The first thing you noticed wasn't the light.
It was the absence of everything else.
No background scatter of stars. No distant constellations. No gentle drift of galactic dust. Just an impossible emptiness—like the universe had been scraped clean and left behind as a stage for a single performer.
And there it was.
A supergiant disk of violet—too perfect to be natural, too alive to be physics—hanging in the black like an eye that didn't blink. Purple lightning crawled across its surface in branching, angry fingers, flashing hard enough that even worlds millions of kilometers away saw the strobe of it against their skies.
The Papuru Star spun.
But it didn't move.
Every rule of observation insisted it should drift, wobble, orbit something, be subject to something. It refused. It simply existed, stationary in the void, as if the rest of the cosmos had to accommodate it.
The longer anyone stared, the more wrong it became.
Its apparent age looked ancient—one hundred million years of surface churn, pressure, time.
Its actual age: one thousand fifty.
Surface temperature: twenty-seven thousand degrees.
Solar mass: five.
A conundrum with a pulse.
A beautiful omen.
A scientific anomaly that made researchers whisper and priests grin and soldiers sleep with one eye open.
Seventeen planetoids circled it like wary witnesses.
And on the eighth planet, under a cold blue sky that couldn't stop reflecting that violet glow, a decade of anticipation and a thousand years of tradition were about to collide.
Coalition Carnage had arrived.
Year 1050
Day 1
Kane Urasa woke like he'd been launched.
One second he was horizontal, the next he was airborne—flipping through the air with a grace that felt less like athleticism and more like the universe briefly agreeing to let him ignore gravity.
He landed on the balls of his feet without a sound.
He yawned, rolled his shoulders, stretched until his back cracked with a satisfying pop that made him grin, and—because apparently the cosmos wasn't weird enough already—he hummed a little tune as he headed to the cooling unit.
Breakfast.
Hospitality.
Basic decency.
He opened the waist-high door and froze.
Empty. Like someone had vacuumed out the entire concept of food and left only cold shelves and insult.
Kane just stared, mouth open, waiting for reality to correct itself.
It didn't.
His eyes narrowed.
"Those damn…" He drew the word out like it might turn into a curse if he gave it enough oxygen. "What am I supposed to eat for breakfast?"
He slammed the door hard enough that the unit shuddered, almost tipping over.
Then he crossed the room, hit the switch by the shutters, and watched thin metallic panels fold up and away—
—and sunlight poured in. Bright, slightly violet sunlight that painted his suite in a dreamy glow like the planet was trying to romanticize whatever was about to go wrong.
Outside, a crowd of Humans and Dycordians erupted.
Screams. Cheers. Clapping. The kind of noise that didn't feel like celebration so much as pressure—a tidal surge of strangers who thought his existence belonged to them.
A security gate held them thirty meters back, but hands still reached through the air anyway, desperate and useless.
Somewhere in the sea of signs, he caught one: MARRY ME KANE.
He lifted his hand in a casual greeting.
The crowd went feral.
He smiled, a reflex of someone trained to survive attention. But the smile faltered as he noticed how bright it was outside.
Too bright.
He glanced at the nightstand clock.
6:03 UT.
His jaw tightened.
"I know they didn't do what I think they did," he muttered, and snapped his fingers like he was summoning a ghost. "Holoview on!"
A ten-inch bar hovering above the carpet lit up, expanding into a five-foot image that flickered to life.
The holoview displayed local time.
It was much later than 6:03.
Kane's expression turned into pure betrayal.
The broadcast cut to a comet streaking across Dycord's sky—brilliant, ominous, trailing a wake like a wound.
Then the camera panned down to Topaz City.
A massive ocean of blue-skinned Dycordians packed the avenues. Other species dotted the crowd like scattered islands—Humans, Tilris, and more, all crammed together in a joyous mob.
The reporter's voice was almost shaking.
"The Dying Star comet over the skies of Dycord ushers in the new year—and Coalition Carnage is here at Topaz City. With it comes the fandom, or 'carnies,' as they're so often referred to. I can see visitors from many worlds within this throng of mortals, all seeking to catch a glimpse of their favorite Superstar, and I have to say, I'm eager—"
With a whirlwind of speed, Kane was dressed, moving like the idea of "late" had teeth.
