As Chronicler made his grand entrance, Alpine found herself falling alongside the top of a wooden skyscraper.

The attack came the moment after her run-in with Dream. Alpine barely gathered herself when the entire tower shook from countless attacks hollowing it with holes. The structure riddles with more holes than a beehive then crumbles soon after.

Splinter rained and timber fell. One goddess tumbled into the air transforming into a majestic white bird. She lifted herself from the wooden structure descending from the high rise of Danghai’s Business District.

Something silvery flew from the corner of her vision. She saw the attack coming. Shards of volatile energy used by the Fea sailed toward her like cruise missiles. Alpine deployed the shield of ice to block the attack midair, but that was the ruse. It was a mean of distraction. The real aim of the Fairy was the hypersonic tackle from behind.

The blur of the assailant slammed into Alpine. The impact hit her like a bullet train socking a deer. A roar of jet boosters crushed any resistance Alpine had as the living missile speared forward with more momentum. The goddess jerked from the collision. Her head rang like a bell being smashed by a giant.

Alpine crashed into another building, but regained herself in time to witness the sky twinkled with a thousand ominous crimson stars. Her opponent had swooped back to the sky and began preparing the bombardment. Countless deadly Fairy’s projectiles that would flatten the entire district hung above like a death sentence.

Hypersonic speed and aerial superiority; those were the two design spec of the Fea designed for search and destroy, striking fast and from the altitude no one could prepare against. It was the claim to fame of the Fairy Tribune Hertz — the H.

Her body, streamlined with the peak of biomaterial, was built for hypersonic speed maneuvering with adequate environmental and mystic resistance. She was designed to be the summit of detection, attack capability, and speed.

For Hertz, today was great. She ripped apart half of the Harbor District and was on her way to scoring the Business District. Better she ran into a valuable target that was now within her mercy. Bagging this mini boss would score her enough points to advance more in Kane’s good grace.

One area bombardment would be enough. Hertz could already feel the—

A crimson beam of high density light pierced the Fairy’s chest. Hertz’s eyes widened in shock as her vitals received critical damage.

Down below, in the crater she created from her collision, then Alpine felt a cold barrel pressed against her back from the building she crashed into.

Behind the Ice Phoenix was a woman in a magenta lab coat, holding a massive space-age cannon charging with energy. That glowing blaster aimed at Alpine’s back. At point-blank, this shot would kill her.

“Arden Christy,” the Ice Phoenix said. “What is the S-Ranker who joined Orwell Mehest doing here?”

Arden gave the obvious answer, “What a stupid question? Do you think Orwell came here alone to meet his enemy without redundancy?” She nodded to the injured Fairy, who remained functioning with a hole in her chest. “And he is right. Look at what these freaks turn Danghai into. Geez, Orwell did explain what they are, but I am impressed they could survive getting their chest hollow out.”

Enrage, Hertz glared at the two. The attack from Arden had vaporized most of her vital organs, and it was unlikely she could maintain functionality for much longer. Resolving to get her revenge at all cost, Hertz triggered the self-destruction sequence built into her body and readied to burst into a kamikaze blaze of glorious payback.

The H never had a chance. Two psychokinetic bullets nailed her. One slammed into her brain, another into her spine and through the ever so important Spiritual Core.

As Hertz fell from the sky as a lifeless corpse. The modulated voice of her assailant replaced her in the air.

“Test, test,” Dream spoke into the voice amplifier. “This is Dream. I know you had the fatherless bird at gunpoint. Please don’t cap her brain. Things will get worse if she dies.”

Arden was curious. She knew about Dream. Any recruit in Diogenesis knew about the guy who led the team that beat their boss in Venistalis. Orwell couldn’t shut up about him. There was a rule forbidding them from harming civilians because it would piss them off.

That was second to the rule against making kids cry. No one wanted to throw hands against that self-sworn protector of children. They saw a recording of how Ace fought. None wanted to be punched several thousand times above the speed of sound and blasted by an output to make nuclear weapons impressed over the tears of children.

The people she was negotiating with might look calm and civilized on the surface. However, deep beneath, was a band of bloody savages who didn’t mind ripping the book on fair-play and burning the remains to fulfill the roles of protector. They were unreasonable monsters who reacted to the tragedy of the world with overwhelming violence.

Ace was the prime example. The last chronic deviant child-abuser she got her hand on was reduced into a pile of broken scrap. The entire valley they fought transformed into golden glass with the bastard's mangled remains embalmed in the auric solid as a case-study of why you shouldn’t abuse a kid when Ace was on your continent. Every evidence suggested the battle was hilariously one-sided.

