The Governor's Office
The heavy wooden doors creaked open with urgency, and a disheveled officer burst into the grand chamber, his boots echoing on the marble floor. He stopped just short of the governor's desk, panting slightly from his sprint through the halls.
"Sir!" he barked. "It's happening again. A new conflict has erupted—this time within the BCB headquarters."
Governor Halden looked up from the stack of reports he'd been reading, his face creasing into a frown. He rubbed his temples slowly before replying, his voice laced with disbelief.
"What? You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, his tone sharp with frustration. "They're doing it again?"
He stood, stepping around the desk to face the officer more directly, his expression now dark and foreboding. "We still haven't recovered from the Dazvav incident. The city is a wasteland—streets soaked in blood, the dead unburied, homes abandoned. It's a ghost town. We couldn't even begin the rebuilding process because it's still unsafe to enter."
He paused, his voice heavy with disgust. "The blood—there was so much of it—it seeped into the ground, contaminated the underground water system. We've had poisonings reported in at least three nearby cities because of it. Children dying in their sleep, crops wilting. The damage is spreading like a disease."
He shook his head, his jaw clenched. "And now this? Another civil war sparked in the BCB zone? When will these fools learn? We need to crush this madness before it spreads again."
The officer straightened and added quickly, "Thankfully, there were no casualties this time. The fighting remained contained within the BCB zone itself. We evacuated the neighboring sectors as soon as we intercepted the initial transmissions. The civilians were removed within the hour."
Governor Halden's stern gaze softened slightly, the smallest relief flickering in his eyes. "That's something, at least. Good work on the evacuation. Still…" He began to pace slowly, hands clasped behind his back.
"This can't continue. We can't keep reacting. We need to send a message. A clear, final one. We need to remind them that this city, this nation—what remains of it—is not theirs to tear apart whenever they feel like it."
The officer hesitated before speaking again. "With your permission, I'd like to mobilize our forces. I recommend deploying the Third and Fifth Battalions to the BCB zone. Their objective would be to suppress the rebellion and neutralize any hostile leadership. We've identified a few key instigators—if we can capture them alive, we might be able to dismantle their network from the top."
Halden stopped pacing and turned to face him. "I don't want suppression," he said slowly. "I want control. Order. I want the BCB zone under lockdown by nightfall. No movement, no transmissions in or out. And I want those responsible brought before me—not just the faces, but the masterminds. The ones pulling the strings from the shadows."
He returned to his desk, sat down, and picked up a pen, scribbling a signature onto an operations order. "Draft the command. Get our best tacticians involved. This isn't just a skirmish—it's a strategic clean-up."
The officer nodded. "Understood, sir."
Before he turned to leave, Halden added one last thing, his voice quieter but far more chilling: "If they want war, we'll give them a taste of it they won't forget. But let's make sure this is the last time they dare raise their weapons in our city."
The chamber fell silent again, the storm outside the windows barely audible over the weight of what was to come.
The Scene Shifts to the Battlefield
The battlefield was a wasteland of shattered stone, smoking craters, and the lifeless bodies of warriors from both sides. Dust swirled through the air, thick with the iron scent of blood and scorched earth. The clash of steel against steel, the rumble of distant explosions, and the screams of the wounded had become a constant, dreadful symphony.
Among the chaos, soldiers fought not for ideology, nor for victory—but for survival. Their eyes were hollow, their movements desperate. Many had already accepted their fate. Few still believed they'd ever return home. The image of family, of peace, of anything beyond this violent dusk, had faded from their minds.
No one truly wanted to fight anymore. Yet they fought.
Above them, the Council watched from their vantage point, shrouded in their illusion of control. Chairman Isan stood tall, his arms crossed behind his back, while his son Rasin paced beside him, eyes gleaming with a dangerous ambition.
Suddenly, a voice shattered the madness.
"Stop fighting!"
The sound rang across the field, not like a shout but a command—an undeniable presence in a world drowning in rage. The voice, female and powerful, echoed in every mind, resonating with something deeper than logic or loyalty.
"Everyone, stop!"
The warriors froze, blades still raised, blood still dripping from weapons and wounds. The silence that followed was more deafening than the battle had been.
From the hill overlooking the battlefield stood Hellesa, her cloak torn, her armor scorched from recent combat. Her eyes were alight with fire—not the kind that destroys, but the kind that illuminates.
"I know this is what you truly want," she said, her voice carrying effortlessly. "To end this! Then why are you still fighting?!"
She stepped forward, the wind catching her hair as she spoke with raw fury.
"You think you're fighting each other, but you're not! You're fighting for people who don't care about you. For those who sit in safety while you bleed and die!"
Her gaze swept across the stunned faces of soldiers and commanders alike. "They know the consequences. They know that something worse—something beyond our understanding—will rise from this war if we continue. And yet, they do nothing. Because they think they can control it. Because all they want is power, and they're willing to sacrifice every one of you to get it!"
