"Wooo—wooo—wooo—"
In a certain city in Japan, a sharp, ear-piercing alarm rang out.
Everyone who heard it immediately recognized the sound.
They froze mid-action, expressions turning grim, before sprinting toward the nearest shelter without hesitation.
Within minutes, the once-bustling streets fell into an eerie silence.
Aside from the shrill wail of the alarm, no other sound could be heard—no footsteps, no voices—nothing.
Then, the sky above the city began to distort, as though space itself were being compressed.
The air twisted and tore at the edges of reality, gathering immense energy in midair before releasing it violently toward the ground.
There was nothing visible—yet everyone who was foolish enough to remain on the surface felt a deep, primal terror rise within them.
The instant the twisted energy touched the city, a deafening explosion erupted.
A wave of pure destruction radiated outward from the impact point, engulfing everything in its path.
Buildings shattered like fragile glass, the earth tore open, and in seconds, the city was reduced to rubble—
as if a careless child from some cosmic realm had scooped a spoonful of land right out of the planet.
A Spatial Quake.
Ever since the first and most catastrophic one—the Eurasian Air Disaster thirty years ago—the world had never known peace.
Spatial quakes of varying scales continued to appear across the globe.
For ordinary people, there was no defense, no way to stop them.
The only option was to minimize casualties.
After all, the Eurasian Air Disaster alone had killed over 1.5 billion people.
And so, every nation developed spatial quake alarms.
Whenever they rang, it meant the end was near—
and the only hope of survival was to flee to the nearest shelter.
Thanks to decades of repeated disasters, humanity had perfected its post-quake recovery systems.
But this time was different.
This quake was far greater than any in recent years—
the largest since the Eurasian tragedy itself.
Within seconds, the entire city vanished beneath fire and ruin.
Even the underground shelters, built to withstand such events, were obliterated.
Over ninety percent of those who took refuge perished instantly.
The remaining few survived only by sheer luck—either outside the city, or shielded by someone stronger.
When the dust finally settled, at the very center of the devastation stood a girl.
She gazed coldly at the wasteland around her.
She wore a blood-red dress beneath a pure black coat.
Her long, silky black hair fell loosely over her shoulders, perfectly matching the dark aura she exuded.
Her beautiful face was emotionless—
her delicate brows slightly furrowed as she surveyed the world in silence.
Her crimson eyes gleamed like distant galaxies—deep, unfathomable, carrying a quiet arrogance that dared anyone to approach.
Even a single glance from her was enough to make the heart tremble,
as if a divine and terrifying power stood behind her, ready to descend.
Silver bracelets, like shackles, circled her wrists—
as though she had once been imprisoned.
Around her neck hung a simple-looking necklace,
from which dangled an inverted equilateral triangle divided into red, blue, and black sections.
Each color filled one third of the shape and one of its corners.
At this moment, however, the triangle was dim, lifeless.
"Where… is this?"
The girl—no, Tianqi Sanluo—looked around the still-flattened land with faint confusion.
This was a world she had never seen before.
The Kabbalah Tree of Life had not told her where she would reincarnate.
And now, it didn't seem like a pleasant place.
But it didn't matter.
This life had been given to her by the Tree—
if she were to die again, it would simply be returning what was borrowed.
Memories of her past life surged in her mind, bringing a sharp pain to her chest, followed by endless rage.
A cruel environment breeds cruelty.
When one grows up in suffering, their personality twists,
their empathy dies, and what remains is often hatred and madness.
And so, the rare few who can still smile through despair—
who rise above pain and tragedy—are admired as heroes.
But Tianqi Sanluo was not one of them.
She had never known warmth.
Her past life was nothing but misery—
a thorn forever lodged in her heart.
Each time she felt alive, she also felt that thorn twist, reminding her of everything she had lost.
She hated it.
But she could not change it.
If anything could bring her a sliver of satisfaction…
perhaps it was—
She pressed her right foot gently against the ground and rose into the air, floating effortlessly.
From high above, she looked down upon the chaos below.
As the spatial quake's tremors faded, the survivors began crawling out of their shelters.
They looked around in horror at the devastation—
at the city that no longer existed.
Never before had anyone seen a spatial quake of such magnitude.
The AST—the Anti-Spirit Team—patrolling the city had been annihilated before they could even react.
Tianqi Sanluo's crimson eyes scanned the scattered survivors,
their tiny, frantic movements resembling ants scurrying over crumbs.
Her lips curled into a twisted, eerie smile.
Then she whispered softly, almost lovingly—
"Burning Immortal Flame." (焚世神炎)
Every Spirit, upon birth, instinctively knows their greatest weapon and shield—
their Angel and Astral Dress.
Tianqi Sanluo's Astral Dress, Divine Might Raiment: Third Form S, had already manifested when she arrived through the spatial quake.
As she raised her right hand, the red corner of the inverted triangle on her necklace began to glow.
Flames surged up her arm, and in her palm appeared a massive, crimson halberd—
a flaming crescent blade nearly eight feet long, perfectly matching her tall frame.
Burning Immortal Flame, the manifestation of the Pillar of Severity,
corresponded to the fifth Sephira of the Kabbalah Tree of Life—
but far stronger, purer, and infinitely more destructive.
Tianqi Sanluo swung the weapon casually toward the ground.
A moment later, a fifty-meter-wide fireball erupted from the blade's tip,
bursting into smaller firebombs that rained down across the ruins.
Each one sought out movement, striking the few remaining intact buildings and the survivors still fleeing for their lives.
The explosions blossomed like crimson flowers,
their flames spreading mercilessly across the landscape.
"Wh-what is that!?"
"Help! Somebody help us!"
Panic filled the air.
The city's firefighting systems had been destroyed in the quake,
and the AST had been wiped out.
Reinforcements from nearby cities were still on their way—
but for those trapped here, time itself had already chosen their fate.
Tianqi Sanluo was not done.
These crawling ants didn't deserve mercy.
She raised her halberd again—pointing the blade skyward before slicing downward with force.
Instantly, the dying flames roared back to life,
hungry and wild, consuming everything within reach.
Those who had just begun to breathe in relief,
hiding behind walls or rubble,
were swallowed whole in the next inferno.
Not even ashes remained.
Within moments, not a single living soul was left.
The city—once home to tens of thousands—was gone.
Tianqi Sanluo slowly descended, hovering about two hundred meters above the ground,
gazing at the hellscape she had created.
This was her first time killing.
In her previous life, the burning of her home had haunted her dreams for years.
But now, seeing the same flames consume others—
she felt something new.
A pleasure that rose from the depths of her being.
A euphoric thrill that made her tremble.
Unable to contain it, she covered her face with one hand and laughed.
Laughed wildly. Madly.
"Hahahahahahahaha!!"