Zane wasn't there anymore, like he had simply slipped out of existence. No one noticed him getting up or heading out. A moment ago he had been sitting there, slouched with that same blank stare, and the next moment his seat was empty. There was not a single sound to mark his exit. He left without the faintest trace of footsteps. Even the air around him had not shifted. There was no hint of magic or any sign he had moved at all. The spot looked like it had never been occupied to begin with. He had already slipped past the tents and was crouched near the tall grass just beyond the outer fence, his eyes already locked on something farther ahead. This was not an escape plan. It was something he had already decided on. He was done watching people get crushed without reason. This time he intended to fix it.
In the city, behind the wealthier districts where the air always carried the stale scent of spoiled wine, a huge fortress stood looking over all the buildings as if superior. This was the Central Hold. It was the kind of place where people went in and never came back out. Nobody asked questions about what happened inside. Guards patrolled in shifts day and night. The walls were thick, the gates heavy with iron, and no one entered or left without the knowledge of someone in power. The place existed to break people. More often than not, the so-called enemies inside were not enemies at all. They were poor workers, outspoken citizens, or people who had failed to bow low enough when the wrong noble passed.
At that moment, two men were locked up inside. They were scheduled to be dragged out the next morning and crucified in front of the public. It was meant to be a warning, a reminder from the nobles about who truly ruled the city. The official story was that the two had stolen gold and resisted arrest, but Zane had overheard the truth by accident. A drunken soldier had been leaning against the side of the interrogation tent, muttering to himself, assuming no one was listening.
"Two of them. Sunrise. They're saying that monster in the hood has been stirring up too much noise. The council wants to make a point and quench the hope of the people."
That was all Zane needed to hear. He kept quiet and traced the rest of the rumor, moving carefully through the camp and searching for any detail that confirmed it. What he found made him feel sick. These men were not thieves. They were laborers who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time when something questionable happened. Perhaps they had seen something they should not have. Perhaps they had not. It no longer mattered. They had been chosen to die simply to serve as an example.
Zane's steps grew faster. The main road was darker than usual. The lanterns still burned, but the light was dim, as if the people responsible did not want too much to be seen. Patrols were thicker than normal, with archers posted on the rooftops. The wealthier houses already had their shutters sealed. The city was not resting in peace, nor was it waiting for a celebration. It was the kind of heavy waiting that made a person's back tighten and their neck itch while their hearts pounded with nervousness. It was the kind that told you someone already knew trouble was close.
A sudden gust of wind passed through, not strong but cold enough to make people shift uneasily. Several guards glanced around with tense expressions, their hands tightening on their weapons. It felt as though they sensed something was wrong, as though the air itself had changed. That was the moment everything began.
Phantom's cape moved behind him, the fabric catching the wind as if it had its own intent. There was no smile on his face and no trace of smugness. His expression carried the look of a man who had already accepted what he was about to do. He had tried before. He had spoken. He had pleaded with some of them to listen. None of it had mattered. They had laughed. They had taken whatever they wanted. What he had seen in the tavern that night had settled the matter completely. He was furious and from here, nothing could be undone.
High on the fortress roof, a few guards spotted a dark shape. At first they thought it was a statue or some oversized bird. Then it shifted. Phantom stood on the tip of the tallest spire, a place barely wide enough for a fingertip. It should not have been possible for anyone to stand there, not in a way that made sense. And then a sound cut through the night. A laugh rolled out, one that no longer sounded human.
The guards panicked. Some pointed upward while others backed away in fear. Mages shouted and began gathering energy. Phantom had done this before. He would give them time, let them see him, let them scramble and complete his mission. But, not tonight. Tonight had nothing to do with showing off or playing with them. This was about putting an end to what they had been doing. He leaned forward and let gravity take him.
It was only his body falling, slamming into the ground with full force. A few guards screamed while others stood frozen, as if they were watching some higher being drop from the sky. When he landed, the stone shattered, dust and smoke blasting outward with the sound of an earthquake.
From high above, a rank-three knight leaned over the railing, watching the chaos. "He does not have that much power," the man muttered. "So how could he have possibly caused that much destruction?" No one was here to answer his question however, when the dust cleared, a crater lay where Phantom had struck, and he stood unharmed at its center. His voice came out deep and sharp. "If you want to live, you should turn and run now."
He moved forward with speed that belonged more in nightmares than in reality. The guards had no chance. Some were cut down before they could raise their weapons. Screams filled the air. Blood splashed across the stone. People fled in panic, some dropping their weapons without even turning to run. It did not matter who they were. If they stood in his way, they fell. Many never even saw his face before their lives ended.
The head mage shouted, "Fire now! All of you! Don't wait!"
A storm of spells rained down—lightning, fire, ice, and wind—brightening the night like a celebration gone wrong. Most attacks never reached him. The few that did tore through the guards instead. Blood sprayed in every direction. The mages were killing their own in blind panic. One young mage dropped her staff, her hands shaking. "He looked nothing like a normal man anymore. We cannot stop him," she said before turning to run. Several others followed her lead.
The head guard roared, "Do not stop! Throw everything you have at him!" But the line had already broken. The ones who had stayed turned and fled now. None of them wanted to die in the chaos. Phantom cut through it all without hesitation. His blade kept swinging, his fists kept striking, and the air burned with blood and magic. Bodies fell faster than voices could shout for help.
Above, where the first knight was watching, four rank-three knights stood together, watching silently. One of them finally spoke. "It seems the rumors were true. All of us might be needed to stop this guy."
More ice spells shot forward, large enough to split entire trees. The air grew bitterly cold, freezing skin in an instant. Phantom did not slow. He ran directly into the oncoming ice, ignoring the danger. His blade swept forward, cutting the head mage down in a single motion. Blood arced through the air as the others saw his face clearly. The expression in his eyes erased every spell they had prepared. They dropped their weapons and fled, most collapsing before they could take more than a few steps. It was a terrible sight. The question was, would anyone be able to stop him?