Zahara leaned heavily against the cold, damp wall of the dungeon, her breathing ragged and uneven.
Blood dripped from a deep gash on her side, staining her torn clothing and pooling on the stone floor beneath her.
Around her, the corpses of humanoid figures lay scattered, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of death. She had fought hard, but the battle had taken its toll.
With trembling hands, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, intricate device.
It was a communication artifact, one that allowed her to contact her superiors no matter where she was.
She placed her hand on it, channeling a small amount of her remaining mana into it.
The device hummed softly, and a moment later, a holographic image of a middle-aged man flickered to life in front of her.
The man had sharp, angular features and cold, calculating eyes.
His expression was stoic, betraying no emotion as he regarded Zahara.
Normally, she would kneel in his presence, showing the respect and deference he demanded.
But tonight, she was too injured, too exhausted to care. She simply leaned against the wall, her gaze steady as she spoke.
"They're dead," she said, her voice calm but laced with fatigue.
The man's eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone remained even. "And the artifact? Danafor?"
Zahara took a shallow breath, wincing as pain shot through her side. "The demons came for it as well. We engaged them in battle. At first, we were winning. But then the mermaids showed up. Even then, we could have handled it. But… the Leviathan returned."
She paused, her mind flashing back to the horror of that moment.
The Leviathan, a creature of unimaginable power, had emerged from the depths with terrifying speed.
Its massive form had dwarfed everything around it, its eyes glowing with a malevolent light.
Agar and Athra hadn't stood a chance. The Leviathan had killed them in seconds, their bodies crushed and torn apart as if they were nothing.
The demons who had come for Danafor had fared no better.
The Leviathan had slaughtered them without mercy, its roars shaking the very foundations of the dungeon.
"A few demons managed to escape with Danafor," Zahara continued, her voice hollow. "I barely escaped with my life."
The man's expression didn't change, but she could see the faintest flicker of irritation in his eyes.
He clicked his tongue, a sound of disapproval that sent a chill down her spine. "So it saw you," he said, his tone cold and detached.
Zahara opened her mouth to respond, but he raised a hand, cutting her off. "Enough," he said, his voice firm. "You failed to retrieve Danafor. You've outlived your usefulness."
Her eyes widened in shock, but before she could react, he snapped his fingers.
A sharp, searing pain shot through her body, and her vision blurred.
She tried to speak, to protest, but the words wouldn't come. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, her consciousness slipping away.
As the darkness closed in, she heard his voice one last time, cold and unyielding. "When you wake up, erase any evidence of your presence in the Federation. Even if you have to wipe Erantel itself off the map."
The hologram flickered and disappeared, leaving Zahara alone in the silent, blood-soaked dungeon.
Her body went limp, her mind sinking into unconsciousness.
The last thing she felt was the cold, unrelenting grip of failure—and the chilling certainty that her mission was far from over.
************
It had been one week since the funeral. One week since Katherine and I were promoted to Grade 6 adventurers.
We'd seen each other a few times since then, exchanging brief greetings before heading off on our respective missions.
The guild had been busy, and so had I.
Today, I was in the middle of finishing a quest—disposing of a group of lizardmen that had been causing trouble near a nearby village.
The last lizardman stood before me, its scaly body trembling as it clutched its crude weapon.
I could see the fear in its eyes, and for a moment, I almost felt sorry for it.
Almost.
But this was the world we lived in. A world where the strong survived and the weak perished. And right now, I needed to survive.
I decided to try something I'd been practicing.
Channeling fire and chaos together, I produced black flames in the palm of my hand. 'Chaos flames,' I called them.
They were unstable, dangerous, and incredibly powerful.
I hurled the flames at the lizardman, and the moment they made contact, it let out a blood-curdling scream.
The black flames consumed it, turning its body to ash in seconds. I stared at the pile of ash, my heart pounding.
Chaos was a terrifying force, but it was also intoxicating. And I needed to master it.
Aro's voice echoed in my head, his tone dripping with amusement. "Not bad, brat. You're getting better. But don't get too cocky. Chaos isn't something you can control easily."
"I know," I muttered, brushing the ash off my hands. "But I don't have a choice, do I?"
Aro chuckled, but didn't respond.
As much as I hated to admit it, I needed him. He was the only one who understood the power of chaos, and without his guidance, I'd be lost.
But that didn't mean I trusted him. Not even close.
With the quest complete, I headed back to Erantel.
The city was as busy as ever, the streets filled with merchants, adventurers, and townsfolk going about their day.
I made my way to the adventurer's guild to submit proof of my quest completion.
The new receptionist, a young man with a nervous demeanor, recorded my completion and handed me a pouch of silver coins.
It felt strange not seeing Jena behind the counter. She had quit shortly after Joseph's death.
The loss had hit her hard, and I couldn't blame her. This life… it wasn't for everyone.
After leaving the guild, I headed to the Red Griffin Inn.
As I entered, I glanced toward the bar area, which was empty. Zahara hadn't been around for a while.
In fact, I hadn't seen or heard from her since I returned from my last quest.
It was unusual for her to disappear like this, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern.
But I pushed the thought aside, taking my key from the inn receptionist and heading up to my room.
I lay down on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind wandering.
The chaos flames, Aro's guidance, Zahara's absence—it all swirled together in my head, leaving me restless.
But before I could make sense of it, the city shook.
The force of the earthquake was unlike anything I'd ever felt.
It was as if the ground itself had come alive, heaving and trembling with violent intensity.
I shot up from the bed, my heart racing as I rushed to the window. What I saw made my blood run cold.
Buildings were being lifted into the air as if by an invisible force, then hurled across the city like toys.
The explosions that followed were deafening, each one sending shockwaves through the air.
People screamed, their voices filled with panic and terror.
And then I saw it—a building hurtling toward the Red Griffin Inn.
I didn't think. I just acted. Entering fire elemental mode, I leaped out the window just as the building crashed into the inn.
The explosion that followed was massive, the shockwave tearing through nearby structures and sending me flying.
I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. For a moment, I lay there, dazed, the world spinning around me.
When I finally managed to stand, the scene before me was one of utter devastation. The inn was gone, reduced to rubble.
Civilians ran in every direction, screaming and crying. Some clutched the bodies of their loved ones, their faces twisted in grief.
The city guards were trying to evacuate people, but the destruction was too widespread, too sudden.
And then I felt it—two powerful signatures rushing through the air, heading toward the source of the destruction. My eyes followed their trajectory, and that's when I saw her.
Zahara.
She was floating in the sky, her figure silhouetted against the smoke and flames.
Her presence was overwhelming, her mana radiating with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
But it wasn't just her power that filled me with horror—it was the look in her eyes.
They were cold, empty, devoid of any emotion. This wasn't the Zahara I knew. This was something else entirely.
My worst fear had come true. Zahara—my teacher, the woman who had taken me under her wing—was the one responsible for this destruction.
And as I stood there, watching her unleash chaos upon the city, I realized one thing.
This was only the beginning.