The night air was cold, but it carried a certain stillness that only heightened the tension. The stars above seemed distant, muted, as though the heavens themselves wanted no part of the carnage that was about to unfold.
Drake stood at the head of his crew—Drakelle, Athena, and Lila—all dressed in their codenamed bodysuits. Their hair dyed to their personas, their weapons veiled in the soft sheen of ordinance sword technology. These enchanted blades cut silently, hid mana signatures, and left no trace to tie them to the academy.
The four shadows slithered through the sleeping town of Hermia until they reached the dilapidated quarter where the bandits had made their nest.
Ninety men, all clad in ragged armor and wielding rusted blades, lounged around the decrepit houses and warehouses they had claimed. Their laughter was harsh, guttural, like hyenas picking apart scraps of civilization.
But their laughter died quickly.
The Crimson Flowers descended.
Rose—Drakelle—moved like a bloodstained tempest, her crimson blade slicing through throats and limbs as if she were trimming petals. Poppy—Athena—struck with elegance, her enchanted blade singing through the air, each arc trailing faint sparks of mana. Lily—Lila—was precise, surgical, her attacks calculated to cripple, sever, and destroy with mathematical efficiency.
The bandits screamed, but they were not heard for long. One after another, they were slaughtered, their blood soaking the cobblestones in rivers of black-red.
And yet, above the massacre, the Crimson King did not move.
Drake strode along the rooftop, moonlight pooling over his black overcoat as the wind lifted its hem like the unfurling wings of a reaper. His hood shadowed most of his face, but the crimson glow of his slitted pupils pierced the darkness like burning coals. He didn't need to lift a finger to look terrifying. The simple act of walking, slow and deliberate, made him an executioner watching over his stage.
From below, the last few bandits looked up at him, their bodies trembling as his presence weighed upon them more than the swords of his companions. To them, he wasn't human. He was death personified.
When the last of the ninety fell, Drake finally raised a hand. "Leave," he commanded softly, his voice carrying like a curse through the silent night. "I have something to finish."
The girls hesitated, exchanging wary glances. Rose frowned, clearly wanting to argue, but Drake's gaze silenced her. They obeyed—or at least, pretended to. With their ordinance swords sheathed, they melted into the shadows, following his order.
Or so he thought.
Drake descended from the rooftop, his boots landing with barely a whisper. His crimson eyes slid to a rusted manhole cover. Without hesitation, he lifted it and leapt into the abyss below.
The sewers swallowed him whole.
He landed with feline grace, his coat fluttering down around him. The smell of rot and iron filled his lungs, but Drake only grinned. Ahead, in the dim flickering light of torches, stood two hulking figures with jagged horns curling from their skulls. Their gray flesh glistened with a sickly sheen, and their red eyes burned with primal malice.
"Demons," Drake murmured, amused.
They roared and charged, claws ripping through stone like paper. But before their steps echoed twice, Drake moved. His blade shimmered in the dark, and in the next instant, their bodies fell in grotesque heaps—heads severed, torsos split, limbs scattered like butcher scraps.
Drake twirled his sword once and let their blood splash against the wall.
Then the system's notification chimed in his head.
[Quest issued: Destroy the area along with the people.]
A slow, sadistic grin spread across his face. "A personal vendetta with these scum anyway," he whispered. "I was going to blow them up regardless."
He strode deeper.
The tunnel widened into a cavern, and there in its heart stood a grotesque altar. The stone was drenched in fresh blood, its cracks filled with runes that pulsed faintly red. Before it stood ten hooded figures, their chants cut short as Drake entered.
"Who are you?" one demanded. "Are you the one who—"
"Ahhhh, you talk too much." Drake tilted his head, the crimson gleam in his eyes intensifying. "How about you die first, then I'll listen. Though I doubt corpses speak."
Before they could move, the temperature plummeted.
Drake released it—Dragon's Killing Intent.
The cavern shuddered under the sheer weight of it. The air grew thick, heavy, suffocating. The hooded men clutched their chests, their eyes bulging. Then came the blood—vomiting it in fountains as if their bodies couldn't withstand the pressure of his presence.
It wasn't poison. It wasn't mana. It was sheer intent to kill given form.
Three of them, impossibly, stood firm. The others crumpled, coughing and writhing.
Drake sighed. "Had you died peacefully, it would've been merciful." His grin sharpened. "But you made me foolishly hold back."
He lifted his sword. The aura around him twisted, warping the very stone beneath his boots.
Destruction Sword Art: Fourth Form (Gravity).
The cavern groaned. The ground trembled. The air thickened until it felt like lead pressing into every surface. Rocks cracked, torches shattered, and the very fabric of space seemed to bend.
From above, unseen, Rose, Poppy, and Lily watched from the shadows. They had disobeyed his order, curiosity chaining them to the spectacle. Their eyes widened, their breath caught in their throats as they witnessed something far beyond their comprehension.
The three surviving cultists staggered back, their confidence shattered by the suffocating aura.
Then came the quiet.
The unnatural, perfect silence before a storm.
Drake's voice echoed in the void. Low, heavy, final.
"…Black Nova."
The cavern lit crimson as hundreds—no, thousands—of red gravity orbs burst into existence around him. They appeared like stars in the night sky, pulsing, swelling, and popping one after another in sharp staccato bursts.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The explosions were quiet, deceptively harmless, but each reverberation warped the air, crushing rock and bending metal. The orbs spiraled toward his sword, converging, compressing into a single, gleaming orb glowing blood-red at the tip of his blade.
The three cultists fell to their knees, their screams drowned by the deafening silence.
Drake tilted his head, his grin monstrous. His voice thundered, echoing through the cavern, through the sewers, through the very bones of the city above.
"I… AM THE CRIMSON CALAMITY!"
The ground shook as mana flared violently. The orb pulsed once, twice—and then the world shattered.
The orb detonated into a cataclysmic burst of crimson light, brighter than the sun. A wave of destruction roared outward, ripping through walls, streets, homes. The cavern ruptured, collapsing in on itself. Above, the city convulsed.
The force wasn't just outward—it was upward, downward, every direction at once. Like the wrath of a collapsing star.
The explosion carved a massive star-shaped slash through existence itself, the lines of his blade etching themselves into the city's bones. Streets split like parchment, buildings were crushed into rubble, and people caught in the blast were obliterated—mashed to pulp by the simultaneous pull and push of gravity.
The city was bathed in crimson light.
It was silent. Then, thunder. The roar of destruction. The world itself seemed to groan in agony as the Crimson King unleashed calamity.
Rose, Poppy, and Lily could only watch in horror and awe. The sheer scale of his attack was beyond anything they could have imagined. The air trembled. Their skin prickled. Their hearts pounded with primal fear—and exhilaration.
The crimson light faded.
When their vision cleared, there was no city. Only a crater. A yawning wound in the earth where Hermia had once stood. Rubble smoked at the edges, the faint cries of survivors lost in the chaos.
Drake lowered his sword, his grin wide, feral.
"Mission successful."
The system's notification chimed.
[Quest finished.
Calculating…]
He turned back, crimson eyes glowing, and found his three companions staring at him. Rose's lips parted, speechless. Poppy trembled, her face pale but her eyes shining with awe. Lily's smile was sharp, calculating, her mind already spinning at the potential of such destructive power.
Drake simply laughed softly, the sound chilling and triumphant.
The Crimson King had announced his existence to the world. Not as a student. Not as a noble. Not as a man.
But as a calamity incarnate.