Secluded Starlight outpost
Burnham Park,
Lakefront Metropolis, Terra
Gaea Solar System, Luminary star sector
Milky Way Galaxy, Neutral Free Zones
January 15th 219
Moments earlier
The Order outpost collapsed within ten seconds of the earthquake. The earth swallowed most of the building, leaving nothing but smoke and the acrid smell of ash rising to the sky. Emily could feel death's presence all around them. The sensation was suffocating, but she was adept at blocking it out. They had been this close to dying—again, for her. If Leon hadn't used his ability, they never would have escaped in time. She was fast, but her speed was nothing compared to someone from the House of Leo.
The building was gone, but that was the least of the two warriors' concerns as the ground beneath them rumbled. A quake reverberated through the air, and the Odyllic itself trembled. A pulse of energy shot down from the sky and crashed upon them. Leon and Emily felt space expand, the structure of reality twisting and warping as a tremendous amount of energy was released. And then, the light was gone. They stood unharmed, though Leon had felt the force responsible for it.
"Spatial force," he muttered. How in the hell was enough Spatial Force energy created to cover an entire city? That question lingered in Leon's mind, eclipsing the trap magic that had nearly killed them moments earlier. Something larger was happening.
"Someone must have cast a spell," Emily said.
"On that scale? Then that person must be a King Realm," Leon replied. Emily could sense his frustration as he kicked the ground, sending chunks of debris and grass flying with his strength. "What the hell is going on with this planet?"
"Unfortunately, I think your hunch might be right this time," Emily said. She understood why Leon was angry, but whatever was going on, their task was to investigate. "We should head out…"
Her words were cut off by a sudden flash of light. Both of them looked up, straining their eyes against the brilliance. Above them, a ship hovered in the sky, its glow unmistakable. Emily recognized the vessel as belonging to the organization known as Golden Dawn. Beyond the light, silhouetted by the open door of the ship, stood a figure waiting for them.
"Emani," Leon said with a smile. The girl's lips curled into a grin at the sound of her name. She had pale skin, red hair tied in a ponytail, and glowing orange armor protecting her body. The chest of the armor bore the symbol of the Golden Dawn. Behind her stood her fellow Guardians, dressed in identical outfits.
The Hidden World was a vast and mysterious realm, filled with countless unknown forces beyond the hidden cities within it. The Grey wasn't enough to protect the mundane worlds and their inhabitants from such threats. That was where the Golden Dawn came in. Just as Starlight protected the Federation from Abominations, the Golden Dawn defended the mundane world from mystical threats originating both within and beyond outer space.
As an Offworlder, Emily fit the criteria for Golden Dawn's scrutiny, but her association with the Yesh Institute had cleared her to remain in Terra. Still, her gaze drifted to the hole where a Starlight facility once stood. What would the Golden Dawn do if they discovered this? Probably not much. The Golden Dawn couldn't afford to pick a fight with Starlight—an intergalactic organization wielding far more power than they could muster, especially when they had their own problems to manage. Emily turned her attention back to the ship as it descended slowly toward the ground. Emani leaped gracefully from the ship, followed by the other Guardians. Her eyes briefly lingered on the hole behind them before settling on Leon.
"There's been a situation," Emani said, her voice steady but laced with urgency.
"Does this have anything to do with the Rumbling?" Leon asked, his tone cautious but probing.
"One of the Yesh Institute buildings has been hit," Emani replied. Emily, standing quietly nearby, was already familiar with the Yesh Institute. It served as a front for the Golden Dawn in the mundane world, disguised as a prestigious organization conducting cutting-edge research in medicine and biotechnology. Its reputation in the mundane world was sterling, but she knew its true purpose ran much deeper.
"So, you want us to help with it?" Leon pressed, crossing his arms. "What about the city?"
"Trust me, both things are connected," Emani said firmly. "Get in."
****
The transport vessel drifted through the skyline with a low, mechanical hum, its engines barely disturbing the dead air that hung over the city. Leon let his senses slip beyond the confines of his body. They spread—thin at first, then deeper, sharper—threading through glass, steel, and hollow streets below.
Nothing answered.
The avenues lay abandoned, stripped of motion, stripped of breath. Vehicles sat where they had been left, doors ajar, lights still flickering in places as if the world had been interrupted mid-thought. Buildings loomed like hollow monuments, their windows dark, their interiors emptied of presence. The purple radiance that had swept through earlier hadn't just passed—it had taken. It had devoured sound, warmth, existence itself, leaving behind a suffocating stillness that pressed against the senses like a held breath that would never release.
