Fire and smoke. Blood and death.
The village of Asedal was flooded with chaos. Flames devoured everything: the homes, the fields, and the hopes of the panicked innocents. Wyverns circled the sky—black smoke blotting out the evening sun—while orcs and goblins rampaged through the narrow streets, smashing homes into splinters.
Villagers fled in every direction. Some darted like terrified animals, while others huddled in the shadows of crumbling walls. A mother, clutching her child, hid in the corner of a broken shack, her body trembling as the heavy footfalls of an orc shook the ground just outside. Another villager—an old man—ran but tripped and fell into the dirt. Blood smeared his face as goblins descended on him—his final scream was cut short by their savage jaws.
The Infernal Rift hung in the sky—a gaping wound stretched across the horizon, swirling with dark Nether Energy—birthing more horrors by the second.
From all corners of the village, the souls of the fallen—wisps of shimmering green light—rose from their still-warm bodies. Each soul flickered briefly—as if resisting—before being pulled into the air, joining a glowing, pulsating mass of energy that swirled in the Rift’s depths.
Simply put, there was no salvation in the Realm of Meiyr.
In every town, every village, this was the way of life. Every day was a battle for survival, and with each day, hope dimmed like a dying candle. Families were broken, towns burned to ash, and the people? They had long since learned to live in fear. They ran, they hid, and when that failed—they died. It had become a cruel routine—a daily dance with death that seemed inescapable.
Suddenly, a surge of energy rippled through the village—unnoticed by the panicked masses. A portal gate shimmered to life in the town square, its swirling blue and white light briefly casting a soft glow over the shattered buildings in its vicinity. From its center emerged the Elite Squad—Stormfront.
Nia's deep, amber eyes were quickly filled with quiet sorrow as she surveyed the destruction.
“We’re late."
Byron—their leader—didn’t respond at first. His expression was stern, unshaken by the chaos around him.
“We’ll split up. Nia, Jermaine, Malik—you’re with me. Kamari, Eli, Leon—take the western sector. Let’s get this done!”
Without another word, Stormfront sprang into action.
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Byron’s eyes locked onto the two massive orcs barreling toward him—and he wasted no time. A burst of purple flames erupted beneath his feet, propelling him high above their heads. Suspended mid-air, he concentrated the flowing Enre in his chest, causing his eyes to flicker with an eerie purple glow.
The orcs barely had a moment to react before he unleashed a torrent of violet fire from his outstretched hands. The flames raged with unnatural intensity, spiraling down onto the beasts with a roar. They were instantly reduced to ash—smoke rising from the blackened ground beneath them.
Behind him, Nia stood on the edge of a crumbling rooftop. A bow materialized before her in a soft silver glow, fitting perfectly into her grasp. In her other hand, an arrow materialized, its tip fashioned from black Oxsyn Stone.
She pulled on the bowstring—her eyes narrowing on the Rift. There was no hesitation—no doubt—as the arrow left her fingers, cutting through the air before piercing into the heart of the Rift. Immediately, the swirling dark energy began to twist and collapse in on itself—the tear in reality shrinking and slowly sealing shut.
Then, a flash of blue streaked across the sky. Jermaine moved at lightning speed, leaving trails of crackling energy in his wake. His focus was the Red Wyverns that relentlessly rained fire on the panicked village below. But they did not last long. He twitched his hands, and bolts of blue lightning shot from his fingertips, vaporizing them in a mere heartbeat.
A grin tugged at his lips as he hovered amidst the falling ashes of his victims.
"This is too easy!"
Nia rolled her eyes at his remark.
"Focus!"
Her words had reached him telepathically.
Immediately, Jermaine vanished in a burst of lightning, reappearing beside her long enough to plant a quick kiss on her cheek.
"Relax, I'm just having some fun."
And, with a playful wink, he was gone again, back into the sky.
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Below them, Eli sped through the burning streets. He moved so fast that the villagers barely registered his presence—their eyes struggling to follow the blur of electricity. A sharp crack of thunder echoed each time he passed a goblin, and the creatures fell, twitching—their bodies sizzling as the last sparks of Eli’s power danced across their skin. They stood no chance.