If that could happen to an S-Ranker, Arden didn’t want to test the water. Sure, Dream wasn’t Ace, but that would just change the flavor from having your skin melt off to turning into a mental vegetable. Arden did have an anti-mental attack protection, but this was the last target she wanted to test it on. That guy was too creative to risk it.

It was better to be safe than sorry.

“Have it your way,” Arden shrugged, but she needed to get something out of this. “What do you need her for?”

Alpine also wanted to ask that question, but she was afraid she might not like the answer.

Alpine was right.

“I need her as an interphase to shut those down,” Dream pointed to those with ominous black pillars which tainted the scenery and spawned more fairy. “Unless we take those gates down we will be flooded by bodies. I could shut them off one-by-one, but the plan is too telegraphed for my liking. Instead, I will pull the plug up in one go, but I need Alpine for that.”

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Much to Alpine’s dread, Arden was considering the idea. Her lip tightened like a puppy finding a new chew toy. The scientist's curious eyes twinkled with joy of wonders.

“Okay,” Arden answered, plunging Alpine’s heart to the depth of despair. “But on one condition: can I watch?”

Dream shrugged, “Sure, the more, the merrier.”

Alpine was mentally in tears.

What had she done to deserve this?

…

As the Assault team consisting of Dream, Arden Christy, and the fatherless luggage reformed themselves, Chronicler — the one-man rescue unit — confronted the Fea.

Kane growled, snapping his ruptured arm back into place where it proceeded to heal. The healing was the grotesque movement of muscle and vein slapping together in the body-horror art-show befitting the Fairies’ tradition.

The arrival of Chronicler at the darkest hour was unexpected by anyone but Orwell Mehest. Most knew almost nothing about this man. The representative only heard wild soupy rumors that got wilder with every retelling. The Fairies only took three individuals, namely Orwell, Dream and El Acerbia, to be unpredictable variables. The enigmatic power of Chronicler eluded all that present but one.

At that very least, they knew he had injured the Beast Preator, putting him at the level above A-Rank. That squarely a threat, but it undersold the sheer presence he had.

“Who are you?” Kane finished healing himself and was now focused on the biggest question.

“Just a person who wants to be a good Samaritan,” Chronicler’s voice was totally relaxed. He ignored Kane’s existence and focused his attention on the clown. “You must be Jester, correct?”

Any surprise on Jester's part was hidden beneath his theatrical mask.

“Oh, you are talking about a little old me.”

“That is correct,” Hikma confirmed politely. “Are you the one who tricked the Dark Elves into this?”

“Yes,” Jester cocked his head, confused by the question. “What is the point of asking? Aren’t they just disposable goods?”

For Orwell, the air stopped. Jester just made the second-worst mistake anyone in the situation could have done. Knowing that the opening was coming, Orwell began prepping the Arcane.

The Chronicler displayed no sign he was seething. The hand holding his cane never tightened nor sweat. Instead, his thumb flicked the safety latch which locked the cane's mechanism in place. The helmet hid his face, but his stern posture communicated the seriousness that the hero was taking this battle.

“You are lucky I am not Ace,” Hikma said calmly. “If I am, you will be dead before you finish that sentence.”

“Bold words!” The Beast Praetor picked that moment to have his revenge. “Do you think a fluke will carry you to victory?”

Kane brought down his fist onto the Chronicler with sound-sundering speed. It was the fist that obliterated the attending representatives including Rubric. The mighty fist that declared the Fairy was downright murderous. Kane bought it down like a hammer, aiming to obliterate the ground a second time.

The ground never ruptured. The devastation never repeated.

The spin was swift with incredible precision. The slash was trained, refined like a painter’s masterpiece. The glowing blade connected to a cane handle seemed to bend with Chronicler’s rapid twist. The slash cut into the arm tougher than forged tungsten, bursting the appendage into a shower of blood.

If the first time was a fluke, the second time Kane bled proved that assumption was false.

The Fairies watched their cruel leader stumble back. Jester, knowing Kane’s durability more than anyone, was glued to the scene.

It was then one man decided to strike at that opportunity of distraction.

[Cryo Supreme]

The cold of space swept the air. Chilly mist expanded from Orwell, bursting like liquified bubbles. Ice and frost crept over the ground swiftly like invading ants and over the fairies, freezing them in icicles as Orwell made his long awaited escape.