Yet beneath that silence, something remained. Leon felt it. A residual tremor. Faint. Receding. But unmistakable. The lingering pulse of Odyllic force. It quivered through the city like a dying heartbeat, weaker than before, but not gone.
Not yet.
His gaze shifted. Emani stood at the front of the craft, framed by the dim glow of the control panels. Her voice was low, controlled, issuing commands with practiced precision. To anyone else, she would have seemed composed.
Leon saw the tension in the way her shoulders held. The slight delay between breath and speech. The weight she didn't show—but carried anyway.
"What's Golden Dawn planning to do about this?" Leon asked, his voice cutting cleanly through the quiet.
Emani turned. For a moment, her expression didn't change—but her eyes did. Harder. Sharper. Already calculating.
"My mom's handling the Echo Fields," she said after a brief pause.
"Echo Fields?" Emily echoed, stepping closer, curiosity flickering through her unease.
She had studied them—on paper. In controlled theory.
But theory never carried the weight of reality. Echo Fields were fractures in space-time—pocket spaces born from compressed Spatial Force, where reality folded inward and replayed itself. Not illusions. Not memories. Echoes. Entire segments of existence replicated, trapped in looping fragments of causality.
Dangerous. Valuable. Alive in their own unnatural way. For cultivators, they were both opportunity and graveyard—a place to ascend, or a place to be lost forever. Emily felt it then—that quiet, creeping realization. There were too many of them appearing. Too suddenly. Like something had begun breaking through.
"Right now, we focus on the breach," Emani said, her tone sharpening as she pulled the conversation back into place. The vessel slowed. Then hovered. Below them, the South Loop stretched into view—and at its center, a sixteen-story skyscraper stood like a wound carved into the city.
It pulsed. Not with light—but with something heavier. Darker. Infernal energy seeped from its structure in slow, suffocating waves, distorting the air around it. The building didn't just exist—it endured, as if something inside was pressing outward, threatening to tear it apart from within.
Emily felt it immediately. Death. Not the quiet kind. Not the natural kind. This was dense. Oppressive. It clung to her lungs as she breathed, like ash settling into her chest.
Leon felt something different. Not the death itself— but its aftermath. The absence. The silence where life had been violently erased.
His eyes narrowed slightly. The building sat outside the protective Grey—fully exposed to the mundane world. Which meant—
Public. Recognized. Unhidden.
The Yesh Institute. From the open hangar of the cloaked craft, Leon and Emily looked down together. The structure groaned faintly beneath the pressure surrounding it, its frame trembling as if reality itself rejected what had taken root inside.
"I take it the breach is inside," Leon said, his tone flat, certain.
Emani stepped up behind them, the last of her orders already given.
"Our detection array picked up massive surges of External energy from within," she said. "Right after the Banishing ritual was activated."
Emily turned sharply. "That pillar of light… that was a spell?"
"We don't know what triggered it," Emanu replied. "Only that it's connected to the structures that started appearing weeks ago."
Silence settled again—but this time, it was different. Heavier. Leon's jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. He had heard of the artifacts—whispers, reports, scattered mentions. He had ignored them. They weren't relevant. They didn't lead him to the Fallen Stars.
So they hadn't mattered. To him, at least. Until now. Because beneath the fading pulse of Odyllic force…beneath the Echo Fields…beneath the corpse-like stillness of the city, something was moving. And for the first time since arriving on Terra, Leon felt it. Not curiosity. Not concern. But the faint, sharpening edge of interest.
"What could have caused a Breach within a Golden Dawn territory?" Emily asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Shouldn't a facility like this be protected from such things?"
"There are security enchantments in place," Emani replied, her tone sharp and measured. "At least there should be. But the wave of Odic pressure from the banishing ritual must have tampered with the internal system of the building."
"Then we go in and take a look," Leon said decisively. Without hesitation, he leaped from the hangar. Emily sighed, resigned to his impulsiveness, and activated her Enhancement skill, Skywalk. Her movements were fluid as she glided through the air in a controlled descent, the faint glow of mana trailing behind her. By the time she landed on the roof, Leon had already summoned a light blade and was halfway through cutting a hole in it.
"You do know there's an actual entrance right there," Emani's voice interrupted as she landed beside Emily. Like Emily, she had used Skywalk, flanked by her agents who followed her with precision.