Five seconds later, he was out the door of the Papuru Inn, rushing past a Dycordian couple holding hands. They blinked at the sudden gust of air, like the building itself had sneezed.
Twenty meters from the hotel, Kane stopped so sharply that his heel scuffed the pavement.
He looked down at his ankle.
Static, crackling, crawling, alive, reached up from a nearby sewage drain, tethering him like a leash made of lightning.
Kane's stomach dropped.
"A soul trap?"
A fan screamed from the crowd to his left.
"It's him! It's really him!!!"
And then the fans weren't just fans.
They were moving.
Humans peeled out from the crowd; some from the side of the hotel, some from behind a vending stall, closing in with a purpose that was way too coordinated to be normal fandom chaos.
And one of them climbed up through the sewer grate with the energy of someone who'd made terrible life choices and felt proud of all of them.
Pink hair. Freckles. A grin wide enough to be a threat.
"Kane!" she yelled, furious at the other fans for even existing. "Wait! He's mine! I brought the traps and it was my idea to cover every exit, so I get first dibs!"
Her shirt had his face plastered across it in full Coalition Carnage blue-gold colors.
Her eyes shone like she'd just met her religion.
"You need to stop running from your fans," she declared. "Kane Urasa."
"I have no time for this, Katy," Kane snapped. "I'm late."
"This won't take long." She lifted a hand like she was presenting a gift. "All we need is your hair."
Six Humans stepped forward holding shears.
Kane stared at them like he was watching a slow-motion disaster.
"I keep telling you," he said, voice calm, "I'm not donating hair to that freaky doll of me. Also, I don't authorize this fan club of yours."
"Don't insult the fan base!" Katy shouted, and thrust her arm forward like a war general. "Shave 'em, people!"
They surged.
They didn't look fully maniacal, which somehow made it worse.
Kane dropped to one knee and his left hand flashed with a silver, clean hue. He chopped at the static tether. It snapped without resistance. The soul trap fizzled into nothing.
Katy and her crew didn't even slow down.
Kane sighed like someone who'd seen this exact flavor of stupidity before.
"Next time, cra-lady."
Then he jumped.
Some swore it was ten meters. Others insisted it was thirty.
Either way, he cleared the posse, the security gate, and a chunk of the crowd like he'd been edited out of gravity's permission structure.
He landed running, and the city turned into a blur.
Above Topaz City, a massive blue hunk of quartz towered into the sky—eighty kilometers of jewel that made the metropolis feel like it had been built in the shadow of a crown.
Billions in goods and currency moved through the metal canyons below it, a world hub that looked like prosperity and smelled like pressure.
Kane weaved through foot traffic without touching anyone—almost without touching anyone. He hurdled a broken hover cart and landed among children carrying Coalition Carnage balloons.
Parents startled, then recognition.
Kane gave them that familiar Superstar smile; it worked like a soft weapon.
"Good luck, Superstar Kane!" a Human child shouted.
A Dycordian child folded her arms like she'd been personally offended by optimism. "But our Superstar is going to win."
Kane laughed. "He just might, kid. Where'd you get the cool balloons?"
"That carnival over there!" the Human child said. "Our school took us."
"Thanks." Kane leaned in, conspiratorial. "Hey, cheer for me too, okay?"
"Okay!!!" both kids chorused.
Kane shot off again, leaving behind a ripple of gasps as normal people watched Quickening up close and tried to pretend they weren't a little jealous.
***
Beacon City's cathedral would've seemed modest to most worlds, but here—among half-story dwellings—it dominated the skyline. Two stories of solid white curvature gave it the look of an egg set upright on a pedestal.
Inside, metal walls and stained glass windows glowed with stylized graphics of the seventeen planets, casting colored bands over Dycordians in ceremonial green robes.
The World Voice moved through these halls.
Over a billion of them, galaxy-wide. A third of Dycordians, the Spirit Caste, were born into ritual, trained from childhood to communicate with the spirit within their world.
