Mayhem, disorder, chaos—only these words can encapsulate the tumult in Neaire. People dash frantically in all directions; children wail, dogs bark, and cats meow in discordant unison. Regardless of their race, every living being experiences a fleeting moment of fear.
Dark clouds ascended to the heavens, instilling terror in the hearts of ordinary folk. Dust and sound became accomplices in an explosive alliance, swirling lethargically through streets that had surrendered their vibrant colors to the oppressive gray of polluted air.
Fortuitously for the remaining inhabitants, no debris careened through the air, endangering people or structures. Credit for this resided in the robustness of the walls enveloping the guard station.
In contrast to the subterranean surroundings, the walls and roof boasted a heightened density of Black Metal. Consequently, when the ground erupted, only the floor propelled skyward, unable to inflict harm upon the sturdy roof, before descending once more.
Rebellious's prior assaults consistently aimed at either the walls or the roof of a station. The roof, especially, was vulnerable, given Rebellious's formidable force, comprising numerous people at Level 5 and beyond.
Attaining Level 5 signified the acquisition of the ability to fly for every race, courtesy of the substantial amount and density of universal energy at that level. Executing a series of air strikes became a straightforward task for them. However, the repercussions of such actions were undeniably severe, to say the least.
Finally, in every station, a particular location stood distinct—the armory. This isolated chamber resembled a relic from the bunkers of ancient times, substantial in size. It stood as the second safest haven on Earth, a sanctuary where one could endure even the apocalypse unscathed.
Its durability was reaffirmed once more, as not a single dent marred the fortress, insulated from the doomsday unfurling just beyond its confines. The significance of Black Metal weapons and laser guns lay conspicuously before the eyes of onlookers, albeit in a somber manner.
The tunnel's collapse led to an alley, as anticipated. Although not a considerable distance from the city center, they had approximately one minute to distance themselves from the impending danger.
Cognizant of this reality, William needed to pinpoint a location that could offer the utmost safety once the desired outcome of his task had come to fruition.
Indeed, he discovered a suitable refuge. The sight that welcomed Leon and Triss was a manhole cover atop a secluded building. They sprinted through a corridor nestled between the sewer and pristine earth.
However, this wasn't the end of it. William couldn't have feasibly eliminated the sewer altogether. Doing so would render the vicinity uninhabitable, reeking of a gut-churning stench.
He opted for the most prudent approach: crafting an alternative and personally overseeing the maintenance of this area daily. William diligently visited the spot each day, inspecting for any signs of a foul odor lingering in the air. Upon detection, he promptly summoned the workers, directing them to the actual sewer.
William, astute and meticulous in his efforts, proved to be a mastermind.
However, life often unfolds in ways unforeseen.
"Hey! Did you kids just crawl out of the sewer?"
A disgruntled man, clad in casual attire, strolled alone on the street, moving against the current of the crowd. Yet, this man concealed more than initially apparent. A single glance at the sword he carried unveiled the entire narrative to any observant eyes.
Beyond the anger, a hint of anxiety flickered in his eyes, and his hands trembled slowly, betraying the unease dwelling within.
"No, sir," Leon responded with a calm demeanor.
"Do you take me for a fool!?"
And he drew his sword.
'Sh*t! This f*cker is a guard!'
"Sir, we were just chilling," Triss attempted to offer help.
"Chilling in the sewer!? Do you think I was born yesterday!?"
"No, sir. We wouldn't—"
The tip of the sword aimed at Leon's forehead was sufficient to silence him.
"You are coming with me!"
---
While the operation in Neaire continued at full tilt, other corners of the Earth were embroiled in their own intricate affairs. Not in the sense of sowing chaos in the city, but through entirely divergent means.
Earth comprises six continents, with five of them situated on the surface. The central continent, Norlanta, was the birthplace and residence of Leon.
To the east lay the Ambarest continent, where the inhabitants referred to the universal energy, once known as inner energy, using terms such as Ki, Qi, or Chakra in the past. However, those terms had long faded into the dusty pages of history books.
This field exuded a profusion of flowers. A myriad of blooms permeated the atmosphere, vibrant in both color and the essence of life, swaying to the rhythm of the gentle yet assertive breeze.
Small creatures reveled in their tranquil pursuits—be it sleeping, jumping, or meandering about. The serenity of this locale has always made it a prime attraction for tourists.
