Vicenti was known as the deadliest city in the entire region. Despite its technological level surpassing all the others on the continent—perhaps even in the whole of the Old Human World—the metropolis had become a haven for every form of discrimination and abuse aimed at Faerics: ear-ripping of pointed-eared beings, wing-tearing of fairies and other winged creatures, scale-trafficking of tritons and mermaids, torture, beatings, open hunts across the city for any magical being... It was a true den for the worst psychopaths of the surrounding provinces, which contrasted sharply with the fact that the greatest minds of Humanity could also be found here. But its reputation was forged through its barbaric games, where Faerics were beaten for the entertainment of the human populace. Naturally, any human openly opposing the status quo in Vicenti would find themselves among the unwilling participants in these gruesome games. This city was one of the last bastions of human cruelty, regardless of its technological environment or its victims.
But I'm not here to philosophize about Humanity—I'm here to tell you the story of that tormented child who is our Hero!
So let us return to where we left off.
The "police" of Vicenti had cornered the "greatest criminal" of Francilia with an arsenal worthy of a full-scale military operation. Tanks with electric cannons, combat helicopters armed with fragmentation missiles, and spike-covered armored cars swarmed the streets. Snipers were posted in the surrounding buildings, aiming at their target with precision rifles loaded with armor-piercing and laser rounds. Mobile bombers on wheels or mechanical legs were deployed at intersections. Soldiers set up mortars, rocket launchers, and fragmentation mines everywhere, while laser claymores were strategically positioned to prevent escape. Semi-automatic weapons, laser rifles, and the latest tactical equipment turned the entire district into a war zone.
The danger the Hero posed was apparently not exaggerated.
The commissioner stepped down from his 4x4, which bore the emblem of Doctor Gear-O's advanced weapons and technology corporation. Dressed in a white tuxedo and brand-new loafers, he glided toward the Hero on a wheeled hoverboard—still struggling to steer it properly, much like his childhood bike—to avoid soiling his footwear.
He crouched and grabbed the Hero's face with his bionic hand, greeting him with mock courtesy.
"How long has it been since we last saw each other? Almost a year now, isn't it, Monster of Matendo?"
Yet another place where the Hero had earned a poor reputation...
"If that filthy Ecapse hadn't revealed that you were hiding in the Kingdom of Sylvania all this time, you'd have slipped through my fingers again. Luckily, my agents caught him after he racked up debt at the Legos Casino," the commissioner laughed.
An Ecapse? Could he be talking about Seb'is? The Hero never knew that strange character's species. If so, it meant he had betrayed him.
Had he the time, he'd have returned to Larsano-Kano to make mincemeat out of that wretched Faeric.
"Well, it's time to draw out the one who's really interested in your capture."
The Hero understood: Commissioner Keler was not a man concerned with justice or peace. Impeccably groomed, as you've gathered—slicked-back hair, manicured fingers, slender build, and a weasel's gaze—he was obsessed with his image. But his true talent lay in flattering Doctor Gear-O, constantly kissing up to win favors and show off new attire. In his quest for prestige, he rejected the term "bootlicker" to maintain some dignity—though that's exactly what he was. He claimed the title of police commissioner, and people accepted it, though in truth he was merely the "brains" of a well-organized militia, hired by Gear-O to be the arms dealer's right-hand thug in Vicenti.
He stood up and pulled from his pocket a device resembling a whistle, though he simply spoke into it. His voice boomed out, amplified for all to hear. The horrible noise pounded the Hero's eardrums as he lay chained to the ground, unable to move or block the sound.
"Astéron! Move your ass! I've got your little brother, so get out of your crummy bar in the lawless Falgans district and surrender before I execute him in public or reduce him to bite-sized chunks fit for a can of dog food."