A hooded woman drifted down a corridor, her robe trimmed in gold, marking her a Seer. She passed beneath an archway into a small, bare room lit by a single candle.
A Dycordian sat cross-legged in prayer, hands together, plain green clothing, bare feet on stone. Something about him looked calm in a way that suggested he'd already survived the kind of thing that broke other people.
The Seer stopped behind him.
"Opening ceremony starts in one hour, Hearer Claude," she said.
Claude rose smoothly to his feet and smiled.
"Thank you, Seer Vassi."
"Any word?" Vassi asked, quietly.
"No."
"Hm."
They left the room together, sunlight cascading through the windows. In an archway, a muscled Dycordian with darker blue skin watched them pass with open animosity.
Vassi didn't flinch. "When they see your skills," she said, "their feelings for you will change."
Claude's smile softened, but didn't warm. "I have long since stopped caring what others think of me. Being Superstar is a Guardian thing. I understand that." He paused. "But I was chosen by the Lords to be Superstar. I will do my world proud, even for those who wish me ill."
Vassi's gaze sharpened. "Starting to sound like your friend."
Claude's expression flickered. "It has been seven years."
"Do not get complacent," Vassi warned. "I have seen strong Superstars die due to lax thinking."
Claude nodded. "I understand what I am to do."
Outside, they reached a booth with several hanging disks. Claude took one, tossed it to the stone ground, and it hovered in place, steady, obedient. He jumped atop it, sat cross-legged, and took a slow breath.
"Remember my teachings," Vassi said, "and those of the planet spirits."
"I will," Claude replied.
The disk whisked him away.
He flew over ocean and coastline, over the cathedral perched on a bluff like a sentinel, over a strange man-made water sculpture where ocean water flowed through invisible channels in looping ribbons.
Claude didn't see it, he was in trance. But as he drifted toward Topaz City, something cut through his meditation like a blade. It was a shuttle entering the atmosphere far in the distance.
Across its hull displayed a holographic image, like a flying holoview: a Human woman with a blood-red locket at her neck, making grandiose gestures with her hands.
Braloor's chosen Superstar was incoming.
***
Inside that shuttle, a streamjet, luxury had been engineered by people who assumed their passengers would enjoy being pampered. It had a magically appearing stewardess. A charm chamber for relaxation. A bed of massage hands.
None of it mattered.
The Dawn sat at a desk protruding from the bulkhead, writing in a book with the focus of someone arguing with destiny.
A Tilris pilot entered, professional, careful.
"We've landed on Dycord, ma'am."
"Okay."
She took her pen, pulled off the cap, and poured the ink onto the page. Then, drummed her fingers on the book. It glowed.
The pilot cleared his throat, awkward, like a baby bird trying to pretend it was a predator.
The Dawn glanced down, satisfied as words appeared and faded into the page; recording reality as if reality had signed a contract. Then, she flipped her hood over her head and walked out
Outside, Dycordian delegates waited—three males in gray robes of the Govern Caste, ceremonial headgear shaped like the pen she'd just used.
"Welcome to Dycord, Superstar The Dawn," one began, eager. "I'm sure you have been to our home world before, so—"
"Wrong," The Dawn cut in, flat. "Never been here."
Another delegate hurried to recover. "Well then, allow us to introduce you to our wonderful city."
The Dawn sighed loud enough to count as an opinion.
She climbed into the hover car. It lifted into the city, drifting past colorful buildings decorated for Coalition Carnage, past Dycordians eating outdoors, shopping, walking odd pets she didn't recognize.
The delegates kept talking. Their voices blending into a blur.
Then The Dawn saw it. A carnival.
She squealed, high, sudden, violently joyful, so loud the delegates all flinched, one clutching his chest like he'd been shot.
"A carnival!" she shouted. "I see a carnival over there! I want to go!"
"We… can do that," one delegate managed, shaken. "But after the opening ceremony. The Lords of Continent have something—"
The Dawn was already gone.
***
The carnival was a patchwork of makeshift structures designed to appear overnight and disappear before anyone asked inconvenient questions. Floating and ground-level booths competed for attention: food vendors, games of chance, performers.
