As the flames in Rithvik's hand roared to life, the boy dropped—knees hitting dirt, breath shallow, eyes wide with panic.
He looked like Michael once did.
Rithvik grinned.
"Now that's the look I was searching for… Where've you been hiding it, huh?"
He stepped forward, heat radiating off him like the self-righteous god he believed he was.
Then the father's voice cracked the air.
"Don't you dare come near my son!"
Power rolled through the words. Echo Chakra. A strong one. The sound tore the air apart—loud enough to rupture Rithvik's eardrum. He staggered, wincing, annoyed more than injured.
"Oh? An Echo Chakra user?"
He rubbed his ear and flicked his gaze at his men.
That was all it took.
The father stood tall. Brave. Naïve. He never saw the soldiers coming.
Metal rods rammed sideways through his mouth.
Blood sprayed.
The boy's scream ripped out of him like his soul was being torn apart.
The mother ran to her husband, blinded by grief. She tried to hold him together, hands shaking, but there was too much blood—too much to save. Her scream scraped the air raw.
And Rithvik?
He laughed.
The kind of laugh only monsters make when the world around them collapses.
"What a family! The boy's a Blaze user, the father's Echo… but something was missing, right?"
Before he could finish, the mother ignited—flames exploding from her hands. She hurled a blast at him.
Rithvik stepped through the fire like it was rain.
"Yeah… now it's complete."
He drove his foot into her stomach. She folded instantly, coughing blood, collapsing beside her ruined husband.
Rithvik looked down at the shattered family like a god glancing at ants.
"What a waste of talent. If you'd been born under the Order of the Hammer, your family would've stood among the elite."
She still looked up. Broken, defiant.
Didn't matter.
"But what can I do?" Rithvik murmured, voice cold. "It's your forefathers who chose the wrong side. If you want someone to blame… blame yourselves for being born outcasts."
And that was his verdict.
A flick of his wrist.
"Take him."
Cuffs shot forward, locking onto the man's wrists.
The magnetic pull activated and dragged his shredded body across gravel toward the crash site.
Alive. Barely.
Michael didn't move.
At the crash site, they dumped the father on a magnetic plate welded onto a transport truck. He tried to push himself up. Failed.
Rithvik only watched.
"Let the hunt begin."
The barrier activated. Mist hissed. That's when it came—the slithering. The breathing. The Interstellar Beast hidden in the fog.
The man ran.
Rithvik leaned forward, grinning.
"Let's see what kind of beast we're dealing with."
Silence.
Then—
the shadow leapt.
Tentacles wrapped around the man like living ropes. He couldn't scream—his mouth was destroyed. His body jerked violently, drowning in agony.
Rithvik sipped from his flask.
"Hmph. That's it? Just squirming and crying? Tch. Fucking boring."
He stepped into the barrier.
The beast stared at him. Didn't flinch.
But Rithvik lifted his hand. Flames bloomed—bright as a newborn sun.
"Hellfire."
The entire space ignited.
The beast screamed.
The man didn't. He couldn't.
Everything turned to ash.
No body.
No bones.
Just silence—blackened, smothered silence.
The monster who burned it all stood at the center.
People watched. They were horrified, shaken to their core—yet none dared to speak against him. Instead, they murmured empty consolations to the mother and son, telling them to "accept reality" as if that made the atrocity any easier.
Michael didn't blame them. Not really.
They were the type who kept their heads down, clutching scraps of dignity under the weight of power.
But in his world?
They were pig-shits dressed in rags.
Beside him, Lily was pale, unable to shake off what she'd just witnessed.
Reality.
This was their people's reality.
And Michael didn't give a damn.
When his mother was tortured and killed, no one came. No one helped. No one cared.
So why should he?
Just leave it.
Fuck them all.
They walked until the streets opened into the base of the Tower—a squat iron-spined structure stabbing into the grey sky like a forgotten prison watchtower.
Inside, the air felt colder. Cleaner.
"Ele," Lily said.
A smooth synthetic voice responded,
"Yes. Voice recognition activated."
Panels slid open in the wall, revealing a retinal scanner and fingerprint pad.
