When he chose to become Carnage, Barzo Vieldem thought he could escape the ones he loved. He slammed into the cave wall. Bones cracked. His face hit the muddy floor, smearing it with blood. The Battle of 9000 had come. If only they knew his wish for peace.
Peace from the oath bound to his sword.
Yet he drove the blade into the ground and forced himself up. Agony ruled his body as his muscles moved for the first time in what felt like forever. Tears mingled with the blood running from his forehead, but his gaze stayed fixed ahead.
"Wake up," he said. "Don't you remember me? It's me… Barzo."
His breathing slowed, fighting for control. "I don't want to do this. But every bone in me tells me I must. For my father… and for Tophora."
He levitated, rising as the air became his. His cape danced behind him, and from his wrists chains released, sparking with black flames, slithering until they merged with the sword. He drew a breath and swung into silence.
#
In between battle and breath, one year always rose from the shadows. The summer of 8976. When Barzo's life to the sword began in the darkness of Londro. A city in Tophora that grew more than the people it could fit.
It was here that Tomzius Vieldem rocked baby Barzo's stroller, speaking of Londro as if it belonged to him. Forty-one years of life spilled into his words. Barzo stretched and giggled at the sound of his father's voice. They shared the same mark, a beauty scar running from behind their ears to their necks, the emblem of a Vieldem.
Beside him, Yosen Sift thought Tomzius insane, he always had. Childhood had drawn them close. Tomzius was a mirror of everything Yosen aspired to be. The more he thought, the more his mind drifted back to the night he lost his mother, then the orphanage, where grief left him hollow. He moved through those days unseen. Until she arrived. A woman with brown hair and a slightly broken nose, a fighter by the way she carried herself. Sonna Vieldem.
"Come with me, and you'll become strong," she had told him.
At first, he hesitated. The Vieldems were historical figures within the Lands of Tophora. To be chosen by a descendant made Yosen wary, unsure he deserved it. Then he met her son, Tomzius, who welcomed him as his own. He stopped questioning it, and they trained like family, strengthened not just in body but in purpose. As the years passed, they became duo brothers in all but blood, leading to this moment at Londro Beach.
The distant crash of wind stretched the silence. Yosen closed his eyes as the breeze touched his skin, listening to the voices on his holo-device. When the recording ended, Tomzius's voice took its place.
"Yosen," he said. "What are you listening to?"
"Reminders," Yosen said.
"Well, here's one for you. Did you think about the idea?"
"Tomzius… a vacation just feels like a distraction. I'd rather not."
"Don't you see what's in front of you, brother? When was the last time we experienced summer this way?"
Yosen gazed toward the shoreline. Families dotted the beach, mothers with their children. Siblings chased rolling balls, feet kicking up sand, movements blurring into joy. Faces held a kind of ease he had forgotten. Even the birds crossing the distant sky were something to hold dear.
"It's peaceful for once," Tomzius added.
"It's not that simple to believe," Yosen sighed. "Peace always fades"
"So progress haunts you?"
"We both know the truth."
"No, my truth is I learned what it means to have hope. You ought to do the same."
Yosen let out a gentle scoff.
Tomzius had lost much, yet here he stood, still believing, still choosing to trust in something beyond himself. That faith was because of Lydian, Barzo's mother, who had died in childbirth. He thought of the market where they'd first met. Her green eyes could stop the world, and every conversation with her carried a quiet comfort. Without her, war had become his mind's only rhythm. Only she had known how to speak to him, how to teach him to let go, to heal with words. The memory stirred an idea, one that might help Yosen now.
"This day off isn't working for you," he said. "Let's try something else. Go on, lay it off your mind."
Yosen chuckled. "You know better than to ask me for mission details, Tom."
"Who do you take me for? I'm still loyal to the Kizen. I'm asking how you feel."
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"You struggle as our mother did. I watched her long enough to know."
"Without getting caught?"
"I wouldn't have been a good Agent if I couldn't spy," Tomzius smirked. "Listen. I praise peace, yes. But that does not mean I ignore the war."
Yosen nodded. "I'm trying… but leadership isn't easy."
