Zord stood up. He tipped the waiter for his good service and put a slight smile on his face. Stepping outside, he was instantly surrounded by a large crowd that had already gathered. Everything was noisy, chaotic, and tangled together—it's all a mess, he claimed to himself. Without stopping, he pushed through it and walked straight ahead, slowly escaping the chaos. Voices echoed from every direction. Some stalls were surrounded by fruits and vegetables, stacked in uneven piles, while others were filled with clothes, tools, and random items meant to catch the eyes of passersby.
Zord was wearing a long coat and a cap pulled low. He was well hidden, blending into the crowd with ease, his normal-looking glasses adding to the disguise. No one paid attention to him, and that was exactly how he wanted it. After walking for a while, he finally reached a house. It looked the same as every other house in the area—plain walls, silent windows, nothing that stood out. He knocked.
The door opened slowly. A servant stood there, black-haired, medium height, skinny, with cautious eyes that scanned Zord from head to toe.
Servant: Who are you, sir? Who do you want to meet? he questioned, his voice uncertain.
Zord: Ms. Melania. Is she home? he asked, clearly in a hurry.
The servant hesitated, his lips parting as if to speak.
Voice: Let him come. He is my guest.
The voice interrupted from behind. The servant immediately stepped aside and opened the gate fully. Zord walked in without hesitation.
"Long time no see, Melania," he said quietly.
They both sat on wooden chairs facing each other. The servant placed tea on the table between them and then silently stepped away. The room was surrounded by books—shelves filled from top to bottom—along with indoor plants that gave the place a calm, scholarly atmosphere. The air felt heavy, as if it carried memories that neither of them wanted to speak about.
Melania looked almost the same as Zord. She had black hair, pale white skin, and deep black eyes. Once, she had been Zord's closest ally.
Melania: Zord… it's been six years, isn't it? After all this time, you only come when you need help badly, don't you? she said proudly, a faint smirk forming.
Zord: I only came here because this is the only job in this world that you can do. If there was someone else, I wouldn't have come, he replied honestly.
Melania: You've changed a lot. But let's cut it all, okay? Speak. What do you want?
Zord took a slow breath before answering.
Zord: Soon, this place will be consumed by burning flames and the abyss. Before that happens, I want you to cast a voice—one that will help these people get out of this town safely. And you too.
Melania's expression shifted.
Melania: Really… that's all there is to it? she said, shocked. You could do it yourself.
Zord: I don't want to expose my identity. I still have a lot of work remaining. And also… give me the poison medicine.
Melania stared at him for a long moment.
Melania: Darkness… has it destroyed the Black Tides? she asked, searching his face for an answer.
Zord: Yes. After that, Bloomberg was also destroyed. But at least they engaged themselves in a war.
Melania: The boundary… the lifeless shores, she whispered in awe. Well, we can't protect everything, right, Zord?
Zord stood up. The servant returned and handed him the items quietly. Melania broke the silence.
"How long will I have to wait?" she asked.
Zord didn't turn his face, but he stopped at the door.
"Maybe until you find me dead."
Those words made her uneasy. Without another glance, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
Melania remained seated.
"I guess… let's ring the bells."
Outside, a huge crowd filled the streets. Kids were playing, people were buying and selling, laughter echoing everywhere. But all of it vanished in an instant when the voice from the giant bell atop the palace rang out. It sent goosebumps through every soul that heard it.
A heavy voice—chilling and menacing—spread across the land. It was a man's voice.
"The darkness has occupied the lands beyond Hector Palace. Now they come here to destroy ours. This is a warning to all humans listening to this. Leave the land immediately and find refuge to hide."
The people felt paralyzed. Then chaos erupted. They ran like insects—pushing, screaming, fighting—each trying to save themselves.
From inside a house, Melania watched through the window.
"How pathetic humans are," she said coldly. "They were having fun, and now look at them—running for their lives. How pathetic."
The servant approached her.
"Miss, I have prepared everything I could. And as you said, I placed the orb among his items."
"Good job," she replied. "If only I hadn't run from Bloomberg City… I would have met Father after so long."
Horses erupted into frantic gallops. People looted, screamed, and did anything they could to survive. Far from the chaos, Zord walked calmly. He stopped atop a mountain and opened his compass. The needle pointed north—toward the City of Training.
The sun was drowning beneath the horizon, painting the sky orange. Birds flew over the clouds as the world slowly sank into twilight. Zord's eyes glared. He closed the compass and vanished into the trees once more, a mysterious aura surrounding him as the night swallowed his path.
The darkness was about to come. But far from that place, beyond the boundary itself, lay the Hell's Kingdom. There, Zeiris sat calmly upon his throne, one leg resting over the other, his posture relaxed as if the coming chaos meant nothing to him. Even so, his senses stirred. He felt it clearly—Lyoth had arrived.
The massive gates creaked open, and the Black Reaper entered first, his presence heavy enough to bend the air around him. Zeiris slowly stood from his throne, a faint grin on his face. Instead of waiting, he stepped forward, traveling down the hall until he reached Lyoth's throne. He stopped on the stairs, standing casually as if this were a friendly visit rather than the arrival of destruction itself.
Lyoth and the Death Reaper walked in together, their auras immense, suffocating, and absolute. The hall trembled under their presence. Zeiris, however, remained unfazed. He clapped his hands lightly, almost playfully, as if amused by the moment.
Lyoth took the stairs, passing Zeiris closely, his ego sharp and unhidden. He knew exactly why he had come. Without a word, Lyoth reached the throne and sat down, claiming his place once more as silence consumed the hall.