"This is way more fun," Leon replied, a grin tugging at his lips. Emani sighed, clearly unimpressed. She reached to her waist and withdrew a compact rod that pulsed faintly with red runes. With a soft hum, the rod extended into a sleek silver spear, its blade gleaming with a sharp brilliance. Emily couldn't help but stare, though she made an effort to mask her curiosity. The weapon was undeniably a legendary-grade artifact, the kind only a select few possessed—and with Emani's lineage, it wasn't surprising. Leon turned to Emily, his playful grin fading into a more serious expression.
"You're the scout, so technically, you should go in first..." he paused, "...but I'm going in. You can follow behind me." The tone in his voice left no room for argument.
Emily didn't argue, agreeing with his logical reasoning. She could sense the lingering guilt Leon carried after her recent brush with death. He wasn't going to take any chances—not this time. And there was the fact that she had yet to recover most of her mana from her battle fully. Emily followed closely behind Leon as they descended into the building, landing in a dimly lit corridor.
The air was heavy with a suffocating stillness. Leon's Internal senses flared, scanning their surroundings as they advanced. Though Emily's mastery of Internal sense manipulation far surpassed his, Leon's abilities were still effective enough to guide them. They followed Leon's lead through the corridor and stopped at an elevator. While Emily and Leon stepped inside, Emanu and her agents opted for the stairs. Their plan was simple: regroup on the fourth floor, where the surge of dark energy was concentrated.
When the elevator doors slid open, Leon summoned a radiant golden sword, its light casting long shadows against the dim walls. Emily, meanwhile, pulled off her gloves, revealing bare hands glowing faintly with raw energy. Her weapons were gone—lost in the chaos of her last battle—leaving her reliant on her abilities. The hallway stretched ahead of them, silent except for their cautious footsteps. As they neared the office, the stench hit them—a rancid mix of sulfur and rotting eggs. Emily's stomach turned at the familiar smell.
"Abominations," she muttered under her breath. The foul odor was their unmistakable signature, a nauseating reminder of their Infernal origins. Emily hesitated at the door. Her senses prickled. There was something—or someone—else here. A faint trace of a presence lingered, one she couldn't fully grasp.
Emily crouched, running her fingers over the remnants of energy in the room. The mana here was foreign, twisted. The signature was tainted with Infernal essence, spreading throughout the building.
Emily stayed silent as they continued walking down the hallway. All the staff of the Yesh Institute were gone, wrapped away by the light just like all the other citizens of Lakefront. Emily wondered why she and Leon had been spared from it. After all, they had been struck by the light.
"Why do you think we weren't taken like the others?" She asked Leon as they reached a row of elevator doors. One of them opened, and Emani and her men walked in.
"That's because of your nature as Ascendants," Emani said. "A key factor of the Banishing ritual probably had a feature that targeted Dormant Mystics and Mundanes."
"We keep moving," Leon said, already stepping forward. "The source is still here."
His voice didn't rise—but the air around him seemed to tighten anyway. He slowed. Not physically. Internally.
"Do you feel anything else? Something—"
He stopped. Emily hadn't moved. Her eyes weren't just closed—they were withdrawn, her awareness pulled so far beyond the hallway that her body felt like an afterthought. The faint glow beneath her skin dimmed, not fading—but concentrating.
Listening. Reaching. Above them. The building unfolded in her mind—floor by floor, room by room. Corridors layered over corridors, empty offices, broken energy trails smeared across space like bruises in reality.
And then— a tear. Not large. Not stable. But wrong. Her eyes opened.
"The command center," she said quietly.
Emanu's gaze sharpened. "That's a guess."
Emily shook her head once.
"I can see it."
Not with her eyes.
"With something deeper.
"There's a distortion. Not residue—structure. The energy doesn't just linger there. It anchors."
Emani studied her for a brief moment—long enough to measure, to test. Then she gave a short nod.
"Lead."
Emily exhaled softly, pushing herself forward. Leon moved with her—close, deliberate. The higher they climbed, the heavier it became. Not just pressure—
Presence.
It gathered in the walls, in the air, in the spaces between breaths. The faint traces of Infernal energy began to take shape, no longer something merely felt—but something seen. They appeared gradually. First, shadows that clung too tightly. Then—
Forms.
Crawling along the walls and ceiling, clinging like parasites to the structure itself. Pale, scaled bodies stretched unnaturally long, their skin slick with a faint, oily sheen that reflected the dim lighting in sickly glimmers. Their jaws hung too wide, lined with uneven fangs that clicked and snapped as they tasted the air. Watching. Waiting.
