The sky seemed alive, like day reborn in the heart of night.
A swirl of vivid colors stretched across the heavens — an aurora rippling and weaving, a thousand hues painting the darkness with impossible light.
"Huh," a man muttered, his eyes half-lidded as he stared up at the shimmering display. "Quite a colorful night for something so grim. Guess they knew this would happen."
Behind him, a sharp voice cut through the quiet.
"Sir! We're ready to move out."
He turned his gaze lazily toward the voice. A formation of a hundred armored combatants stood at the edge of the barrier — gleaming tech-suits humming faintly. They awaited orders, each face masked by duty.
"Right," the man said, adjusting the leaf stem in his mouth. "Same as usual — exorcise any alien in sight. If you find survivors, help them out."
His tone was calm, almost indifferent, though his eyes gleamed with quiet authority. Unlike his soldiers, he wore no armor, no gadgets — just casual clothes and a single scabbard hanging at his waist.
He paused, scanning the horizon where the aurora's brightest light flared.
"And one more thing," he added, voice lowering. "Stay alert. No one knows why they attacked with such weak numbers. If it's a diversion, we're not getting caught off guard. I'll head toward that light." He pointed with the hand holding the leaf stem. "Spread out and cover other sectors."
"Yes, sir!" the unit chorused, dispersing into motion — swift, disciplined, vanishing into the city's shadows.
The man exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing toward the distance.
"Hope this turns out to be exciting," he murmured, smirking faintly.
He plucked the stem from his mouth and flicked it aside.
"Had to attack now, huh?" he grumbled. "When I was finally enjoying myself with two hot beauties…"
His expression twisted into mild annoyance as he approached the barrier's edge. The safety dome stood at least five stories high — yet he leaped from it casually, like stepping off a curb.
As he fell, the air around him shimmered.
"Fleeting Shadow," he whispered.
His form blurred, melting seamlessly into the darkness below — gone, swallowed by the city's web of shadows.
---
Back at the Dumpsite
The light from the shattered cube had coalesced into something strange — a massive, pulsating cocoon of orange energy.
It hung in the air like an enormous egg, faint veins of light crawling across its surface as though alive. Inside, Pash's naked body floated in a translucent, gel-like liquid. His wounds were gone; his limbs restored. He was being remade.
Inside the cocoon, his consciousness drifted through vastness — a dream beyond comprehension.
He saw himself soaring through space, past the moon, beyond the stars. Galaxies spiraled like whirlpools of color, constellations danced and reformed before his eyes. He could feel it — the immensity of creation.
"So this is the universe…" he thought, awe-struck. "We're so small. We've barely even begun to touch it."
Time blurred — seconds stretched into eternities. And then, his flight halted.
Before him burned a colossal orb of light — not quite the sun, yet brighter, warmer. Its aura was the same orange energy he had seen within the cube.
"Is that… the source?" he whispered. "It feels just like that power…"
Drawn forward, he reached out. His hand trembled as it grazed the radiant surface. The moment his skin touched the energy — his consciousness was torn away, flung into blinding brilliance.
------
The explosion of light hadn't gone unnoticed.
Every Scryvian within the area turned toward the source — drawn by the raw energy bursting from the dumpsite.
When they arrived, they stopped short.
A massive cocoon loomed before them, large enough to hold two men, glowing faintly beside the wreck of their fallen ship.
"What is that thing?" one of them asked, his broad-shouldered frame tensing. His tone was low, wary.
None answered immediately. The Scryvians exchanged uneasy glances.
"It doesn't match any Kaiju readings," another said, consulting a small scanner embedded in his wrist. "Recognition systems find no match in Earth's database. It's… new."
"Maybe it's evolving," murmured another, voice uncertain. "Or… something else entirely."
"We should destroy it," said a familiar female voice — the same Scryvian who had toyed with Pash earlier, her eyes narrowing as she studied the strange cocoon. "It's radiating pure energy. This could be…dangerous."
