The alarm bell clanged loudly, shattering the quiet calm over the city. Just moments earlier, everyone in Bluridge had been closing their shops, locking their doors, and preparing to end the night. In the distance, at Vault 21, the guards who were off shift were indulging in activities that clearly had nothing to do with guarding. Grunts and moans drifted from their room, causing the guards on duty to frown. It was hard to focus with their comrades making such loud, inappropriate noises.
That was when a guard shouted, "Sound the alarm now!" Immediately, guards poured out naturally to every corner of the vault, grabbing their swords and spears. Not far behind, the mages took formation, their black cloaks billowing wildly, echoing the pounding of their hearts.
Vault 21 sat on the city's outskirts, fortified with some of the toughest traps and defences in all of Bluridge. This was where Count Lukan kept the tax money. It was an ugly truth, whispered in the cracks of poor neighbourhoods: the taxes were suffocating. Crops, crafts, coins, nothing, escaped the count's greedy grasp. The commoners of Bluridge toiled endlessly, feeding a system designed to keep them hungry. Resistance had always felt futile. Until now. A shadow had suddenly risen.
A name moved like a whisper through back alleys and busy markets. "Phantom" Some said he was a former royal mage gone rogue. Others claimed he was a noble's son turned rebel. The only thing everyone knew for sure was that wherever he appeared, nobles found their vaults emptied and their pride shattered. After the chaos died down, he would quietly share the stolen money with a lucky few. If you didn't receive it this time, he would make it up to you and your household during his next raid. When Phantom struck, it was no different from Christmas for the townsfolk. He had practically been to every house, leaving gifts of gold and silver. Tonight, he stood on a hill overlooking the soldiers and mages panicking below like an ant colony that had been crushed. His trademark smirk, barely visible beneath his hood, shone brighter than ever. His suit was black, sleek, and flexible, blending with the night sky. A dramatic cape flapped behind him in the breeze, like the banner of some forgotten hero. No one ever saw Phantom arrive, only the flutter of his cape announced his presence. A long sword hung at his side. The blade was obsidian but somehow reflected the moonlight when drawn.
"Wow, I'm touched. Looks like they were actually, expecting me," Zane muttered with dry amusement.
He was the kind of person who commanded attention even in stillness. Tall, with an unnervingly calm presence, his striking blue eyes seemed to glow from beneath his hood. He made chaos look like a perfectly choreographed dance. It was that cape that had given him away. A flick of fabric too bold, too dramatic, just enough for a sharp-eyed archer to catch sight. The guard had sounded the alarm before Zane could even finish settling on the hill. But he didn't mind.
He liked the attention. It made everything easier. From his vantage point, he had a perfect view. The guards took defensive positions while the mages formed a protective semicircle around the vault doors, their hands glowing as they murmured incantations under their breath.
To any onlooker, he must have seemed incredibly powerful. A dark figure hovering above the chaos, cloaked in mystery, daring the world to reach him. That impression worked to his advantage.
But it was also wrong. He wasn't just powerful. He was a glitch in reality that needed to be fixed. It wasn't fair to the regular people.
Zane, known to many as Phantom, was not a warrior forged in battle. He wasn't even particularly dedicated in his studies.
He was lazy by nature, easily bored, and often skipped lessons at that rundown magic school where most of his peers could barely summon a spark. What set him apart was one thing: he was a genius. Not the kind who was just good at math or critical thinking, but a mind on an entirely different level. By the age of eighteen, Zane had created two magic techniques. These were feats only grandmasters at the Transcendant stage could attempt. Even more shocking was that these two techniques were absolutely terrifying. If his classmates at that old, crumbling school knew this, their mocking laughter would have caught in their throats. Being tall gave him an advantage, making him look sharp in a suit. But it was his deep, raspy voice that made his appearance truly striking.
Who needed simple wind spells when you had self-invented techniques? Errr... maybe a few wind spells still came in handy. Like the one he used to descend the hill. Though incredibly simple, it still worked perfectly.
