Sowhere in Mid-Sector 99—
At the summit of a towering mountain, high above the clouds and cloaked in the stillness of night, a sudden gust tore through the air.
Without hesitation, she took only a few steps forward until her boots t the very edge of the cliff.
Then, a voice—deep, jagged, and unmistakably feminine—cut through the silence like a rusted blade scraping bone.
It sounded as though its owner had once scread with such force that her throat was torn and had only just begun to heal:
"This is it. Let’s begin."
The woman standing there was not like the others. No human scholar, no expert on the bloodlines could easily place her race. She was undoubtedly human, yes—but sothing else stirred beneath the surface.
Sothing... fierce.
Sothing built for war.
She stood close to two ters tall, her posture regal but grounded, like a weapon forged and waiting.
Her hair was cropped aggressively short—shaved on the sides with a faint upward gradient toward a slightly longer crown. It was the kind of cut worn by soldiers who didn’t expect to return from battle.
She wore a heavy tal gloves with the tips of hear fingers showing, fashioned not just for defense but to amplify pain. Now clenched into fists, they creaked faintly, as though the very tal feared her grip.
Her armor was black and minimal—scattered across her body in brutal, efficient patches.
Two thick plates guarded her thighs, one covered each shoulder, a reinforced vambrace protected her wrist, and her broad chest was bound with reinforced straps, cinched tightly to hide its curve behind an angular breastplate.
The way she stood, the way her sharp eyes stared downward—there was no doubt:
She was a hunter, and sothing below was about to beco prey.
"Ki ki ki..."
A harsh, nasal laugh echoed behind her.
"Begin what, exactly? I’ll deal with them alone. No need to waste your energy—go steep so tea and wait for victory, lady."
The voice belonged to Wade, and it oozed mockery like venom from a fang.
His laugh was wild and unhinged—a cackle fit for hyenas feasting under blood moons.
"Wade..." she growled, without turning her head.
"Did you not learn last ti?"
In one fluid movent, she turned, reached back, and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him with one hand like a sack of grain.
"Do you enjoy being used as a chair this much? Or does your face just crave more scars?"
Wade looked young—twenties perhaps—but no one would mistake him for innocent.
He wore a dark, casual outfit, unremarkable save for the massive dagger strapped to his belt, its hilt worn and chipped from years of use.
His head was shaved along the sides, and a long black stripe of hair swept back to his shoulders like the tail of a panther.
His upper body was absurdly muscular, his shirt stretched taut over his chest and arms, ready to split at the seams.
Yet despite her grip, he laughed again.
His narrow eyes twinkled with mischief as he tilted his head playfully:
"Your face isn’t much better off, Latania. If you’re aching for a rematch, I won’t say no.
But this ti... I’ll make you waddle around the planet like a duck. Ki ki ki..."
CRACKLING TENSION.
The air itself seed to warp between the two.
On one side stood Latania—sharp, silent, always two seconds away from violence.
On the other, Wade—chaotic, grinning, utterly unbothered by consequence.
Their bodies were canvases of war—marked, branded, burned.
Their faces and exposed skin bore only tattoos and scars in every shape imaginable:
so shaped like lightning bolts, others like hearts or child’s drawing, there was even a scar that looked like a penis!
Step...
"Enough."
A third voice rang out. Calm.
"This is neither the ti nor the place. Finish the mission, then rip each other apart."
A man erged from the shadowed ridgeline behind them.
He wore a long, flowing cloak—split open at the front—revealing layered robes beneath, each tied with ropes, leather cords, and tallic clasps.
His right hand remained hidden beneath the folds of his cloak, while his left extended outward—holding a short staff . It pointed toward the two warriors like a judge’s gavel.
His gaze was concealed beneath a wide hood, but his presence exuded command—not the authority given by rank, but the kind earned in blood and fire.
"Still not armored up?"
His voice was dry.
"What am I dealing with—warriors or children?"
His face looked like that of a man in his late twenties—weathered just enough to command respect, but still carrying the smoothness of youth. A light stubble traced his jawline, clean and deliberate, the kind that wasn’t laziness but rather carefully maintained for a rugged elegance. His hair—neither too long nor too short—was of that perfect in-between length that allowed it to be slicked back effortlessly, giving him a composed, almost aristocratic deanor.
His complexion was a warm tan, kissed by sun and wind, and his eyes—half-lidded and heavy-lashed—held a serenity that was almost otherworldly. There was sothing about his gaze that made ti feel slower, like he had just stirred from a centuries-long slumber with no intention of rushing anything ever again.