The battlefield was silent but for the crackling of distant fires. Even the Council members looked uneasy.
"They see you as tools," Hellesa continued. "Pawns in a game none of you asked to play. This war? It won't touch them—not the way it touches you. It's your homes that burn. Your families who mourn. Your blood that soaks this ground!"
Her voice trembled with passion. "You're the ones who suffer. You are the ones who die."
For a moment, no one moved. Her words sank into the hearts of soldiers on both sides—young, old, skilled, or barely trained. Each of them had seen friends fall. Each of them had once believed they were doing the right thing.
Now, they began to question who they were really fighting for.
Even the elite among them—Izaki, Kazen, and Maria—stood paralyzed. These were warriors hardened by battle, loyal to their factions and their oaths. But in Hellesa's words, they heard something true. Something that cut deeper than any blade.
Maria lowered her weapon first.
Then Kazen, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword, relaxed his grip.
Izaki, proud and silent, stared at Hellesa as if seeing her for the first time.
Around them, soldiers began to exchange glances, many for the first time not as enemies, but as people—each battered, bloodied, and broken by the same war.
One soldier—a young man missing part of his ear and clutching a crude, bloodied axe—raised his head toward the Council's platform.
Others followed his gaze.
The rage that had once been directed at one another began to shift. And then, all at once, the direction of the war turned.
With a unified cry, they charged—not at each other, but toward the ones who had orchestrated the conflict. Toward Chairman Isan, Rasin, and the other Council members.
"No!" Hellesa shouted, seeing what was about to happen. "You don't understand! I didn't mean—Leave them to us! We'll deal with them! Leave this battlefield now!"
But it was too late.
They had been manipulated, tortured, and tossed aside for too long. The warriors weren't just angry—they were awakened. Years of blind loyalty collapsed in a single moment. They surged forward, not for vengeance alone, but to claim the dignity they had been denied.
Hellesa rushed forward, pushing through the crowd, her voice breaking with desperation. "Please! You don't know what you're doing! You don't know what they are capable of!"
But they didn't listen.
The tide of soldiers—both sides united under a newfound purpose—stormed the heights. Council members began to retreat, their expressions shifting from arrogance to fear.
Chairman Isan stood firm, though his knuckles were white on the arms of his throne. His son Rasin stepped beside him, a cruel smile twisting on his face.
"Let them come," Rasin said calmly. "They've played their part."
Isan nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Now we unleash the next phase."
Behind them, strange glyphs carved into the stone platform began to glow. The sky dimmed unnaturally, and the air thickened with power. Something ancient stirred beneath the earth—something that should have remained buried.
Hellesa stopped in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat.
"No…" she whispered. "It's already begun."
The soldiers continued to charge, unaware of the trap that awaited them. Hellesa turned to Izaki, Kazen, and Maria, who had regrouped on the slope behind her.
"We have to stop them," she said urgently. "If that seal is broken—if that thing is released—it won't just destroy them. It'll consume everything."
Izaki narrowed his eyes. "Then let's not waste any more time."
Maria drew her blades. "We cut through and seal it. Fast."
Kazen grinned, though his expression was grim. "Just like old times."
Together, the four of them leapt into action, racing to intercept the soldiers and divert the charge. The crowd was massive—thousands strong—but Hellesa's voice rang out again, this time not to plead, but to command.
"Stop! This isn't the way! You've made your choice clear. You've chosen not to be pawns—but if you rush forward now, you'll become fuel for something far worse!"
Some hesitated. Others slowed, confusion flickering in their expressions.
Then the ground shook.
A monstrous crack split the platform behind Isan and Rasin. A dark presence poured forth—a shadow without form, yet pulsing with menace. The glyphs exploded in radiant light, casting eerie silhouettes against the clouds.
Rasin laughed, mad with victory. "Let them bear witness to true power!"
But as the shadow emerged, even his laughter faded. It was not what he had expected. It was not something anyone could control.
Hellesa, panting, raised her hands. "We still have a chance. We can stop it—but only together!"
And for the first time in history, warriors from every banner stood not as enemies, but as one.
A Battlefield of Betrayal
It began with disbelief.
The soldiers who had just united in rebellion, hearts stirred by truth and a shared desire for freedom, suddenly found themselves face to face with a horror they had never imagined.
Their own leaders turned on them.
Without hesitation, without mercy.
Akin was the first to charge—his fury and skill unmatched as he cleaved through the front line of the Council's guard with terrifying precision. His blade flashed like lightning, each strike bringing down two, three enemies at a time. His movements were fluid, a deadly dance of vengeance and defiance. For a moment, hope surged.
But that hope shattered quickly.
The council members, including Isan and his son Rasin, descended into the battlefield like avatars of death. They did not hesitate. They did not falter. They moved through the mass of soldiers with savage efficiency, cleaving through armor and bone with inhuman strength.
One soldier tried to plead. "Wait! We're not your enemies! We've seen the truth—we know now!"
