"Well... home sweet home," he muttered sarcastically, stepping into the abandoned building.
There was still electricity, though the air reeked of burnt copper. A makeshift computer, cobbled together from remnants of another era, hummed erratically. Igyris sat before it. His fingers moved swiftly—without enthusiasm—typing obscure commands. He understood these machines like one understands their own blood—instinctively.
The base had once belonged to a forgotten cult. The structure felt dead, yet it still pulsed with a faint arcane energy. His skin itched, burned, tingled. Signs of residual magic. Uncomfortable, but familiar.
Throwing himself onto a decaying couch, he exhaled slowly:
"I've got nothing to think about..."
And indeed, he didn't. His mind was a battlefield after the war. Silent. Hollow. He'd sleep four hours. Maybe less. He'd wake and carry on, as always. Machines calibrated. Weapons tuned. Soul empty. He had killed more than he could remember since joining the faction. And no amount of blood seemed enough.
At dawn, he was already at the meeting point—a glass balcony atop a colossal skyscraper. The building belonged to one of the city's most influential families, tied to the Arcane Houses. Powerful. Wealthy. And, like everyone else here, corrupt to the bone.
While adjusting his gear and weapons, he couldn't help but notice a conversation nearby.
"Heh... glad you gave us your building, dear Ryo," said Jaywen, the leader of the operation.
"Don't worry about it, Jaywen. The fall of those idiots will bring benefits to my family. One less House to interfere with business," Ryo replied, smiling with the coldness of a man selling an empire for crumbs.
"Boss... the target's from a military family, right? I know they're nobles and all, but... isn't that too risky?" asked Cyphon, too young to hide the fear in his eyes.
"Listen, kid. We're not facing an army—just a pathetic delegation. They came practically naked, asking for discretion. It's a political mission, not a military campaign. And with Ryo on our side, we've got everything."
Jaywen spoke with the confidence of someone already planning the banquet after the slaughter.
"But... why so much effort for a sword?" Igyris murmured, nearly yawning. "And are we really going to use the Gullbriser?"
"My Golden Boy spoke! What a beautiful day!" Jaywen laughed. "Listen: the eldest son of the Kaiwen family died recently. The youngest came to seal some truces. He's traveling with a family relic—an arcane sword called ShadowStorm, the Soul-Splitter. An old item... but crazy valuable. Selling it puts us at the top of the magical weapons market. Got it now?"
"HELL YEAH, FUCK YEAH! HAHAHA! This is the heist of our lives!"
Jaywen didn't even need encouragement. He was drunk on the idea of victory.
"So? Is it time? Are we going in now?"
Jaywen looked to the skies with a twisted smile.
"We're already here, idiot."
He drew the Gullbriser—a grotesque arcane cannon, clad in black steel and etched with ancient runes pulsing in blood red. Even the air around the weapon seemed to flee. The soldiers fell silent. It was as if the presence of the weapon sucked all sanity from the room.
And then, they saw it.
Below the rooftop, gliding along a lonely skyway, came a floating carriage. Sleek. Ornate. Mechanically elegant. Propelled by magical thrusters. Inside: the young noble. And almost certainly... the sword.
Minimal escort. Isolated location. A lethal mistake.
Jaywen pointed.
And fired.
The world folded. A dry sound—more absence than explosion—marked the shot. A black gash sliced the sky like a scythe. A flash. An implosion. The carriage was violently hurled, spinning through the air before crashing down. The street below was swallowed by a brutal shockwave. Buildings trembled. Windows burst into a thousand shards.
The escort? Reduced to ashes.
"BULLSEYE, MOTHERFUCKERS! HAHAHAHAHA!"
"IT WORKED! HOLY SHIT, IT FUCKING WORKED!"
"FIRE UP THE CAPSULE TUBES, NOW!"
"Y-yessir!"
One of the men ran. A dimensional tear opened, revealing a ravaged zone of the city—a destroyed park, littered with debris and residual magic. Without hesitation, the team jumped. They descended like ravenous predators. Rifles in hand. Magical explosives ready. They fired, screamed, burned everything.
Rain.
At first, light. Then heavy. Dense. As if the sky sensed something.
From the wreckage, a light emerged. Silver. Alive. An ethereal aura that seemed to sing—but not a beautiful melody. It was an ancient lament. Igyris' skin reacted. Burned. The amulet on his chest pulsed.
And then... a voice. Clear. Trembling with pain. But firm as steel.
"Oh, what a shame... so many honorable men, fallen to filthy pigs. My father should have listened. This crusade... is mine alone."
"GET OUT HERE, YOU LITTLE BITCH! CRYING FOR DADDY?! HAHAHA! SURRENDER NOW AND MAYBE WE'LL LET YOU KEEP AN ARM!"
Jaywen mocked.
But the voice continued.
"Bow your heads. You have no idea what you've touched. There's still time to flee. Do not challenge the Crusade of Khaelis..."
Thunder slithered through the clouds. The rain became a storm. The name... Khaelis... echoed among the soldiers like an ancestral warning.
Jaywen growled, spitting.
"LISTEN HERE, BLUEBLOOD! YOU'RE OUR BITCH NOW!"
Jaywen screamed in a frenzy.
But the voice didn't waver.
"Bow your heads, pigs..."
OH NO, YOU LITTLE SONS O—
FOOM!!!
A single, silent thunderbolt touched the ground. Not like ordinary thunder, but like a blade splitting the very atmosphere. For an instant, with the thunder's fall, the rain ceased...
Jaywen stood still. Perhaps paralyzed?
And in the next moment, as the thunder faded, the rain returned—brutal and heavy. As if the gods wept for what was about to happen on that ground.
All the men stood frozen, staring at Jaywen in stunned silence. Even Igyris. Something had descended with that bolt... their sentence.