Kane's stomach tried to drag him toward the food. His itchy palm dragged him toward the gambling booth.
It stood four meters tall, housing a robotic skull attached to a pole descending from the top. Four skeletal hands moved freely, typing unknown information across multiple keyboards. A voice issued from speakers on the glass.
"Good morning, gentle sir. How may I assist you?"
Kane adjusted the hood of his jacket even though no one was close enough to care. "Coalition Carnage odds."
Numbers and words flickered in the air, projected from the skull's glowing red eyes. Scanning them, Kane's eyes widened.
"Hundred to one?" he hissed. "That's crap. Top five favored to win. SRC and fan fav both."
He leaned in, offended on principle. "No Kane Urasa?"
"Superstar Kane is at the bottom of both lists," the serve-tek replied.
A familiar voice came from behind him, calm as prayer.
"Betting on one's self is illegal, is it not?"
Kane turned, lowering his hood and his grin hit like sunlight breaking through cloud cover. "Claude! My boy! How ya been!?"
"It has been too long," Claude said, and for a moment the carnival noise felt like it dimmed around them. They shook hands.
Kane blew out a breath. "I was gonna contact you when I got in last night, but dude—I was tired."
"I thought Soul Style users never get tired."
"I don't keep it turned on." Kane frowned. "Anyway—the SRC says you're a Hearer in the World Voice now. Congrats."
Claude's smile sharpened into something teasing. "When I heard Earth chose you as their Superstar, I thought my hearing was impaired. I considered another career change."
Kane narrowed his eyes. "That supposed to be a joke? And what about you? A holy man involved in something like this?"
Claude's gaze lifted to the sky as if listening to a voice nobody else could hear. "Time to pray," he said, "time to fight."
"I get that," Kane said, glancing at the vibrant stalls lining the thoroughfare. "How's the kinfolk?"
"Mom is fine. She started a book club," Claude replied. He offered a small, characteristic shrug. "Dad is still a tax collector."
Kane let out a dry whistle. "How'd he feel about your new... career change?"
Claude turned his head, his expression unreadable. "You have met him. Enough about that, what have you been up to all these years?"
The two friends fell into a comfortable rhythm, weaving through the thick of the carnival grounds. If any of the partakers noticed the galaxy-famous Superstars in their midst, they made no fuss; here, they were just two more souls under the neon lights. A group of Dycordian and Human children suddenly bolted past, nearly bowling over an elderly couple who shrieked in mock indignation.
"Wish Earth was more like this," Kane admitted, watching the children disappear into the crowd. "I go out in public there, I'm mobbed up to my eyebrows."
"We Dycordians honor privacy," Claude reminded him, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Or have you forgotten?"
"It's been a decade since I've been here. I never realized how much I missed it, until now." Kane paused, cutting a sharp look toward his friend. "By the way, how did you know I was here?"
"I just knew."
Kane snorted. "Want to vague that up a little more?"
"Remember that shooting game I had?" Claude asked, ignoring the jab.
"Puzzle Shot? Yeah, I'm still the reigning champion."
"If I remember correctly," Claude countered smoothly, "it was 139 to 137. My way."
"Like hell. You can't take my championship away, not after everything it took to get it."
Claude stopped walking and pointed behind Kane. Tucked between a food stall and a fortune teller sat a rectangular booth, boasting a row of sleek plastic guns and a gallery of holographic targets.
"Winner take all?" Claude challenged.
Kane grinned, the old competitive fire sparking in his eyes. "Games are for friends to bond and kick each other's ass. Let's go."
They took their positions, soon becoming utterly enthralled with the rhythm of the game. They traded shots, sending beams of harmless light into floating targets. Claude maintained a narrow, frustrating lead until they both noticed a third competitor. A woman, the only other person playing at the far end of the booth, was rapidly closing the gap.
The two men intensified their focus as they realized she wasn't just lucky, she was surgical. Every time she pulled the trigger, a target vanished. Before Kane or Claude could reclaim the lead, the game's chime signaled its end.
The stranger had won. She pumped her fist in the air as the serve-tek whirred to life, depositing a large, stuffed polar bear into her arms.