Isan silenced him with a single, brutal strike. His blade split the man in half from shoulder to hip. There was no emotion in the Chairman's face—just cold calculation.
Rasin was worse. He laughed as he fought, a wild grin plastered across his blood-slicked face. He used no blade—only his hands, wreathed in dark energy, ripping soldiers apart like they were made of paper. Each kill was a spectacle, a message: You dared rise against us. This is your punishment.
Akin, still fighting, found himself surrounded. Dozens, then hundreds. He cut them down, his weapon never slowing, but even he couldn't hold back the tide forever. Sweat mixed with blood on his brow, and his breath came ragged, but he refused to fall.
"I won't let you win," he snarled, even as a spear grazed his shoulder and another soldier tackled him from behind. He threw the attacker off with a roar, slashing two more before they could reach him.
Yet the numbers were too great.
Even those soldiers who had once fought beside Akin now seemed hesitant, confused. The lines between ally and enemy had blurred. Isan and Rasin moved through the chaos like wolves in a pen of sheep.
Some soldiers turned to flee—but then stopped.
They looked to one another, eyes wide with terror, yet still believing in the fragile unity they had just formed. There was strength in numbers, they thought. If they stayed together, they could hold the line. Survive. Perhaps even overwhelm the monsters in human skin who had once led them.
But they were wrong.
Their loyalty to one another, though noble, was not enough to stop what came next.
The battlefield descended into a massacre.
Screams echoed across the plains. Blood pooled beneath the bodies of the fallen, forming rivers that soaked into the already cursed earth. Arms and weapons littered the ground like broken branches in a storm.
Minutes passed, though they felt like hours.
And then—silence.
Not the peaceful kind, but the eerie, suffocating silence of death. Of finality.
The battlefield was still.
Thousands of bodies lay motionless, sprawled in positions of pain and desperation. The once-mighty rebellion had been extinguished in the span of a few minutes. What remained was a graveyard of broken dreams.
In the center of the carnage stood the victors—but they did not look like heroes.
Council members, once robed in authority and regal pride, were now soaked in blood, their garments shredded and stained. Isan stood tall, but his shoulders sagged slightly beneath the weight of exhaustion. His breathing was heavy, and his sword trembled faintly in his grip.
Rasin knelt beside a fallen soldier, blood dripping from his fingertips. His face was no longer smiling. The thrill of battle had dulled into something colder—emptier.
The two of them surveyed the ruin they had wrought.
"This was... necessary," Isan muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "They betrayed order. They sought to rise above their place."
Rasin stood slowly, his eyes unfocused. "We crushed them, Father. But at what cost?" He looked down at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time. "They weren't all traitors. Some were just... afraid."
"They were weak," Isan said, more sternly this time. "And the weak do not survive change."
Behind them, the remaining council members gathered in silence. Even they looked shaken. None of them had expected the slaughter to be so absolute. So... personal.
Akin's body was not among the fallen.
Somewhere in the smoke, he had vanished.
Hellesa, Izaki, Kazen, and Maria remained in the distance, watching with grim expressions from the far edge of the battlefield. They had tried to warn the soldiers. Tried to prevent this very outcome.
But it had all been too fast.
Too brutal.
Too late.
Now, all that remained was the consequence.
Hellesa clenched her fists, her voice a whisper. "They didn't deserve this. None of them did."
Maria turned away, blinking hard. "We should've acted sooner."
Izaki stood silent, his jaw tight.
Kazen muttered, "The Council made their move. Now it's our turn."
The wind carried the scent of blood across the fields. Overhead, clouds thickened, casting the battlefield in a dull, oppressive shadow.
Something had changed in the world. Something irreversible.
The rebellion had failed, yes—but it had exposed the true face of power. The illusion was gone.
And while the soldiers had perished, their defiance would live on—in memory, in guilt, in fury. The Council had won the battle.
But the war was far from over.
Near the edge of the battlefield, Maria turned to Hellesa, her eyes filled with confusion and concern. "What are you saying, Hellesa? This isn't like you. You've never spoken like this. What are you doing?"
Before Hellesa could answer, Senzuko stepped forward, his expression grim. "It's not her," he said quietly. "It's the soul within her. Something ancient... something powerful. It's influencing her actions. She's not in full control."
Maria's eyes widened. "What do you mean a soul? Are you saying she's being possessed?"
Senzuko nodded solemnly. "Not possessed—guided. But the force inside her has its own will. We need to be careful. If we interfere, we might trigger something far worse. We need to stay out of this—for now."
But Hellesa took a step forward, her voice urgent and trembling with a strange intensity. "No. We can't stay out of this. We have to stop them. If even one of them dies... the balance of power will collapse. And if that happens—true darkness will rise."
Her eyes glowed faintly, the air around her pulsing with unstable energy. "This war isn't just about territory or rebellion anymore. Something deeper is waking beneath all of this. Something that feeds on chaos. We're running out of time."
Maria looked between her and Senzuko, torn between fear and duty.
Hellesa turned to them, resolute. "We must act—before it's too late."
