Greyhorn club
Bel-Yor city, Exterior ward
Spring Court, Hidden World
Terra, Gaea solar system
Milky way Galaxy
Neutral Free zone
March 8th 2019
Sam watched in terror as the two Mystic experts clashed, their battle tearing through buildings with relentless ferocity. The fight had escalated to such an intensity that even her Internal Sight struggled to keep up. All she could perceive was the trail of destruction they left behind, leaping from one building to the next. The air was filled with the panicked screams of people—on the streets and inside the collapsing structures—caught in the chaos wrought by these Ascendant beings. Black rods encircled Sam, forming a cage-like structure that held her captive. She struck one of the rods with her fist, only to be repelled by a powerful vibrational force. Activating her Internal Sight, Sam scanned the rods and observed the flow of green mana coursing through them, sustaining the technique that restrained her. She tried pouring her own mana into the rods, but the flow was flawless—too intricate for her to disrupt. An imposing will within the rods repelled her mana, denying her any chance of breaking free. Sam was forced to watch helplessly as Leon fought, unable to intervene. A loud crash broke her focus, followed by the sound of something breaking apart. Her heart sank as she looked up to see a shadow plummeting from the sky. Leon slammed onto the roof, unconscious and battered. The realization hit her like a blow—Leon had been defeated.
Her gaze snapped to the enemy responsible, who now approached Leon's limp body, gripping him and preparing to deliver the final strike.
"Wait... wait... please don't... don't you dare," Sam growled, her voice trembling with fury. She grabbed the black rods of her cage, defying the repelling force with sheer willpower. The stinging resistance tore at her hands, but she pushed past the pain, her only focus on Leon's safety. Unknown to her, Titus had lowered the output of the force, allowing her to grip the rods.
"Dare what?" Titus asked, his tone calm yet menacing.
"Don't you dare lay a hand on him," Sam snarled. Her voice carried no tears, no pleading—only pure, unfiltered rage etched across her face.
"If you say so," Titus said, releasing Leon. Sam stared in disbelief, unable to comprehend why he had obeyed her demand. Titus noticed the confusion on her face and immediately addressed it.
"I am a servant of the Vysileaf bloodline," he said, bowing deeply before her. At his command, the black rods surrounding her disintegrated into nothingness. Sam stood frozen, shocked by the revelation, but her thoughts quickly shifted to Leon. She rushed to his side, dropping to her knees to check his vitals. His breathing was shallow, his appearance haggard. Blood stained the front of his clothing, and bruises marred his face.
"You said my mother sent you," Sam said, her voice trembling.
"I was sent by Lady Sophia Sinclair to retrieve you," Titus replied.
"My mother..." Sam whispered, the words heavy with disbelief. She had no idea who this man truly was or whether he had genuinely been sent by her biological mother. But his earlier words echoed in her mind.
"If I come with you, will you heal Leon?" she asked. She could feel Leon's vitality weakening, bringing him closer to death.
"Of course," Titus assured her. He pulled out his Zodiak to check the status of the veil he had placed over Wolfshire Street. The barrier was still holding, but it wouldn't last long—the Golden Dawn team would inevitably break through and intervene. Relieved that he had subdued the Haravok boy in time, Titus used his Internal Sight to scan the building's interior, pleased to see Lance's mission had been successful. Activating his Exodus, he tore open the fabric of space, creating a shimmering portal before them.
With a wave of his hand, Titus summoned a pair of rods, crafting a makeshift stretcher to lift Leon. Gently, he guided the stretcher toward the portal.
"This way, my lady," Titus said, gesturing for Sam to follow.
****
Emily breathed slowly, gritting her teeth as she endured the searing pain in her left ribs. Blood streamed from the wound, stubbornly resisting her attempts to accelerate its healing despite the concentrated mana she channeled into it. Her gaze shifted to the eleven bodies sprawled around her—the remnants of a battle that still made her blood thrum with adrenaline.
