Underground Vassel base ,
Zayne stood still, smoke curling at his feet, after casually tossing the severed hand of Darron into the rubble like garbage. The battlefield around him was chaotic — rubble, shattered stone, mangled corpses. Many black-masked n had died in the clash; those who hadn’t... wish they had.
Darron didn’t care. He had cut down his own n ruthlessly if they were in his way. Zayne noticed the remaining masked soldiers staring at him, trembling, so badly injured, clinging to life.
He grinned and waved at them.
They bolted, scrambling away like rats.
Then Zayne paused. Sothing shifted in the air — faint, desperate movents. The innocents who were imprisoned... they had begun running. Good. They’d sensed destruction coming.
He vanished.
—
In the prison of the base, the three adventurers struggled.
Daxon and Cassynne were still fighting against their special handcuffs, unable to access their mana.
Daxon: "We have to escape, NOW."
Cassynne: "But what about those people we saw? The ones they experinted on... we can’t just leave them!"
Daxon clenched his teeth. "I know. But the whole place is shaking. That guy up there — the leader — he’s too strong. We’d just die—"
Lyria, head lowered, voice bitter: "We shouldn’t have co to this cursed ruin... and that GUY — that bastard just ran away and left us to—"
A voice cut through, smooth and close.
"So I’m a bastard now?"
They whipped their heads around — Zayne stood leaning against the wall, arms folded, like he’d been there the whole ti.
Lyria snapped, "You RAN AWAY!"
Daxon roared, "Why are you even here?!"
Zayne raised a brow, calm as ever. "Look — as much as I want to joke right now... I won’t. Listen carefully."
His eyes hardened.
"People here are experinted on. Tortured. I’ve seen it. I’m fighting the leader — Right. Now."
Shock struck all three.
Daxon’s eyes widened. "Th-that ans all the shaking and shockwaves—"
Zayne nodded. "Yeah. That’s us. He’s busy healing after taking my attack."
Lyria stamred, "W-What do you want us to do then? We’re NOT fighting that monster—"
Zayne’s voice was steady, cool. "No that’s not I want and I know you’re not saints. But you’re not trash either. There’s more good in you than bad."
He looked at them seriously.
"That’s why I need you to get the victims out. The people in the cells. The ones begging for help while I’ll handle the leader."
"The black mask guys down here? Mostly C or D-rank. A few B-rank. I think you can beat them,as for little stronger ones that caught you three, they already died in crossfight between and their leader. " Zayne added.
"So, What do you say..?"
Cassynne clenched her fists. Her eyes t his. "We’re in. I want to save those people."
Zayne smirked slightly.
"Fantastic."
Zayne straightened, nodding at the three.
"Alright. Get up."
They scrambled to their feet. Daxon still clenched his fists, tense, confused, but before he could speak—
Zayne flicked a finger.
CRACK.
The magic-blocking handcuff around Daxon’s wrists shattered like cheap glass. Bits of tal clattered to the floor.
All three froze.
Daxon stared at his freed wrists and thought — I’ve been trying to break these for so long... and he just snaps them like twigs?
Zayne didn’t even comnt. He just moved — flick, Lyria’s cuffs shattered. Flick, Cassynne’s broke next.
"Alright. All set?"
All three nodded, a mix of awe and urgency in their eyes.
"Then, go."
They started toward the hallway of prison doors when —
"Wait," Zayne said.
He raised a palm upward.
A single orb of pure white mana ford above it — then split into three, floating gently like sparks of light. They glided to Daxon, Lyria, and Cassynne, hovering for a mont before touching their bodies, releasing a brief glow like an invisible barrier — and disappeared.
Zayne spoke, voice steady.
"It’s a mana shield. Especially for B-rank black masks if you run into them.They all seem to have corrupted mana which can weaken others.."
He paused — then smirked.
"...About ti."
And he was gone.
Just like that.
The three stared at the spot he’d been standing — stunned. But only for a mont.
"Let’s move," Cassynne whispered.
They ran — toward the rooms, toward the screams, toward the ones who needed saving.
Zayne blinked—and in the next instant, he was back where he started.
A rumble drew his attention. From the pile of broken earth and debris, Darron slowly rose, body hunched in pain but eyes burning with resolve. His left arm—torn off just monts ago—was being pressed back against his shoulder. Black blood vessels writhed like living tendrils, stitching flesh and bone together until the limb was restored as if it had never been severed.
Flexing his fingers, Darron exhaled a sharp breath.
"You’re really strong..." he muttered, voice laced with equal parts awe and frustration. "I can’t defeat you... not as I am now."