Let me know if you'd like to continue this into the next scene!
The Fractured Battlefield
The world seemed to slow for a moment as they leapt onto the battlefield.
Hellesa, Izaki, Kazen, Maria, and Senzuko dropped from the cliffs like shadows falling through smoke, their landing kicking up clouds of ash and blood-soaked dust. Their presence sparked confusion across the war-torn field—bodies lay scattered, the cries of the wounded and dying still echoing, but this arrival shifted the energy.
There was still time.
There had to be.
As Hellesa sprinted forward, blades unsheathed and eyes glowing with eerie resolve, her mind screamed with questions.
"Hey... Spirit! What are you doing? Why is this happening? Is any of this even necessary? Is there a reason behind this madness?!"
The voice within her—the one that had whispered guidance, that had pushed her to rise—remained silent.
"Tell me! Please! What is this?! What's the purpose of all this pain?"
But there was no answer. Just a hollow, suffocating silence in her mind.
Gritting her teeth, she pushed forward. If she couldn't understand the spirit, she would carve her way to the truth herself.
She spotted Isan in the center of the chaos, wiping blood from his blade, unbothered by the bodies that littered the field. Without hesitation, Hellesa charged toward him, her feet barely touching the ground.
Her speed shocked him.
He turned just in time to see her blade slicing toward his midsection—but not fast enough. Her sword pierced his side, slipping between his ribs. Isan let out a guttural gasp, stumbling back.
"You arrogant girl!" he hissed, eyes wide with rage. "Don't interrupt our fight. You stopped me once, but that doesn't mean I'll stop again. If I have to kill you myself, I will. Now... get out of my way!"
But Hellesa didn't move. She didn't blink. She attacked again, her body driven by more than just rage—it was purpose, pain, and something she didn't fully understand.
Council Member 0, sensing the danger, leapt in and caught her mid-strike. His hand wrapped tightly around her neck, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing. With a snarl, he hurled her across the battlefield.
Hellesa crashed hard into the blood-soaked earth, but she rose again. Bruised. Bleeding. Unrelenting.
She lunged once more—but this time, Isan was ready. He stepped behind her in a blur and drove his blade deep into her spine.
Her body stiffened.
A cry of pain tore from her lips as her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the ground, unmoving.
Everything stopped.
Council Member 0 turned slowly, eyes wide. "Isan…" His voice cracked—not with sadness, but fury. "You will pay for this!"
He blurred forward, faster than anyone had seen before. His blade moved like a phantom, cutting through the air and into Isan with merciless speed. Deep gashes opened across Isan's chest, arms, and legs—blood sprayed in violent arcs.
Isan staggered, trying to raise his blade in defense, but it was too late. He crumpled to the ground, bleeding from a dozen fatal wounds.
Dead.
Rasin stood a few paces away, paralyzed. His father—the unshakable Chairman—was gone. His eyes flicked between the raging council member and the silent battlefield.
There was no escape now.
Kazen rushed across the blood-slicked field, dropping to his knees beside Hellesa. "Come on, come on…" he whispered, placing a trembling hand on her neck, then her wrist. Her pulse was faint—shallow, but still there. Relief crashed over him like a wave.
"She's alive!"
But his joy was short-lived.
A dark figure loomed behind them.
Isaac.
He raised his weapon, aiming for the unconscious Hellesa—ready to finish what Isan started.
Before the blade could fall, Izaki surged forward, intercepting the attack with his own blade. The clash sent out a pulse of energy, knocking Isaac back a few steps.
"What are you doing, Isaac?!" Izaki shouted, face twisted in disbelief. "Why are you trying to kill us?! What did we ever do to you?!"
Isaac's expression was unreadable beneath his helmet, but his voice was sharp and cold. "You were never meant to understand. You never had the strength to see the bigger picture. All of this... it's necessary."
"Necessary?!" Izaki spat. "You're murdering your own people!"
Council Member 0 turned toward Rasin, now the last remaining heir of Isan's power. His blade was slick with blood, his eyes glowing with a righteous fury. "Kazen," he called out, without turning his head, "protect your girlfriend. Get her to safety."
Kazen flushed despite the situation. "O-okay, sir!"
He gently lifted Hellesa into his arms, careful not to disturb the wound in her back. Her head fell against his shoulder, her breath shallow and ragged.
Maria appeared beside him, offering a protective stance as they began to retreat from the center of the battlefield. "We've got you," she said quietly. "Just hold on."
Senzuko was already scanning the perimeter, sensing something darker stirring beneath the surface.
"The spirit within her…" he muttered. "It's not dormant. It's waiting. Watching. Feeding."
Izaki and Isaac remained locked in combat, their blades ringing against each other, sparks flying with each clash. Isaac's movements were mechanical—precise—but lacked the fire Izaki now fought with. He had something to protect. Someone.
Kazen moved with Maria through the wreckage of the battlefield, heart pounding. He glanced down at Hellesa's unconscious form.