It let him fall like a feather, his cape fluttering dramatically as the wind pulled at him. With a theatrical flourish, he stretched both arms wide, as if he were about to conduct an invisible orchestra. Then he stepped off the roof. Not jumped or leapt, just stepped as if gravity itself had politely agreed to hold off. The fall was slow and graceful. Zane drifted downward like a curtain pulled by invisible strings, his arms still open and his eyes half-lidded. His cape rippled behind him, catching the lamplight in a way that made the nearby guards hesitate. When he landed, it was soundless, his boots barely pressing into the earth. His presence was overwhelming. A murmur ran through the soldiers.
"It's him."
"Phantom."
"We can't let him near the vault."
"Do you think we'll even leave here alive?"
"Maybe beast taming spells will work on him.
He doesn't seem human."
Zane fixed his gaze on the guards and saw the fear hiding behind their determined faces. He took a soft breath, deepening his voice to a guttural, commanding tone. Another trick, another layer added to the legend of Phantom. "Tremble before me, insects."
He watched as their expressions twisted: confusion, fear, a flicker of anger. Many of these same guards strutted through market squares, shoving peasants aside with puffed chests and inflated egos. Mages barked orders at hungry children. Nobles rode past the dying without so much as a glance. Calling them insects was not just an insult; it was poetic justice. And Zane lived for that.
Their leader stepped forward, a tall mage with white hair braided down her back. Her staff burned blue at the tip, a simple artifact to enhance her spells.
"We have been expecting you," she snapped. "You cursed being."
Zane chuckled, his voice low and menacing. "Cursed? Don't give me that innocent act, Deborah. If anyone's cursed, it's you. You're probably the most immoral person here."
"How do you know my name?" A flush crept across Deborah's face. Calling her immoral was putting it lightly. She was a plaything in the tents, a prize every soldier had taken a piece of, yet they still wanted more.
Phantom's next words made her expression stiffen, as if she thought, I can't let you leave here alive. He laughed, sending a chill down the spines of the guards. Many of them wished they could go back to whatever they had been doing instead of facing this vigilante with strange and terrifying powers.
"I thought the royal guards would be better informed," Zane said, his voice low and dripping with mockery. "Don't you know that nothing hides from the shadows where I lurk? Especially not the things you do when the city sleeps."
Deborah's voice trembled, caught between fear and fury. "You... you think you can scare us with words and theatrics?" she snapped, trying to sound braver than she felt. "We know who you are. We've prepared for you."
Zane tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amused curiosity. "Oh?" His voice turned light, almost playful, but edged with sharp sarcasm. "Did you prepare your last words too?"
Deborah's face shifted through a series of frowns, each one deeper than the last. Then, with a sudden slam, she brought her staff down hard on the ground. The earth rumbled beneath their feet, and a glowing runic symbol burst into existence right under Zane's boots. A trap, perfectly set, and Zane had walked right into the center of it.
But instead of fear, a wide grin spread across his face. What kind of genius would he be if he hadn't anticipated this exact moment before even stepping down? No, he had chosen to enter the trap, intentionally, just to show these insects they stood no chance against him. There was a reason Zane or Phantom could stroll into traps laid by the city's elite mages and walk away untouched. The two magic techniques he had created weren't designed for brute destruction; they were swift, unpredictable, and baffled even the most seasoned spellcasters. The most frustrating part for his opponents was their utter inability to understand his abilities. To anyone who had witnessed Phantom fight, his powers seemed unreal, like something out of a nightmare.
First, Zane had crafted a simple teleportation spell. The idea was straightforward: create a portal and instantly move from one place to another. But Zane's analytical mind took it far beyond that. He factored in distance, friction between physical movement and magical displacement, and stretched the boundaries of what was thought possible. He could teleport himself, objects, even attacks hurled at him. That was only the beginning. His true brilliance emerged when he combined this skill with his second invention, something no one else could grasp without immense talent: invisibility. The most seasoned mages could only render a horse or a weapon invisible for a few fleeting minutes: ten or fifteen at best. After that, the spell would flicker, falter, and collapse. That was the accepted limit of magic. But Zane didn't accept limits. He studied the spell's every detail, breaking down runes, vibrations, and mana flows. Finally, he achieved what no one else could: he stabilized invisibility for hours at a time.
