It was late night, and beneath the velvet canopy of the sky, a city shimmered faintly.
At its heart stood a towering ancient structure, where all railway lines converged: King's Cross Station. The building rose eight stories high, clean and monolithic against the horizon. On the second floor of the north entrance, a spacious terrace opened to the night, the glowing blue words "King's Cross North Entrance" emblazoned above it like a title card.
Across from it, the glowing clock on a mirrored office tower read 10:00 PM. Most of the station staff had gone home for the evening, but the last train of the night was still far from arriving.
And yet, not a soul stirred.
The station lay in eerie silence—its terrace empty, the roundabout below frozen in time. Lining the curb were parked cars, perfectly still, their engines long cooled. No buses rumbled down the boulevard. No train lights flickered on the distant tracks. The city felt paused, like a breath caught in the chest of the world.
It was a silence so deep, it could swallow anything whole.
Then—a sound broke it.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The noise came from the upper levels of the station building—from a tenant window on the seventh floor, tucked away on the eastern side. Someone was pounding on the glass from the inside.
A silhouette flickered behind the windowpane—a lithe, feminine figure. Her hands slapped the glass in desperate rhythm, slender shoulders rising and falling with panic. The outline of her body was partially illuminated by the interior lighting, revealing soft curves hugged tight by the half-slipped straps of what looked like a camisole or lingerie.
She froze.
And then, like a frightened animal, she turned and bolted deeper into the room, vanishing into shadow. But something else took her place.
A second silhouette—massive, looming, over two meters tall—stepped into the frame. Where she had been slender, this figure was all menace: shoulders too broad, frame unnatural, like a beast in human shape.
BAM!—The creature crashed against the window.
Glass groaned in resistance. The pane warped, then bulged. For a heartbeat, it held—then exploded outward in a rain of shimmering shards.
Shhh—KRSSSHHH! Silver glints scattered through the night air, catching the neon light like diamond dust. And then—
Three silver arcs whipped through the breach.
Claws.
They sliced the air with terrifying grace, swiping at the glittering rain of glass as if to claw the light itself from the world. Compact, predatory movements—cold and calculated.
The beast turned, muscles rolling beneath its inhuman frame. Its arm swung, body pivoting like a machine wound too tight—and then it was gone, vanished from the window as it gave chase to the girl who had fled moments before.
The broken window breathed. Outside wind surged in, trailing behind the monster like a ghost's whisper, slipping through the shattered frame to follow it into the heart of the building.
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Only the emergency lights hummed softly, casting a pale glow over the escalator landing on the third floor. There, a solitary figure stood—gasping for breath, doubled over, her body trembling from adrenaline and fear.
Her dark, windblown hair stuck to the sweat on her flushed cheeks. Her school blazer clung tightly to her form, the buttons strained as if begging to be undone from the frantic sprint. Beneath the blazer, the fabric of her blouse was nearly translucent with moisture, revealing the subtle swell of her chest with each heaving breath.
Clutched tight in her arms was a long black instrument case, almost as tall as she was. Yellow floor markings read: "LEVEL 3." Just one more level down and she would reach the terrace—the place she had always escaped to when the world became too much.
"I can make it," she whispered hoarsely. "Just a bit more…"
Her voice cracked, followed by a dry, hacking cough—once, twice, then a third time that shook her small frame. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
I'm sorry... I should've gone straight home. I should've never come here. She gripped the strap of her case tighter. The instrument inside—an old, cherished flute—was trembling along with her. A small ribbon, white and frayed, peeked from the side pocket of the case. Her eyes caught it—and for just a second, she smiled. But it didn't last.
"All my bad luck started here… Three bloody years of it," she murmured, blinking back tears. "I just wanted to hide, like always. But Grandpa isn't on duty tonight. And instead of peace, some thing is chasing me… swinging claws like bloody blades…"
She remembered the voice. That strange, crawling whisper that hadn't come from the air—but from inside her head. That voice had woken her… just before the nightmare had begun. She shook her head violently. No time to think. I need to get out before that monster finds me again.
Just as she took a breath, a noise echoed from above, sharp and heavy. Footsteps. Each step fell like a hammer, like stakes driven into the bones of the station itself. It was on the move again—directly overhead.