"I'll keep you safe," he whispered. "Just hold on a little longer."
Council Member 0 finally reached Rasin, who stood still—paralyzed by fear or acceptance, no one could tell.
"You chose the wrong side," the council member said.
Rasin looked up, trembling. "I... I didn't know it would go this far."
"Now you do."
With one swift strike, it was over.
Rasin fell beside his father, their ambition and cruelty extinguished together.
The battlefield was silent once again, but it was not peace—it was the calm after a storm that had only just begun.
In the distance, storm clouds churned with unnatural speed. The sky itself seemed angry. The ground beneath them trembled faintly, almost like something ancient was waking from a deep slumber.
Maria's voice cut through the stillness. "We need to leave. Now. This isn't over."
Senzuko's eyes glowed faintly as he turned his head toward the horizon. "She was right. If any of them died, the balance would be broken."
"And it has," he added grimly.
From deep within Hellesa's unconscious mind, the spirit stirred.
It smiled.
"Now the real game begins."
The Reckoning
The hall reeked of blood and betrayal. Shadows danced across the marble pillars as the torches flickered with every gust of wind that crept through the shattered windows. Amid the chaos, Council Member Zero—silent and cold—began to walk forward, each footstep echoing like a war drum in the stunned silence.
Rasin's breath hitched as he realized Zero was coming straight for him. Panic clawed at his throat. He turned to run, but a whistle split the air—thunk!—a dagger sank deep into the floor, pinning the fabric of his robe to the ground. Merin stood a few steps away, her arm still outstretched from the throw, eyes like flint.
Rasin screamed in pain as the blade grazed his foot. He tried to yank himself free, but before he could manage another motion, Zero was already there. Without a word, he grabbed Rasin by the hair, yanking his head backward.
"No—wait—!" Rasin's plea was cut short as his skull slammed into the cold, blood-slicked ground with a sickening crack. Once. Twice. A third time. The impact echoed off the walls like thunder.
Rasin whimpered, barely conscious now, but Zero wasn't finished. Drawing his blade, he plunged it into Rasin's chest over and over, the rhythm of the strikes cruelly methodical. Each thrust spilled blood that stained the floor darker. Rasin's left arm reached up weakly, as if to defend himself, but Zero sliced it clean off in a brutal, final motion.
Rasin lay twitching, blood pooling beneath him. Zero exhaled slowly and turned away, letting the body slump like discarded trash. He wiped his blade with the edge of his sleeve and walked toward the trembling man at the end of the hall.
Isan.
The father.
"Hey, Isan," Zero said, his voice calm—disturbingly so. "Take a good look." He gestured casually over his shoulder toward Rasin's broken body. "That's your son. Crying. Dying. Bleeding like a butchered animal. Do you want him to live... or would you prefer to watch him die right here?"
Isan's lips quivered. His knees buckled, and he collapsed, weeping. "Please... please don't kill him. He's my son. My only son. I raised him—I loved him..."
A bitter laugh cracked through the air, drawing Isan's eyes toward a familiar voice—too familiar.
"Your only son?" Senzuko stepped into the light, his face a mask of scorn. "What about me, you bastard?"
Isan's eyes widened. "Senzuko... you're alive?"
"Yes," Senzuko hissed. "Unfortunately. I survived everything you did to me. I lived through your cruelty, your exile, your obsession with bloodlines. I lived, father. You made sure I lived just enough to suffer."
Merin stood beside him silently, her dagger now back in its sheath.
Isan looked between them, horror dawning in his expression. "I—I only did what I thought was—"
"Don't you dare," Senzuko interrupted. "You spared Merin because she reminded you of her mother. You coddled Rasin because he was obedient. And me?" His voice cracked. "You hunted me like a beast. You said I was a mistake, a disgrace, a curse! You tried to kill me yourself!"
Isan could barely speak. "I—I was wrong. I didn't know—"
"Too late," Senzuko whispered.
He walked over to Rasin's groaning body. Without hesitation, he drew a thin, curved dagger and knelt.
"No—stop!" Isan cried out, dragging himself forward, reaching out weakly.
But Senzuko didn't even flinch.
"For every night I begged for death to come and free me," he whispered to Rasin, "this is your penance." Then he plunged the dagger downward in one swift, merciless strike—directly into Rasin's groin.
Rasin's shriek tore through the room like a banshee's wail. Blood surged again. His body convulsed, and then went still.
Zero turned away from the scene and began walking slowly toward the rear of the chamber, where Issac and Akin had been watching in horror. The two had been frozen in place, hands shaking, too stunned to speak.
"Boss!" Akin finally shouted. "Why are you walking away? Why not finish them too?"
Zero didn't stop walking. "Fools don't need to be killed," he said. "They're always in a hurry to destroy themselves."
Akin stared, unsure whether it was wisdom or madness that guided those words.
Suddenly, Zero turned back, his gaze locking on Issac, who stood still as a statue. Without warning, Zero lunged and kicked Issac square in the chest. The man flew back and hit the stone pillar behind him with a thud, crumpling to the ground in a heap.