Commissioner Keler's voice echoed throughout the southern part of the city, reaching even the Falgans district near Vicenti's southern entrance. The device he had used was a Sound-Reflecting Megaphone—a megaphone so powerful it could broadcast your voice across fifty kilometers. Perfect for annoying your neighbors if they dared throw an all-night rager when you're trying to get some sleep after a long evening of… well, yelling at people online.
The latest innovation from Gear-O Industries.
He didn't have to wait long. A heavily armored car raced toward the Hero and the commissioner, but the blockade formed by Keler's troops left little hope for it to survive. Still, despite the hail of bullets, the vehicle pressed on, even as flames began to engulf it. In a final surge, it rammed into the tanks before coming to a dead stop. At that moment, a motorcycle, tightly secured on the armored roof, launched into the air with calculated precision.
Neither the Hero nor the commissioner suspected what would happen next. The motorcyclist detached a metal lasso from their waist and used it to hook the Hero, dragging him across the ground as stunned officers looked on.
"What the hell are you gawking at?! SHOOT THEM!" Keler screamed.
The rider weaved through construction scaffolding, ascending to the rooftops and racing across them while the Hero dangled like a sack of potatoes, bouncing off walls, floors, and steel beams along the way. Struggling to break free, the Hero was eventually pulled close enough to be hoisted onto the back of the bike.
The rider tapped a compartment on the side, revealing a weapon.
"Take it," they said. "Trouble's coming."
The Hero seized the weapon pointed out by his would-be savior — an old-school submachine gun with real bullets. And, just as the stranger had foreseen, trouble wasted no time.
Combat helicopters swiftly caught up with the fugitive and their accomplice. Without hesitation, they opened fire — a hail of bullets pouring from the minigun mounted under the nose of the aircraft. The biker dodged the onslaught with impressive agility, swerving and weaving through the air. But her evasive maneuvers made it harder for the Hero to retaliate — the lasso binding his arms held him back. Not that he cared much about it, but he had to act. So he snapped the whip, broke free, and aimed the machine gun at their pursuers, pulling the trigger without a second thought.
On the ground, Keler Holace was busy directing the helicopters in real-time, helping them track down the fugitives so the rest of his troops could join the chase — when suddenly, thanks to his synthetic-enhanced hearing, he noticed strange noises surrounding him. Footsteps. Growls. At first, one might have assumed it was a monster or a pack of wild animals — which, honestly, would be the same thing — but these noises were... synthetic? Whatever it was, it wasn't human. A chill ran down his spine — he had a bad feeling. He suspected this had something to do with the twisted sense of humor of the most dangerous criminal in the city, perhaps even the whole country.
Suddenly, he heard screams. One man. Then another. Then two at once. A fifth. A sixth. Until Keler witnessed the arrival of a horde of red-eyed bionic monkeys ripping apart every police officer preparing to pursue the Hero.
"What the hell is this fucking madness?" the commissioner muttered, nearly breathless.
Before he could react, he felt the cold, terrifying barrel of a gun against his neck. He heard a breath... and the unceremonious exhale of cigarette smoke warming his skin.
"Tell me, Keler," said a voice behind him. "Has anyone ever told you life hangs by a thread?"
"What are you getting at, Warlord?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves with nicknames," the captor replied with a grin. "It's way too easy to call me that when you've been buying arms from the biggest weapons dealer in Europea — hell, maybe all of the northwest hemisphere. But relax — I'm not here to take your life. You tried to play me with a trap, but remember this: my IQ is always higher than yours. That means I'm always one step ahead." He chuckled darkly.
The screams of Keler's men — and beasts — grew louder, approaching him and the stranger. From behind a police car emerged a massive mechanical gorilla, followed by others, all roaring with loud, synthesized animal cries.
This man's sense of humor was... quite something.
"Number Two Twenty-Seven!" the stranger called out. "Grab the kid's stuff."
A skeletal gorilla-bot — far leaner than its companions — lit up, its internal circuits whirring to life as it approached the Hero's belongings and scooped them up.