Her eyes narrowed as they locked onto the three remaining enemies who stood resolute before her. The eleven she had defeated were merely Regular Mystics armed with Mana weapons, making them relatively easier to dispatch. But these three were different—more dangerous, more skilled—and they were still very much a threat. These three weren't Regular Mystics—they were Ascendant Mystical warriors. The hoods that had concealed their faces had fallen away, revealing their identities to Emily. Even now, she struggled to believe what she was seeing. Two of them were humans, while the third—a male—was a Demihuman. Among them, there were two females and one male, the latter being the Demihuman.
"So this is what a Master is capable of," the half-elven man remarked with a smirk. He and his allies had blended in with the Regulars, their strategy relying on overwhelming Emily while she was preoccupied with the weaker attackers. They had planned to strike her down amidst the chaos, but it hadn't gone as smoothly as they'd hoped. The wound in her left ribs was the only attack Ayen Silbern, the half-elven man, had managed to land.
Emily's sharp eyes analyzed the trio before her, gauging their strength. To her, they were underwhelming. The two human females were in the low stages of the Acolyte realm, while the male Demihuman was at the peak of Acolyte. Nothing she couldn't handle. The real problem was the weapons they carried. Emily's gaze flicked to her wound, stubbornly resisting every attempt at healing. These weren't ordinary magical items; their power far surpassed that of the legendary grade. They were likely Quasi-Mythical grade weapons.
Like Ascendants, magical items were ranked based on the power they granted their wielder, their rank determined by the materials used in their creation. Adamant ore was used to forge Common, Rare, and Epic grade items, while Seriphum ore formed Legendary, Mythical, and Supreme grade weapons. But Quasi-Mythical items? Those were exceptionally rare and outrageously expensive.
How had such low-level beings come into possession of weapons this powerful? Emily's thoughts darkened. Did that bastard Lance supply them? she wondered bitterly.
She groaned, her eyes scanning the rectangular barrier enclosing them. Magitech devices were embedded in every corner, generating a sealing array that suppressed magic and made spellcasting impossible. Her fighting power had been halved throughout the battle because of this barrier, tilting the odds against her.
Emily's grip on her shortsword tightened as she fought to push past the pain radiating from her ribs. This was the second time in recent memory she had come so close to death. She shuddered at the thought—if that Quasi-Mythical blade had pierced closer to her heart, she wouldn't have survived.
"She's wounded," one of the female Ascendants said. "We can finish her off." Without waiting for Ayen's command, she rushed forward, her longsword gleaming as she aimed to strike Emily down.
But Emily moved faster than the Acolyte could react. In an instant, she disappeared into the shadows and reappeared behind her, executing one of her deadly techniques.
[Dancing Twilight: Falling Dusk Slash]
Emily's combat art was an unconventional and ruthless style she had forged during her harsh upbringing in the alleyways of Elysium City on planet Olympia. Born from a combination of spells and her unique Ability Factor, the Dancing Twilight style was an art built solely for offense. It abandoned all defensive techniques in favor of overwhelming speed and lethality, created for one singular purpose: to kill her enemies. Dark slashes carved across the female Awakener's body, blood pouring from the deep cuts. Moments later, she collapsed, lifeless. The darkness-elemental attribute embedded in Emily's technique unleashed a devastating poison, attacking the girl's cells and rendering any healing impossible.
If she couldn't cast spells within this sealing barrier, Emily would rely on her combat art, which carried the same lethal potency as her deadliest spells. This time, there was no hesitation—Emily wasn't holding back.
As soon as the first enemy fell, Emily turned her focus to the remaining two. Her eyes burned with a murderous gleam, her intent unmistakable.
[Dancing Twilight: Rising Sunrise]
A blinding flare of light erupted from Emily's blade, cutting through the air like a scorching dawn. The light collided with molecules in the air, scattering and diffusing within the barrier. The scattered energy transformed into blades of radiant light, slicing through the confined space with lethal precision
Lance observed as the barrier filled with a cascade of red, orange, and yellow light, the deadly blades slicing through the Ascendants as if they were nothing. His sharp eyes caught the similarities between Emily's combat art and the Tier 4 spell, Prismatic Wind Blade. Yet, this was no spell—it was something else entirely. He had never seen a combat art like Emily's before. It wasn't tied to any renowned Pleiadian family or a prestigious organization. It was an unorthodox, unknown style. Lance quickly deduced that Emily must have created it herself, likely by combining various spells into a cohesive, deadly technique.