Claude inclined his head. "Your aim is impeccable, ma'am."
"Damn right!" she crowed. "Whoo! I love stuffed animals!"
Kane smiled the way he smiled before trouble. "Hi, I'm Kane. This is my friend, Claude."
"They call me The Dawn," she said, hugging the bear.
"Oh," Kane said. "You're Braloorian. I'm an Earthling."
"Figures."
Kane's smile fell. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You suck," The Dawn said, cheerfully.
Kane blinked. "What!? Well, maybe you had a little extra help in the aiming department. A cheat code."
The Dawn tilted her head. "Meaning?"
"You people can't breathe without pulling a rabbit from somewhere."
The Dawn's grin widened.
And then she was in Kane's face, nose to nose, eyes bright with delighted violence.
"Do you want to fight?" she whispered. "Do you?"
"This got intense fast." Claude said.
The Dawn stared at Kane another second, then turned and walked away like he'd already lost.
Kane watched her go, jaw tight. "You see why people don't like Braloorians?"
"I like her," Claude said.
"You can do better."
Claude didn't dignify that with an answer. "Seriously," he asked instead, "why the animosity between the two planets?"
Kane shrugged. "No clue. I used to research Braloor, back in the day. Never found anything. They're just hostile."
Claude's eyes slid toward him. "You did use the term 'you people.'"
Kane winced. "I—okay, you're right. I didn't mean it like that."
Claude's voice softened. "Apologies are fruit for the soul."
Kane sighed. "Yeah. Guess I should."
***
The Dawn wandered through the carnival, making her polar bear roar at strangers and laughing when they looked uncomfortable. She should've been heading to the opening ceremony, but she didn't care. Then, the vibration hit against her breastbone, subtle but unmistakable.
Her smile vanished. She froze, eyes scanning, hair whipping as she turned.
"What?" she hissed under her breath. "What?"
People gave her space without knowing why. Instinct; a sense that her mood had shifted from "chaotic fun" to "something's about to break."
She saw them then, four men in a group that didn't fit: a Dycordian, a Human, a Tilris, and a massive Dagon. Suspicious glances. Tight movement. The kind of body language that didn't belong at a carnival. They entered a small structure.
She handed her stuffed bear to a passing Dycordian woman like she was discarding a distraction, then moved, quiet, fast, hungry for confrontation.
***
Claude's gaze sharpened as he tracked her path without looking directly at her.
"There she is."
Kane frowned. "You sure are useful. Where is she going?"
"That small building," Claude said.
They reached the squat plastoid structure and slipped inside. Half the space was piled high with dug-up earth. The other half was a ten-foot hole yawning into darkness.
Kane stepped to the edge. "What's going on in here?"
Claude moved around one dirt mound and stopped.
"Someone is unconscious over here."
Kane's gut tightened. "Who?"
"A Dycordian."
Kane exhaled hard. "You know, Claude, I'm starting to think this Dawn lady's kinda unhinged."
"We do not know the whole situation," Claude cautioned. "Should I retrieve a Defense Force officer?"
"Nah," Kane said, already committing to the worst option. "We're Superstars. We can handle whatever is going on."
Claude nodded once. "Agreed. After you."
Kane stared at him. "I'm a guest on your planet and you're making me go first? It could be dangerous down there."
"Almost assuredly," Claude said, and there was no humor in it now. "Which is why we should stop the banter in case The Dawn needs help."
Kane muttered, "Her eyes told me the only help she needs is therapeutic."
Then both of them jumped. They slid down a steep forty-five-degree pitch into the dark. Ten seconds later, dim green light glimmered below like phosphorescent breath.
Kane landed, feet skidding. Claude landed beside him, calm as ever.
Thin glowing trails ran along the dirt and stone, slimy, luminous, painting the tunnels in sickly green.
"These tunnels run beneath Topaz City," Claude said.
Kane swallowed. "I remember reading about them. Created to transport refugees thousands of years ago. Never said refugees from what, though."
"School books refer to it as the Luminary Web."
Kane made a face. "Don't tell me there's giant spiders down here."
"These are glow slug trails," Claude said. "They are small."