But her suggestion met a cold response.
"She's right about one thing," the leader said — the broad-shouldered Scryvian from before. His voice rumbled with authority. "Our orders are clear: erase anything and everything in sight."
He raised a clawed hand. "Destroy it."
At his signal, two Scryvians stepped forward, their arms glowing with concentrated energy.
BAM. BOOM.
Twin beams of plasma struck the cocoon dead-on.
No explosion.
No shattering.
No sound — except the faint hum of energy being absorbed.
"What?" one of them gasped. "It's… taking it in?"
The leader scowled. "You two, stop playing around and hit it properly!"
Another volley.
BAM! BOOM!
Still nothing.
"Again!"
BAM! BOOM!
The cocoon shimmered — unfazed. Instead, the veins pulsing across its surface brightened, as though feeding on their attacks.
The leader's patience snapped. "Enough! I'll do it myself!"
He gathered power into his palms, launching a barrage of blasts, each one cracking the air with thunder. But the result was the same. The cocoon remained — silent, radiant, defiant.
"Everyone!" he barked. "Together! Let's blast it until it's ash!"
The Scryvians readied their weapons, energy swirling around them like storm clouds.
And then — a calm voice interrupted.
"Hey, wait up."
They froze.
A figure stepped from the alleyway — a man in casual clothes, a scabbard hanging loosely at his waist. His expression was unreadable, as if he'd simply wandered in by accident.
"I'd hold off on that if I were you," he said mildly. "You don't know how durable that thing is. Might end up blowing yourselves to pieces."
The Scryvian leader sneered. "How dare a human speak to us so casually! You dare give orders?"
He vanished — a blur of motion — and reappeared before the man, hand outstretched to crush his throat.
But before his fingers met flesh, a faint click echoed.
The man's hand had barely moved — just a subtle shift toward his sword.
A whisper of steel, a flicker of light — and the sound of the blade being sheathed again.
He walked past the Scryvian calmly, not even looking back.
A second later, the creature's head slid cleanly from its shoulders, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
The other Scryvians froze. Even the leader's confident sneer faltered.
"Be careful," he warned his comrades, his voice tight now. "This one… isn't ordinary."
The man glanced over his shoulder, his tone light, almost playful.
"Huh? Why so serious? I'm not that scary."
He kept walking — unhurried, expression unreadable — but every step carried quiet menace. The Scryvians, beings humanity feared as monsters, now felt something alien to them — fear.
When he crossed an invisible line, they all reacted at once.
BOOM. BAM. CRACK.
Dozens of energy blasts ripped through the air, converging on him from every direction.
The smoke cleared — and one of the Scryvians fell, neatly bisected.
Then another.
Shnnk. Shhhhk.
The sounds of slicing echoed in the dark. Shadows blurred, and with each flicker of motion, another alien body hit the ground.
No one could see his blade move. No one could follow. Only the dead marked his path.
The firing turned frantic — wild beams cutting through the darkness — but it was too late.
Within a minute, the battlefield fell silent again.
Thud.
The last Scryvian dropped to its knees, its breath ragged, eyes dilated with shock.
The man exhaled slowly, shaking the blood from his blade before sheathing it. "I wonder," he murmured, "why you'd come here as pawns when you knew death was waiting."
The Scryvian spat weakly, defiance still in its eyes.
"We already fulfilled our mission," it rasped. "The war… has begun."
He tilted his head. "Then you were just messengers."
The Scryvian's last thought — If only you weren't among those people… your fate might have been different — was cut short as the blade flashed once more.
Slash.
The head rolled to the dirt.
Silence reclaimed the street.
"They weren't even part of the main Scryvian army," the man muttered, scanning the carnage. "And yet look at the mess they left behind."
His gaze shifted toward the center of the street — to the pulsating cocoon still standing unscathed among the wreckage.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Now then…" he said quietly. "What am I supposed to do with you?" Turning to face the cocoon.
********