However, today, only one person graced the scene.
Sharp features adorned his face, harmonizing with his epicanthic folded eyes. The diagonal cut, prominently displayed from his forehead to his right black brow—matching the shade of his ponytailed hair—bore witness to the hardships he had weathered in life.
The aura of a bygone warrior emanated not only from his appearance but also from the formidable energy that sent the animals scurrying in fear.
"Apologies, little ones. It's for your safety," the man uttered slowly, his voice carrying a sharp edge.
Clad in a black military uniform resembling that of a general, he sported a neatly woven pyramid on the front, crafted with golden threads—the hallmark of a guardian.
Distinguishing himself from other guards, the back of his uniform proudly displayed his position and authority for all to see: the 'S' character intricately threaded in a blend of red and golden yellow hues.
He slowly unsheathed his blue katana, revealing depths of the seas manifested above the grip. The pitch-black hue of the sword stirred envy in onlookers and spelled doom for his adversaries.
The edge, honed to perfection and entirely crafted from Black Metal, defined his mighty katana.
"Scepter Muramasa Kaminari, I presume?"
Blue skin, pure white eyes, and pointed ears marked the distinctive features of the woman who positioned herself deliberately in front of one of the mightiest beings alive, a Level 6. The half-cut left ear and a cut on each end of her lips prompted the Scepter to narrow his eyes in caution.
"God's Bane Conchita Wirias, I believe."
Her choice of color mirrored his own—black. A lengthy coat, identical to any other God's Bane, draped around her figure.
Resembling the insignia adorning the back of every God's Bane's coat, it served as both their emblem and source of pride.
A humanoid entity comprised of the purest whites, possessing only the essential body parts—arms, legs, a head, and a torso to connect them. Adorned with five vivid red cuts—two on each arm, two on each leg, and one on the neck.
This symbol of defiance instilled fear in every guard, excluding those at the pinnacle.
Shiiing! Shiiing!
Punched her pitch-black gloves together. Black Metal, akin to Muramasa's katana, lay at the heart of her weapons.
"Indeed."
---
To the west slumbered the Numest continent, a haven for those yearning to relish their retirement in a tranquil setting where the purest waters of the Earth meandered.
Three expansive canyons, enveloped by waterfalls—numbered three, four, and five respectively—stood as nature's true masterpieces.
The fresh aroma of perpetually clean water graced the senses of a woman who slowly raised her hawk eyes to the horizon. Her military uniform mirrored the color of her head: white.
The remaining components of her attire bore a striking resemblance to Muramasa, with no discernible differences. This formidable Tayirian woman opted for two swords.
"God's Bane, Megalodon Bustra Munwa," slowly uttered the name.
"Scepter Vistra Zentra."
A colossal figure emerged before her, wielding a spear larger than his entire frame. Countless battle scars adorned not only his body but also reflected in the depths of his eyes. His attire mirrored that of Conchita.
Silently, both factions poised themselves for the impending battle destined to echo across the world.
---
To the north lay the continent of eternal white, Arcticia. Unending blankets of snow adorned solitary mountaintops, while colossal icebergs stood as formidable barriers at the continent's edge. The relentless breath of nature reigned supreme over the frigid air of this milky expanse.
Perched atop the locale where the most biting breezes roamed, a pure white wolf resided. Cloaked in a red military uniform, the being revealed himself as a Werewolf.
"Scepter Ostro Kingclaw."
He slowly opened his wolf eyes, casting a discerning gaze upon the individual, while simultaneously unfurling his Black Metal claws.
"God's Bane, Astrol Xunnia."
A simple nod emanated from the diminutive figure—a great one from the Zeta race. Clad in the attire of a God's Bane, he stood poised for what lay ahead.
His weapon of choice comprised five knives crafted from Black Metal, swirling effortlessly around him.
---
Within the depths of Arcticia.
"Sir, do you believe Neaire will be enough to shake the world?"
"I've dispatched some of our Banes to eliminate some renowned Scepters."
"What!?" After a short cough, "You didn't send any to Ains-Shams, right, sir?"
"The place where the First God War occurred... I have special plans for that place."
"May I ask it?"
"I've two plans for that place. But, I hope the first one will be successful," then in a hushed voice, the middle-aged man, "I've doubts, though."
Before the woman of the same age could pose a question, "The old man and Luna are up to something in there."