The roads ran red with blood, the metallic scent thick in the air. The dying gasps of warriors filled the silence between the clashing of steel, their screams swallowed by the chaos of battle. It was no longer a war—it was slaughter.
Among the madness, only one force remained untouched by fear—the Ansortin Tribe.
Their warriors moved through the battlefield like death incarnate, untouchable, unwavering. No hesitation. No mercy. They were not fighting for survival—they were orchestrating dominance.
Under the shroud of darkness, Ansortin Mortis—the shadowed executioner—slipped into the Xing Tribe's stronghold. Guided by Ansortin Michael, he struck with precision, his every movement laced with silent cruelty.
There was no warning. No chance for escape.
The Xing warriors barely had time to react before their throats were slit, their lifeblood staining the soil beneath them.
By dawn, the Xing Tribe would be caged, their fate sealed in chains of blood.
---
Apex Region—
Far above, in the celestial realm untouched by mortal war, the air itself seemed to tremble. Inside a chamber of radiant gold, a woman with wings stood frozen in disbelief.
Her golden irises flickered with unease as she gazed at the shifting threads of fate.
"This isn't right…" she murmured, her voice laced with uncertainty. "Fate is changing… this is not what was foretold."
She turned sharply, facing another winged figure cloaked in celestial robes, his expression equally grim.
"The so-called Supreme… he has the power to alter fate itself."
A moment of silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Then, her voice hardened. "We cannot afford to wait. We must move now—before it is too late."
---
Beneath the blood-soaked land, inside the Ren Tribe's sacred underground chambers, flames flickered against stone walls, casting long shadows. The air was thick with unease.
At the center of the chamber, an elder of the Ren Tribe stood, his aged hands gripping the edges of the stone table before him. His face—etched with time and wisdom—betrayed something rare and unsettling.
Fear.
"This… this is beyond what we anticipated," he spoke, his voice heavy. "The Ansortin Tribe is too powerful. And now… they have sent Mortis—the Reaper himself."
A shudder ran through the warriors gathered before him. Even among hardened soldiers, that name carried weight.
Still, the elder straightened himself, forcing authority into his voice.
"Even so, we cannot stand by and watch. We will act. We must act." His fingers trembled slightly as he pointed forward. "Prepare for battle."
---
The Neo Region—A Gathering of Power
The Council of Clans had convened.
In a towering chamber adorned with ancient markings, twenty tribal leaders gathered, their expressions tense as they spoke over one another.
The room was a storm of voices—until one man stood.
Nexus Crimson.
Instantly, silence fell like a blade.
"The Ansortin have already moved." His voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of inevitability. "They have sent their people to claim the Fated One."
Tension rippled through the chamber.
"We must act. Every clan must send its strongest. It is an urgent matter, and we will suffer losses. Many… will die."
He let the words settle before continuing, his gaze sweeping over the room.
"However… compared to the impending Galactic War, this loss is but a pinch of salt in the ocean."
Ansortin's representative stepped forward, his expression unreadable.
"Prepare for the worst," he said, his voice carrying an ominous weight. "Every region will be drawn into this war. There will be no safe ground."
A murmur spread through the leaders.
Then, another voice spoke.
"Then we must claim him first."
---
Xenos and David ran, their breath sharp, their pace relentless.
They had no time to think. Only to move.
Then—the world twisted.
A ripple in space. A shudder through reality.
One moment, they were racing down the path. The next, they weren't.
They stood still—not by choice, but by force.
Surrounding them were dozens of warriors, their weapons drawn, their eyes cold. The suddenness of it all sent a violent shockwave through Xenos' body.
His breath hitched.
David stiffened beside him, his eyes scanning their captors. But Xenos—Xenos felt something else entirely.
Panic.
Then, a voice cut through the tension.
A woman.
A beautiful woman.
Strong. Commanding.
She stepped forward, her golden armor glinting in the dim light, her presence overwhelming.
"Who are you?" Her voice was firm, but her eyes lingered on Xenos for a second too long.
A faint blush crept onto her face.
"Why were you running? If you don't answer…" she paused, her gaze steady, "something bad will happen."
Xenos' mind raced.
The danger was real, but the woman's gaze—**her expression—**it was different. Almost… distracted.
Still, he stumbled over his words, his voice betraying his panic.
"Why—why are you trying to harm us? We've done nothing! Please… just let us go!"
David turned to him, his expression darkening.
Then, he spoke—coldly.
"Brother." His voice was sharp, unforgiving. "Don't be scared of them." His eyes flicked to the warriors, full of defiance. "So what if they threaten us? What are they going to do—kill us?"
His tone was rude. Arrogant. Defiant despite the danger.
One of the warriors tensed, gripping his blade. The air shifted.
He stepped forward, weapon drawn—ready to strike.
But the woman raised a hand.
"Enough."
The soldier hesitated, then obeyed.
She turned back to them, her eyes locked onto Xenos.
"I am Zenith, Princess of Regaldo from the Pyrethorne Region."
Her voice was smooth—almost teasing.
"I came here for a different purpose… but you—" her gaze flickered, her lips curling into an amused smile, "you are rude to me. And yet…"
She stepped closer.
"I find myself willing to make a deal."
Xenos inhaled sharply.
His mind was screaming at him to think—fast.
His expression shifted—from panic to a subtle confidence. A look of controlled desperation. A man who would do anything to survive.
"You want the Fated One?" he said, his voice calm, calculated.
"I can help you. Because I… am from the Xing Tribe."
Zenith's eyes lingered on Xenos for a fraction longer than necessary, her smile more genuine than Xenos had expected. To anyone else, it might have seemed like polite curiosity—but Xenos knew better. He could read the subtle signs, the way her pupils dilated slightly, the almost imperceptible way her lips parted when she glanced at him. He had studied emotions, through observation of desire itself.
She wasn't just intrigued by his words—there was something more. Attraction.
Appearance mattered. He had learned this long ago—in a world where strength was worshiped, beauty could be just as powerful.
Xenos wasn't blind. He had his share of attention. He wasn't vain, but he knew that his sharp features, piercing eyes, and athletic build turned heads. He had perfected the art of drawing people in, even when he had no intention of keeping them there.
But Zenith... her gaze wasn't like the others. It wasn't just admiration. It was deeper. An undercurrent of something more.
Her smile was teasing, yes, but Xenos caught the subtle twitch in her expression—her confidence was hiding a deeper, unspoken vulnerability. And that was what intrigued him more. She wanted to believe in him, in his words, but she was too smart to fall for everything at face value.
In a way, Xenos respected that. She wasn't naïve. And yet, he knew the moment he spoke—she would bite.
---
Her warriors nodded amongst themselves.
Even David felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Xenos had fooled them all
And as he continued to weave his deception—David thought one thing.
Something is about to happen.
---