The moment they reached the edge of town, everything changed.
Smoke curled into the sky like black vines. Fire danced along rooftops. The warm, familiar streets of Artimia were unrecognizable—consumed by chaos.
Shouts. Screams. The clang of metal. The thunder of hooves.
Men in full armor stormed through the town like a plague, swords drawn, faces hidden behind dark, glass-paneled helmets that reflected the sunlight in ghostly smears.
They moved in unison—cold, efficient, and silent. No mercy. No hesitation. Soldiers dragged screaming civilians into the streets, barking orders that weren't meant to be questioned.
Orders that no one dared defy.
"The town… it's burning..." Dawn's voice was low, almost lost beneath the rising tide of destruction.
Theo stared, eyes wide and body locked in place. "What… what's going on?"
David yanked them both behind a crumbling stone wall just as a soldier galloped past on horseback.
Fire. Steel. Screams. His brain scrambled for answers but came up short.
He muttered, half to himself, half hoping he was wrong, "Is this... a raid?"
The words felt thin. Not enough to match what they were seeing.
Theo dropped to a crouch, heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted to escape.
"This can't be real," he whispered.
Dawn's eyes scanned the streets. "It has to be a raid. But why now?"
They peeked out from behind the wall.
Civilians moved through the smoke. Homes were in flames. Storefronts were collapsing under the weight of fire. Soldiers kicked down doors while children screamed for their parents.
"We should split up," Theo said, standing suddenly. "We'll find our families faster that way—"
David grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him down before he cleared the wall.
"Yeah, and die faster too. No way. We stick together."
Theo yanked his shirt free, frustration flashing in his eyes. "You don't get it. If something's happened—if they're hurt—I need to—"
"And you think running out there alone is gonna fix that?" David snapped, keeping his voice quiet but firm. "You're not helping anyone if you get yourself killed first."
"I'm not just gonna sit here while they could be—"
"I know!" David hissed, eyes fierce. "But you think you're the only one scared for their families right now?"
Theo's hands balled into fists. "We're wasting time—"
"We're staying alive," David cut in. "That's how we help them. We move smart. Together."
Theo froze, jaw clenching so tight it made his neck twitch. His breath was shallow and sharp, like his lungs didn't know whether to hold or release.
The space between them thickened—tight as a drawn bowstring. Words hung in the air, unsaid but heavy, like they might snap the moment either of them exhaled too loud.
But before the heat between them could snap, Dawn stepped in.
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
"Theo," she said, steady and sure, "remember what they taught us. If something like this ever happened… we don't split up."
David nodded beside her. "They'll be at the safe point. That's what it's for. That's where they'll be."
"They're waiting for us," Dawn added, eyes locked on Theo's. "We just have to get there."
Theo looked between them—David's nerves barely masked beneath his sarcasm, and Dawn, who somehow always managed to stay calm when it counted most.
He swallowed, throat dry.
"…Okay," he said.
They moved like ghosts through the wreckage, hugging walls and ducking behind cover. Fires crackled beside them. Somewhere nearby, glass shattered with a sharp crack.
Something was wrong with the way the air tasted. Wrong in a way that the body recognized before the mind could.
It was thick, choking with the sour stench of burning chemicals. Beneath it all was the heavy, unmistakable copper tang of blood.
Ahead, David raised a hand, signaling them to stop.
Soldiers continued breaking into homes, dragging people out, and slamming them to their knees in the street.
"What are they doing?" Dawn whispered.
"Seems like they're looking for something," Theo muttered.
David pointed to the center of the street. "Over there."
A group of townsfolk knelt in a line—shaking, terrified.
And in front of them stood a man wrapped in brilliance.
He wasn't tall. Nor was he particularly imposing. But the aura around him suffocated the street like a blanket of static.
His armor shimmered with threads of gold and starlight.
A cloak, deep blue and flecked with color like an oil spill, billowed behind him as if it had a life of its own. His face was smooth—too smooth—and doll-like. His hair was long, blonde, and braided into something ornate.
Sedgwick Fullerman.
Section Commander of Sector Five.
"Why haven't the taxes been paid?"
Sedgwick's voice carried through the street like a performance—lilting, theatrical, polished for an invisible audience.
A man near the front of the kneeling crowd dared to look up. His voice trembled.
"Please, sir. There's been a drought. The crops wouldn't grow. We're barely scraping by. If we had more time, more support—"
"Oh? And are you suggesting His Grace does not provide for his people?"
Sedgwick's smile didn't waver, but his eyes sharpened like glass.
The man's face drained of color. "N-no, sir! I didn't mean—I mean—we're grateful—truly—"
"Grateful," Sedgwick repeated the word, testing its flavor on his tongue.
Then the smile vanished.
Without warning, he raised his hand and hovered it just inches above the man's neck. A small chip beneath the skin pulsed in response—faint and glowing.