"…!" She flinched, her heart skipping a beat, and sprinted toward the escalator. Her skirt fluttered upward with the motion, revealing bare thighs that gleamed under the cold fluorescent light.
She hurled herself down the aluminum steps. Down. Down. Down—every slam of her polished leather shoes rang like alarm bells. She could hear it now; the footsteps above overlapping with her own.
The air around her grew colder. "…Wind?"
It whispered in from the terrace, curling around her legs like ghostly fingers. The source was the north wall—just beyond the wide windows she'd pounded on earlier for help that never came. A sound approached from outside, deep and unnatural—like a roar without shape.
"What the hell—?" Her voice caught in her throat.
The building shuddered, as if struck by a divine hand.
BOOOOOOOM—
The impact resonated like a jet tearing through the air at supersonic speed. Wind burst through the station like a hurricane, tearing through her lungs, lifting the edges of her skirt until it flared like a petal in the storm. Her hair whipped across her face. She stumbled. Every inch of her body bristled with electric fear.
The pressure passed in a blink, but that moment had broken something. Her breath caught. Her feet stilled. And then—silence. The absence of sound was almost louder than the impact itself. She inhaled shakily.
The escalator's landing was just a few steps away. But the shadow above—the one cast by the floor she'd just left—was stretching, thickening.
The footsteps had stopped. Her blood turned to ice.
Something is...—she didn't finish the thought. She acted.
"Sorry," she muttered—then swung. The strap snapped tight as she arced the heavy case like a golf club. Her muscles burned with desperation, rage, and three years of suppressed pain.
She connected.
Crack!
The case struck the figure descending toward her—right in the ribs. It was a shadow no longer—it was a beast, towering and hunched, with glistening black skin and silver claws as long as kitchen knives.
The impact knocked it sideways. The case broke open. Her flute—her most treasured possession—splintered into pieces, scattering across the stairs with a soft metallic jingle. Still, the beast's claws swung downward.
Only now did she truly see them.
Not blades. Claws. And the creature… it stood upright like a man, but its form was anything but human.
The next instant unfolded in slow motion.
The claws missed her by inches, slamming into the escalator's frame and ripping through steel like butter. The beast lost its balance and tumbled—crashing into the neighboring escalator with a roar of fury.
She heard the bones in its body crunch. The shriek of twisted metal—but she didn't care. The only sound that mattered now was the gentle clink of her shattered flute.
"Sorry…" she whispered again, but not to the beast.
She stumbled, losing her footing. Pain lanced through her side as she fell against the escalator step, her legs scraped painfully against the steel steps.
She groaned—but forced herself to her feet.
The beast growled from below. The rage in its voice was primal and thunderous. It didn't understand what had just happened, but it was furious.
She didn't look back. She ran—down the escalator, toward the second floor.
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On the dimly lit second floor of King's Cross Station, two rows of boutiques flanked the hallway like silent sentinels. Each shop was sealed off behind metallic shutters, cold and unmoving. The scene might've been familiar to her—she'd walked this path countless times under the quiet escort of her grandfather, a nightshift security guard.
But tonight, she ran alone.
Her leather shoes slapped the tile floor as she sprinted toward the far end of the hall, where a single glass door remained exposed—unlike the rest, it was free of shutters. That was her exit.
Beyond it lay the massive northern atrium of the station, a yawning open space that stretched from east to west. But first, she had to get through the door.
She threw her weight into the handle. Locked. She tried again—this time slamming her shoulder against the glass with all her might.
Thunk—the pain rippled through her slender frame, forcing a breathless gasp from her lips. But it worked, the glass gave way, and she stumbled forward into the open air of the deserted atrium.
"What… the hell is going on?" she whispered as she collapsed to her knees on the polished stone floor, the cold biting into her skin through her tights.
The atrium of King's Cross was vast—at least 15 meters wide and high enough to swallow echoes. Deserted. The silence pressed in like fog.
Then she felt it. A soft pressure on the back of her hand. She looked down—and blinked.
A cat.
A young, russet-brown tabby stood beside her. Its fur was slightly damp, as if it too had run through the cold night. For a moment, their eyes met. The girl reached down instinctively and picked it up, her arms still trembling.
