The sun hung low over the desert horizon, casting long shadows over the towering glass facade of the Middle Eastern Headquarters of Hex. A fortress of power, control, and corruption, it stood undisturbed amidst the dunes for years—until today.
Arata stood before the entrance, his gaze fixed on the building as if contemplating what lay within. He didn’t need to transform into his Ringmaster Angel form, not yet. That would come later, if necessary. Today, he was here for one purpose: to bring this house of lies to its knees, brick by brick, without revealing his full power.
With a calm breath, he stepped forward.
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Inside the HQ, employees bustled about, oblivious to the threat that had just crossed their threshold. Some were stationed at their desks, working away on encrypted files. Others were preparing to leave for the day, packing their bags and chatting about their weekend plans.
It was a scene of normalcy—until Arata made his move.
The front doors shattered inward with a single push, sending shards of glass cascading across the polished floors like a waterfall. The guards at the security checkpoint jolted, their hands reaching for their weapons, but Arata’s presence froze them in place.
Without a word, Arata swept forward, his eyes cold and calculated. The guards barely had time to register his approach before they were thrown backwards, their bodies slamming into walls and consoles with brutal force. They crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain but alive. He wasn't here to kill everyone, only those who deserved it.
An alarm blared, echoing through the hallways, but Arata was already in motion, cutting through the HQ like a knife through butter. More guards rushed toward him, shouting commands, their weapons raised. But it didn’t matter. Arata sidestepped their gunfire with ease, deflecting bullets as though they were no more than drops of rain. His movements were fluid, efficient—a storm contained within a human body.
One by one, the guards fell. Those foolish enough to get close were sent flying with a flick of Arata’s wrist, their bodies cratering the walls and floors. He moved through the corridors, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Yet he did not break his stride, his pace steady, his expression unreadable.
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Outside, at the bus stop near the HQ, The Queen sat on a bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Beside her stood Butter and Cheese, both keeping a careful watch on the chaos unfolding within the building.
The Queen’s gaze flickered toward the entrance, where frightened employees had begun to spill out, running for their lives. Some were innocent, caught in the crossfire of a world they didn’t fully understand. Others, however, were guilty. They had lined their pockets with blood money, turned a blind eye to suffering, and now they were running, hoping to escape judgment.
“Cheese,” The Queen’s voice was soft but commanding.
Cheese nodded. Without a word, he darted forward, his movements quick and precise. He approached the first group of fleeing employees, a mix of innocent and guilty, and began guiding the innocent to safety. His usual playful energy was replaced with a grim focus, his eyes scanning each person, sorting them with a glance. The innocent were hurried away, while the guilty—those who reeked of past sins—were left behind, their fate sealed.
Butter stood ready, her eyes flicking between the Queen and the employees.
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“Now,” The Queen murmured, her gaze locking onto the guilty.
The temperature dropped suddenly, a biting chill sweeping across the area. The Queen’s power was subtle but undeniable. As she rose to her feet, the guilty employees froze in place, their breath turning to mist in the cold air. One by one, they began to choke, their hands clawing at their throats as their bodies convulsed. Ice crystals spread across their skin, and within moments, they collapsed, lifeless, their bodies encased in frost.
Butter moved quickly, leading the innocent employees to safety, her movements swift and efficient. There was no hesitation in her steps—she knew who deserved to live and who didn’t. The Queen had made that clear.
“It’s done,” Butter said quietly as she returned to the bus stop.
The Queen nodded, her expression unchanged. “We wait.”
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Inside the HQ, chaos reigned. Arata had cut through the lower levels with brutal efficiency, leaving security teams in disarray. Panic spread among the employees as they realized the extent of the threat inside their walls.
But Arata wasn’t done. He stepped into a large open atrium, the central hub of the building, where dozens of employees and guards had gathered, hoping to stop him. They formed a line, blocking his path, their weapons drawn, but their fear was palpable.
One of the guards, braver than the rest, stepped forward, raising his weapon. “Surrender now!” he shouted, though his voice trembled.
Arata didn’t respond. Instead, he extended a hand, his fingers curling into a fist. The air around him seemed to ripple, and in an instant, the line of guards was thrown backwards, their bodies crashing into walls and windows with bone-crunching force. The atrium itself seemed to groan under the weight of Arata’s power as cracks spiderwebbed across the floor and ceiling.
The remaining employees, those who weren’t guilty of Hex’s sins, scrambled to escape, fleeing toward the exits. Arata let them go. They weren’t his target.
But there were others—hidden among the fleeing masses—who weren’t so lucky. Their guilt weighed them down, making them easy to spot. Arata’s gaze fixed on them, his eyes narrowing. With a single thought, he pulled them toward him, their bodies yanked through the air as though caught by invisible strings. They slammed into the ground at his feet, gasping in terror.
“You should have run faster,” Arata said coldly, his voice barely a whisper.
He didn’t need to lift a finger—the building itself seemed to respond to his will. The floor beneath the guilty employees shifted and cracked, and within seconds, they were swallowed by the earth itself, their screams cut short as the ground sealed above them.
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At the bus stop, the Queen felt a subtle shift in the air. She smiled faintly. Arata was close to his goal.
“Prepare yourselves,” she said softly to Butter and Cheese. “This is only the beginning.”
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Arata reached the upper levels of the HQ, where the offices of the most important Hex officials were located. The hallways were eerily quiet now, most of the employees having either fled or been taken out in the earlier chaos.
He paused before a set of grand double doors, intricately carved and guarded by two remaining Hex officers. They were different from the others—trained, focused, and determined not to let him pass.
They didn’t stand a chance.
Arata barely glanced at them before they were flung aside, crashing into the walls with enough force to leave dents. He pushed the doors open without hesitation, stepping into the final room of his assault.
Inside, Mohammad Usman, the commander of the Middle Eastern HQ, sat at a large mahogany desk, surrounded by three women who stood at attention, their eyes trained on Arata with unwavering focus.
Usman looked up from his papers, confusion flashing across his face for a brief moment before it was replaced by cold, calculating anger.
“Who are you?” Usman demanded, his voice sharp. He clearly hadn’t expected this attack, and the surprise worked to Arata’s advantage.
Arata said nothing, his eyes scanning the room. The women were poised to defend Usman at any moment, but there was no fear in them, only discipline. They had clearly been trained for moments like this.
But that wouldn’t save them.
The tension in the room was thick, the air practically humming with the anticipation of violence. Arata took a single step forward, his presence alone enough to send a chill down the spine of even the most hardened soldier.
The time for reckoning had come.