The man's panic spiked. "Please—please, I'm begging you—!"
Then—
A flash of white light. A sharp electric whine.
The man screamed once—a short, garbled sound—and dropped. His body convulsed. Foam bubbled from his mouth. Eyes rolled back. Muscles jerked, then went still.
The silence that followed felt colder than the scream.
The moment the man collapsed, panic rippled down the line of kneeling townsfolk like a crack through glass.
Someone bolted.
Then another.
Then five more.
Screams tore through the silence as feet scrambled over dirt and cobblestone—some people fleeing blindly, others tripping, dragging children behind them.
Sedgwick didn't flinch. His eyes tracked the horde with mild interest as if watching leaves scatter in the wind.
He exhaled slowly as if the display had taken the edge off his morning.
"Let the rest of them run," he said with a lazy wave of his hand. "Kill whoever you catch."
The soldiers charged without hesitation—silent, efficient, merciless.
Sedgwick took a slow, luxurious breath, his expression dreamy as if he were sipping fine wine. His eyes fluttered half-closed.
"Ahh," he exhaled, stretching his arms. "Nothing like a good mind-wipe to start the morning. Clears the soul."
Theo clenched his jaw. "What the hell was that? What did he do to him?"
Dawn's voice was low, shaken. "I… don't know."
David's eyes were fixed on the fallen man. "Looked like he burned out his KC. Fried his brain from the inside."
Sedgwick's voice boomed again, sharp as a blade through the crowd.
"Once more, I ask—where are the rest of the children? Or are you telling me you've all miraculously aged and grown up since my last visit?"
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Thick. Trembling.
No one moved.
"Give me the children," Sedgwick said once more, voice smooth and venom-laced, "and I'll forgive this town's… unfortunate lack of payment."
His smile widened, sickly sweet, hungry, rehearsed.
Then—one man rose from his knees. His shoulders shook. His voice trembled. But he stood anyway, defiant.
"...There are no children here."
"Oh," he said softly, his grin vanishing, "how brave… how profoundly stupid."
He took the words as a challenge and answered them with a flicker of light that sparked from his palm.
It was dead white, like a spark stripped of warmth. The man's KC implant lit up beneath his skin, glowing through the back of his neck like something trying to escape.
Then—
Flash.
A single jolt.
The man's spine seized. His body jerked violently. He let out a sharp gasp, then went rigid—eyes rolling, foam spilling from his lips.
He dropped like a marionette with its strings slashed, dead before he hit the ground.
"Lies!" Sedgwick snarled, stepping forward. "All of you lie! I give you everything—protection, order, purpose—and this is how you repay me? With lies!?"
Behind the crumbling wall, Theo and Dawn locked eyes.
Neither spoke, but their faces said everything.
Fear. Rage. Helplessness.
"We need to move," David whispered, urgency polluting every syllable. "Now. We have to get to the safe point."
Theo didn't argue.
Not yet, at least.
Just as the trio turned to slip away, the sound of armored boots crunching gravel snapped their attention back.
Two soldiers marched up to Sedgwick, dragging a man and woman between them—bloodied, bruised, but upright.
"Section Commander!" one of them called out.
Sedgwick didn't turn. "What is it now?" he growled, annoyed. "Can't you see I'm cleansing this town of scum?"
"Apologies, sir," the soldier said. "But we found these two."
That got his attention.
Sedgwick turned slowly, expression twisting from disinterest to sudden intrigue. His gaze drifted down to the captives now kneeling in the dirt.
A man and a woman—dust-smeared, breathing hard, still rebellious despite the chains around their wrists.
Sedgwick tilted his head. "A man… and his whore?"
He sniffed disdainfully, cloak swaying as he stepped closer.
"And what exactly do you think I'm supposed to do with that?"
The soldier straightened. "They were hiding three children, sir. We found them with three."
That changed everything.
Sedgwick's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile, more like a sneer dressed up in gold.
"Three?" he repeated, tasting the number.
"Better than nothing. Keep searching."
The soldiers saluted and stormed off, leaving the couple at Sedgwick's feet like discarded prey.
He crouched, looking them over like meat at a butcher's counter.
"Where are the rest of the children of this town?" he asked gently.
Then—his voice sharpened like a razor's whisper.
"Tell me… and maybe I'll let you beg for your life."
Behind the wall of rubble, Theo's heart stopped.
"...No..."
His eyes locked on the man kneeling in the dirt.
The broad shoulders. The gritted jaw. The quiet fury.
"Mom… Dad…"
Alicia and Alvin Gray.
Sedgwick didn't know who they were.
But Theo did.
And he watched—paralyzed—as the nightmare continued.
Alvin's face tightened. Blood streaked his temple, but his eyes burned like firewood that refused to go out.
"As if we'd ever bow to filth like you."
Then—with zero hesitation—he spat on Sedgwick's boot.
