The night sky above the abandoned military base was a swirling, bruised expanse of dark clouds, groaning softly like some wounded titan. From afar, it might have appeared to be raining, but up close, the "rain" was a macabre spectacle: shredded limbs, torn torsos, and pulverized remains of mutant zombies were tumbling down through the air. Their flesh, churned by cyclonic forces, fell in sticky clumps that slapped against the cracked asphalt and the rusted metal surfaces of old military vehicles. It was a grotesque storm of gore, a horrifying testament to the destructive might that had been unleashed only moments earlier.
Floating calmly in the center of this ghastly scene, untouched by the grisly downpour, was Noctus. His silhouette was like that of some dark deity from an ancient tale—ominous, commanding, and terrifyingly beautiful. His right hand gripped the Razorgale storm scythe tightly, its curved blade humming with residual tempest energy, faint arcs of wind swirling around it like restless spirits. With his left arm, he held Artemis around the waist, his grip firm but oddly protective, as if shielding her from the world even as he destroyed it.
It was a scene that balanced precariously between romance and terror. Artemis's face was pressed lightly against his chest, her breath quick and uneven, eyes half-dazed from the speed and force with which he had lifted her out of the battlefield moments ago. Her white jacket fluttered behind her like the wings of a startled bird, caught in the aftermath winds.
Down below, Jace finally managed to pick his jaw off the ground. He was a broad-shouldered man, with wild eyes and mutated claws protruding from both hands, sharp as obsidian. His mutation gave him the feral aura of a predator, but even he looked small compared to the power Noctus had just displayed. He stared up at the pair hovering above, and his voice cracked as he called out, "How scary, Noctus! That move is even enough to kill many high-level mutant zombies!"
His words were partly in awe, partly in disbelief. Noctus, despite his quiet demeanor, had just decimated an entire swarm in a single strike. Moments ago, hundreds of mutant zombies had flooded toward the base like a living tide. Now, the courtyard was a butchered wasteland, their remains scattered like confetti after a macabre celebration.
Noctus glanced down at his teammate, his expression unreadable. Jace didn't stop there. He jabbed a claw toward Artemis, grinning mischievously despite the blood still dripping from his talons. "And you should pay attention to that lady, she's blushing!"
The comment caught Noctus off guard. He turned his head toward Artemis instinctively. Sure enough, her cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, contrasting vividly against the pallor of her skin. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were unfocused, shimmering in the dim light. The close contact, the sudden flight, and the undeniable strength he had just demonstrated had clearly flustered her.
Noctus felt a strange pang in his chest. It wasn't something he was used to—he thrived on efficiency, on cold calculations, on the rhythm of combat. Emotional reactions were complications. Yet here, holding her, seeing her like this, a flicker of unfamiliar warmth pulsed inside him. He descended quickly, almost abruptly, landing on the cracked concrete with a muted thud.
Once his boots touched the ground, he released her gently and stepped aside, averting his gaze with a slight, uncharacteristic awkwardness. Artemis, now standing on solid ground, clutched her cloak and turned away slightly, her ears still burning red. Neither spoke. The wind howled through the skeletons of the base's ruined buildings, filling the silence between them.
Moments later, figures emerged from the shadows—Artemis's comrades, the people who didn't have ability to fight, had taken refuge in the base while the able to fight combated with zombies. Their clothes were patched, their weapons scavenged, their eyes hardened by desperation and wariness. Leading them was a man in his late thirties, his hair shaved close to the scalp, a deep scar running from his forehead down across one cheek.
He approached cautiously but confidently, stopping a few paces away from Noctus and Jace. "My name is Marcus," he said, his voice steady, carrying the weight of leadership. "I lead this group. I saw what you did out there, and I won't lie—without you, we'd all be dead by now. We're low on numbers, and the swarms are getting stronger. Cooperation seems like the only sane option if we want to survive what's coming."
Jace rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the sound of his claws rasping against stubble. He looked at Marcus, then at the ragtag band behind him. The logic was sound. More numbers meant more eyes, more hands, more chances. He exchanged a glance with Noctus, who gave a slight nod. Jace then extended a clawed hand toward Marcus. "Fine. Cooperation it is. Just don't get in our way, and maybe you'll live to see tomorrow."
Marcus clasped the clawed hand firmly, not flinching despite the danger. "Fair enough," he replied.
That night, the rain of flesh had long since stopped. The base, though still bleak and crumbling, was alive with cautious activity. Survivors scavenged the remains of the zombies for useful materials. Makeshift fires were lit in corners, their light flickering across weathered faces. Guards were posted on the walls and towers, eyes scanning the horizon for movement.
Noctus had stationed himself atop the tallest watchtower, a solitary figure silhouetted against the night sky. The storm scythe was planted beside him, its blade reflecting the faint glow of the fires below. He leaned against the rusting railing, eyes narrowed at the darkness beyond the base.
He wasn't simply keeping watch; his mind was turning over the events of the day, analyzing threats, recalculating possibilities. The alliance with Marcus's group was useful, but temporary alliances were fragile. He would need to remain vigilant.
Behind him, faint footsteps echoed on the metal stairs. Soft, hesitant, but distinct. He didn't need to look to know who it was.
Artemis.
She emerged slowly, her jacket drawn tight against the chill wind. The hesitation on her face was unusual; she was normally composed, sharp, always with a clear objective in her eyes. Now, though, she looked as if she were carrying a question too heavy to voice.
Noctus turned toward her slightly, his gaze cool but not unkind. "I thought I should ask you tomorrow morning," he said before she could speak, his voice cutting cleanly through the night air, "or perhaps at some other private time. But I suppose now is as good a moment as any."
Her brows furrowed in slight confusion. "Ask me what?"
He stepped closer, the wind catching his dark coat, making it billow slightly like a shadow come alive. "You must have noticed," he said evenly, "the power we both possess. Tempest power. So how did you get it?"
The question hit her like a physical blow. Her breath caught for a second, and she stiffened. Her eyes widened—not in fear, but in sheer surprise at his directness. For a heartbeat, all she could do was stare at him, the night wind tangling strands of her hair across her face. The flickering light from the base below caught in her eyes, revealing a storm of emotions she couldn't quite hide.
Her reaction said more than words could at that moment.