"We're outta here," the man ordered.
The gorillas pounded their chests and scattered in all directions. As for the officers, whether injured or unscathed — but never killed — they all stood frozen in shock, utterly unable to process the chaos that had just unfolded. Never in their careers had they imagined fighting robotic animal replicas. And they all reached the same conclusion they always did whenever this man interfered with the capture of his brother or disrupted their boss's operations: the nickname "Genius of War" was no exaggeration.
They knew, deep down, that he had built this army just for fun. Nothing would stop him from launching an all-out war against Dr. Gear-O and leveling the entire city just for kicks. His intellect rivaled that of the city's leader — and perhaps even surpassed it, depending on who you asked.
To me, he's just a bastard who won't stop corrupting that poor kid with his idiotic ideals.
Snapping out of his trance, Keler spun around and fired a bullet straight into his attacker's back. The commissioner's weapon was notoriously powerful — people often lost limbs, or worse — but the man merely staggered for a moment, touched the wound in his gut, then... laughed.
He turned around to reveal his face.
Keler clenched his jaw so hard his gums were showing.
"You bastard!" he shouted.
The one they called the "Weapon Genius," or more commonly "Warlord," pushed back his hair, revealing eyes that gleamed far too brightly to belong to any human.
"I knew you wouldn't come here in person. Not even for your brother."
"That's why I won't return the favor," the Warlord laughed through the android he had sent to rescue his brother. "I've got a business to run, after all! No time for petty squabbles."
"One day, Astéron... you'll crawl out of that rat hole you call a hideout — and I swear I'll skin you alive," Keler growled.
The android raised his hands and shrugged mischievously.
"You still can't beat my bodyguard — why should I be afraid of you?"
Then his expression turned serious.
"But you're right about one thing, Gear-O's lapdog. The day I leave my rat hole... it won't be for just anything. It'll be for this world's destruction."
"That's why I'll stop you."
"Don't pretend to be a hero. Even the so-called hero of this world doesn't follow that 'Will' of yours."
The android climbed into the vehicle it arrived in and drove off in the opposite direction.
Keler, humiliated, screamed in fury and pounded his legs with his fists until he was completely exhausted.
"You won't get away with this forever... One day, destiny will catch up with you."
On the rooftops of Vicenti, in the residential district of Mornantine, the seven-caliber gunfire hadn't ceased; in fact, it had intensified. For the police, a few collateral damages were a small price to pay for killing or at least capturing the Hero. Six months ago, the Hero wouldn't have cared, but tonight, it... bothered him, to say the least.
He then signaled the motorcycle driver to head towards the suspended metro rails.
"Are you insane?" the helmeted biker asked. "We might get electrocuted, and I'll die—not you."
Nevertheless, the Hero coerced him, making it clear that if he didn't comply, he'd shoot the vehicle's tires to derail it.
"Damn it!" the biker shouted. "You're both nuts! I hope your bastard brother had the good sense to give me the bike with magnetic wheels; otherwise, I'll haunt your dreams!"
The driver activated his smartwatch, projecting a holographic map showing their position relative to the suspended train rails. They were only a hundred meters away. Without wasting time, he accelerated and instructed the Hero to aim at a flying propeller-driven billboard advertising a new 'eccentric' nightclub—a term used to avoid offending the city's children, and you, dear audience. The Hero complied without hesitation, firing a volley of bullets that pierced the propellers, causing the billboard to crash down, forming an improvised bridge for the two fugitives to reach the train rails more easily.
Unfortunately, and without warning, a missile appeared out of nowhere, destroying the bridge just as they were about to cross. While the biker screamed in terror at the prospect of crashing a hundred meters to the ground, the Hero, who rarely felt fear—especially over something as trivial as free-falling—remained calm. Using the grappling hook from his right-hand gauntlet, he pulled their two-wheeled vehicle against the wall. The driver snapped out of his stupor and steered the machine against the building's facade so the wheels could adhere to it.
