As Sanè gazed at her.....his mind couldn't help but drift back to what happened.The roar of the wormhole still haunted Sané'
It wasn't just a sound—it was a feeling. A deep, bone-shaking tremor that crawled through the air and made the world seem smaller. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still see the sky above Dravenloch twist and tear apart like ripped flesh, spilling endless shadows that screamed like dying stars.
That was the day everything changed.
The day he first saw her.
They had just returned from their first mission—filthy, bloodstained, but alive. Sané, 111, and 123 had succeeded where others had failed. They had slain a Transmuter and destroyed his labs. Even Number 12, who rarely showed emotion, had given a single approving nod.
Dravenloch's skyline appeared on the horizon, its towers were black against the bruised sky. Sané had felt a strange tightness in his chest as they neared the city. The same alleys where he once slept in gutters. The same streets where people spat at him for being hollow.
He'd been gone for months, yet the stench of it—the sweat, the dust, the misery—felt like home.
"Feels strange coming back here," 111 had muttered.
Sané had nodded. "Strange, yeah."
123 had given a small smile. "Maybe this time we walk the streets like ghosts. Nobody will recognize us."
But before they could take another step, the air shifted.
It began with a low hum.
A vibration that crawled through the ground, through their bones.
Sané had looked up, and his heart froze.
High above the central plaza, the clouds began to widen and it spiraled. The once blue sky changed to black, veins of red lightning streaking through it. Then, with a tearing crack, the sky itself split open.
A wormhole.
But not like the others.
This one was vast—so wide it blotted out the sun.
From its depths poured not just beasts but monsters that had no names. Things born from nightmares—the Maker's Curse in its purest form.
Their forms twisted and bent, half-liquid, half-shadow, with eyes burning like dying stars. They didn't just fall—they rushed down, clawing at the air, landing in the streets, smashing through towers, devouring everything in sight.
The city erupted into chaos.
Screams echoed. Bells rang. The scent of burnt flesh filled the air.
At first, the city guards tried to fight. Then the mercenaries joined. Then the minor cultivators. But the beasts kept coming, crawling from the rift in endless waves.
The sky itself bled.
When the first Dreadmark cultivators arrived—twenty of them under the command of Lord Fang, Dravenloch's City Lord—the people cheered. Their cultivations burned bright, their power shaking the air.
But even they began to fall.
For every beast they slew, two more emerged from the wormhole.
Sané and his group stood at the edge of the chaos, watching.
"Those things are heading straight for the inner district," 111 said, gripping his weapon.
Number 12's expression hardened. "If the city falls, we lose our stronghold. We need to intervene."
Without hesitation, the Masked Ones surged into battle.
Sané leapt into the fray, his shadow spilling across the broken streets. Beasts lunged, their claws like spears, but his Vestige flared to life. Dark tendrils rose from the ground, impaling creatures mid-leap, twisting them apart.
Blood rained.
The others joined him—123 moving like a crimson storm, her Vestige forming burning petals that sliced through monsters like blades. 111 became a blur of molten steel, his armor flaring with each strike....as his flames surge out.
But it wasn't enough.
For every beast they destroyed, more came through the wormhole—massive, roaring things with wings of bone and eyes of lightning.
Sané's body screamed in pain. His vision blurred. Still, he kept fighting.
Somewhere ahead, he saw one of the Dreadmark cultivators torn in half by a horned abomination.
Lord Fang bellowed, summoning his full power—a vortex of black wind that shredded everything near him. For a moment, it seemed he was turning the tide.
Then a beast three times his size rose from the ground and crushed him beneath its weight.
The air trembled. The battle turned desperate.
But ofcourse when hope was nearly gone, light descended.
Literally.
A brilliant golden light tore across the battlefield like a spear. The massive beast that had crushed Lord Fang froze, pierced clean through its heart. The air rippled, and the creature fell with a thunderous crash.
Three figures landed in the crater it left behind.
The first was a young woman—black hair cascading down her back, her eyes glowing faintly gold beneath her battle visor. Her armor gleamed, etched with runes that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. She moved with the confidence of one who had never lost.
Mabel Maverick. Heir of the Maverick family.
At her side were two men—twins, tall, sharp-eyed, their weapons curved like talons. Zex and Sax, her wardens.
"Begin formation," she ordered calmly.
Without hesitation, the twins moved. Power flared beneath their feet, and waves of energy burst outward. The battlefield shifted instantly—the chaos of beasts slowed as their formation trapped them within arcs of blinding light.
Sané, panting heavily, stared across the burning street. For a heartbeat, everything else fell silent.
That was the first time he saw her.
The way she stood, calm amidst the ruin, her spear blazing like a fragment of the sun itself—it didn't feel human. To him...it felt divine.
She drove her weapon into the ground, releasing a shockwave of golden energy that turned the sky bright again. The beasts screamed as the light seared through their forms.
Sané felt the ground shake beneath his feet. He quickly shielded his eyes.
When the light faded, she was already moving again—cutting through the beasts with impossible speed. Each thrust of her spear split the air. Every movement was precise, clean, beautiful.
For a moment, he forgot he was fighting.
He just watched.
Number 12's voice snapped him back. "Focus, 99! Kill them before they breach the lower quarter!"
He turned sharply and dove back into battle.
The Masked Ones regrouped, forming a circle of defense beside the Maverick forces. For the first time, shadows and light fought side by side.
When one beast slipped through the Maverick formation, Sané's shadow lashed forward, dragging it into darkness. When a Masked One was nearly crushed, Mabel's golden aura flared, obliterating the threat in an instant.
They never spoke.
But in that chaos, they understood each other.
The battle raged for hours. Infact...the sky burned red. The wormhole shrieked above, smaller now but still pulsing with energy.
Then, finally, the combined might of both sides forced it to collapse.
The sky stitched itself shut. The air fell still.
And in the silence that followed, the battlefield was a graveyard—scorched earth, torn bodies, smoking ruins.
The city was almost in ruins...
Sané stood amidst it all, panting heavily. His mask was cracked, blood dripping down his neck.
Across the field, he saw her again—Mabel Maverick, her armor was scorched but her eyes...her eyes were sharp, her spear resting against her shoulder.
For a moment, their eyes met through the haze.
Two worlds.
One of the sun, one of the shadow.
Then she turned away, her wardens following her into the light.
And Sané walked the other way—back into the dark.
Now, standing beneath the ruins of the Cathedral, facing her once more, Sané felt that same hum in his chest. The same strange recognition.
The golden spear....the unwavering stance. The same calm fury in her eyes.
So it's her, he thought.
The one who burned the sky.
He exhaled slowly, remembering how that day had ended—with death, silence, and the faintest flicker of something he hadn't felt in years.
Not fear.
Not hate.
But curiosity.
Because when she looked at him that day through the smoke, she hadn't looked at him like a monster.
She'd looked at him like a question that needed answering.