"Malik," Latania spoke without even glancing at him, releasing her grip on Wade’s collar with a scoff. She turned slightly, her tone dry and unimpressed.
"You’d better keep your sage advice to yourself... and start by putting on your own damn armor first."
Then, with deliberate defiance, she leaned in toward Wade again, her eyes glinting like twin blades unsheathed.
"Just wait till this mission ends. Tonight, it’s going to be 298 to 298. I guarantee it."
"Muah."
Wade pressed a mocking kiss to the tip of her nose, completely unbothered.
"Drink your milk and get so rest, kitten, it is 297 to 298 and the gap will only get wider Ki ki ki~"
"That’s because you’re a deceitful little bastard!!"
Latania growled, wiping her nose with an exaggerated look of disgust. Her hand clenched into a fist, the very air around it beginning to shiver.
And then—wooooooosh—she slamd it downward, the punch carrying such weight it warped the wind around it into a miniature storm.
"Ki ki ki!!" Wade was already gone, leaping back with perfect timing, a clean slit opening in the space behind him as he slipped through it and vanished with a flicker.
"Damn you!!"
Latania halted her fist mid-swing, her other hand clamping around her wrist to stop the montum. Just like that, the building storm dissipated.
The power, the vibration, the raw energy that had built up in her arm—gone without a trace. The dust at her feet hadn’t even stirred.
"Heh~" Malik shook his head slowly, his voice still wrapped in that ever-present drowsiness.
"You two seriously need to end this ridiculous rivalry. Every ti one of you wins, you mark up the loser with so absurd symbol and force them into an embarrassing forfeit. Is that how the proud leaders of the Imperial Guard act? Like bored children?"
Even Malik—whose sleepy expression rarely changed—furrowed his brow ever so slightly as he continued.
"We three are the first in the entire Royal Guard to reach level 50 in each of the three Fundantal Laws. We stand firm under the threat of a World Cataclysm. Yet here you are... scarred, bruised, and playing gas. What would His Majesty say when he saw you all covered and injured like this? Do you know how humiliating it would be if he thought you were being defeated in battle, and not fools tearing each other apart in a ga?"
"Calm down, Malik."
Wade erged lazily from a spatial tear beside him, arm looping over Malik’s shoulder as if they were about to take a stroll through a garden.
"We haven’t seen His Majesty before. Who knows when we’ll get the honor? We’ll heal fast when it matters. These are nothing more than scratches~."
"Exactly."
Latania folded her arms with a smug smirk, her voice rich with challenge.
"If that’s your excuse for avoiding our duels, it’s the weakest I’ve heard yet. Just admit it—you’re scared to face either of us."
"Heh~" Malik gave a soft exhale, half sigh and half laugh.
"Don’t try to pull into your circus. I’ve got more important things to do."
With the grace of a monk and the indifference of soone far above mortal pettiness, Malik turned and walked ahead. Each step was slow, quiet, and deliberate—like a man crossing a sacred temple floor.
"Hmm?" Wade tilted his head, frowning.
His arm—still outstretched as if it had just left Malik’s shoulder—was frozen in midair, motionless.
It turned out he hadn’t touched him at all. And his elbow was only now starting to lower... ever so slowly.
"Hey! That’s not cool, man. You used the Major Ti Law on again, didn’t you? Two can play this ga, you know?"
"Let’s save those Laws," Malik said coolly, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair,
"for soone who deserves them."
He lifted his short black staff and pointed it toward the ground below.
"The Ancestral Blood Multiple Empire... must be wiped from the map tonight."
He paused, then turned his head slightly with a sly grin.
"Though, I’d wager it’s a trap."
"Ki ki ki~ I can only hope it is."
Wade cracked his neck on both sides with audible snaps, his grin wide and wolfish.
Latania raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"What’s this? Malik, getting jumpy over a little trap?"
Malik’s smile stretched slightly wider. For the first ti, a sliver of wildness entered his calm face—like lightning behind glass.
"Whoever contributes the least tonight gives the others a foot massage. Fair?"
"Haha! I’m so in!"
Latania clapped her hands with excitent.
"I definitely need a massage after this. Gentlen—put your armor on. And allow ..."
She turned toward the city in the valley below, her voice growing in power.
"...to open the day."
From behind her, she reached for a weapon that seed far too large for a normal human to lift—
A massive warhamr, nearly as thick as her body, carved with ancient runes glowing faintly in anticipation.
She raised it over her head.
And brought it down.
KACHAAAAAAAAA!!!
The ground split like glass under a hamr.
A new war had begun.
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