"Well, what would I do without y..."
No time for gratitude. A combat helicopter had tracked them down, determined not to let them escape. It targeted them with a spotlight and showered them with continuous gunfire. Being the target of such a helicopter, in the middle of the street, at the foot of an inhabited building, could only cause human casualties—and the Hero wouldn't accept that. He positioned himself back-to-back with his savior and shot at the helicopter's spotlight before aiming at the rotor. But at the crucial moment, he realized the immense mistake he was about to make: destroying the rotor would turn the vehicle into a giant projectile, risking a crash into innocent civilians.
The only thing they could do was destroy the helicopter's miniguns and missile launchers before accelerating continuously towards the suspended train rails to escape their pursuers... if they didn't arrive first.
The Hero freed himself from his restraints and fired his grappling hook onto the roof to pass over the helicopter.
"Hey! Where are you going?" the biker shouted. "And damn it, as if you'd answer me."
The Hero signaled him to continue on while he dealt with their pursuers. He climbed the building in a frantic lateral run before reaching the top of the building they were riding on. During his ascent, he had heard the hum of other rotors, and unsurprisingly, saw two more helicopters behind the first, chasing his temporary partner.toolbox.foodcomp.info+7Atelier des Auteurs+7Mes Bières !+7
Without hesitation, he launched himself at the last helicopter, using his grappling hook to swing and reach the door. With a single punch, he broke it down, tearing it off the rotorcraft. Inside, he surprised two police officers who hadn't anticipated his arrival. Before they could react, the Hero leaped: one received a punch to the chest, crushing his lungs up to the shoulder blade; the other took a direct chop to the trachea, his helmet shattering upon impact. Without wasting time, he broke his arm with a violent elbow strike, then threw both men out of the aircraft. He moved to the front, took the pilot's seat, but quickly realized the helicopter was on autopilot, with no one at the controls.
He had learned from last time, the Hero thought.
However, that didn't change the fact that he could destroy the helicopter as he pleased.
He tore out the controls and cables with his bare hands before jumping out of the vehicle through its window, swinging with his grappling hook to reach the other helicopter and give it the same treatment. Only the very first one remained, the one equipped with missile launchers.
As he moved laterally across the building's surface, preparing to jump onto the combat helicopter, he widened his eyes upon seeing one of the missile launchers aimed at him.
"Huh?" he exclaimed.
An explosive rocket emerged from its compartment and rushed towards the Hero.
He could have easily dodged it by jumping over it with a somersault, as the Fairy had taught him, but he knew that if he did, the people in the apartment behind him would suffer. Doing such a thing was unworthy of the Man admired by Avelilinélia.
At the moment the missile was just centimeters away from him, he released his grappling hook and grabbed the missile's head with both hands, its tip embedding into his chest, and was propelled into one of the building's apartments, landing in the living room of a family residing there. Clenching his teeth, muscles contracted, sweat on his forehead, he used all his strength to stop the propelled device's course, taking every precaution to prevent it from exploding. The flames from the missile's nozzle suddenly intensified before extinguishing, and the explosive device fell, the Hero keeping it levitated, preventing it from dropping as his hands were drenched in sweat.
The Hero sighed, relieved to have prevented a dramatic event. He turned to the family he had disturbed during their meal, nodded in apology, and left with the explosive under his arm, swinging from grappling hook to grappling hook.
The biker continued his relentless race, soon reaching the suspended train rails. Unfortunately, the helicopter chasing him wasn't done yet and had almost caught up when, from the skies—just a few meters above their pursuers, let's not exaggerate—the Hero arrived, equipped with the missile that had been sent at him, and returned it to the sender, exploding the helicopter into a thousand pieces. The Hero rejoined his savior and got back on the motorcycle.
"Always such grandiose interventions!" commented the biker. "Now, it's time for us to chase that damn tram."
