District 10 - Sector 4
——
The sun blazed high over the terracotta rooftops, casting a golden sheen across the narrow, cobbled streets of Sector 4's old town, deep in the heart of District 10. The air was alive with the scent of roasted corn, citrus, and blooming bougainvillea spilling over balconies in bright, jubilant reds and purples.
Somewhere in the distance, a mariachi band played softly, their trumpets and guitars floating through the streets like a memory.
Children chased each other between the market stalls, their laughter echoing off adobe walls. Vendors called out in their native language, offering fresh tamales, sugar-dusted churros, and handwoven crafts in every shade imaginable. Colorful papel picado fluttered overhead, strung between buildings like ribbons of celebration.
And above it all, rising at the heart of the old town like a sentinel of faith, stood the cathedral.
It was a towering structure of weathered stone and white stucco, its twin bell towers casting long shadows across the square. A sea of marigolds lined the cathedral's steps, and the heavy wooden doors were shut to keep the solemn ceremony private.
Inside, the air was cooler, perfumed with candle wax and incense, and drenched in soft golden light from the stained glass. Hues of crimson, sapphire, and emerald spilled across the pews, shifting with the sun's slow arc. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, adorned with faded murals of saints and angels watching from above.
The wedding was already underway.
The bride stood radiant at the altar, her dress a flowing ivory river edged with lace, her veil glittering faintly like mist in the sun. The groom beside her beamed, eyes full of tears he didn't bother hiding.
Family filled every pew, pressed close, whispering blessings and laughter. Smiles bloomed on every face. Children fidgeted in their best clothes. Someone passed tissues. An old man clutched his wife's hand a little tighter.
The priest raised his arms, his voice warm and resonant as he spoke words of unity, of love sanctified by heaven.
But just as he was about to declare the couple husband and wife…
Bang.
The cathedral doors flew open, slamming against the walls with a crash that silenced the organ mid-note. A cold draft swept the aisle. Every head turned toward the doorway, where a lean, small woman, perhaps in her twenties, stood framed in the light, one leg lowering from the swing of a hard kick.
She stepped inside without a word, her face hidden behind a smooth white mask with no eyes, nose, or mouth, bearing only a single word carved into the forehead in deep red.
Silence.
Everything about her felt wrong and unnatural. She wore combat black from boots to close-fit trousers to bandaged wrists, all stained with fresh blood. Her blunt bob clung in damp strands to her pale cheeks. Drops of blood slid from her chin, striking the floor in slow, deliberate beats. Behind her, a thin ribbon of blood marked her path across the stone. Across her back rested an elegant katana, longer than regulation, its sheath dark and gleaming as oil.
She moved toward the altar, each step slow and measured.
A collective breath drew in. People shifted, faces paling, whispers spreading as parents pulled their children closer and others began to edge back.
"Who are you?" the priest called out, voice trembling but loud. "You're not allowed in here!"
The groom — Diego Cordero — stepped forward. The joy in his face had vanished. His hand slipped into his jacket, emerging with a pistol he leveled at her chest.
"You heard the man," he snarled. "State your purpose… or get the fuck out of here."
It was a signal.
Almost instantly, the congregation moved. Dozens of hands dipped into jackets and handbags. Guns appeared, pistols clicking, safeties snapping off. Even the priest reached into the folds of his vestment and drew a small, polished handgun, his hands shaking but his aim steady.
In seconds, the cathedral shifted from a holy place of celebration to a pressure cooker armed to the teeth.
And still, the masked girl walked forward, unfazed. She stopped in the center aisle, halfway to the altar, tilting her head slightly as her eyes scanned the guns, the people, the fear.
Then she sighed, a quiet, almost bored sound, as if the chaos around her was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"Diego Cordero," she said, her gaze settling on the groom. Her voice cut through the tension, smooth and cold, like water on glass.
The groom flinched.
"You have been declared Null."
Everyone tensed. Diego began to sweat. He didn't understand what she meant by "declared Null." No one did. But something about it felt wrong. His hand trembled around the trigger.
The girl lifted her gaze toward the vaulted ceiling and sighed again.
"I came for Diego alone," she said softly, almost regretfully. "But I don't like the welcome I'm receiving."
After a brief pause, she continued, "I now declare… this congregation, this building, Nullified."
She breathed out slowly. From her mouth, a pale mist spilled, light at first, like breath on glass. Then it thickened and grew heavier, rolling across the cathedral floor, curling around pews, creeping between ankles like fog rising from an unseen sea.
Guns began to lower in confusion. People blinked, unsure, swallowed by the growing white haze.
