In Solstice City, the tension in Anita’s room was palpable. Henry leaned in, kissing her as he always did, but this time his hands wandered further. Anita pushed him away firmly.
“I told you, no,” she said, her voice sharp and unwavering.
Henry frowned, frustration flashing in his eyes. “Why do you keep doing this? Melanthius is as good as dead anyway,” he muttered, leaning in again.
Anita stood abruptly, her patience finally snapping. “You know what? Get out. This whole thing is over.”
Henry’s face twisted with anger as he got to his feet. “You dumb bitch,” he snarled. “Did you forget I know your little secret?”
Anita crossed her arms and stared him down. “I don’t care. Tell everyone,” she fired back, her tone defiant.
Henry growled, his voice dropping to a mocking sneer. “So, I should call your father? Andhraka Liu—King of the Napia Empire?”
Anita froze for a moment, her jaw tightening. But then, to Henry’s surprise, she smiled. “If it’ll stop this growing loneliness,” she said softly, “then call whoever you want.”
Henry’s composure shattered, and with a roar of rage, he swung his fist toward her. But before he could connect, a muffled sound came from the closet. Both of them turned, startled.
The door creaked open, and out stepped Caius, his face cold and unreadable. His piercing green eyes were unblinking, his expression devoid of emotion. He casually rubbed a hand through his green hair, the silence in the room thickening.
Caius didn’t say a word—he never did—but his presence spoke volumes. His glare locked onto Henry, and in that moment, it was clear: Caius meant business.
Caius snapped his fingers, a simple gesture that somehow radiated authority. Anita ran to him, tears streaming down her face, and without hesitation, she threw her arms around him. Though the two had never exchanged more than a few words, in that moment, it didn’t matter—anyone who saved her deserved her gratitude. Caius stood firm, placing a protective arm in front of her, shielding her from harm.
Henry’s face contorted with rage, his fury boiling over. “So many bastards—Melanthius, that Taurus freak, and now this green-haired punk?! Does everyone want a piece of me, the senior?! What the hell is this?!”
Unable to contain himself, Henry charged forward, his fist cocked back for a wild punch. But Caius was faster. With a sharp, calculated movement, he leapt into the air, delivering a devastating flying knee. As he ascended, his shapeshifting magic activated, and his leg transformed into the powerful, striped limb of a zebra. The impact sent Henry hurtling across the room, slamming into the wall with a sickening thud, leaving a deep crack in the plaster.
Caius landed gracefully, his expression as stoic as ever, as though the move had taken no effort at all.
At that moment, Caius remembered the first time he spoke to Mel.
Flashback
“I don’t have a family,” Caius finally muttered, his voice rough but steady.
Mel froze, his eyes widening. “Of course you have a family—”
“I ate my parents,” Caius interrupted, his tone flat, empty. “I don’t deserve to live. I should’ve warned you about the knights. But I was going to confront them, let them kill me… put me out of my misery.”
Mel looked down, his fists loosening. “So, you were planning to just run away from your problems?” he asked, his voice sharp with frustration. “That’s not what a real man does.”
Caius growled, his eyes flashing. “You’re lecturing me about running away? Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing by staying here?” He stepped closer, his words hitting like a hammer. “You’re hiding from your problems at school, aren’t you?”
Mel’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening. Caius had struck a nerve, and they both knew it.
“You’re right, I am hiding,” Mel admitted, a bittersweet smile spreading across his face despite the trickle of blood from Caius’s earlier blow. “I thought I didn’t have a family, but I was wrong.” He looked up, his gaze steady. “The Atlanteans, Lance, Elowen, Dorian, King and Queen Aldara, and Rue—they’re my family now. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re all part of that too.”
A single tear slipped down Mel’s cheek, a testament to the bond he had found.
Present
Caius stood with his hands in his pockets, his sharp green eyes piercing through Henry like daggers. Henry, bloodied and clutching his face, stumbled back. “You bastards are dead!” he spat, his voice shaking with rage. “Once my buddies from my kingdom come back, you’ll all go down! Murder!” He breathed heavily, the words dripping with desperation.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the Auroria Dominion, Lucy stood amidst a circle of seven unconscious bodies sprawled across the dirt. Her brass knuckles gleamed, smeared with blood. She wiped them casually, her breath steady despite the carnage around her.
Logan’s voice crackled over the phone in her hand. “You’re done already?” he teased.
Lucy smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Mel promised me a sparring match if I came and did this for him.” Her tone was light, almost playful, but the cold steel in her eyes betrayed her focus.