They safely reached the train rails that would lead them to their refuge. Nevertheless, their ordeal wasn't over...
They rode, upside down, the motorcycle's wheels magnetized to the rails until they reached the train nearby. Unfortunately for them, trouble wasn't done with them.
Two unidentified objects rushed towards them at opposing speeds; the Hero didn't have time to warn his partner before they were sent flying into the train. The biker tumbled on the floor, sliding to the wagon's exit, while the Hero didn't go far, hitting a bar in the wagon with his whole body, bending it before falling limply to the ground.
"Tag, you're it," said two childish voices.
Few people had such an unfunny sense of humor—and it took a lot for the Hero himself to think someone was less funny than Elena.
That's not very nice, but I won't say anything, huh. The boy who thought he was a humor critic when he discovered sarcasm four years ago...
Otherwise, if you want to know what he's doing, he was getting up from the 'tag' of his new adversaries—well, they're generally more like recurring enemies that he, his brother, and the biker couldn't get rid of—cracked his back and faced them. In front of him stood two motionless figures: a man with short blond hair and a brunette woman with shoulder-length hair. Their phosphorescent blue eyes pulsed intermittently, like electronic nightlights ready to activate. Their human appearance bordered on perfection—smooth faces with youthful features, slender and harmonious bodies, concealed under unremarkable civilian clothes. But all that was just a facade. Under these ordinary clothes hid mechanisms of extreme sophistication: sixth-generation androids from Dr. Gear-O's laboratories.
The identification plates embedded on their necks designated them as 'Number 118-218' and 'Number 117-217.' Yet, a notable anomaly disrupted their classification.
These two machines, although belonging to distinct production series, had been constructed in parallel — the result of an algorithmic error during automated assembly. This malfunction caused an unexpected phenomenon: they had become "mechanical twins," a unique case in the lab's archives.
But that wasn't the only anomaly. Unlike earlier models, these androids had no built-in obedience protocols. No software locks. No master command. In other words, they were nearly fully autonomous, capable of making their own decisions without waiting for human instructions. This level of independence was an extreme danger. An uncontrolled android could become an agent of chaos.
Their primary functions were also divergent: the blond one, Number 118-218, had been designed for maritime transport. His internal structure, though disguised under an androgynous appearance, was reinforced with a marine-grade steel alloy, capable of withstanding deep-sea pressure and extreme temperatures. Every artificial muscle fiber in his body had been optimized to carry heavy loads, maneuver ships, or repair offshore equipment. As for the brunette, Number 117-217, her original programming focused on administrative management and strategic coordination in hostile environments. Her neural processor contained tactical data libraries, allowing her to predict crisis scenarios and devise real-time solutions.
However, what made them truly frightening was their unpredictable behavior. These machines were no longer bound by their original design. If their programming had been altered — or worse, corrupted — there was no guarantee they would stick to their original missions. The brunette could easily become a formidable strategist capable of manipulating human society on a large scale. The blond could turn his raw strength into a devastating weapon.
Facing them, the Hero knew this wasn't a simple encounter. It was a warning. These machines were no longer tools — they were predators. And they stared at him with a cold intensity… with amused expressions. They were the cats, ready to toy with their prey. But the boy was no ordinary human to be toyed with.
The Hero extended his arm to call Ymir, but the gesture was immediately interrupted when one of the twins sent a slicing wave of compressed air toward him — completely indifferent to the possibility of injuring a Vicenti citizen.
"No, no, no," said 118 with a wicked grin. "We're not in the mood to play tag or hide and seek with you today."
"Your endless teleportations are getting exhausting," added the second android.
"Especially since you never stop regenerating," the first one chimed in.
Though they seemed ridiculous with their childish antics, these talking metal clowns weren't lacking in power. Among all of the Hero's recurring enemies — yes, like in those old comic books where heroes constantly fought the same nuisances they could never get rid of — these two were easily some of the most annoying he had ever faced. Aside from the Nemesis, of course.