Time froze.
Sedgwick's smile twitched. The theatrics drained from his face, replaced by something colder. Rawer.
His eye twitched once.
Then he lashed out, boot slamming into Alvin's face with a sickening crack that echoed off his jaw.
Alvin fell sideways, groaning. Alicia reached for him instinctively, her cry ragged with panic—but she didn't scream.
She held it down, trembling as she steadied her husband with both hands.
"Take a good look," Sedgwick sneered, stepping over them like they were debris. "A matched pair. In love. In harmony. In dirt."
He raised his voice like a circus ringmaster announcing a finale.
"Let it be known—I'm merciful. I'll send them to the afterlife together."
The soldiers howled with laughter. Boots circled the couple, their jeers loud enough to shake the buildings still standing.
Behind the crumbling remains of a shattered wall, Theo's body locked up.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't blink. His fingers dug into his palms so hard it felt like his skin might break.
Then he moved—heart first, reason second.
But arms caught him mid-surge.
David.
"Don't!" he hissed, locking Theo in place. His grip was tight—panicked—but not unkind. "You go out there, and they die for nothing!"
"Let me go!" Theo's voice cracked with fury. His arms thrashed. "That's my mom and dad!"
"I know!" David barked back, muscles shaking to hold him. "I know, Theo—but you can't help them! You'll just end up dead, too!"
Across the burning square—like he'd heard them across the wind—Alvin lifted his head.
Through the confusion, his gaze found Theo's.
And in that instant… everything else faded.
There was no war. No soldiers. No Sedgwick.
Just father and son.
Alvin gave him a smile. One full of pride.
He squeezed Alicia's hand. "Live," he said. Not just to her. To all of them. "Live—and change this world."
A hum of energy cracked in the air.
Light exploded from Sedgwick's palm, blinding, and when it faded—
They were gone.
Alvin and Alicia crumpled in unison, their hands still locked.
Silent. Still.
But Sedgwick wasn't finished.
He raised his finger once more—glowing like a branding iron.
Another flare. Another flash.
The beam struck Alvin's skull and snapped his head back with a sickening jolt.
Bones cracked. Blood sprayed the dirt.
The soldiers erupted in laughter.
Sedgwick exhaled, brushing imaginary dust off his spotless cloak.
"What a lunatic," he muttered casually. "Started shouting nonsense out of nowhere."
He turned back to the line of survivors like nothing had happened.
"Now then… who's next?"
Theo couldn't breathe.
Not because of the smoke that curled around the burning town or the ash thick in the air—but because something inside him had ruptured.
Tears blurred his vision. The world around him distorted, melting into haze. Not fire. Not flame. Just silence.
Because his world had ended.
Not slowly. Not with a warning. But like a blade through glass—sudden, brutal, irreversible.
His knees nearly buckled. His fists trembled at his sides with the weight of all he couldn't say.
His parents—his mother, his father—were gone.
The image seared itself into his mind like a brand that would never fade.
His ears rang. He couldn't hear the soldiers laughing anymore. Couldn't hear the screaming.
All he heard was the sound of his heart pounding so loud it felt like it might burst out of his chest and throw itself at Sedgwick's feet.
Behind him, David's voice cracked through like a lifeline stretched too thin.
"Theo… don't."
But he didn't hear it.
Something hot was bubbling beneath his ribs—rage, sure—but not just rage.
Grief.
Helplessness.
A scream stuck behind his teeth, too wide to escape, too jagged to swallow.
He turned toward the bodies again.
Alvin's hand still held Alicia's. Even in death, they hadn't let go.
And that—somehow—hurt more than anything else.
Something inside him broke.
Dawn's hand touched his arm. Her voice shook. "Theo, please. Don't. They wouldn't want this. They'd want you to live."
He tore away from her. From David. From reason.
"I'm not hiding anymore."
Dawn tried again. "Theo—"
But it was already too late.
He stepped out from the rubble.
Then he ran. Toward the soldiers. Toward the monster in the cloak.
Dust exploded around him. His lungs burned. His legs screamed. But nothing—nothing—mattered more than the man standing at the center of it all.
Sedgwick Fullerman.
The name carved itself into the walls of his mind like a curse.
Theo ran like he was falling off the edge of the world—and didn't care if he landed.
David shouted behind him. Dawn screamed his name. But their voices were drowned beneath the roar in his chest.
The world narrowed to one.
Just him and Sedgwick.
"I'LL KILL YOU!" Theo's voice tore from his throat, cracked and bleeding with everything he couldn't hold anymore.
"Sir! Target approaching!" a soldier barked.
But Theo didn't stop.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
He didn't care if he died.
Because they were gone.
And someone had to pay for it.
Theo's eyes stayed locked on Sedgwick.
That smug smile. That lazy stance. Like none of this mattered.
Like he didn't matter.
And then—
The world erupted.