But it wasn't just invisibility. Objects affected by his magic didn't shimmer or warp; they vanished entirely without a trace, without lingering magical residue. Then he merged his space magic with invisibility itself. The result was breathtaking. He didn't merely disappear. He erased his presence completely. Portals turned into phantoms; objects teleported and vanished simultaneously. No flash, no sound, just nothing. To those watching, it appeared as if Phantom made things simply cease to exist. Even the way he appeared on rooftops was a mystery. No one saw him climb, jump, or fly. He was just there. Suddenly, like a shadow peeling out of the night. The rune beneath Zane's feet pulsed softly at first, then flared brightly, lighting the sky like the first rays of dawn. An explosion shattered the silence, echoing through the city's streets. The people of Bluridge looked on, their curiosity mixed with awe. No words were needed. They all knew their hero was at work, and quietly, in their hearts, they celebrated.
Deborah wasted no time. She signaled her mages and shouted, "Burn him to a crisp!" Flames of every color and intensity erupted, hurtling toward the spot where Phantom had stood moments before. Explosions rocked the ground as fireballs exploded, scorching the earth.
She lifted her hand to check, eyes sharp and calculating. From the smoke, footsteps emerged. Phantom's figure stepped into the light, untouched. A collective gasp rippled through the soldiers, fear tightening their chests. Not a single speck of dust marred his black suit. His smile, sharp and confident, only deepened their dread.
One soldier dropped his sword, whispering, "We're doomed. This man is no mortal." Another shivered, armor rattling. "How is this even possible?" Deborah's voice was barely audible, "Not even an Ascended warrior could survive that."
Without hesitation, Phantom sprang into action, launching himself toward the guards. The mages, shaken but defiant, unleashed more spells. Fire, water, light, and ice it didn't matter. Their magic passed through him like smoke. Their attacks turned the courtyard into a stage painted with vibrant explosions and elemental displays.
Then, suddenly, Phantom was among them. His black swords flashed, cutting through the air and painting the ground red. The soldiers fought desperately, slashing and blocking, but Phantom was a ghost. Every time they thought they landed a strike, their blades passed through him like mist.
Deborah's mouth fell open in shock. She had never faced such overwhelming power. She knew she had to stop him, no matter the cost.
Raising her palm high, she summoned her deadliest spell: "Devouring Earth Jaw." The ground trembled violently as massive chunks of dirt and stone rose to form a giant, monstrous mouth with jagged teeth. It snapped shut, swallowing everything within reach, soldiers and Phantom alike.
Deborah dropped to one knee, breath ragged. She had spent a tremendous amount of mana on that attack. But her relief was short-lived. Phantom's voice echoed, calm and mocking, "Nice try, but you can't kill justice."
Before she could react, a wet, sickening sound filled the air. Her head snapped back and rolled to the ground. Dead.
The knights and mages around her erupted in furious cries, immediately launching renewed attacks. But Phantom was gone.
He had vanished, his invisibility spell folding space around him so tightly that even his aura was concealed. To the others, it was as if he had become nothing more than smoke drifting on the wind.
For the next several minutes, chaos reigned. Mages accidentally attacked each other. Soldiers struck down their own comrades. The courtyard descended into madness until finally, someone screamed, "Stop! Enough!"
Silence fell like a heavy blanket. Arrows and spells ceased, and only the heavy breathing, groans, and the acrid scent of scorched leather remained. Phantom was gone. Or maybe he had never been there at all.
Someone ran to the vault and carefully checked the reinforced steel door. No damage, no broken enchantments. They entered cautiously, weapons raised, expecting a trap. Instead, the room was empty. Count Lukan's gold coins were gone, vanished without a trace.
Everything was gone. As if a ghost had taken it away.