fire began to settle, and the screams turned to silence. Homes were reduced to dust, people took shelter under whatever remained, sleeping under the stars. But Wingman City was known for its strength, for its unity. The government would rebuild. They always did.
The night vanished... and a brand new day began somewhere else.
"Your movements are good. Your stance... not perfect yet. Balancing needs polish. Physique—very well. But your sword skill... you haven't truly tried it, have you?"
The calm voice of Luxorious echoed in the quiet field.
Aron gripped his sword tightly—the Death Blade. It was still rusty, its edge dull, but it carried a strange darkness within.
Luxorious: "The blade you hold is called the Death Blade. Also known by many names—the Necro Sword... the Black Sword."
Aron looked at it silently, feeling its weight.
Luxorious: "Now... stomp it on the ground."
Aron did as told. He held it with both hands and struck the ground.
Luxorious: "Now say... Incinerate."
Aron said it.
A burst of flame erupted from the earth—small, flickering, harmless flames that danced around him.
Aron blinked. "But... why aren't the grass and trees burning?"
Luxorious: "Because you don't want to hurt them. This sword only punishes those you wish to destroy."
He walked closer, his eyes glowing faintly in the morning light.
Luxorious: "And once you blacksmith it... once you engrave your hands upon it... it will know your body. It will understand your will. Only then will it decide how to unleash your power."
Aron nodded, listening carefully.
Aron: "What should I call you?"
Luxorious: "You can call me... Commander."
He turned away slowly. "Now rest. That's enough for today. I will meet you tomorrow, here."
The sun rose, shining brightly upon the red flowers swaying in the soft wind. Lily knelt among them, smelling each one with a smile, her hair glimmering in sunlight. Birds chirped softly, and peace returned, at least for now.
She saw Aron walking toward the house of the master. "Aron!" she called.
He stopped, turning to her. "Yes?"
"Can you help me plant these flowers from the clay pots? It's really hard for me..."
Aron smiled faintly and walked with her to the field.
"Now listen," he said. "It's easy once you learn. First, take the pot... water it. The water keeps the sand together."
"Now fetch me that stone."
Lily nodded and brought it. Aron, with one clean strike, broke the pot, removing the pieces carefully. With the help of water, he placed the soil on the ground, shaping it gently.
"Then fill the hole with sand and water it again to keep it moist," he explained, his tone calm.
"That's all. Just water them daily."
Lily smiled, her hands covered in earth. "Thank you... so much."
Aron nodded and walked away, his figure fading slowly into the sunlight.
Lily sat there, looking at him go, then turned back to her flowers. She closed her eyes, smelled them again,