A very crafty girl, Lance thought. The intel on her described her as average in the Mystic arts but exceptional in the Arcane arts. I assumed that sealing her magic would render her useless. But then again, she's a Master realm expert. Expecting an Acolyte to defeat her, no matter the advantage, was pure folly.
With a calm, deliberate motion, Lance stepped into the barrier. He removed his sunglasses and shrugged off his shirt, revealing a muscular frame with fair skin etched in glowing silver inscriptions. His yellow-green eyes began to shine as claws extended from his fingers, the inscriptions flaring with a silvery-green light. Lance's transformation continued. His ash-gray hair lengthened, growing wild and shaggy, while fangs emerged from his mouth. His height surged from six feet to an imposing seven feet three inches, raw power radiating from every inch of his body. Emily watched in alarm as the Odyllic around her trembled in his presence. Lance's power was still within the Master Realm but teetered on the edge of breaking into the next realm. Despite the unease rising within her, Emily maintained her usual stoic expression, hiding her nerves as she carefully analyzed the Beastman before her.
"Finally joining the fight?" Emily said, assuming a stance with her short swords. The residual blue light from her earlier attack transformed into blue flames that engulfed her blades. Without waiting for a response, she charged forward, delivering a downward slash aimed directly at the Wolfman.
Lance vanished in an instant, his movement so quick that Emily's eyes couldn't follow. Her senses flared in warning, instincts screaming at her to move. She leaped aside just in time as Lance reappeared behind her, his claw smashing into the ground where she had stood moments before. The impact sent shockwaves through the room, creating a massive hole in the floor. Cries of panic and agony echoed from the level below as debris rained down, crushing the unfortunate souls beneath.
Emily's breath came in heavy pants, her left arm bleeding profusely. She gave it a quick glance before returning her focus to Lance. Gritting her teeth, she launched herself forward, determination burning in her eyes. She leaped into the air, spinning with calculated precision, her mind resolute in her goal to kill the enemy before her.
[Dancing Twilight: Breaking Dawn]
But before the technique could fully activate, Lance let out a thunderous howl. A beam of silver light erupted from his mouth, slamming into Emily's midsection. Blood sprayed from her body as the attack tore through her, leaving a gaping hole where her ribs had already been injured. The Adamant blades she wielded shattered under the force, their fragments clattering uselessly to the floor.
Before she could recover, Lance's massive claw struck her, the blow sending her careening across the ground. Her body bounced off the unforgiving floor, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. She lay sprawled, her consciousness flickering as pain wracked her entire body.
Lance dismissed his partial transformation, his features reverting to their usual form. He grabbed his shirt from the ground, casually draping it over his shoulder as he strode toward her broken form. Coldly, he extended his arm, and one of the Quasi-Mythical longswords floated into his grasp. Without hesitation, he drove the blade through Emily's gut, pinning her to the floor.
"Freya was right," Lance said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Such a wasted potential."
****
Henry awoke with a dull headache, his thoughts sluggish as he struggled to focus. He tried to piece together what had happened but couldn't make sense of it. The last thing he remembered was Sam leaving the room to go after Leon, followed by something striking him and knocking him unconscious. As he rose to his feet, a sharp metallic smell stung his nose, immediately drawing his attention. His eyes widened in alarm as he spotted several bodies strewn across the floor, and among them, someone familiar. His heart raced as he leaped across the room, landing beside the figure. It was Emily. A longsword was impaled through her body, pinning her to the ground. Horror and panic surged through him as he knelt beside her, desperate to know if she was alive. But then, his gaze shifted to something even more shocking. Another body—a woman he didn't recognize—lay on top of Emily, her neck pressed against Emily's mouth. Henry froze as he realized what was happening. Emily was drinking the woman's blood.
As Emily finished, she let the lifeless body slump to the side. Her crimson-stained eyes locked onto Henry, who was frozen in place, hovering above her in a mixture of confusion, fear, and disbelief. Henry's gaze lingered on Emily, noticing the bulging veins around her eyes and the unsettling coldness emanating from her. The air felt heavy, and her presence sent an unnatural chill down his spine. He turned his attention to the other bodies scattered across the floor, their pale, blood-drained forms a haunting sight. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had transpired.
