Thunder!
Lightning crackled as Aron felt the rain before it fell—heavy, unnatural, as if the sky itself conspired against him. The dark night grew even darker. The helicopter landed safely, thank God for that, though for some reason it had jammed multiple times during their flight to the airport.
"Didn't know my maintenance team was that faulty," Khorn muttered in a low tone toward her lord. "I'm sorry, my lord."
Aron only nodded as he watched her berate her men for their clueless work. He couldn't help stepping back with a flicker of guilt. He knew it wasn't their fault. It was his—his abysmal karma.
Peter walked beside him, rain pouring down like a shower. "It wasn't supposed to rain tonight…" he said, holding an umbrella over both of them.
"Oh, Peter, don't worry. It will only get worse," Aron replied.
Peter fell silent, confusion turning to worry. What did that mean?
Aron and Peter boarded the jet first. The interior was more spacious than expected, glowing with luxury.
"Sometimes I forget how rich Lady Khorn is—" Peter murmured, but stayed shut the moment she came in.
"What are we talking about?" Khorn interrupted, stepping inside and removing her coat. Her luscious red hair glowed brighter under the cabin lights.
"Nothing much. Is the plane safe?" Aron asked.
"Indeed, my lord. There were birds nesting near the engine… for some reason. How did you know?" she asked.
"I have my ways," he said, masking his guilt. "Then let's go."
Khorn nodded and signaled the pilot.
The middle-aged pilot approached, face grim. "My lady, the storm is worsening. I don't think it's safe to fly now."
The cabin lights flickered once. A low rumble shook the fuselage—unnatural, as if the sky itself protested. But one look from Khorn made the pilot return to his cockpit. His hands clasped in silent prayer.
"It's really strange—the rain, the helicopter jams, the air conditioner falling on my lord," she said.
"…Like I told you, it will only get worse," Aron said.
Khorn and Peter looked at him, confused. Peter had already heard it twice. "What do you mean, my lord?" Peter asked. "We have you, so I think no problem would stand in our way," he said with utter confidence.
Of course they would think that. His reputation was fierce, and his actions until now dominating. But they didn't know. It wasn't demons or demigods or even the gods that worried him. It was the very world itself.
*I need to tell them, otherwise this will only get messier,* he thought, knowing the consequences it would entail.
"Khorn…" he called, with a sigh.
"Yes, my lord," she answered, a bit nervous at why he was so uptight.
"You still know how to read someone's karma, right?"
She nodded. "Indeed. It's the first thing you ever taught me."
Aron extended his palm. "Check mine, and… whatever you see, don't be surprised."
Khorn hesitated—reading karma was deeply personal, a rare privilege to glimpse inside her lord—but she took his hand, closing her eyes right away, a bit excited nonetheless. She felt the familiar roughness of his palm, the one that had always patted her in comfort.
Her vision plunged into golden light—an entire sun contained within him. But deeper, past the radiance, something dark coiled—the force that bound divinity, that enforced balance.
Karma.
*Is this… even possible?* she thought, seeing the number. She had never witnessed karma so catastrophically negative—far beyond mere thousands, a void that swallowed light. Reality itself seemed to recoil with that much negative karma.
Her eyes snapped open. Breath ragged, she stared.
"My l… lord."
"I told you not to be surprised," he said with a small smile.
"How is this possible? Was this the reason… you were gone?" she asked.
Aron offered only silence. How could he explain he came from a distant future of death and decay? That he had shattered the timeline itself to return?
[⚠️ You disturbed the balance ⚠️]
[Karma: -22,517⬇️]
Seeing the blue screen, Aron looked away. He wasn't sure it had been worth it. Maybe he should have acted sooner. But the confession eased the burden, just a little.
"Now you know why things are happening—and why they'll keep happening," he said.
Khorn sat silent for a moment, then turned to him. "My lord… I won't ask why or how. But I must ask this—it may seem presumptuous, because I don't want this to happ—"
"I know what you're curious about," Aron said, gazing out the window at rain streaking across the glass. "If I don't level up my karma… things might get even more messy."