Kane nodded, relieved. "Okay, okay, so where'd she go?"
Claude's eyes unfocused slightly, listening to something that wasn't sound. "I can sense her. And whole groups of people." His tone shifted. "Something is definitely going on. No one is supposed to be down here."
Kane started moving. "Tourists think they can go wherever they please."
Claude pointed. "Closest group is that way. The Dawn is in that direction as well."
They ran for a few moments before they heard it. Clanking armor. They rounded a bend and found half a dozen lancers aimed directly at them.
"Halt or die!" the squad lead barked.
"Face down! Now!"
Kane and Claude raised their hands.
Claude spoke carefully. "I am Claude of Styfe. This is Superstar Kane of Earth. We followed someone down here, but do not know what transpires."
The squad lead signaled. Weapons were lowered, slightly.
"There's been a terrorist attack on the Mag factory," the lead said, clipped. "Dangerous material stolen. Terrorists are using the Web to move through the city."
Claude's brows drew in. "How do you know they are terrorists?"
The squad lead's eyes hardened. He made a gesture and his team marched off. He looked back with an impatient expression or thinly veiled hatred.
"They claim to be members of the Trust. They threatened to blow the Tower of Laws along with two other public locations." His mouth twisted. "We know how to do our jobs, even if you do not think so. Good luck in the competition, Superstar Claude."
And he was gone.
Kane's voice came out low. "So the Trust wants to disturb the opening ceremony. Make some kind of statement."
Claude's eyes sharpened. "What does The Dawn have to do with this?"
Kane didn't answer, because he didn't have a good one.
"We gotta ask her," he said, and started after the Defense Force.
Claude grabbed his arm.
"I do not know what signal they are following," Claude said, "but I can sense a battle taking place further up the north tunnel."
Kane was already sprinting. Not thirty seconds later, they found bodies.
A Dagon in worn armor, a broken lancer gun at his side. There were two more unconscious folks nearby, discarded like broken furniture. They reached the chamber beyond and saw her.
The Dawn was mid-motion, a vicious roundhouse kick snapping into a Dycordian's helmet. The lancer slipped from limp hands as the body crumpled. She stood among four more fallen bodies like she'd arranged them.
Kane took in the scene. "Nice form."
Claude stepped forward, controlled. "What are you doing down here?"
The Dawn didn't even look guilty. "Breaking jaws. Isn't it obvious?"
"Are you aware what is actually going on?" Claude pressed.
"No," The Dawn said brightly, as if the word had no consequences. "But some guys were acting shady. I followed them. Big guy saw me. Took a shot. Dropped him on his head. Got here, heard the word 'bomb,' so I started dropping bombs."
She shadowboxed the air, threw a kick for emphasis, then posed like she expected applause.
Kane cleared his throat. "You know any of them?"
"Cannon fodder?" she shrugged. "Who cares?"
A voice snapped from the tunnel mouths.
"We do!"
Figures emerged—men and women in mercenary gear, weapons raised. Seven tunnels. At least three per tunnel. Lancer pistols and rifles glinting in the green light.
"You've been interfering in Trust affairs," one of them growled, "which ain't healthy."
Claude tried diplomacy, like it was a blade he kept sharp. "Tell us what you want so we can discuss a solution for the betterment of all involved."
"Betterment?" the mercenary scoffed. "Is that a word? I don't care. Ice them!"
Over two dozen lancers opened fire.
***
The squad lead pressed a gloved thumb to his helmet's receiver, his voice a low gravel against the static of the Dycordian channel. "I sent the wannabe and his buddy packing," he muttered, eyes scanning the jagged horizon of the wasteland. "No resistance on this end. Any of the other units having better luck?"
Beside him, the Lieutenant broke formation. He didn't speak; instead, his hands flew in a series of sharp, frantic Dycordian battle signs. The lead watched the gestures, his brow furrowing beneath his visor. With a sharp, silent jerk of his chin, he signaled the rest of the squad to fan out.
"The planet spirit may be shining on us yet," he said into the comms, his tone darkening. "Squad out." He flicked the channel to local. "What is it, Lieutenant? This better be more than ghosts."