Emani's agents moved instantly. A single, silent shift—formation locked. Mana rifles materialized in their hands, humming low as energy cycled through the core of their weapons. Leon didn't slow. Didn't even glance at them. His gaze remained fixed ahead—on the door at the end of the hall. Something behind it breathed. Not loudly. But deeply.
He moved. The world blurred. One step—and he was past them. Another—and he was already beyond the cluster of creatures, standing at the far end of the corridor as if the distance had simply… collapsed. The Infernals reacted a second too late, jaws snapping at empty air where he had been.
Leon didn't turn.
"I'll check ahead," he said, almost bored. Then, after a beat— "You've got this, right?"
Emily rolled her shoulders once, energy beginning to stir beneath her skin again. A faint glow gathered at her fingertips.
"Of course," she said.
And the hallway finally broke into motion.
****
The command center doors didn't open. They gave way. Metal screamed as Leon drove through them, the hinges snapping under the force of his entry. The room beyond swallowed him whole—lightless, wrong, breathing with something that didn't belong. And at its center—
Space had split. Not cleanly. Not like a wound. Like something had been forced open. The rift hung in the air, jagged and unstable, its edges writhing like torn flesh struggling to remember its shape. Threads of warped light bled outward, folding and unfolding into impossible geometries. The room bent around it—walls subtly curving, shadows stretching too far, too long. Looking at it for too long felt like leaning over the edge of something bottomless.
Something stared back.
Leon didn't blink. He stepped forward—and summoned. Light condensed in his hand, forming into a blade of Seriphium, its edge humming with refined mana. The weapon wasn't just sharp—it resonated, a quiet, lethal vibration that aligned with his will. Then— movement. Shapes shifted in front of the rift. Abominations. But not the kind he had seen before. They stood still. Watching him. That alone was wrong.
Abominations were supposed to be hollow things—beasts stripped of connection, severed from the Odyllic flow that bound all life to the greater consciousness of existence. Without it, they rotted from within, their minds collapsing under the weight of Infernal energy—an alien force that didn't belong to their world. Hunger replaced thought. Instinct replaced reason.
They devoured. They needed to. But these— didn't move. Didn't lunge. Didn't howl. They waited. And in that stillness, there was awareness. Leon's grip tightened ever so slightly.
Interesting.
There were cases, rare and unnatural, where something of the original mind endured. Where the corruption didn't erase, but was twisted. Intelligence remained, sharpened by madness rather than erased by it. These beings were part of what was known as the Fallen race.
They were the most dangerous of the Abominations. A low sound broke the silence. Not a growl. A breath. Then-
"It seems the Golden Dawn has arrived."
The voice was deep. Measured. Controlled. The figure stepped forward. It was massive.
Easily towering over Leon, its frame thick with coiled muscle beneath plates of obsidian armor that looked less forged and more grown—as if it had formed around its body like a second skin. The armor pulsed faintly, veins of dim crimson light threading through its surface like embers buried beneath stone.
Its shape was humanoid—
but wrong.
Its posture leaned forward slightly, shoulders too broad, arms too long. Its face bore the structure of something simian, but stretched and hardened, its jaw lined with thick, blunt fangs that pressed together with quiet force. Its eyes burned—not bright, but deep. Like coals that had been smoldering for far too long.
In its grip rested an axe. Not held loosely. Not idly. Claimed. The weapon radiated violence. Not just intent—but memory. The edge was stained—not with blood, but with something darker, something that clung to it like a history that refused to fade.
The air shifted when it moved. Pressure rolled outward from it—not explosive, not wild—but heavy. Crushing. This—
was the source. The weight Emily had felt. The death that had seeped through the entire facility. Leon's gaze settled on it, unblinking. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the creature's lips curled—not quite a smile.
"Good," it said, voice lowering, thick with something that almost resembled satisfaction. "I was beginning to wonder if anyone worth killing would come."
Leon moved before the last syllable of the creature's voice had fully faded. His fingers shifted—just a slight curl. The air answered. Light fractured above the lesser Abominations—then descended.
Not as beams. As judgment. Dozens of luminous blades manifested midair, perfectly aligned, their edges humming with lethal precision. For a heartbeat, they hovered—silent, absolute—then dropped. No resistance. No struggle. The creatures didn't even have time to scream.