The effect of the Arcane wasn’t mild. The icy mist lowered the temperature to the point everyone breathed out the white vapor. Grand Sage Ophelia Runesea shivered from the temperature plummeting below -42 degree Celsius.

In Orwell’s arms, the Dowager Consort was trembling from the stinging cold. The freezing frost stuck to her like sores. Her life was in no immediate danger aside from the minor frostbite.

Ruho knew she wasn’t the target of the attack, but the after effect of that one spell impacteed her anyway. Orwell Mehest’s power was akin to a natural disaster. It was vast like a tidal wave and often created several unintended chain reactions down the line. Even calculated and controlled uses of [Cryo Supreme] also hit Ruho. Orwell secretly breathed a sigh of relief he was never pushed that far.

Orwell landed beside the Chronicler and checked on his trembling ally. Good. There was no lasting damage done. Ruho’s recovery is all but certain.

Chronicler managed to piece the event together.

“Must be tough,” Chronicler said.

“What took you so long?” Orwell glared at his rival.

“Well, I ran into a giant moth and these weird human-RB hybrids,” Chronicler replied. “Took me some time to neutralize them. But did you really watch them stroll over this place and did nothing?”

Orwell wasn’t even feeling guilty, “I have to protect the Dowager Consort. You must know what will happen to her when I have to fight seriously.”

That was an acceptable excuse.

“We really needed to distribute the principal of Aura after this,” Chronicler groaned.

“Wouldn’t that make our task harder?” Orwell said.

“Take your pick between babysitting them every Reverse Beast’s attack or dealing with more annoying tantrums.”

Orwell conceded the point, “Fine. I am surprised we lasted this long.”

The frozen icicles broke apart. Jester emerged from the wreckage angry but mostly unharmed. The oozing liquid of Blood regathered and the fire of Fellsbane re-ignited.

Around them, the Fairies began to reorganize.

Chronicler wasn’t having it.

[Geo Supreme]

Like intricate puzzles, the earth rearranged. Cubic blocks of rock shot from the ground. The rectangular cuboid slid across the earth. The exhausted and injured were transported away on the sliding earth before the Fea could use them as hostages. The tidal waves of the tousling block reunited the attendees. Ruho herself was transported to the opposite side of the representative, as far as possible for any potential conflict.

The block leveled and rose to form a massive arena.

…

Xerxes hugged his wife and cried in relief. Around him was the remaining representative. Most like Thalia Holyworths and Charon Sol were unconscious. Some like Red Blade Rubric and Ophelia were awake but far from fighting condition.

Today was a disaster. There are no ifs, but, or maybe. Agnus Aurorin and had died. Albert Starling and his bodyguard were maimed. Director El Acerbia’s action was nothing short of a treason. The members of SCA lost their respective fight and the hall where the meeting took place — and all the staff — was vaporized. Worst, Orwell rejected their offer and the Dowager Consort had openly sided with him.

Optically and subjectively, today would end careers. But Xerxes was too relieved to care.

His relief was cut short when he caught sight of a figure from afar approaching Ruho on the other side of the improper Arena.

…

Ruho was shocked at the entrée and even more terrified of what he was.

“You are…”

“Edward Balorian, a volunteer for your extraction,” the vampire gentlemanly bowed. “It is a pressure to meet you, Dowager Consort. I understand you are fully right to be afraid of me given my kind’s,” he struggled to find the right word, “grisly reputation. If nothing you can trust the fact Orwell and Chronicler will get highly uncivilized if something happened to you.”

“Get going, Edward,” the Chronicler’s voice boomed. “And call-“

Chronicler cut his sentence short from the sudden flash of heat. He looked up to see a blue comet.

“On second thought, don’t call any back-up here.”

The flaming comet slammed in the ground, washing all in the vast radius in blue flames. From its burnt and smoking landing site, Shandler stumbled from the crater. The Lord of the Insect Clan glared accusingly at the sky.

A flaming bird flew from the cloudy blue. Like a descending waterfall, the majestic avian robed in blue flames splashed down in a tidal wave of heat. The silhouette of heat and destruction strolled from the fire. His figure was flame incarnate like a looming volcano about to erupt.

“Hello Wayward,” Chronicler greeted. “You look pretty mad.”

Wayward immediately vented his grievance, “Acerbia was a grasp away and this idiot ruined it. What mood do you think I am in?”

Due to pity and generosity, Orwell turned to the poor folks stunned by the appearance of the most dangerous man on the continent.

“You guys should start running,” Orwell yelled. “Anything within a kilometer from here will be BBQ.”