Issac tried to rise but found his legs numb. His ribs ached with every breath. Blood trickled from his mouth.
He looked up and met Zero's eyes—dark, indifferent, absolute.
"I surrender," Issac gasped. "Please... I surrender..."
Zero tilted his head, as if the concept puzzled him. "You think that matters now?" he said coldly. "You've already committed the sins you were warned against. You've spilled innocent blood, betrayed your people, and for what? A moment of power?"
"I—"
"You had your chance," Zero growled.
He stepped forward and began to pummel Isaac with unrelenting fists. Each strike landed with the force of iron. One broke Issac's nose. Another cracked his jaw. Blood sprayed, and his limbs twitched with each blow. Still, Zero continued, like a storm unwilling to pass.
Minutes felt like hours.
By the time he stopped, Issac's face was a ruin of blood and bone. He coughed once, his breath wheezing, and lifted his trembling hand toward someone far behind Zero.
Maria.
She stood in the distance, her eyes wet, lips trembling.
Issac's voice was faint and broken, but he spoke with his last breath.
"All... I ever... wanted... was y-you..."
His hand fell. His eyes dimmed. And he died, reaching for something that had never been his.
The silence returned. Heavy. Complete.
Zero turned to Merin and Senzuko. "Burn the bodies. Leave no trace. The council must see that betrayal ends only in ruin."
Senzuko nodded, though his gaze lingered on his father, who still knelt trembling beside Rasin's corpse.
"And what about him?" Merin asked, glancing toward Isan.
Zero looked back, his eyes cold. "He'll live. Not because he deserves it—but because guilt is a deeper blade than any of ours."
Merin didn't ask again.
They turned and walked away, leaving the ruined chamber behind, where blood still glistened in the firelight and ghosts of the past clung to the crumbling walls.
Smoke curled into the bruised sky as fires crackled across the battlefield. The air was thick with the scent of blood, ash, and smoldering corpses. Amid the devastation, Council Member Zero stood motionless, eyes scanning the wreckage like a grim sentinel.
"Burn everything," he commanded in a low, cold voice. "No survivors. Kill anyone who still draws breath."
The remaining council members obeyed without hesitation, moving like shadows among the fallen, ensuring the silence of death remained absolute.
Zero turned his gaze toward a small group huddled near the shattered remains of a stone wall—Kazen was cradling Hellesa in his arms, her body limp and streaked with blood.
He approached them, his expression unreadable. "How is she?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
Kazen looked up, startled by the man's presence. Fear flickered in his eyes, but he answered. "I—I don't know. Her wounds are deep, and she's lost a lot of blood. If we don't get her to a healer soon... she won't make it."
Zero nodded once. "Let me take her. I have skilled doctors under my protection."
Kazen hesitated, glancing down at Hellesa's pale face. After a brief moment, he nodded and began to pass her over.
But a voice rang out sharply, slicing through the air.
"No!" Izaki stepped forward, arms outstretched, his face lined with worry and anger. "We won't let you take her. We still don't trust you. What if you're lying? What if you finish what they started and kill her?"
Zero didn't flinch. "If you doubt me," he said calmly, "then come with me. No tricks. No deception. But she needs help now, or she'll die."
Izaki clenched his fists, torn between fear and reason. The tension was thick—until Senzuko leaned in beside him.
"I think we can trust him," Senzuko whispered. "He killed Issac—for Hellesa. And Rasin, Isan… he nearly killed them both. Whatever else he is, he's not our enemy. Not today."
Izaki stared into Zero's eyes—cold, yes, but not cruel. Not now. There was no malice in the offer. Only urgency.
"Alright," Izaki said after a long pause. "We'll come with you. But if anything happens to her—"
"It won't," Zero interrupted, and gently lifted Hellesa into his arms.
Her head rested against his chest, her breathing shallow. Blood dripped steadily from a wound near her ribs, and her lips were almost colorless. She didn't stir, not even as they began moving.
Meanwhile, farther down the battlefield, Maria stood frozen.
Issac's body lay sprawled on the blood-soaked earth, his lifeless eyes staring skyward. She knelt beside him, her mind swirling, trying to make sense of his final words.
"All I ever wanted was you…"
She hadn't known. She never imagined he'd carried such feelings—buried beneath the violence, the betrayals, the power games. She had hated him for what he'd become. But now, in death, all she could see was the broken boy who had loved her in silence.
Her hands trembled as she touched his ruined face. "I'm sorry…" she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm so s-sorry, Issac… I didn't know. I never knew you loved me like that."
Tears welled up and spilled over as she cradled his head in her lap, sobbing. "We should've saved you… from yourself. From everything. I'm sorry for what we did to you. For what we couldn't stop. You didn't deserve to die like this."
Around her, the flames roared louder, as if mourning with her.
She didn't move for a long time—just sat there, holding what was left of the man who had loved her too much and too late.
