A dark shadow fell over East Delta.
The once vibrant financial district, home to one of the largest subsidiaries of the Aureon Group, now lay silent. Roads were blocked, buildings sealed. No news reporters were allowed in. No emergency responders were seen. Only whispers passed through the streets—about strange black-armored men who walked in silence, clearing out floors without firing a single shot.
At the 53rd floor of the central tower, smoke curled upward through a gaping hole in the wall. Inside, bodies lay still, unconscious but breathing—victims of a rare pressure technique that crushed the will without killing the flesh.
Zed was on his knees.
Blood trickled from his lips. His once regal white suit was torn, stained, burned. His aura, though vast, now flickered like a candle in the wind.
And across from him stood the man responsible.
Black robes. Pale eyes. A curved sword that pulsed with dark spiritual energy.
"You," Zed muttered, coughing, "are not from this world."
The masked man tilted his head. "I'm from the world your Master abandoned."
Zed's eyes sharpened. "You know him?"
The man chuckled. "I don't just know him. I was created because of him."
---
Fifteen Years Ago – Shadow Research Facility, Sector 9
Project Null: A child designed with one goal—to kill the Unseen Master.
They had no name, no face, no memories. They were fed pain, trained with death, and given one mission: "If he awakens… end him."
But the project failed. The child escaped.
Until now.
---
Zed spat on the floor and pulled himself up slowly. "So this is it? You use forbidden techniques, come crawling out of the dark, and think you can challenge us?"
"I don't need to challenge all of you," the masked man said. "Only you. One at a time."
Zed's aura flared. "You think you're the first assassin I've faced? You're nothing. I was born in the abyss. Trained by gods. Refined by the Master you hate."
The masked man moved.
In a flash, he appeared behind Zed—silent, deadly, absolute.
But Zed was ready.
He spun, palm igniting in golden flame. He struck upward, sending shockwaves through the room. Windows shattered. The very steel of the building groaned.
Yet—he missed.
The masked man was gone again.
Then came the blade.
Slicing through air, brushing Zed's cheek.
Barely a warning.
But it was enough.
Zed dropped to one knee, gasping, sweat running like rain.
"You're… beyond Grandmaster level…"
"No," the masked figure whispered. "I'm the evolution of Grandmaster."
---
Just then—
The atmosphere shifted.
Like gravity folded inward.
The glass in the room trembled. The smoke curled backward. And both combatants turned at the same time.
A figure stood at the entrance of the floor, cloaked in an old black coat, hands in his pockets.
Sanda.
Laga.
He stepped forward slowly, each step echoing louder than the last.
The masked man's breath caught. Zed's eyes widened with both relief and awe.
"You—" the assassin whispered.
"You were doing so well," Laga said quietly, "until you touched one of mine."
"You're early," the masked man replied, clutching his blade. "I thought you'd hide longer."
"I don't hide," Laga said. "I wait."
---
The assassin lunged.
Laga moved.
No one saw what happened.
One moment the assassin was mid-air—blade out, aura erupting—the next, he was on the ground, face-down, unmoving.
Zed blinked.
He hadn't seen Laga lift a finger.
Just pressure.
Pure, crushing pressure.
The kind only someone at the peak of every known cultivation level could exert.
And yet—it wasn't even close to his real power.
---
Zed stood weakly. "Master… I—"
"Rest," Laga said gently, helping him up. "You've done enough."
Zed hesitated. "They're hunting us now, aren't they?"
"They started today," Laga replied. "But I've been ready since yesterday."
---
Later that night, Mara stood in the underground war room again. This time, a live feed played of East Delta being cleaned up—masked workers restoring the site, deleting evidence, protecting the name of the company.
Laga sat across from her, eyes closed.
"They've drawn first blood," she said.
"No," he replied softly. "They've dug their own graves."
Mara looked up. "What's next?"
Laga didn't answer.
He simply stood, walked to a locked vault at the far end of the room, and opened it.
Inside were seven weapons.
Seven artifacts.
Each sealed for over a decade.
He selected the first one—a small stone ring with a glowing blue core.
"This belongs to Kai," he said. "It's time we bring the brothers back."
Mara's pulse quickened.
"You mean—"
Laga nodded.
"Awaken the Hidden Seven."