"Please provide both retinal and fingerprint verification," Ele requested.
Lily leaned in for the scan, then pressed her fingers to the pad.
"Recognition successful."
The platform beneath them began to descend—deep into the underground.
Michael didn't react. He'd seen this a thousand times.
But an outsider? They'd think they'd fallen into some underground shadow-society.
The doors opened. Noise swarmed them—shouts, bargaining, fights over scraps of stolen tech, weapons, and trinkets. Priceless above. Dirt-cheap below.
This was Michael's world.
In the slums, people glared at him like he was trash.
Here?
They cheered his name.
"Yo, Mike! Where've you been?"
"Don't sell to the boss only, man, we need your loot too!"
He ignored them.
He knew the truth—these same people waited for the day he fell. That's the nature of scavengers: clap for your rise, pray for your fall.
They reached their spot in the market—still chaotic, but recognizably theirs.
The first to greet him was Raju. Twelve years old. Mouth like a sewer.
"Fucking bastards—move! And you, shut your ass or get out!" he yelled at customers, then saw Michael. "Yo, Mike! Still alive, huh? Boss wants you. Pray he doesn't burn you again."
Michael snapped back, "Go drown, brat."
Raju turned toward Lily.
"Hey, fatass! What took you so lo—"
His mistake.
Seconds later, Raju's screams echoed as Lily went to work on him.
Michael stepped into the back room.
Victor sat at his desk, fingers resting on an old group photo—soldiers smiling like their world once made sense.
Michael recognized none of them.
Except Victor.
Victor didn't need to turn to know he'd arrived. But when he did, his stare—cold, dissecting—locked onto Michael like a blade pressed to the throat.
Then the system appeared.
A dark window sliced into Michael's vision.
Mission: Defeat Victor
Reward: Black Essence + 20,000,000
Bonus: +50% Core Combat Status
Proceed? [Yes] / [No]
Michael froze.
Fight Victor? The man who could snap him in half like a twig?
The system pulsed—almost smiling.
Three more windows slammed into view:
[SYSTEM: Defeat "Victor"]
[SYSTEM: Defeat "Victor"]
[SYSTEM: Defeat "Victor"]
His skull throbbed like nails hammering inside.
No sane person would pick that fight.
He slapped NO.
Another window.
NO.
Again.
NO.
Click. Click. Click.
Victor's voice cut through.
"What's with your hand?"
Michael forced his fingers still.
"Nothing."
Victor wasn't convinced.
"Where did you go last night?"
Michael stayed silent.
"Pass," he muttered.
"No pass," Victor snapped. "Just answer."
Michael refused.
One word, and Victor would know everything.
Victor let it go with a tense exhale.
"Fine. I'll give you a job. Find Mint Vashir. He has information I need."
The system chimed:
[Side Mission: Locate "Mint" Vashir]
Reward: Valuable Information
Bonus: Relationship with Victor +52
Michael accepted.
The glowing line appeared—guiding him out of the room and into the streets.
He followed it through morning, noon, dusk.
Because he knew Mint Vashir.
A master con artist.
A Mind Chakra user.
A man who could bend thoughts, memory, reality.
Finally, the glowing trail stopped at a pristine apartment building. Too clean. Too quiet.
Then—
[SYSTEM: Someone is watching you]
Michael scanned the shadows.
"Show yourself, Vashir."
A laugh—light, irritating—answered.
"What brings the great Night Reaper here?"
Michael didn't waste time.
"Victor needs information."
Mint Vashir descended from above, landing noiselessly.
"Everything has a price," he said. "Mine is simple. Ten copper horns."
Before Michael could protest, a system window appeared:
Mission: Defeat 10 Copper Horn Boars
Reward: 100 BEU per kill
Bonus: Copper Horn Boar Meat
[YES] / [NO]
Michael clicked YES.
Vashir's eyes shifted—mechanical shutters rotating as Memory Snatch activated.
He froze. Eyes widening.
Then… smirk.
"Cool," he whispered. "Let's meet again."
The apartment dissolved.
Michael stood in an empty playground.
The red system trail stretched ahead.
The real game was about to begin.
And he knew he was walking into a mess he'd never walk out of clean.