And since they had brought it up, the Hero regenerated his left arm, the one that had been cut off — the same arm that wore his armored gauntlet and grappling hook. Stripped of his weapons and gadgets, the Hero would have to fight these seasoned machines with nothing but his fists to get out of this. That alone would be more than enough.
The only issue was… he had to make sure no passengers were hurt — or worse, killed.
He sighed at the thought.
Living up to that girl's expectations isn't easy, he thought.
Luckily, as always when dealing with these two buffoons, he knew exactly how to get out of it.
Without difficulty, he regenerated his severed arm and tossed the useless old one over his shoulder with a backward kick. No need to focus too hard with these featherweights…
The Hero sliced through a support bar with two swift hand chops and disassembled it.
The two androids laughed nonchalantly before rushing him. 217 grabbed an elderly woman and threw her at the Hero, knowing he was too clumsy to dodge her without slicing her in two. With blood and guts in his face, they could easily attack him from behind. But unfortunately for them, the Hero wasn't who he used to be…
He launched himself forward, dug his fingers into the wagon ceiling, caught the old lady with his legs, and kept the sliced bar of metal cradled in his hand, tossing her backward to the biker for safekeeping. The two androids didn't expect him to be so agile! They had no idea he was capable of such feats! They knew him to be strong — not this nimble. That changed everything they thought they knew… and the Hero knew they'd underestimated him.
He took advantage of their brief hesitation to strike the female android with a punch, then jumped up using the old lady's seat as a springboard and landed a brutal elbow strike to the top of her head, slamming her into the floor of the train car.
"What?!?" cried 217.
The Hero went to strike him in the temple with his makeshift staff, but the robot barely dodged and pulled his sister out of the floor. Her face was torn from the sharp edge of the metal she'd smashed into.
"This isn't the same kid we knew, Lapiz."
"True, Lazuli," he replied. "He disappears for a year and a half, and comes back a new man. Must be what humans call puberty," she laughed.
They both stood up, eyes glowing red, their bodies radiating with steam.
The Hero recognized that state — Dr. Gear-O had copied some of the Hero's own transformations and adapted them to his androids. And right now, they were entering what the lab called their "Destructive Combat Mode" — a copy of his berserker state. But unlike his fury, they had lasers in their hands and eyes.
Lapiz fired the first beam. The Hero dodged it with a backward flip and lunged forward. Their speed had increased significantly. The Hero couldn't afford to anchor himself anywhere; that would slow him down and cost him a limb. So he jumped, spun, twisted, did whatever he could to close the gap between them — amidst the screams and tears of terrified passengers who couldn't make sense of what was happening before their eyes.
Maybe these two androids had copied his rage after analyzing it, but they weren't the only ones who had mimicked their archenemy: hadn't the Hero developed, with Fokatino, flame repulsors that allowed him to fly and shoot fire beams back in Sylvania? That idea didn't come from nowhere — and having trained with them, he knew how to dodge them too.
When he got close enough, Lazuli phased into her brother using a special intangibility that worked only between them — [so no, he couldn't just play Casper the Friendly Ghost] — and activated the blades in her arms, engaging the Hero in close combat with deadly arm-implanted weapons. The one known as the Faceless Demon now found himself at a disadvantage: dodging Lazuli's blades while Lapiz rained lasers down on him nonstop. He had to increase his focus to keep up. He had to enter maximum concentration — to enter "the Flow," as Queen Audisélia had taught him by playing with his body using her lightning powers.
For just a second, he exhaled and tuned out everything except his two opponents. Lazuli chained attacks with her blades, but the Hero dodged them with near-perfect control and breathtaking fluidity.
The biker couldn't believe what he was seeing. Never had he imagined the Hero — normally so cold and controlled — fighting with such fury. Every strike, every move was laced with a violence he had never seen in him. Watching the Hero like this was almost… unreal.