Tomzius leaned in, a hand on his shoulder. "It's your first time. You're not supposed to get it perfect. That's the thing about hope. It builds a strength we can't see, yet always carry. You just have to let it take over." He squeezed his shoulder. "You can do it, brother. I know you can."
Yosen's fists tightened. In his mind, he saw the strength he needed, not yet in hand but near.
#
Meanwhile, farther along the beach, a lone boy played in the sand, raising a castle he imagined himself ruling from. His grin was wide, a pride supported by his mother's clapping. When her applause faded, another sound took root. Wind. Harsher than the gentle brush curling between her toes.
"Mother… what is that?" The boy asked, eyes tracking the blowing sand toward a shape rising beyond the dunes. His mother pulled him close.
The figure sharpened by the moment.
Was it a man, a woman?
Above them, a tight storm gathered.
"Everyone, run!" She shouted. "Now!"
Yosen heard it before he saw it, the distant swell of screams. He spun, instincts flaring. Barzo's stroller sat beside him, Tomzius was gone. The storm turned savage, devouring everything near, a rage of nature. Lightning struck a metal door, blown off its hinges, and sent it skidding toward Yosen. He saw its shadow race across the ground, then turned to find it gliding through the air, his breath caught as a crowd rushed past. He tapped his bracelets. His Secondaries pulsed with magnetic energy, and he raised his arm. The door froze midair, then eased down under his control, settling safely onto the ground.
"Operation Guild!" Yosen shouted.
"Yes, Leader Sift," the artificial said.
"Connect me to Agent Vieldem, now!"
"Affirmative."
The lone boy stumbled, left behind. Green armour shimmered as the figure raised a sword-blaster and unleashed a roar of beams at him. He squeezed his eyes shut, heart pounding. The birds fell silent, fear muting the world until only his shaking breath remained.
A second passed. Nothing.
Tomzius stood before him, Ozium in hand, the beams split clean by his Waypnary blade.
"Be with your mother, child," he said, rubbing his Reja Gear, the vest lined with tiny air thrusters. "A Vexo Wielder, here?"
His gaze dropped to the Vexon's weapon, his mind racing through every scenario, every angle. The battlefield lay bare, Innocents stood in the distance. The more he thought, the more it all pointed to one conclusion—death.
"Tomzius!" Yosen's voice crackled through the comms. "Tom, stand down. Let me handle this!"
Tomzius looked out at the ocean, its waves drifting endlessly, reflecting his calm. "'Remember the oath."
And today, he would honour it the only way he could. For the first time, doubt crept in, not fear of death, but fear for Barzo. The warmth of his innocence, the sound of his mumbles, the day he would say his first word… and he would miss it. All he had ever wanted was to be present for Barzo as his own father could not, a desire now drifting into the realm of dreams. He swallowed as the night he left the Kizen returned to mind. If only he'd known their path would circle back to him, to where he truly belonged. On the battlefield.
He lifted his gaze to the clouds.
Words he had been afraid to say surfaced.
With a long breath, he spoke them.
"D.P. Initiate self-destruction."
"Command acknowledged."
"Tomzius!" Yosen panicked. "Please, don't do this. I beg of you!"
The eyes of Tophorans watched, wide and fearful.
Witnesses to the fate that awaited.
"Take care of Barzo, brother," Tomizus said, hands forming the symbol of Gold Ocean. "The Kizen is of my peace."
The father in him vanished, only the Agent of Chaos remained.
The Vexon raised their sword blaster and unleashed mayhem.
Tomzius countered. His blade cut the air so fast the clouds split, and sand blew a path toward the Vexon, painting war across the dunes.
Missing every mark, the Vexon hesitated, and then their breath left them as Tomzius's arm crushed their stomach.
Then, he ascended.
Yosen could do nothing but watch. Eyes burning. Heart pounding. His brother vanished into the skies, toward death itself. A final blaze of fire tore through the clouds. And silence. Not the peace he had once believed in, but silence all the same.
#
The Agent uniform felt heavier on Yosen tonight. His torn dark purple cape whipped against the wind. The Marble Association Castle was quieter than it had ever been, sensing the absence of Tomzius.