Before he could make sense of it, the elevator doors slid open with a sharp ding. Dozens of guards in red-and-yellow armored suits stormed into the room, their mana cannon guns raised and ready. Behind the squad marched a striking figure—a seven-foot-tall woman with fiery red hair, rich brown skin, and a commanding presence. She wore a long orange military coat, her piercing gaze scanning the room with cold authority.
"Get a medic here, now!" the woman commanded, her voice sharp and brimming with authority. One of the soldiers immediately turned on their heel and rushed back to the elevator, while the tall woman gazed at the scene with a scrutinizing expression, taking in every detail of the carnage. Emily's heavy-lidded eyes flickered toward the imposing Ascendant as her consciousness wavered. The world around her blurred, but she caught glimpses of movement—someone in a white uniform crouching beside her, medical equipment in hand. She felt cold hands examining her injuries before her body was carefully lifted onto a stretcher. Her awareness slipped for a moment, darkness consuming her. When her eyes fluttered open again, she was no longer in the same room. The sterile glow of medical equipment surrounded her. A tube covered her mouth, pumping oxygen into her lungs. Her weakened gaze shifted, landing on a familiar figure. It was Henry, seated nearby, his profile tense and watchful as medics worked tirelessly to stabilize her.
Henry sat silently, watching over Emily as she slept. The steady beeping of the medical equipment filled the air, displaying information he couldn't make sense of. They were aboard an airship piloted by agents of Golden Dawn, who had arrived swiftly after the chaos. Simone Gylock, the Guardian responsible for Bel-Yor City, had organized everything—the ship, the medics, and the emergency care Emily had received. The healers had done all they could; now, it was up to Emily's body to recover the rest of the way. With a quiet sigh, Henry stood and left the room, his steps leading him to where Simone Gylock and the lead healer were engaged in a hushed conversation.
"It's rather peculiar, I must say," the healer remarked, his tone laced with intrigue. "She's Pleiadian, but her regenerative capabilities are unlike anything I've seen. Her healing factor is on par with a Daemon's, if not stronger. The sheer amount of Lifeforce energy coursing through her Vital forcefield is extraordinary. Frankly, if it were any other Pleiadian at her level, they wouldn't have survived long enough for us to intervene."
Simone's sharp eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Could it be related to her Bloodforce affinity?" she asked. The scene she had witnessed earlier lingered in her mind—drained bodies with pale, bloodless skin, and unmistakable bite marks on their necks. It wasn't something she could easily dismiss. Even more troubling was the anomaly of Emily's abilities. Daemons were not known for blood-related powers. Their strength typically lay in their affinity for shadows and darkness, paired with their immense vitality, which made them almost unkillable. But this—this was something unnerving. Simone couldn't shake the sense that Emily was far more than she appeared.
"Is she going to be okay?" Henry asked as he approached them.
Simone turned her sharp gaze toward him, sparing him a brief glance. She still couldn't fathom why HQ would send a trainee like him into the field, especially with so much chaos unfolding across the world. The boy was fortunate to be alive.
"She'll be fine," Simone replied curtly.
"I still don't understand what happened," Henry said, his voice tinged with frustration. "No one will tell me what the hell went on back there."
"You were attacked by the Fallen Stars," Simone said, her tone firm yet calm. Her mind drifted to the massive barrier that had encased Wolfshire—a barrier so potent that it triggered alarms in the city's branch tower. Such barriers were outlawed under city regulations, designed solely to contain battles between high-level individuals. By the time she had arrived and dispelled it, the damage was already extensive.
"Fallen Stars?" Henry asked, the name unfamiliar to him.
"A group of terrorists that terrorized the Divine Federation twenty years ago," Simone explained. "Unfortunately, they've chosen our planet as their latest hideout."
Henry's brows furrowed as he processed her words. He was aware of the Divine Federation—it was Leon and Emily's homeworld. He had read about the alien worlds beyond their own in various books but never imagined their dangers would come here.
"You should get some rest," Simone said, her tone softening slightly. "We'll be arriving at the tower soon."