As she held it close to her chest, the warmth of its small body pressed against the dampness of her blouse, and she became aware of how exposed she was. Her blazer had loosened, revealing the curve of one bare shoulder and a glimpse of her lacy bra strap beneath. The breeze that drifted through the station kissed her skin, sending a subtle shiver down her spine.
The cat, seemingly unimpressed by the surreal horror around them, narrowed its eyes in annoyance at her tight embrace—but it gave her comfort.
"I need to get to the north terrace…" she whispered, raising her head. The terrace was just beyond the northern exit—she could almost see it through the massive glass panes. She took one shaky step forward.
And then—
Clang!—a mechanical, metallic sound cut through the quiet like a blade.
She froze. The source of the noise dropped down from the night sky, landing on the traffic circle outside the terrace with a rush of air and steel.
She turned slowly, and then saw it.
A giant.
No—an armoured colossus, at least ten meters tall. It loomed outside the station, its broad grey frame rising above the terrace ledge like a living fortress. Its shoulders were plated, its limbs thick with artificial muscle, and a single glowing blue eye blinked alive in the center of its head.
"A… robot?" she muttered, breathless. "No. An… armor?"
As if hearing her thoughts, the mechanical figure twisted, its towering form groaning. It turned—and looked directly at her. That glowing blue eye locked with hers.
A spike of pure fear drove into her chest. She couldn't breathe. Her body cowered without her permission, knees buckling as she stumbled back.
The cat squirmed again, complaining with a sweet, low meow—utterly unfazed by the towering machine. Its indifference coaxed a weak, bitter laugh from her. "Of course you're not scared. You don't understand any of this…"
She steadied her breath and felt strength slowly returning to her limbs. She whispered it to herself like a spell. I can do this. I can do this.
Her eyes darted to a narrow service stairwell to her left—wedged between the entrance wall and the terrace. That might be her only escape. The mech was too massive to follow her into that stairwell.
Fifteen meters. Three seconds, if she ran hard. She gripped the cat tighter against her chest, the heat of it warming the damp fabric stretched across her skin, and broke into a sprint—
"Ah—!" Her ankle twisted.
She cried out as her body lurched forward, tumbling hard onto the cold tile. The impact jarred through her knees and elbows. Her skirt flipped up during the fall, exposing the smooth expanse of her ass and the thin hem of her panties. She groaned and struggled to rise, but—
Pain shot up her leg.
She looked back and found the culprit: one of her shoes had torn wide open at the side seam. Her body trembled. She tried to push herself up again, but her right leg buckled uselessly beneath her. "No… not now!"
From the terrace above, a click rang out. The mech raised its right arm—an enormous cannon mounted along its forearm now trained on her body.
She stared up at the barrel of that weapon, wide-eyed and breathless. Her voice failed her.
"Ah…" The sound that escaped was barely human. A mix of disbelief and defeat. Tears welled in her eyes.
But then—she felt warmth against her hip. The cat had stayed. It rubbed affectionately against her leg, as if trying to comfort her. She reached out and gathered it into her arms again, clutching it against her chest. Her trembling fingers combed through its fur.
She looked up, meeting the mech's cold, artificial gaze—and glared.
She first saw flames—light emerged from the mech's cannon. A streak of smoke and fire tore through the air toward her like a wrathful god's judgment.
The shockwave hit her first. Then the heat. The roar of it all nearly burst her eardrums.
She tried to move, to roll, anything—but her injured ankle collapsed under her weight again. Her lips twisted into a snarl. The sound that left her throat wasn't a scream—it was anger at herself.
The explosion arrived a breath later.
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She opened her eyes slowly.
The cat was still cradled in her arms, its small heart thudding steadily against her.
"...I'm... alive?" She tried to speak, but her voice vanished into the numb haze buzzing through her ears. Her hearing was shot — reduced to a cottony silence. Her senses were slow to return, wrapped in shock.
With effort, she sat up on trembling arms. The station floor around her was littered with smoke and fractured tiles. The acrid stench of gunpowder and scorched concrete filled her nose. The wind carried ash, soot, and fragments of the terrace overhead.
There had definitely been an explosion — and yet, by some miracle, she was still breathing.