The Black Micr whispered, voices of the dead slithering into his ears. It was a wall that branded the names of fallen Marble Agents into its surface. Every Association had one, a way to remember, a Technax's art. But they were not all the same. Some were trees in hidden gardens whose bark grew names, others were galleries lined with painted eyes that begged for a heavenly home. This Black Micr, however, rested in the Uricao Chambers, where shadows lingered, broken only by lamplights that flickered and sang softly against the silence.
Yosen touched Tomzius' name, the flames had barely cooled. A ghost stirred at his side, a younger Tomzius, holding his hand. Then came Cuja Varnix, their childhood friend. Green eyes, dark skin paled by time, long black hair streaked with white falling past her waist, and fangs marking her lineage. A beauty that had once held his heart. Before the Kizen. Before leadership.
Reality returned on the roaring warpath of the Lyriax Flight's engine as it settled outside. Yosen did not turn away. He simply waited, he already knew who had arrived.
The real Cuja stepped out of her Lyriax, wearing the PARN Association emblem. Her white cloak swept the concrete as she walked toward the castle with effortless grace. The night could not dim its beauty. It was just as she remembered, the purple flag flickering over the dark stone walls, the sight growing larger as she drew near..
Standing by the entrance were the Marble Agents.
Midian, Bayla, and Fortune, trained by Yosen since he had taken over as Sonna Vieldem's successor. Though now, that honor felt like a shackle.
The Agents bowed, forming the Gold Ocean.
"Leader Varnix," Midian said. "He awaits by the Black Micr."
Cuja said nothing, continuing as the Agents watched her back. For six years, she hadn't set foot in the Marble Association. Her presence alone stirred whispers across the castle. Was it truly the Agent of Souls standing there, or just a flicker of light in her place?
Yosen watched her hand graze Tomzius' name.
"You knew they returned," he said, brows furrowed. "And you sent no warning."
"He said not to contact," Cuja said. "Just one day without Agents or orders."
"Leaders do not get days off."
"Then why did you go?" Cuja watched his throat tighten. "You believed there could be peace, and there's nothing wrong with that. I too never imagined they'd strike there."
The walls around them had witnessed decades of conflict, all against a single enemy.
The Domeinus Union.
A military alliance of three nations.
The force behind the Vexo Wielders.
And in this moment, Cuja felt strong about the war.
She held out a holo-device.
Yosen caught it. His lips pinched as he swiped through the data. A red, pulsing dot flashed against his face. More storms. More Vexons.
"If I had to guess," Cuja said. "This was the work of Reilord Paxon. Let your Agents handle this one."
The name drew a frown across Yosen's face. Paxon, his greatest nemesis, a Relion Lord of Vexo Wielders. He had kept Londro City under his grip for more than a decade.
"I never said I'd fight," he said.
"You don't need to. Promise me you will not go."
"Standing still is not safe. I've seen what silence costs."
"I assure you, It's less than our sins."
Yosen flinched at those words, haunted by the blood on his hands, hallucinations born of memory, wounds not his own yet caused by his actions. The warrior he had buried crawled back into his conscience. For six years he had remained behind the lines. A choice, not hesitation. He once wielded a Waypnary called WorldDarna, a double-sided blade, and with it he carved his legend into the Vexo Wielders, shattering their ranks. The mark of an Elexant, the strongest Agent of the era.
As for Cuja, her guilt ran just as deep as his. Both palms rested on the hilt of her Waypnary, Inicrix, a crystal blade that lay silent in its scabbard. Its days of use had grown less. Now it was will, not violence, that led her.
"Do I need to remind you?"
"No," Yosen hushed the shame.
Cuja's eyes drifted toward the ceiling. "I pray the child grows to learn restraint. But I fear it may not be enough."
Her final footsteps faded into the corridor's depths.
Yosen stared at the floor, saying nothing.
A small cry broke the silence. Barzo.
Yosen followed the sound into his room, steps quiet as he moved to the infant's cot. He lifted him gently, held him close, and hummed the melody Tomzius had sung when they were young to chase their fears. The hymn filled Barzo's ears, and the crying stopped. Tiny fingers curled around his. Yosen stilled. For the first time, something shifted. A warmth that shouldn't exist in a world so cold. Even as it settled in his chest, the vow grew louder. Barzo would not suffer.
Would not be weak.
Would not be left at the mercy of this world.
Yosen would make him into something greater.
A force no one could stop.