January 6th, 20XX – Moments EarlierHUMAN WORLD – Ruins of the Outer Region
Prestorian's body had reached its limit—which came as no surprise. He had pushed himself far beyond reason, channeling the Spiritual Melody to summon a powerful Guardian Spirit. That spirit had used his body as a vessel to battle tooth and nail against a terrifying foe.
"Your body is strong, boy, but not strong enough to move at that speed or take such hits," Fatefliysttonne, the spirit, had warned him before the transformation faded in front of the colossal enemy.
Now, Prestorian crashed to the ground, gasping for air. His golden hair was a mess, his body wrecked, barely able to stay upright. His long green robe was scorched, and the silver sash across his chest was singed. The bitter truth was clear—he was out of strength.
The only thing still intact was the Arcane Paladin's owl mask, still fastened to his face. As his opponent closed in, flames ignited around his clenched fists, burning with the dark essence of destruction.
"What happened?" mocked Larvano, his voice thick with arrogance. His massive, magma-veined body pulsed with raw power. "Where did all that energy go? At this rate, you'll die here... without even saving the princess."
From behind a jagged rock, the Grey Goblin cackled maliciously.
"Finally, after all these years, I get to watch him die," the goblin snarled. "Let it be a slow, agonizing death!"
Behind the goblin, men in black suits held a ten-year-old girl hostage. Despite the chaos, her white dress and silver cardigan remained immaculate—pure as snow.
"Can you believe this guy?" sneered the dwarf to his henchmen. "He thought he was king of the underworld. But today, he gets what he deserves."
"What the hell is that mask made of?" asked one of the dark-suited men, eyeing the fallen Paladin curiously.
Another leaned in to get a closer look. "Now that you mention it... his clothes are ruined, but the mask hasn't even cracked."
"Relax, man," said a third, chuckling. "We're about to see the bastard's face real soon."
Prestorian's vision began to blur, but his sharpened hearing picked up the heavy, thunderous footsteps drawing closer. His opponent was approaching.
"You gave me a good fight," Larvano said, oozing confidence as he closed the gap. Wherever his orichalcum boots stepped, the ground cracked and burned. "I can imagine the exhaustion... the pain you're in."
Kyle, still watching through the Eyes of Awareness, observed from afar.
"Prestorian… I see you're in trouble," he thought.
Larvano's steps thundered like drums as he advanced, radiating blistering heat like a furnace.
"I was going to crush you," Larvano said flatly, drawing a flaming dagger from his back. "Maybe let you die screaming. But you fought well. So, out of respect… I'll give you a warrior's death. Just stay still, and I'll end your misery quickly."
Meanwhile, in Fauntasia...At that moment, as Pronório began to nod off, the Squirrel bid farewell to his faun friend and the fairy. With nimble steps, he darted through the moonlit forest, returning to his hidden burrow. There, he slipped into his cocoon-shaped coffin and fell into a deep sleep. Soon, his consciousness drifted out of the faun realm, across a void between worlds, until he passed through a blue portal—back into the human world.
When Steve awoke, his wristwatch read exactly five o'clock. Time flowed differently in the faun realm, and he wasn't sure how much had changed in the human world while he was away. As he reorganized his plans in the basement, his thoughts wandered back to the conversation he had with the elves on Serene Island. He carefully reviewed the sketch he had saved and the notes they'd shared.
After saying goodbye to the Serene Island folk, Steve had some juice and exchanged a few words with an elf before using a transfer talisman to return instantly to his mini-submarine. Everything went smoothly—until he ventured into unexplored and treacherous underwater zones. That's when things began to fall apart. His submarine crashed into submerged ruins, forcing an emergency stop. With the vessel damaged, he had no choice but to abandon it amidst ancient maritime wreckage.
Later, atop the remains of a sunken ship, Steve used another talisman to teleport back to the city he'd visited the week before. His mission? To find tools and parts to repair the sub. The afternoon was short and intense. Eventually, he sought shelter in a crumbling mansion.
Rummaging through the mansion's basement, the traveler found a few spare tools. He took only what was necessary, planning to return them someday—assuming the world ever returned to normal. With just the essentials packed, Steve prepared to leave.
He hesitated—should he grab a cold drink, maybe a snack for the road? Both sounded good. But what he really craved was a glass of wine or walnut ice cream for breakfast. Still, his rush to leave without scouting the area first led to an unexpected encounter on that rainy morning: bandits—likely from the sea. Dirty, smelly, bearded, and loud.
Pirates? Steve wondered.
He realized he'd been careless. At most, he had expected to find more skeletal remains scattered in the alleys—not over a dozen armed scavengers. They were loitering near the mansion, probably searching for buried treasure. One spotted Steve as he slipped out the back door. A burly man in corsair gear approached while his partner whistled to alert the others. In the distance, shouts of excitement echoed through the streets.
What a blunder... Steve thought, wondering if they feared attracting undead or worse.
To the bandits, he looked like a lanky kid in a navy blue overcoat. His aviator goggles and scarf-covered face didn't exactly strike fear. Steve adjusted his Sherlock-style hat and simply observed.
"Going somewhere, kid?" growled the thug, voice rough and raspy. He was a big man, with a thick beard and the scars of many battles.
"Good morning, captain," Steve replied, grinning beneath the scarf. "What can I do for you?"
The pirate eyed Steve's bag greedily. "Everything you've got. Hand it over—now!"
"Oh, you want everything?" Steve chuckled. "Well, keep wanting—because you're not getting a damn thing."
"What did you say?!" barked the pirate, narrowing his eyes.
"You heard me loud and clear," Steve said calmly. "I've got nothing for you. See ya."
The pirate's face turned red with fury as Steve casually walked away, treating him like a panhandler.
"Don't mess with me!" the pirate shouted, drawing a knife and lunging at Steve. But in a blink, the half-faun vanished—leaving the thug slicing through thin air, half a second too late.