Then the Hero spotted an opening in their perfectly synchronized movements. Without hesitation, he dived in. He deliberately fell backward, feigning a stumble. As expected, Lazuli (Number 218) lunged at him, ready to finish the job.
But just as she struck, the Hero spun forward, breaking her attack rhythm. Surprised, the android paused — a fatal mistake. The Hero grabbed a support bar with the strength of an acrobat and, in a fluid, powerful motion, delivered a spinning kick straight to Lazuli's face.
The impact was brutal. The android flew across the wagon, crashing through the open doors and getting violently ejected into the void.
"Incredible…" whispered one of the passengers.
Only 217 remained. The two were about to finish the fight when, recovering from her fall, 218 returned by flying with her boosters and warned them: something was coming.
"What's coming?" 217 asked.
She didn't get a chance to respond before they heard a massive crash — above and below them.
The Hero turned, eyes wide. Claws pierced the floor.
He began to fear the worst.
A deathly silence filled the train car. Parents covered their children's mouths to stop them from screaming, and the adults themselves held back from shouting, fearing the worst might happen. The Hero and the android could feel the passengers' fear spreading like a virus—at the slightest misstep, this wagon could become a bloodbath.
The Hero strained his eyes, trying to see if a massacre had already started in the next car. Despite his poor eyesight, he saw nothing unusual. That meant the creatures—because he suspected there wasn't just one—were still searching for someone. And there was no doubt who they were after: him.
Like a shark fin slicing through the surface of the water, the claws advanced slowly toward the Hero, tearing through the metal floor with a screeching noise. The sound of those enormous keratin blades ripping the train floor apart echoed in every passenger's chest. Then, suddenly, the claws vanished—only for four black and red arms to burst through the floor and grab the Hero's legs.
A massive red reptilian shape emerged with a screech so high-pitched it could pierce eardrums. It lifted the Hero into the air and slammed him through the floor like a sack of potatoes. Another creature caught him on the other side, dragging him down into the depths of the city's underbelly.
"Take care of the passengers!" 217 shouted to his twin. "I'm going after him!"
Before he even realized it, the Hero had been dragged into Vicenti's sewers—where daylight had never reached. He emerged in the middle of a dark, slick crossroads, where a group of hellish creatures awaited him.
These deformed beings, ironically called "scale imps," were covered in shiny scales, with curved claws and piercing eyes that glowed sickly in the darkness. Long ago, they were fully scaled, but the city's waste had gradually stripped them of it. Still, the nickname had stuck.
Their skin was a deep cinnabar red, while the insides of their mouths and their visible blood vessels—glimpsed beneath their translucent skin—shimmered black. Their snouts and nostrils resembled those of a perissodactyl, giving them a hyper-developed sense of smell capable of detecting prey from kilometers away.
Their long, crimson tongues snapped with a chilling sound—a perverse method of terrifying their victims before the kill. Each of them had four arms tipped with razor-sharp claws, more than enough to rip apart any foe. Escaping them was virtually impossible.
But what made them truly terrifying was their sense of vengeance. They operated like a hive. If one of their own was killed, the entire swarm would remember the offender. And the Hero… had killed one.
Not long ago—before his departure—he had unintentionally taken the life of one of these beasts. The job had come from one of his brother's clients, who wanted one of the creatures for a supposed aphrodisiac. The Hero doubted the imps knew about that superstition, but if they could speak human or Faeric languages, they certainly wouldn't be happy to know they were being harvested for... a pseudo-viagra.
The murderous aura radiating from the creatures was overwhelming—nearly suffocating. Any normal man would have collapsed in fear in the face of such bloodthirsty predators.
But the Hero was no ordinary man.
With no civilians nearby, he didn't have to hold back. He could finally let loose.