Not far from him, Malik's grin widened. Two short daggers flared to life within his grasp— enveloped by blue flames—as an orc charged toward him. He slid smoothly through the giant’s legs and launched his flaming blades into the back of its feet. They exploded on impact, sending the massive creature crashing face-first into the dirt with a ground-shaking thud.
He immediately jumped onto the orc’s back. The moment the daggers rematerialized in his hands, he drove them into the back of the orc’s skull. Blue flames erupted, engulfing the creature. Its roars of pain were quickly snuffed out as it combusted into a pile of smoldering ash beneath his feet.
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Elsewhere, Kamari tore through goblins, his fists ablaze—each of his punches sending bright yellow flames rippling through the air. Goblin after goblin fell as he moved across the battlefield until... something caught his eye—movement in a shadowed alleyway. A small figure huddled against the stone wall, barely visible through the smoke. As he drew closer, he realized it was a little girl, trembling and clutching a tattered stuffed bunny to her chest. Tears streaked her dirty cheeks as she cried silently.
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Kamari extinguished the flames from his hands and approached slowly, but the moment she saw him—her eyes widened. His clothes and face were soaked in goblin blood—morphing his warm smile into a malicious grin. The little girl shrank back, pressing herself into the wall as if trying to disappear.
Sensing her obvious terror, Kamari quickly stepped back. His body ignited in a soft, controlled burst of yellow flames, and the fire licked across his skin, burning away the goblin's blood instantly. The flames dimmed, and he knelt before her with a gentle smile.
"Hey there— it’s okay. I won't hurt you."
The little girl stared at him, her eyes red with tears. She clutched her stuffed rabbit tighter—turning her knuckles white as she shivered.
"What's your name?"
For a moment, the girl didn’t answer. Then, in a shaky whisper, she said...
"N-Nala."
Kamari’s smile widened.
"Nala? That’s a beautiful name."
His eyes then drifted to the stuffed rabbit in her arms, its small face stained with blood.
"And what about your friend? What's his name?"
Nala slowly lifted the rabbit and showed him its face.
"Bun Bun."
"Bun Bun, huh? That’s a strong name. You did a great job keeping Bun Bun safe. Now, I'll do the rest. Hold onto him, okay?"
Nala nodded, still clutching Bun Bun tightly.
Kamari scooped her up into his arms, his movements gentle as he held her close.
"I’m going to get you out of here, Nala. I promise."
Nala buried her face in his chest as he stepped out from the alleyway. His crimson eyes scanned the burning village before he began making his way back to the portal in the town square. Each step he took was considered—careful not to jostle the terrified girl in his arms.
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The chaos in the village had already begun to fade. Stormfront continued to eliminate the small number of remaining creatures. Jermaine’s lightning cut through the sky like a blade, Nia’s energy arrows streaked with precision, and Malik’s blades left burning trails through the last of the goblins. The Rift had been closed, the threat was neutralized, and the village was now secured—and it was all done in less than ten minutes.
But victory came with a heavy cost. The village lay in ruins, homes reduced to charred skeletons, the streets littered with corpses and ash. Kamari’s expression darkened as he looked around. Even though they had won, the scars of the battle remained.
A few minutes later, Kamari reached the town square. The swirling portal still stood at its center—its blue and white light a stark contrast to the now ashen landscape. In front of it, a small group of villagers huddled together. They were covered in soot—their faces streaked with dirt and tears. They clung to one another. Their eyes were wide—their breaths... shaky.
A woman broke free from the group as Kamari approached. Her eyes were locked on the little girl in his arms as a cry tore from her throat.
"Nala!"
The little girl's head jerked up from Kamari’s chest, and her small face lit up.
"Mommy!"
She wriggled in his arms, causing him to set her down on the ground gently. She ran into her mother's arms, and they held each other tightly, tears streaming down their faces.
The mother sobbed, looking up at Kamari.
"Thank you! Thank you for saving my sweet girl!"