The air roared with the sound of rotor blades as the helicopter descended onto the ruined battlefield, its downdraft scattering ash and debris in every direction. Council Member Zero moved swiftly, his long coat billowing behind him as he carried Hellesa in his arms. Her breathing was shallow, barely perceptible, and the blood staining her garments had begun to darken.
Kazen followed closely, glancing at her face every few steps, his own laced with worry. Izaki was beside him, silent but tense, eyes constantly scanning the remnants of the war-torn field as if expecting some final horror to emerge from the smoke.
Zero stepped into the helicopter first, carefully placing Hellesa onto a stretcher that had been secured inside. Kazen climbed in right after, grabbing her hand and holding it tightly. Izaki paused only briefly before boarding as well, casting one last glance at the scorched ground behind them. The door shut with a hiss, and the aircraft lifted off, blades cutting through the air as it veered northward—toward safety, and hopefully, healing.
A short distance away, another helicopter waited with its blades idling. Senzuko stood outside it, scanning the field. His sharp eyes found Maria still kneeling where Issac's body had lain, even after it had been moved. The blood was still there, soaked into the ground beneath her knees.
"Maria!" he called, raising his voice over the sound of the rotors. "We need to go! Now!"
But she didn't move.
Her eyes were distant, her hands clenched into fists as if she were holding onto something invisible—grief, maybe, or guilt.
Seeing her unresponsive, Merin stepped forward. She approached slowly, cautiously, like one might approach a wounded animal. "Hey," she said gently. "Maria, we need to leave. I'm sorry for your loss, I truly am... but we can't stay here. There's nothing else we can do. He made his choices. He betrayed us."
At that, Maria turned on her, her eyes blazing through the tears. "Shut up!" she snapped, her voice cracking under the strain. "This is all because of your brother, Senzuko! If he hadn't left Issac behind, none of this would've happened! He abandoned him!"
Merin took a step back, stunned, but composed herself quickly. "We didn't abandon him," she said firmly. "We wanted Issac with us. We fought for it. But the Light didn't choose him. It sensed what he would become... what he already was. That's why it rejected him."
"You're just making excuses," Maria muttered bitterly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He just wanted to be loved... to be trusted."
"I know," Merin replied, her voice softening. "And we did care about him. All of us. But Issac made his decisions. And whether we like it or not, everything that's happened—it's been leading us here. The Light... the betrayal... even this pain. It's part of something bigger. We have to believe that. Otherwise, we're just lost in all this blood."
Maria didn't respond. Her body trembled, and for a moment it looked like she might lash out again. But then, slowly, her shoulders sank. The fire in her eyes dulled, dimming into exhaustion.
Merin gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come with us," she said. "You don't have to forgive him. You don't even have to understand it all right now. Just don't stay here, not alone."
After a long silence, Maria gave a faint nod. Merin helped her to her feet, and together, they walked to the waiting helicopter. Senzuko stood by the door, watching, but said nothing.
The three of them boarded, and the hatch closed behind them. The helicopter lifted off, joining the other in the sky. Below them, the battlefield faded into a gray smear of smoke and fire.
Back on the ground, the final council members moved efficiently through the wreckage, their task nearly complete. Fires were extinguished only when they threatened to spread beyond their intended zones. Every trace of the operation—equipment, bodies, signs of their presence—was removed or burned. The battlefield, once a theater of screams and fury, was quickly becoming a void, silent and sterile.
Within the hour, they too departed, disappearing into the shadows like ghosts. No trace remained—no banners, no flags, no bodies. Only scorched earth and the scent of smoke.
The war was over, but the consequences had only begun.
Not long after the final echoes of battle faded into silence, the military arrived—too late to stop the carnage. The war zone stretched before them like a graveyard. Smoke curled lazily into the air, and the stench of ash, blood, and scorched earth hung heavy in the atmosphere.
But there was no one left to fight.
The battlefield was eerily still, devoid of any living presence. Only the ashes of the dead remained, scattered across the ruined terrain. Burnt armor, charred soil, and blackened fragments of weapons told the story of a battle that had already been fought—and lost.
The soldiers searched the field meticulously, but found no evidence of the battle's instigators. No flags, no insignias, no survivors. Just silence and the scent of death.
Eventually, the report was delivered to the governor.
"What?!" he barked, slamming his fist on the table. "There must be something! A clue—anything! They couldn't have just vanished!"
A senior officer, his face grim, gave a slow shake of his head. "Sir, there's nothing. No bodies we can identify, no technology left behind. Only two people were found—Chairman Isan, severely wounded and unconscious, and his son, Rasin… dead, lying beside him."
The governor's expression hardened, his mind racing. "How is Meteosity winning every battle?" he muttered, half to himself. "The enemy had two fighters with durability matching his… It shouldn't be possible."
The soldier hesitated, then added, "Sir, according to our intelligence, Issac—along with Zenix's forces—interfered in this conflict."
