Blaze stood amidst the carnage, his presence as imposing as the destruction he had wrought. At 190 centimeters tall, he cut an intimidating figure, his broad shoulders and muscular build only adding to the aura of raw power that surrounded him. His skin was a rich, deep ebony, contrasting sharply with the burning reddish orange of his eyes—eyes that glowed with a fierce intensity, like embers smoldering in the depths of a furnace. Those eyes were sharp, piercing, and unyielding, a reflection of the unrelenting force of will that drove him forward.
His face was partially obscured by a dark, cloth mask that wrapped around the lower half of his face, leaving only his intense gaze and the sharp lines of his jaw visible. The mask, along with the rest of his attire, gave him an air of mystery and danger. His short, tightly coiled hair was cropped close to his scalp, emphasizing the chiseled features of his face. Despite the darkness of his attire, his skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, a testament to the battle he had just endured.
Draped across his broad shoulders was a cloak of deep crimson, the edges of which fluttered slightly in the lingering heat of the flames he had ignited. The intricate embroidery on his cloak and armor depicted ancient symbols and patterns, each one a reminder of his heritage and the power he wielded. His armor was as much a part of him as his own skin, a combination of black and dark gold that gleamed dully in the flickering light, adorned with the same arcane symbols that seemed to pulse with latent energy.
But it was the weapon in his hand that drew the eye. Blaze’s scimitar was an extension of his very being, a blade of impossibly sharp metal that curved wickedly, designed for swift, lethal strikes. The edge of the blade shimmered with residual heat, a lingering testament to the flames that Blaze could summon at will. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, worn but well-maintained, with a pommel shaped like a roaring flame, as if the very essence of fire had been captured and forged into the weapon.
Around Blaze, the remains of ten Breachers lay strewn across the ground, each one a twisted, nightmarish creature of flesh and horror. One was a bloated, arachnid monstrosity, its legs thick and bristling with barbed spikes. Another was an unholy fusion of man and serpent, its upper torso vaguely human while its lower half was a writhing mass of scales. A particularly large Breacher had once been dragon-like, with thick, armored scales and a maw filled with serrated teeth, but now it lay broken and lifeless, its eyes dull.
One of the creatures, a grotesque hybrid of humanoid and beast, let out a feeble groan, its twisted form still clinging to life. Blaze’s expression was unreadable behind his mask, but his actions spoke volumes. With a swift, almost casual motion, he brought his scimitar down, silencing the creature’s last pitiful sound. He dragged its corpse to the growing mound of Breacher bodies, his movements efficient and unburdened by the grimness of the task. Then, with a simple scrape of his scimitar against the rough hide of one of the creatures, he ignited a flame that quickly consumed the pile in a roaring inferno.
As the flames roared behind him, a group of girls—tattered, bruised, and battered—approached him cautiously. Their expressions were a mixture of fear, relief, and gratitude. They thanked him, their voices trembling as they expressed their thanks for his intervention.
Blaze barely acknowledged them. His eyes, still burning with that unyielding intensity, flicked toward them briefly before he shrugged off their gratitude with a gruff, "Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it." It wasn’t humility or modesty—Blaze simply saw this as what he was meant to do. This was his path, one step closer to his ultimate goal.
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With a fluid motion, he sheathed his scimitar across his back and shoved his hands into his pockets. But behind his calm exterior, a storm brewed. Blaze was angry. Angry at the Academy, angry at his so-called destiny, and especially angry at Reikou. Reikou, the man who had insisted that Blaze join the Academy, had been a thorn in his side for as long as he could remember. Blaze didn’t just dislike Reikou—he loathed him. He saw Reikou as a symbol of everything wrong with the Zaurelias Empire, a figure who stood in his way, a reminder of the chains that still bound him.
But Blaze had plans. Big plans. And those plans included tearing down the Zaurelias Empire, piece by piece. He was determined that, when the time came, Reikou would be one of the first to fall. The Academy and everyone in it were merely stepping stones on his path to ultimate power. Blaze didn’t just want to defeat Reikou—he wanted to destroy everything the man represented. And when that day came, Blaze would be the one standing over the ashes.
As these thoughts swirled in his mind, Blaze noticed a small figure standing off to the side. He turned to see a young boy, perhaps eleven or twelve, with piercing black eyes and pale skin. The boy’s black hair fell over his forehead in messy strands, and he wore a long, dark coat that hung loosely over his thin frame. In his arms, he cradled a black cat, holding it like one might carry a handbag. The cat’s eyes were just as dark and inscrutable as the boy’s, and it watched Blaze with a calm, almost eerie stillness.
The boy, Azrael, looked up at Blaze with an expression of admiration. "You could’ve been gentler with the girls," Azrael said in a soft, clear voice. "And we should probably help them get home."
Blaze scowled, his eyes narrowing. "They can find their own way home," he grumbled, clearly not in the mood for a lecture. "I’m not a damn babysitter."
But Azrael, undeterred by Blaze’s gruffness, simply looked at the girls and then back at Blaze, his expression unwavering. "We should lead them home," he insisted, his tone firm but gentle. "We have enough time."
Blaze let out an exasperated sigh, his hands clenching and unclenching as he considered arguing further. But something in the boy’s calm demeanor, perhaps mixed with the exhaustion of the battle, made him relent. "Fine," he snapped, turning sharply to face the girls, who were watching the exchange with wide, anxious eyes. "Follow me, and don’t ask any questions," he barked, his voice leaving no room for disagreement.
The girls, frightened but obedient, quickly fell into line behind him. Blaze muttered under his breath, glancing sideways at Azrael as they began to walk. "Happy now?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his words as he clicked his tongue in irritation.
Azrael simply nodded, his expression serene as he cradled the black cat in his arms. The cat let out a soft meow, and Azrael smiled faintly. "Thank you, Blaze," he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.
Blaze grunted, shaking his head as they ventured forth, leading the lost girls back to their homes. This was just another step on his path—a path that would ultimately lead to the destruction of the Zaurelias Empire. He would grow stronger, and when the time came, nothing would stand in his way. Not Reikou, not the Academy, and certainly not the Empire that had forced this life upon him.
With the flames of the burning Breachers fading behind them, Blaze and Azrael continued onward, the echoes of future battles already whispering in the shadows. The journey was far from over, but for now, their path was clear, and their resolve was stronger than ever.
Ending Arc 1: Genesis.