"What… happened?" Her voice returned to her ears as a faint echo, and with it, so did the rising wail of the wind curling down through the broken glass and twisted metal above.
Drawn by instinct, she turned toward the source of the light. There, standing tall against the glow of the terrace lights, was a girl.
No… a woman.
She stood with her back to her, framed against the stormy brilliance of the traffic circle outside. Her long black hair whipped around her like a banner, and the trailing hem of her dual-tone skirt clung to her legs with each gust.
The moonlight caught the curve of her ass through the slit in her skirt, and the smooth line of her back was barely concealed beneath a form-fitting jacket with black trim. Her silhouette was confident—and disarmingly feminine.
In one gloved hand, she held a massive staff-like object: sleek, metallic and ceremonial in design. Her other hand stretched protectively in front of her, palm open toward the terrace like a warding spell.
Smoke curled in that space ahead of her. A massive gouge had been torn from the terrace floor—as if something had slammed down only to be deflected. The wind surged again, this time carrying away the lingering haze.
And there it stood.
The gray armored titan still loomed beyond the terrace, motionless for the moment, as if sizing up its new opponent.
The girl who had fallen, still collapsed on the cold tile, was too stunned to move.
A light voice suddenly cut through the tension, brimming with sharp clarity. "Nathaniel! This is Allie. One intruder detected. Making contact."
Then came the reply. A male voice. "I can see all that, Allie."
The girl blinked—the voice had come from right beside her.
Startled, she turned her head.
A young man, perhaps a few years older than her, stood there with one hand tucked into the pocket of a sleek black-and-white uniform that shimmered faintly beneath the fluorescent lighting. His dark hair was slicked back except for a single bold streak of white that traced along one side, and his gaze was sharp, almost predatory.
"Hm." He tilted his head as he looked down at her, then at the cat nestled in her arms. A small smile curled his lips. "How unusual."
He knelt down, the smooth leather of his coat rustling as he moved. Then—with unexpected gentleness—he reached out and ran his fingers through her disheveled hair.
A strange wave passed through her. Not just embarrassment from her exposed skin, nor the vulnerability of the moment—but something deeper. Something electric. As if his touch had grounded her.
She gasped softly, her cheeks blooming with color.
At that moment, she remembered the instrument case. The case she had swung like a weapon, the one she had broken. If this night had never happened… would she have ever let go of it?
Before she could dwell further, his voice reached her again. "Well done."
Two simple words, but they undid her. Her body softened, tension slipping from her spine, from her legs, from her grip on the cat that purred quietly in her arms.
Oh no... she thought.
Her vision dimmed, her consciousness fading like smoke caught in wind. And then, she passed out. The last thing she felt was the faint brush of his hand still resting in her hair.
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"Now then…" Nathaniel gently supported the unconscious girl, cradling her against his chest for a moment before laying her down onto the cool marble floor of the station.
The cat nestled beside her didn't budge. It stayed curled near her hip, eyes vigilant, tail twitching as if it sensed danger still lingered.
Nat offered a wry smile at the feline's devotion, then turned to the girl who stood beyond the terrace with her long skirt rippling around her legs—Allie.
He ran a hand through his hair with deliberate nonchalance, ruffling the carefully slicked strands back into place. "Status?"
Allie glanced over her shoulder, the white trim of her jacket glinting faintly in the residual smoke.
"Fifteen humanoid targets. Three Heavy Gods of War. Our main squad is already in motion. Honestly, this level of chaos feels nostalgic. Maybe we should've allowed the Ideon Field to fully take over first."
Nat chuckled, lowering his hand and placing it on his hip. "I saw Quaasim and Leo going wild not long ago. It looked like they were trying to bomb the sky itself…"
"They flushed one of the Heavies out near the canal. Alex and Feila are dealing with the other two. But the northern wing…" She tilted her chin toward the shattered archway of the station. "That entrance is gone."
Nat let out a theatrical sigh, spreading his arms wide. "We explicitly told Quaasim not to break everything. If our destruction rate climbs any higher, we'll be apologizing to future historians in binary. I swear, that boy needs… corrective measures."
"Leo would tell you to be gentle."
A crackling male voice burst from the comms mic on Nathaniel's collar. "How about you shut up, old man!?"