The governor's eyes narrowed. "Zenix…" he whispered. "So he's begun to move his pieces as well."
There was a heavy silence in the room before the governor straightened. "We don't have much time left. Clear the battlefield. Remove all remnants of the fight. I want this place scrubbed clean. Then return to your base immediately."
"Yes, sir," the soldier replied with a sharp salute.
As the transmission ended, the governor leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. The balance of power was shifting faster than expected. Battles were being fought and lost without warning. And the enemy was no longer hiding in the shadows—they were moving, winning.
And he knew all too well—this was only the beginning.
Meteosity's Hospital
The sterile white halls of Meteosity's medical wing echoed with urgency as Council Member Zero stormed through the entrance. His long coat fluttered behind him, eyes sharp, expression grim. Without breaking stride, he barked an order at the head nurse.
"Get your best doctors. Treat her immediately. Do whatever it takes to save her."
The nurse nodded and rushed ahead, already signaling for the emergency team.
Hellesa was quickly wheeled into one of the top-tier trauma rooms. Blood still stained her garments, and her breathing was labored. A cluster of doctors surrounded her, moving in fluid precision. Monitors beeped rapidly, machines were hooked up, and the room was filled with the soft chaos of professionals fighting for a life.
In the neighboring halls, the rest of Hellesa's group—Kazen, Izaki, Senzuko, Merin, and Maria—were also being attended to. Though none were in critical condition, their wounds and exhaustion were being addressed with swift competence. Even the council members who had joined the final fight were receiving checkups and minor treatments.
Hours passed. The light outside began to dim as the city transitioned into twilight, and still, Council Member Zero remained nearby, waiting.
Finally, the lead surgeon stepped out of Hellesa's room and approached him.
"Sir," he said, pulling off his gloves. "She's stable."
Zero's eyes narrowed. "She's alive?"
The doctor nodded. "Fortunately, yes. We managed to close her external wounds and control the internal bleeding. But… her spinal cord sustained significant trauma. She'll need complete bed rest—minimum two months—for the nerves and tissues to begin proper recovery. We're monitoring her closely."
Zero let out a slow breath. "Thank you, Doctor. You've done well."
The doctor nodded once more, and turned to leave—but paused when he heard what came next.
"I'll authorize a 30% salary hike for the entire medical team. Effective immediately for the next few months."
The doctor blinked in surprise, then grinned. "That's... extremely generous, sir. Thank you."
He and his team disappeared down the corridor, murmuring in grateful disbelief as they entered a lounge area. Laughter and light cheers broke out—rare sounds in a building that usually saw more death than celebration.
Meanwhile, Council Member Zero quietly stepped into Hellesa's room.
The lights were dimmed, machines humming softly, the rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor offering a steady rhythm to the silence. Hellesa lay unconscious on the bed, her face pale but peaceful. Her body was bandaged, her breathing shallow but steady.
He pulled up a chair beside her and sat down heavily. For a long moment, he just looked at her, as though searching for something in her expression.
A nurse entered and whispered, "She may regain consciousness in a few hours. We've sedated her lightly to help her rest."
He nodded without taking his eyes off Hellesa.
Once they were alone again, he reached out and gently took her hand. It was cold, fragile in his grasp.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, voice low and tight. "I'm sorry for what I did to you. For all of it. I don't know if you'll ever forgive me… but I had to protect you. Even if it meant becoming a monster."
His words faded into the quiet hum of machines.
A moment later, the door creaked open.
Izaki stepped in, glancing from his sister to Council Member Zero. "How is she?" he asked, his voice raw from hours of worry.
"She's going to recover," Zero replied. "But she'll need at least two months of complete rest. Her spine was nearly severed."
Izaki exhaled in relief, though his brows still furrowed with concern. "That's good to hear… but, we don't know where to go after this. Our homes, our allies—everything's gone. We've got nowhere left."
Zero didn't hesitate. "Then stay at my house."
Izaki stared at him, stunned. "What? Your house?"
"Calm down," Zero said quickly, glancing at Hellesa. "Your sister needs peace. Stress and agitation will only make things worse."
Izaki was silent for a moment, absorbing the offer. "Why would you do that? After everything we've been through?"
Zero looked back at Hellesa. "Because I owe her… and all of you. I don't expect trust, but I do expect you to take the help you need."
Still surprised, Izaki slowly nodded. "Alright. If it's for Hellesa, we'll accept."
Kazen entered next, followed by Senzuko and Merin. All of them were weary, bandaged, and quiet—but when they saw Hellesa lying stable and safe, a collective breath of relief passed through the room.
Kazen stepped forward. "Thank you," he said simply. "For saving her. For everything."
Merin added, "We know it wasn't easy. But... she's alive. That's all that matters now."
Even Maria, though silent, gave a faint nod of acknowledgment.
Council Member Zero looked at them all, then rose from his seat. "She needs rest. And you all need time to recover, too. You're safe here. For now, that's enough."
And for the first time in days—maybe weeks—the room felt like a place of healing, not war.