She slung her jacket over her shoulder and glanced at the bodies one last time. “Seven of them. Not bad for a warm-up,” she muttered, before heading toward her next destination, leaving behind a scene of absolute destruction.
In Anita’s room, Henry panted heavily, his chest heaving as the reality of his situation sank in—his friends weren’t coming. Desperation painted his face as he staggered forward. “Wait, wait, please! I didn’t do anything wrong!” he pleaded, his voice cracking.
Caius didn’t spare him a glance. He simply took Anita’s hand, guiding her toward the exit with quiet determination.
Henry’s panic morphed into rage. With a growl, he pulled a knife from his pocket and lunged at Caius, his movements wild and uncoordinated.
But before the blade could come close, Anita stepped in. Her hand snapped out, seizing his wrist in a vice-like grip. With fluid precision, she twisted his arm and used his momentum against him, flipping him onto the floor with a flawless aikido technique. The sound of his body hitting the ground was followed by a sickening crack as she broke his arm.
“Enough,” she said, her voice calm but resolute, her eyes cold and unwavering.
Henry howled in pain, clutching his limp arm as tears of frustration and agony streamed down his face. Anita didn’t spare him another glance. She straightened her posture, took Caius’s hand again, and the two walked out, leaving Henry writhing on the floor, his screams echoing behind them.
Epilogue
The sun rose over Auroria Dominion, casting its golden light on a world forever changed.
At Arcanum Royal Institute, the halls buzzed with energy. Students filled the cafeteria, their chatter and laughter creating a symphony of life. At one table, Anita sat beside Caius, her expression a mixture of relief and trepidation. Across from her, Henry’s face was taut with barely contained rage, though he refused to meet Caius’s piercing gaze.
Caius leaned back in his chair, his sharp green eyes fixed on Henry. The tension was palpable. Finally, Henry broke, his shoulders slumping as he muttered something unintelligible before slinking away, his presence deflated.
Anita stood up, drawing the attention of everyone at the table. “I want to apologize,” she began, her voice steady but soft. “For everything. For how I acted, for letting Henry manipulate me. He had something on me, and I thought I had no choice but to listen to him. But I was wrong. I’m so sorry… especially for getting Mel in trouble.” Her eyes darted around, seeking understanding.
Elowen tilted her head, studying Anita with a calm expression. “We get it,” she said, her voice steady. “You were in a tough spot. But next time, don’t let someone like him push you around. You’ve got us now.”
Anita nodded, a faint smile gracing her lips as a sense of belonging began to take root in her heart.
Far away from the lively halls of the school, the Punarean Kingdom was unrecognizable. Its streets, once bustling with activity, were now eerily silent. The buildings stood empty, their windows shattered and walls covered in dust. It was a ghost town. Rumors spread like wildfire about the sudden disappearance of King Nathan, his whereabouts unknown. Some claimed he had fled in disgrace; others whispered of a far more sinister fate.
The kingdom’s collapse was swift and absolute. Without its tyrannical leader and corrupted knights, the people fled, leaving behind only echoes of a once-thriving land.
In a nearby village, families gathered in celebration. Melanthius had returned the caged women to their homes, reuniting mothers, sisters, and daughters with those who had thought them lost forever. Tears of joy streamed down faces as loved ones embraced, their gratitude pouring out in heartfelt thanks.
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Mel stood at the edge of the village, his fox mask tucked under one arm. A small girl ran up to him, her face radiant as she offered him a flower. He knelt down, accepting the gift with a warm smile. “Thank you,” he said softly, placing the flower in his pocket.
Behind him, the village chief approached, bowing deeply. “We owe you more than words can express. You’ve given us our lives back.”
Mel waved it off with a humble shake of his head. “Just take care of each other. That’s all I ask.”
As he turned to leave, he glanced back one last time at the joyous scene. A small smile played on his lips as he whispered, “This is what it’s all about.”
Back at Arcanum, Anita sat up straighter in her chair, her hands fidgeting nervously. “Are you sure you’re not angry with me?” she asked softly, her gaze shifting between Rue and the others.
Rue leaned back, a smirk playing on her lips. “Angry? There’s literally no reason to be. Chill, Anita.”
Anita sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I’ve caused so much trouble,” she murmured, guilt weighing heavily in her tone.
Before anyone could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air. “Well, you should apologize… for my fingernails,” Mel said, suddenly appearing behind Anita and draping an arm casually around her shoulders. His mischievous grin was infectious.
The table erupted in cheers and laughter, the tension melting away in an instant.
“Mel! You’re back!” Elowen exclaimed, leaping up to hug him tightly. Relief and joy lit up her face.
Mel chuckled, returning the embrace. “Yeah, I’m back.”