Kamari scratched the back of his head and smiled.
"There's no need to thank me. I’m just happy I could help."
Byron approached them from behind—calm, as he surveyed the group of survivors. Then, he signaled to the portal.
“It’s time."
Nala’s mother held her close as they made their way toward the portal—still thanking Kamari with each step. He gave her one last polite nod before stepping back, watching as Byron and Nia directed the villagers.
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About half an hour later, the village was crowded with members of the Seraphim's Search and Rescue Division. They moved quickly, sifting through the wreckage for any signs of life. Their lightweight IronSilk armor shimmered in the sunlight, the bright gold and white colors marking them as a beacon of hope amidst the desolation. Some carried large bags filled with supplies, while others had utility belts packed with potions, medical tools, and devices designed to aid in the search.
A temporary base of operations had been set up in the middle of the town square, where the few survivors that had been found were receiving immediate treatment. The area bustled with activity. Healers knelt beside the wounded, their hands glowing white with restorative magic, while others administered potions to those barely clinging to life.
Stormfront was scattered among them, assisting in the search. Jermaine hovered over the remains of a collapsed building, and without moving a muscle, large chunks of stone and timber lifted into the air, floating effortlessly to the side. But it was not merely telekinesis. It was more intrinsic—as if the objects themselves bent to his will.
Leon worked nearby. Where others might have needed to dig, he simply commanded the air to clear the way. He funneled the debris into neat piles, his eyes scanning for anything beneath the layers of destruction.
He called out to Jermaine.
"How's it looking on your side?"
Jermaine kicked a small piece of wood, sending it tumbling down the street.
"Same as yours. Not good. These poor people— they didn’t stand a chance."
Leon's eyes lingered on the charred remains of the once-thriving village—a truly heartbreaking sight with not a single building remaining standing. He crouched down and gently moved a smaller piece of debris with his hand. Beneath it rested a shattered doll, its face stained with soot. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing, choosing to simply place the doll aside with care.
Nia's voice echoed in their heads.
"Keep searching. We need to be thorough."
Jermaine wiped the sweat from his brow, though he wasn’t physically exerted.
“Thorough? What’s left to be thorough with?”
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Kamari strained as he lifted a collapsed wooden roof. He heaved it aside, revealing two villagers huddled beneath it. Their faces were covered with dirt and blood. Members of the Search and Rescue Division rushed forward immediately, nodding their thanks to Kamari as they set to work helping the survivors.
He stood there for a moment—watching. His fists clenched, and yellow flames flared around them. The sight of the helpless survivors stirred something deep in him—anger, frustration, and something more. It irked him that they had to endure this kind of pain, that they had been forced to witness their village burn and crumble. His fists burned hotter.
Suddenly, a burst of electricity snapped him from his thoughts. Eli had appeared beside him, crackling with raw energy.
"Woah, easy there, Red."
He patted Kamari on the shoulder.
Kamari exhaled slowly, and the flames died down a bit. His eyes lingered on the villagers as they were led away, still shaking—their faces pale.
"I just— look at them, Eli. They didn’t deserve this."
Eli’s gaze followed Kamari’s.
"None of them did. But we did what we could."
"No. We should’ve gotten here sooner. Maybe then more people would’ve survived."
Eli sighed, resting his hand on Kamari’s shoulder.
"Look, Red, I get it. I do. But you have to be realistic. We can’t be everywhere at once, and these Rifts are opening faster than we can close them. As much as it sucks, we won’t save every village."
"That's not good enough. It shouldn’t be like this."
He walked off without another word. The devastation around him had briefly pulled him back into memories he had long tried to bury. The smell of burning wood and ash, the blood-stained dirt pathways, the crumbled homes—they reminded him of a time when he, too, had been too powerless to save what mattered.
His chest tightened as the old wound threatened to reopen. He clenched his jaw, his footsteps quickening as he put distance between himself and Eli. It did not matter what anyone else said—this mission was a failure. His fingers flexed at his sides as he tried to quell the burning anger that was slowly rising within him.