Then her voice came, soft enough to sound like the wind:
"Massacre of the Pale Ghost"
The moment the words left her lips, the air shifted.
The mist stirred. At first, it crept like a breath, soft tendrils winding across the cathedral floor, but in an instant it thickened. It bloomed outward in violent silence, swallowing pews, altars, and faces. In less than a second, the entire cathedral vanished into a white, blinding void.
No one could see, no one could breathe, no one could think. Silence clung to the entire cathedral like a second skin, cold, wet, and suffocating.
Somewhere in the pews, a woman clutched her son's arm, pressing him tightly to her chest. Her heart raced, her breath trembling, each inhale a fragile, shaky thread in the oppressive void. "Stay close," she whispered, her voice breaking, and in the silence that followed, something warm hit her cheek. She raised her hand, rubbed it, and sniffed; it was blood.
Her son suddenly grew heavy, slumping against her side. She turned to him and froze. His head was gone, warm blood splattering across her hands and chest.
She opened her mouth to scream, but before a sound could escape, something took form in the mist. A single word — Silence — stared back at her, written in pale vapor and streaked with the blood of her son, hanging in the air like judgment.
Then her vision tipped sideways as her head slid from her shoulders and hit the marble with a soft, wet thud.
Panic detonated around her. Gunshots ripped through the mist, wild and desperate. People screamed, bodies slammed into one another. Bullets tore into pews; some struck family members, others ricocheted into walls. Blinded by fear, they became their own executioners.
In the fog, blood painted the air like ink in water. Between the gunfire, a single blade danced, unseen and unfelt, moving faster than the eye and cutting through lungs, necks, hearts.
One man fired until his clip emptied, hands shaking. Then something brushed his throat, and that was the last thing he felt.
The chaos raged for three full minutes, stretching inside the cathedral like an eternity. Then, suddenly, silence fell, brutal and absolute, ringing louder than the gunfire that had come before.
Then it happened.
As if some god had drawn a sword across the heavens, a vertical line split the cathedral in two. From the main doors to the altar, the stone trembled, a clean, supernatural rupture tearing through ceiling and pews.
The cathedral cracked. It groaned and folded inward. Stone screamed as the roof caved. Marble shattered. Stained glass exploded outward in a symphony of color and ruin. Dust and ash rose in a pillar that swallowed the sunlight.
When the mist cleared, all that remained was rubble. Men, women, and children lay buried, crushed beneath the bones of a sanctuary that had become a tomb.
It was grotesque.
Outside, screams broke out like an alarm.
People in the market dropped baskets and plates, some frozen in place, others fleeing in every direction. A few rushed toward the wreckage, shouting for loved ones, scrambling through debris for survivors.
Amid the chaos, the masked girl walked, calm and unbothered. Her boots, covered in blood, trailed scarlet across the stone as she moved through the marketplace like a ghost.
People screamed as she passed. Some ran. Some sank to their knees in shock. No one dared stop her.
She turned her head lazily, glancing at a food stall on the corner, and stepped inside. Moments later, she emerged, chewing on a steaming tamale, her mask tilted just high enough to eat.
She paused for a moment, savoring it, then sighed. "Gosh… I'm starving."
Her phone rang. Hand sliding into her pocket, she pulled it out. The screen lit up with the name:
[Spoiled Brat.]
She frowned. 'Tch. What does this bastard want?'
She answered without a word, lifting the phone lazily to her ear.
Then Sami's voice came through, chipper as ever.
"Hey Aika, how've you been?"
Her reply was flat. "What."
"I need your help."
Aika pulled the phone away, her thumb already moving to end the call, when Sami's voice shot through the speaker, urgent.
"Wait, wait! Please, just hear me out. Don't hang up."
With an irritated sigh, Aika returned the phone to her ear.
"You've got one minute."
Sami spoke quickly. "I've got someone who needs help resonating with his element. His core is water, just like yours, and he's still new to all of this."
Aika clenched her jaw, a cold breath escaping her lips.
"You little spoiled brat," she hissed. "I gave you one minute and you're asking me to babysit?"
"I'll pay you double," Sami replied instantly. "Double what you made on your last job."
Aika said nothing, and Sami sensed her hesitation.
"Okay, fine. You can ride my bike. Solo. No restrictions."
Her eyebrow twitched behind the mask. She raised the phone slowly back to her mouth.
"Triple. And you're booking my flight to District 4."
Click.
Aika ended the call. Then she looked down at the tamale in her hand.
"Tsk. Now this shit's cold."
Without a second thought, she tossed it onto the pavement and kept walking, boots crunching through the dust as she disappeared into another sector of District 10.