Elowen pulled back just enough to fix him with a stern glare. “Don’t run away again, got it?” she scolded, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her true feelings.
“Got it,” Mel said with a mock salute, his grin widening as the table buzzed with chatter and excitement. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.
From that day forward, Henry vanished without a trace, leaving no sign of his whereabouts or intentions. His name quickly faded into whispers, becoming nothing more than a ghostly memory at Arcanum.
Later, Mel found himself sitting in Shenelle’s—also known as Baba Yaga’s—sentient house, Klaus. The room seemed alive, with the walls subtly shifting as if they were breathing. Across from him, Shenelle stared in disbelief before spitting her wine directly into his face.
"How in the world did you manage to reunite the Steel Pact?!" she demanded, flicking a gust of wind that dried his face instantly.
Mel casually wiped his face, unbothered by the chaos. "Honestly, they did most of the work themselves," he replied with a shrug.
Shenelle leaned back with a heavy sigh, rubbing her temples. "It’s better that I didn’t face them. I wouldn’t know what to do if they saw me. As far as they’re concerned, Merlin was trained by Baba Yaga—but they don’t know what I look like. And it’s best it stays that way."
She fixed Mel with a sharp glare. "But seriously, what possessed you to disband an entire kingdom?!"
Before Mel could respond, Shenelle lunged forward, wrapping him in a chokehold like a furious older sister. He flailed under her grip, coughing dramatically.
"This is exactly why your father is dead to me!" she scolded, tightening her hold for emphasis.
She finally released him, and Mel clutched his throat, coughing slightly but still managing to compose himself.
"I’ve got a lead," he began, his voice rough but steady. "The kingdom I dismantled was operating under the Lust Kingdom’s influence. They were trafficking women to them." His expression darkened, the weight of the revelation evident.
Shenelle’s eyes narrowed as she listened, her usual sharp demeanor shifting into something more serious.
"A man named Silas captured me," Mel continued. "He tortured me—wanted to break me. But the bastard slipped up. He told me about the nine members of the Magisterium."
He paused for a moment before listing the names, each one rolling off his tongue like a curse: "Silver Cross, Franky Arbutus, Aubrey Primrose, Gail Kelpis, Christopher Hatch, Howard Pegas, Axel Candlelight, Emmett Fingerling, Judas Olive."
Shenelle’s brow furrowed as she processed the names. "The Magisterium," she muttered, her tone laced with both intrigue and concern. "If they’re involved, this just got a hell of a lot bigger."
Meanwhile, in the Lust Kingdom—one of the infamous Seven Deadly Kingdoms—a realm bathed in decadence and sin, the air was thick with an intoxicating blend of perfumes and temptation. The streets shimmered with an unnatural glow, illuminated by crimson and gold lanterns, casting seductive shadows on the decadent facades of towering structures.
The kingdom was a living embodiment of indulgence, with its opulent halls, velvet drapes, and mosaics depicting figures in provocative poses. Music floated through the air, a melody that promised pleasure but carried an underlying tone of corruption. Its citizens, adorned in luxurious silks and jewelry, seemed to walk a fine line between elegance and depravity, their every gesture calculated to entice or manipulate.
At its core, the Lust Kingdom thrived on the exploitation of desire, weaving a web of allure and control that ensnared anyone foolish enough to enter its borders unguarded. Its rulers were masters of temptation, their power rooted in their ability to manipulate both the body and the soul, bending others to their will without lifting a finger.
In a dimly lit club pulsing with energy, the music thundered through the air, vibrating every surface and filling the space with its relentless beat. Men and women moved with practiced grace, their bodies swaying seductively under the flickering neon lights. The dancers weren’t merely performing; they were working, each movement a calculated effort to captivate and earn, as money flowed freely from those entranced by the spectacle. The atmosphere was a hypnotic blend of rhythm, allure, and transactions, where every glance and gesture carried a price.
The former King of Atlantis, Maren, sat in the shadowed corner of the club, his face obscured by the hood of a weathered hoodie. The dim light glinted off the faint scales marking his face, remnants of his Atlantean lineage. He swirled a drink lazily in his hand, his gaze distant.
"I'm in the Kingdom of Lust," he muttered under his breath, narrating his frustrations to no one but himself. "Looking for answers." He took a slow sip, his lips curling in disdain. "All I’ve found so far are naked women, strip clubs, and the stench of cheap perfume and desperation."
He leaned back against the worn leather booth and downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp. "Where the hell is this Michelangelo?" he grumbled, his voice low and filled with irritation.
As if summoned by the scent of his frustration, two women sauntered over, their smiles as practiced as their movements.