Nat tilted his head toward the device, feigning confusion. "Now now, Harakawa. This is for your own good—and the world's. I can even introduce you to someone. Depending on the voltage, I hear obedience kicks in by the fifth scream."
"Nathaniel," the voice snapped, "there's something I've always wanted to say to you."
"Unless it's praise for my brilliance, I won't—"
"Go to hell."
The transmission died with a hiss of static.
Nat placed a dramatic hand on his forehead. "So ungrateful. People with that much pride are dangerous in polite society."
"Ever looked in a mirror?" Allie asked dryly.
"Of course. Every morning and night. How else would I appreciate this masterpiece?"
Allie exhaled a slow breath, smiling faintly. "You're infuriatingly unique, Nathaniel Wolff." Still facing the terrace, she asked, "How is the girl?"
Nathaniel glanced at the unconscious figure beside him.
"Injured," he murmured. "But safe."
Allie's eyes softened. "Then it was worth using all of my defensive charms to block that last shot."
A sudden boom split the air.
The gray mechanical giant beyond the terrace began to move again, each footfall hammering into the stone as it stepped forward with crushing weight. Its cannon-arm leveled toward them, humming with murderous intent.
But it was Nathaniel who stepped forward first. He lowered his hand from his brow to his chest, then raised it beside his face in a crisp military motion before slicing it to the side and snapping his fingers.
"Allie, double-check everyone's status, and let's deal with this scrapheap that's challenging the wisdom of Terra Prima."
Allie's eyes narrowed. The cannon had locked on her, ready to fire. She sighed and lifted a hand to her neck. "This is Allie. We've secured the civilian target. Currently…"
The enemy didn't wait.
The Heavy God of War fired. A deafening shriek tore through the station as the massive artillery shell rocketed forward, glowing with heat.
"…engaging the enemy."
In one fluid motion, Allie spun her staff-like weapon, bringing it vertical with a dancer's precision. She caught the grip with her left hand, her right fingers tracing a glowing panel near the base.
Nat didn't flinch. He simply watched her. "Show me your strength, Allie."
She smiled bitterly and cocked her staff. With a hiss of pneumatics, a grip extended. She seized it and pulled. With a sound like the heavens tearing open, the staff released its payload. A piercing white beam of light screamed from the muzzle, shredding through the air like a lance.
The shell was vaporized in mid-flight. But the light didn't stop there. It curved upward and slammed into the chest of the mechanical giant. Steel crumpled. Sparks and molten metal burst out. The entire 10-meter behemoth staggered—
—and then collapsed backward with a thunderous crash!
Heat and smoke rolled outward in a massive gust. Allie's hair blew back, her jacket flaring open. Nathaniel took a step forward through the hot wind, his coat billowing like a cape.
From the stairwells on either side of the station, shadows emerged. Ten of them—bipedal wolf-like beasts in combat armor, each over two meters tall.
Nathaniel watched them calmly.
"The girl you hurt didn't even scream," he said quietly, walking forward. "Let's see if you can show the same dignity." His boots echoed across the broken floor as he moved ahead, smiling faintly. "Time to go all out. I never show favoritism. I beat the hell out of everyone equally."
Allie walked beside him, staff in hand, its length cracked and smoldering. She began to sing softly. "Silent night, holy night. Shepherds quake at the sight. Glories stream from heaven afar, heavenly hosts sing Alleluia."
Nathaiel opened his mouth, his voice low and steady as he addressed his allies over comms.
"Everyone." He raised a hand high. "Let me make this clear—the name Nathaniel marks a villain!"
Allie smiled without interrupting her song. Nat returned the smile, eyes gleaming.
"That's why I order you—do not lose anyone here tonight. Not one soul. If we allow fear to swallow them, then this world will grow darker still." He exhaled, raising his head toward the enemies. "Do you understand!? Then ahead! Advance! Punch these idiots square in the jaw before they screw up worse than they already have!"
He slashed his hand to the side, the fabric of his sleeve cracking like a whip. Voices echoed back through the station:
"Testament!"
Nathaniel gave a small nod and kept walking. The enemies growled, preparing to charge. He extended both arms wide—as if welcoming them into a deadly embrace.
"Now then," he said with that ever-unshakable grin, "shall we come to an understanding?"