"The energy signature, sir," the lieutenant's voice crackled, breathless. "It's back. Low frequency, moving slow. It's heading right for our position."
"Get ready."
The squad shifted with practiced lethality, dropping into offensive staggers as they advanced. The silence of the canyon was absolute, until a rhythmic tap-tap-tap began to echo off the stone walls. It was steady, patient, and unnervingly physical.
"What I do here today," a voice vibrated through their headsets—not through the air, but directly into their encrypted feed—"will forever be remembered as the true blessing."
The squad lead's hand flew to his helmet, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Who is this? How did you hijack this channel?"
"Simple, really," the voice replied, smooth as polished glass. "Radio waves are easy to manipulate. At least, for one such as I. Like so."
A sudden, agonizing screech erupted inside their helmets. It wasn't sound; it was a psychic spike that drove through their temples like a heated needle. The lead let out a strangled cry, his knees hitting the stone floor. Around him, his unit collapsed in a chorus of static and groans, their weapons clattering uselessly against the rock. Through the blur of his failing vision, he saw the source of the tapping.
An elderly Ksush emerged from the dust, hunched and supported by twin canes. His tan skin was a map of deep-set wrinkles, yet beneath his loose gray tunic, his stooped frame held the corded, terrifying muscle of a predator. His most jarring feature, the Ksush third arm, curled over his head like a scorpion's tail, its taloned fist clutching a small steel box.
The old man stepped over the unconscious soldiers, his wrinkled lips peeling back to reveal a row of dull, yellow teeth.
"After all," he whispered to the cooling air, "I've had a lot of time to perfect my techniques."
He didn't break his stride, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
"Report!" the old man commanded.
"Ran into three Superstars!" a mercenary screamed. "We're getting overwhelmed! We need—"
"No need to shout, I can hear you very clearly," the old man interrupted, his voice chillingly calm as he tapped his way toward the battlefield. "I will be there shortly."
***
Bodies and shattered weapons carpeted the cavern floor. Kane's fist finished the count, driving into the jaw of the last standing Trust goon and dropping him like a loose cable.
Across the chamber, a red-black lancer beam carved a lethal line through the air. Claude moved before the shot finished screaming, vaulting clean over the streak of death, landing beside its source in one smooth motion. His bare foot snapped up, connecting with the Human's head. The mercenary folded, weapon clattering uselessly against stone.
Silence rushed in to fill the void.
The Dawn slowly turned in place, surveying the wreckage. At least a dozen bodies lay unconscious at her boots. Not dead, but broken.
She frowned.
"That's it?"
Kane rolled his shoulder. "Would've thought more of the Trust. These guys were weak."
Claude glanced between them, calm amid the ruin. "Amazing how similar the two of you are."
"Nah," The Dawn said without looking at Kane. "He weak too."
"We came here to help," Kane shot back. "Rude ass."
"And to apologize," Claude added evenly. "Remember."
Kane snorted. "Screw the apology."
The Dawn's grin sharpened, predatory. "Want to go a few rounds? These Trust chumps weren't enough."
A new voice slid through the chamber—old, smooth, utterly unconcerned.
"They are merely hired mercenaries, and not an indication of the truth of the Trust."
Kane spun. "Who said that?"
Claude's eyes narrowed, senses stretching outward. "They do not appear to be present in this chamber."
The Dawn tilted her head, listening to something no one else could hear. "Nearest waking soul is twenty meters north-northeast."
Claude nodded once. "That is correct."
Kane grimaced. "Showoffs."
The unseen voice continued, closer now, threaded with quiet certainty.
"My mission is of great importance. If that means your deaths, then the fans of this ridiculous competition will simply have to forgive an old man."
The sound hit without warning.
Not an explosion, but pressure. A violent cascade of noise that slammed into their skulls, rattled teeth, turning balance into a suggestion. All three Superstars staggered, clutching at their heads as the cavern seemed to scream.
"What the hell!?" Kane shouted through the pain.
The voice answered, pleased.
"I am Fiaster. Soul Master of Sounds. Telling you to turn back would be futile. Instead…"
The noise sharpened.
"I'll just kill you."