He jumped into the filthy water, which came up to his calves, feeling a certain exhilaration. He could unleash himself completely—without worrying whether these beasts were sentient, emotional, or rational. He could just slaughter them. No guilt. No remorse.
One of the monsters pounced. He dodged easily, grabbed its tail, and swung it violently against the ground, breaking its spine like a sack of grain.
The other creatures followed, and the Hero welcomed them like a host greeting guests to his own private bloodbath.
He didn't have long to wait before Lapiz joined the party, still firing—at both the Hero and the imps. The Hero crushed their skulls with ease, ripped them open with his bare hands—enhanced by his heroic strength and his curse—dislocated jaws, tore limbs apart...
The imps bit, scratched, clawed, and pierced his body.
It was all pointless.
They were doomed the moment they failed to understand that the Hero was immortal—and unstoppable in this euphoric state of carnage.
But like every human and Faeric who had crossed his path, they eventually understood. They understood the terror he instilled in every enemy. The nicknames weren't for nothing. This fifteen-year-old boy was simply unhinged. No sane person could revel in such a violent frenzy—where blood, pain, and sweat blurred into a macabre dance—without losing their mind.
And the longer the battle dragged on, the more his body changed. His teeth sharpened. The spike he'd gained in Sylvania sprouted from his skull...
The tables turned. The murderous aura the imps had used to mentally torment the Hero now crumbled beneath his. Some of them already realized the mistake they'd made in seeking revenge. They fled with their tails between their legs, crying out in pain and terror before this creature who far surpassed anything they had ever hunted.
Those who remained lost all sense of danger. They advanced without thinking, helpless before the nightmare of the Hero's transformation.
But suddenly, the slaughter was interrupted by the roar of a gatling gun—ripping through the bony bodies of the scale imps.
They scattered, terrified by this new human weapon, leaving the Hero behind… still lost in rage, laughing and screaming at their cowardice. But something was wrong. He couldn't return to normal.
The biker dropped the minigun and rappelled down from the railing above the sewers using the Hero's grappling arm. She landed on the wet ground with practiced ease. With a smooth motion, she removed her helmet. A cascade of fiery red hair fell over her shoulders, glowing under the faint light.
Her face was sharp: slightly sunken cheeks, deep brown eyes ringed with sleepless circles, and a fierce, almost burning, gaze.
She waved her arms and shouted at the Hero:
"Snap out of it! Kid, I'm here! You recognize me?"
The Hero turned toward the young woman. His pupils narrowed… then widened. He came back to himself. The transformation faded, and he regained his "human" form. A crushing headache hit him, and he clutched his forehead, stumbling.
Berle, the red-haired biker, caught him. She hesitated a moment—then pulled him against her.
"You're okay…" she whispered.
She looked toward the android who had just joined them.
"You still wanna fight him?" Berle asked.
The android stared at the boy, then shook his head.
"Let's call it a welcome party," he replied. "We'll settle the score another time. Tell that worthless brother of his I said hi."
And with that, he flew out of the sewers.
Once the headache had passed, the Hero wrapped his arms around Berle.
"Now I know you haven't forgotten me, clingy brat," she said. "Come on, let's go home."
She hoisted him onto her back and carried him out of the underground.
Saying this return to Vicenti had been "eventful" would be an understatement—this kind of chaos was his everyday life. Every day in this city was a new battle. Relentless. Unforgiving. It was simply the city's way of saying:
Welcome back.
A small drone that had been tracking them took off and flew back to the "le Coupe-Gorge"—a strange bar where Berle and the Hero were headed.
Inside, a man lounging in a soft chair removed his VR headset and wiped his forehead.
"He's finally coming home, that brat," the man said with a sigh of relief. "I can finally open the bar and put everyone back to work."
He lit a cigarette and sank deeper into the chair, congratulating himself on being such a responsible big brother.
"Responsible big brother", huh... You're so lucky we'll never cross paths, Astéron… otherwise... Argh!
Four months and three weeks before the destruction of October.