Peter glanced at Khorn, confused by her pallor. What had shaken her so deeply?
"Lady Khorn, my lord, what do you mean? Please stop talking in riddles and explain to me," Peter asked, as he wanted to know better, and possibly understand his master better.
Khorn remained quiet, swallowing hard, amber eyes fixed on Aron.
Aron turned to Peter. "…My karma—it's in the negative. And it's not just low. It's all the way to the gutter," he answered.
There was quietness there—utter silence. Peter looked at his lord. "…Tha… that means, if you're not careful, you could be…" He stopped, unable to voice another word.
"…Hell. I will be dragged to hell," Aron said aloud—what both Khorn and Peter had been unable to say.
Aron reflected silently on karma's unbreakable chains—the force that limited angels' aid, restrained powerful demons from unchecked chaos, and prevented even the highest gods from enslaving humanity as they desired.
"Then… can we do something about it?" Peter asked.
"....."
"....."
Both of them stayed quiet, because both of them already knew the answer. Yes, he could do something about it—absorb the karma of others the way he had with the demigods—yes he would do it, to them, to the ones who were going to destroy the world, not to his own.
Peter wanted to say, please take his, but something about those golden eyes told him not to. He heard the silence and understood that this topic should be buried for now. His thoughts shifted to change the subject as he remembered James, the next herald they would encounter. He had heard of him; they called him the Rock. He didn't know why.
"...So about Sir James. I've heard great things about him…"
Khorn smirked. "...Great things? I beg to differ. All he is is a pile of muscle," she said with a hint of disdain.
Aron smiled faintly—just enough for Peter to notice.
"...Let's see. James. My rock," he said with melancholy. He had met him before he met Khorn. "All I'll say about him is that he has a quick temper."
"My lord, he's not just quick to temper—he's the culmination of stupidity and wrath. That's all he is. He listens to nobody, not even Lord Michael himself," Khorn complained.
Yes, Aron knew that. And he also knew James would be even angrier about how long it had taken him to return. But he would accept him anyway—just as James had accepted his apology.
Even at his lowest, when the devil himself came to him, He had stood his ground. That was what mattered, and Aron could see the same quality in the man before him now. Peter.
Peter held his gaze, confused. "...My lord, is there something on my face?"
"...Nothing, Peter. Nothing at all—" Aron began, but he was cut off as the entire airplane shuddered, lights flickering on and off.
"My lord, I think your karma is getting active again…" Khorn said.
"...Indeed," Aron replied. But his nose caught something—a familiar scent mixed with a new one. Olympian. "...no, it's an attack, stay aler—-"
Boom!
Before he could say anymore, the airplane shook, as the right wing was struck, the engine damaged to bits.
"...We're being attacked," Aron bellowed.
Khorn nodded and sprang into action, sprinting toward the cockpit. She scanned the indicators. "What's the situation?" she asked the pilot.
"...Something hit us from below. If the other engine goes, we're finished—completely finished!" he said, trying to stabilize as sweat poured down his forehead. Then another sound came, like surging boiling water.
Boom!
The remaining engine took a hit. Red alarms blaring all over the plane.
"I told you, Lady Khorn—the weather, the weath—" the pilot cried, panic seizing him. "I'm going to die. I'm really going to die!" he shouted as the plane began to plummet, pitching downward.
"...back away from now.." she said as she yanked the pilot from his seat and took the controls herself.
"My lady…?"
"Grab something!" she roared at him.
"My lord! We're going to have to land hard—hold on tight!"
Peter heard her and started to tremble. Were they really going to crash? Gravity began to feel loose; she was right—they were falling, falling hard, pressure crushing their ears amid the roar, plunging relentlessly toward the dark sea on a stormy night.
'I should have.. said a proper goodbye,' Peter thought, clutching the photo of his daughter and ex-wife. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Peter!....Don't worry. It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay," Aron said calmly, even as the plane shook violently. Peter didn't know if the Golden Immortal had nerves of steel or something else, but those words steadied his heart. Even if it was only a little.