"You wanna dance, handsome?" one purred, her hand trailing across his shoulder as the other leaned in, brushing against him.
Maren didn't even flinch, his icy stare cutting through them. "Not from your bony ass," he dismissed bluntly, his tone as sharp as a blade.
The women exchanged annoyed glances, their charm dropping in an instant. Clicking their tongues in frustration, they strutted away, leaving Maren unbothered as he leaned forward, eyes scanning the hazy room for his elusive target.
On a remote island, far removed from any kingdom’s reach, stood a massive house camouflaged by the lush forest. Its design made it almost indistinguishable from the surrounding greenery, yet the imposing structure hinted at the presence of someone powerful. Three knights approached cautiously: Andrion, the Elegant Killer, Hawkin, the Soulless Swift, and Nicolas, the Angel from Hell. Their bodies bore fresh reminders of their recent encounter with Melanthius—deep scars and blackened scorch marks etched into their skin like battle trophies.
“This is it,” Nicolas muttered as they trudged forward. “Goldman’s Gate should be here.”
Hawkin let out a raspy cough, spitting to the side. “I hate nature,” he grumbled. “Kicked out of Slesan, wandering through godforsaken forests, and now we’re here—begging work from the Renaissance King himself. Michelangelo. Everyone thinks he’s dead, and we’ve fought the bastard more times than I can count. Now we’re supposed to work for him? What a joke.”
They reached the towering door, its golden trim glinting faintly through the overgrowth. Andrion rapped sharply, and before they could even lower their hands, the door creaked open. Michelangelo loomed in the entryway, his massive frame clad in loose, luxurious attire that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. His hands were adorned with gold rings, and a mischievous grin revealed a pattern of golden teeth interspersed with white.
“Well, well, well!” Michelangelo boomed, his golden eyes lighting up with mock delight. “If it isn’t my little buddies! You look like hell.” He let out a deep, rumbling laugh and motioned for them to enter.
The knights exchanged uneasy glances before stepping inside. The house’s interior dazzled with gold—walls, furniture, even the smallest details like picture frames and candlesticks gleamed with opulence. It was as if the entire structure were a shrine to wealth.
Michelangelo sauntered over to a heavily cushioned chair, his bulk causing it to creak slightly as he sat. The chair, like everything else, shimmered with gold. He picked up a crystal goblet filled with a sparkling golden liquid, swirling it lazily.
“I heard you got your asses handed to you by my former protégé,” he drawled, his tone a mix of amusement and scorn. “To be honest, if he’d lost, I might’ve come out of hiding just to beat his ass myself. You know, for old times’ sake.” He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink.
The three knights stood stiffly, their eyes scanning the room. Andrion’s gaze lingered on the excessive golden décor. Hawkin’s lip curled as if the opulence offended him. Nicolas, ever composed, simply nodded.
“Everything’s gold in here,” Andrion muttered under his breath.
Michelangelo caught the comment and grinned, his golden teeth glinting in the light. “Gold’s more than a color, my friend. It’s power. And here? Power rules.”
With a sharp snap of his fingers, a golden shimmer rippled across his skin. From his very body, liquid gold began to flow, pooling and taking shape. The molten form shifted and solidified into the figure of a woman, faceless and unnervingly smooth, as if sculpted from pure gold. She moved with fluid grace, her metallic body catching the dim light of the room.
Michelangelo held out his glass without a word. The golden figure glided forward, extending a gleaming hand to pour a golden liquid into his goblet. As soon as she finished, her body melted seamlessly back into liquid and flowed into Michelangelo’s skin like a river returning to its source.
He took a slow, deliberate sip, the gold drink leaving a faint shimmer on his lips. With a swipe of his tongue, he licked the remaining droplets from his mustache and leaned forward, his gaze locking onto the knights.
“Let’s cut the shit,” he said, his tone sharp but casual. He swirled his glass lazily, the golden liquid catching the light. “You want to join Goldman’s Gate, don’t you? Well, congratulations—you’re in.”
He paused to take another sip, exhaling a faint golden mist with his breath. “Of course, I’ll be training you again. Can’t have dead weight on my team.” He smirked, a glint of nostalgia and menace in his eyes.
“We’re a business—a high-end one. We help people find artifacts, dig up information, and, on occasion, provide security. Call it mercenary work with a touch of class.” He leaned back, gesturing to the gilded room around him. “Right now, though, it’s just the four of us. A small crew, but with the right training…” He let the thought linger, his smile widening.
Michelangelo sighed deeply, the faintest trace of gold in his exhalation. “This is a fresh start. Don’t screw it up.”