He paused—then smiled.
"But it’s good the Lord blessed with this..."
Reaching into his tattered coat, Darron pulled out a crystal—obsidian black, yet swirling with smoky mana. Amid the inky haze were veins of blue and orange, twisting like dying embers within a storm.
Zayne’s eyes flicked toward it, unimpressed. Looks just like that Abyssal that I killed, he thought.
With a loud crack, Darron crushed the crystal in his fist.
Thick, smoldering black mana burst out, like tar mixed with smoke. It surged toward him, flooding into his chest, his veins, his very soul. His body shook. His heart pulsed once—twice—then he threw his head back.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...!!"
Zayne rolled his light purple eyes.
"So dramatic."
Darron’s body began to convulse, bulging as the thick, smoky mana flooded deeper into his veins. Muscles writhed, ripping, reforming, swelling beyond mortal limit. Jagged burns etched themselves across his skin as veins darker than night pulsed with raw, corrupting power.
Suddenly—
Whoosh!
His eyes ignited with ferocious blood-red flas, casting a sinister glow across the battlefield. FWOOM!
Fla-like spikes of pure, dark energy burst from his shoulders and forearms, crackling and warping the very air around him. Every step he took scorched the ground—not with fire, but with sothing darker, sothing that burned without burning, warping reality itself.
Tiny embers, dyed in shades of crimson and midnight, drifted lazily from his sword and fingertips. The silhouette that was once Darron distorted behind a haze of seething darkness and brutal fla, a visage of malice incarnate.
The trembling earth, the crackling flas, the howling of dark energy—
And Zayne just stood there, one hand in his coat pocket, expression calm.
"You done...? Or you want to wait like, five more minutes?"
The mana storm settled, and through the fading smoke, the new Darron erged.
He was now a towering demon of fla and shadow—skin charred and spectral, like sothing dipped in ink. Glowing, pulsing vein-like cracks ran like pathways of corruption across his body. His eyes burned quietly, rcilessly, with unholy blood-red fire. Pure death wafted off the jagged blood red flas that now freely flickered from his limbs.
Zayne sighed.
"Just like I said: so dramatic."
He scratched his cheek. "And really, why do all villains suddenly get dark skin after transforming? Like—is that the secret buff?"
He paused. "...Oh damn. Was that racist? My bad, man. I—"
BOOM!
Before he could even finish, a blur tore through the air.
Darron had vanished from where he stood—
—only to reappear directly above Zayne, his massive fist crashing down like a teor, machete-saber stabbed into the ground where he was before.
THWACK!
The impact sent Zayne flying—CRASH!—smashing through multiple buildings in a trail of earth and shattered stone.
But Darron didn’t stop.
He was already there the mont Zayne ca out the other side, delivering punch after punch—each one a roaring shockwave, each hit a burst of screaming blood red fla.
BOOM! BAM! WHAM!
Sand blasted above . Smoke churned and swallowed everything.
Then—
Darron flipped backward, landing smoothly, dark flas swirling around his body like living armor. His blood-red eyes glowed brighter as he cracked a twisted grin.
"This..."
He flexed his fist, flas dancing across his knuckles.
"...was just the warmup."
anwhile, inside the main building—
Daxon, Lyria, and Cassynne sprinted down the dimly lit corridor, weapons back in hand after killing the guard in the prison. Their footsteps echoed, tense and quick, as each of them braced for what lay ahead.
They pushed open the door to one of the experint rooms—
And instantly froze.
The stench of blood and rot hit them like a punch.
Body parts. Human limbs. Mangled organs.
Broken figures strapped to tables, so still breathing.
And worse—these black-masked monsters wearing lab coats were trying to attach monster limbs onto the bodies.
The sight twisted their guts.
One of the masked n turned, startled. "What the—who are yo—"
Slash.
Daxon didn’t even let him finish. His sword cleaved cleanly through the man’s neck, a dark arc of blood splattering across the wall.
"Shut up, you bastard," Daxon growled, eyes burning with fury.
He turned to Cassynne. "Let’s kill them all."
Cassynne gave a sharp nod. "Yeah... Let’s."
And the two of them lunged in.
A ruthless, silent fury swept the room as they slaughtered every last masked figure.
At the back, Lyria stood frozen. Hands shaking, magic pulsing beneath her skin. She was a fire mage—one spell, and she could incinerate every last one of them.
But she didn’t move.
Because the victims were still on those tables, unconscious, chained—or worse.
And Lyria couldn’t risk burning them alive.
All she could do... was stare with hollow eyes, while her friends took revenge for them.
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