"Yes, my lord. I believe in you," Peter said. Holding onto him.
The plane kept plummeting deeper into the storm of utter darkness.
"Brace for impact!" Khorn shouted. Pulling the steering up as possible.
Peter closed his eyes, heart wavering, and gripped Aron tightly. '..I will live, I will live…I will live..' he thought.
Suuuuu…
Doom!
On the stormy sea, The plane slammed into its surface. Wings and tail crumpled under the immense pressure of the churning sea, splattering the water all over the place. And slowly, but surely.The wreckage bobbed up once, then settled.
From the depths, the perpetrator emerged—a creature from the dark sea. A beast. Multiple fins broke the surface, glowing dark blue.
It submerged again and approached the ruined plane. One of its many fins alone dwarfed the aircraft. It observed, like a predator studying wounded prey. Then its massive lizard-like head rose, and atop its snout stood two figures.
One with a familiar yellow hair and glowing eyes, withholding a storm,"...They should be dead," Ron said, still crouched and clinging to the beast's scales. He removed his gas mask; his clothes utterly soaked and torn.
Beside him stood Julius, trident in hand, blue eyes glowing deeper as he stared at the wreckage.
"No—we speak of the Golden Immortal. The others may have perished, yet he should endure this measly fall," Julius said, wary yet hungry—like a hunter who craved his prey alive to savor the golden flavor.
Ron stood unsteadily. "...I don't care. He dies tonight, whatever kind of immortal he is."
Julius smiled—not with joy, but irritation at the foolishness around him. "...I would have shredded you already if your father hadn't adored you so much." he growled.
Ron fell silent, eyeing Julius's sharp, bared teeth.
"He endures," Julius said simply, spotting movement as the massive beast obeyed his waved trident like the loyal pet it was and glided closer. One dark figure emerged, holding three others above the water. In the glow of its fins, golden hair became visible.
"Greetings, Golden Immortal!" Julius shouted.
The light hummed from the monster, its senses and instincts warning it of something profoundly dangerous. Its glowing blue eyes sharpened as the man with the golden hair became visible.
"....." Aron said nothing, gently setting his companions aside—Peter, Khorn, and the pilot—all alive, coughing up water repeatedly. Only after confirming they were safe did he turn to the figures. "...Who are you?" he asked, his tone carrying none of their eagerness.
Julius struck his trident against the beast's tough hide, commanding it forward, but it refused, growling low at Aron instead. "...That's new," he muttered to himself, surprised that his pet feared something more than its own master. It hardly mattered.
"I am Julius, Bastard of the Sea, ruler of these waters. I'll be direct: my nephew here is furious—very, very furious. As family, we have come for you." He began spinning his trident, and the sea around them roared in response.
"...For a smiting. A most delightful revenge."
Aron finally registered the man beside Julius. The familiar yellow hair. His golden eyes caught the raw hatred, the burning anger. A face that should have been smashed to paste long ago.
'...A miracle? That's the only possible answer,' he thought, watching the incoming wave. 'Then… I'll end it cleanly this time.'
"Charge…"
[Charging: 0.1%… 0.2%… Error]
[Error: Karma too low]
[Charging failed]
'...My luck is that bad, huh,' Aron thought.
The towering wave, commanded by the brat, surged toward them. Aron raised his bare hands, prepared to meet it with raw strength alone. But before he could, a fierce red light enveloped them all. Khorn's hair blazed like fire, her amber eyes burning with controlled rage.
The heat was so intense she dried instantly, along with the moisture around her. As she extended her palm toward the wave, the storm-tossed sea boiled and turned to vapor the moment it neared them.
Peter stood there, his clothes and skin drying in the blaze, awestruck by the sheer concentration of divinity.
'Is… is this what a herald truly is?' he asked himself, witnessing such power, such precise, burning dominion over an element.
"...To reach the king," she declared, her amber eyes flaring brighter, "you must first pass through his herald."