They were pinned to the ground, to the walls, to the broken consoles behind them—bodies skewered clean through as the blades drove them down with surgical brutality. Light flared at each point of impact, burning through corrupted flesh, cauterizing what little life remained. The smell of scorched rot filled the chamber.
Leon didn't look at them again. He was already moving. The distance between him and the ape collapsed in an instant. Steel met steel—or something close enough to it.
The Seriphium blade struck first, a clean arc of silver-white light carving toward the creature's throat. The ape moved—not fast, not refined—but powerful. Its axe rose to meet the strike, catching the blow with a thunderous impact that shook the room.
The force rippled outward. The floor beneath them cracked. Leon pivoted. No wasted motion. His blade became an extension of intent—each strike deliberate, each angle chosen. He cut low, then high, then twisted mid-step, the edge of his weapon leaving behind thin crescents of light that lingered in the air a fraction too long, like echoes of the strike itself.
The ape answered with weight. Raw, overwhelming force. Each swing of its axe came like a falling structure—wide, crushing arcs that didn't aim to outmaneuver, but to erase anything in their path. The weapon howled as it moved, dragging the air with it, tearing through space with sheer momentum.
It knew how to fight. But not like Leon. There was form in its movements—recognizable patterns, fragments of martial instinct—but they were crude. Incomplete. As if learned through instinct rather than discipline.
It compensated. With power. Each collision between blade and axe detonated into bursts of light and shadow, the command center flashing violently with every exchange. The walls groaned. Consoles shattered. The very structure of the room began to give way under the pressure of their clash.
Leon stepped inside the creature's reach. Too close for the axe to swing properly. A mistake—for anyone else. The ape adapted instantly, abandoning form entirely. It brought the weapon down in a brutal, point-blank strike, strength over technique.
Leon met it head-on. Their weapons collided—once. Twice. Three times—Faster. Sharper. Each exchange compressing into the next until their movements blurred, light and darkness folding over each other in rapid succession. The air cracked with each impact, the floor splitting further beneath their feet.
Four.
Five.
Six—
The rhythm changed. Leon's strikes began to shift. Subtle at first. Then undeniable. He wasn't just clashing anymore. He was guiding. Redirecting the force. Controlling the angle. Forcing the axe into positions it wasn't meant to hold.
Seven.
Eight—
The ape roared, muscles tightening, pushing more strength into the next swing. Nine. Leon stepped in. The world seemed to be still for a fraction of a second. Then—
His blade fell. Not wide. Not flashy. A single, precise cut.
The Seriphium edge struck the haft of the axe at its weakest point—where force had been repeatedly redirected, where stress had been building unseen. The weapon shattered. A sharp, violent crack split the air as the axe broke apart, fragments scattering across the ruined floor.
They separated. Landing opposite each other. Dust and residual energy drifted between them. The ape exhaled slowly, its chest rising and falling once before it loosened its grip on what remained of its weapon. The broken handle hit the ground with a dull clatter.
"Count yourself lucky, Pleiadian," it said, voice lower now—less performative, more certain. "I do not have time to indulge you."
It turned. Not toward Leon— but toward the rift. Leon's eyes narrowed. The pull of it intensified, subtle but growing. The tear in space pulsed again, its edges widening, reality stretching thinner with each passing second.
His instincts sharpened instantly. That thing couldn't reach it.
It couldn't.
The ape moved. Leon was already there. Light erupted along his blade, swelling outward in a surge of condensed mana. The Seriphium edge elongated, brilliance intensifying as he drove forward, his strike aimed not to wound—but to stop.
At the same time, the ape changed. Darkness bled from its body, Infernal energy coiling around it like a living shroud. The air warped under its presence, shadows thickening, swallowing the light that dared to touch them.
Two forces.
Opposites.
Collided.
The impact didn't sound like steel. It sounded like a rupture. A violent detonation tore through the command center, light and darkness consuming each other in a blinding flash. The shockwave shattered what remained of the room, walls collapsing outward as the rift reacted.
It expanded.
Violently. The tear widened, its edges screaming as space unraveled further, the pull within it multiplying instantly. Gravity lost meaning. The air reversed. Everything—debris, broken metal, shattered fragments of the floor—lifted, then rushed toward the epicenter.
Leon's footing slipped. The ape dug in—but even it couldn't fully resist. The rift wanted them. Dragged them. Pulled them inward as the space around them warped and folded, reality collapsing toward that impossible point. Light flickered. Darkness surged. And in the next instant, they were both swallowed whole.