Thud! Slash! Arghhh!
Barely five months had passed since the Aurafall descended upon humanity, turning the sky crimson and branding souls with power. Now, blood splashed mid-air, a grotesque mockery of the rain that birthed this new era.
Roars mingled with desperate yells, the clash of steel echoing as swords swung in deadly arcs. Gasps, both of furious exertion and of dying breaths, filled the air.
Across every continent, every land that had received the crimson mark, the same brutal simplicity had taken hold: kill the enemy, defend your loved ones, become the victor.
It was war... the first Aura War and it was merciless.
Across the ravaged landscape, the terrifying potential of the Ascendants was on full, brutal display. In the scorched plains of what was once the Sahara, a man twisted and contorted, his flesh and bone reshaping, distending, reforming into a nightmarish mythical beast – a grotesque chimera of scales and claws and razor teeth – tearing apart his attackers with savage, merciless strength.
In the choked streets of a ruined metropolis, another Ascendant, eyes blazing with crimson light, controlled the very element of fire with brutal artistry, conjuring walls of flame that incinerated everything in their path, burning his enemies alive in searing, agonizing flames, their screams brief and terrible.
Elsewhere, a woman moved with impossible speed, a blur of motion, her fists shattering stone as if it were glass, her movements too fast for the eye to track. The powers were raw, untamed, and wielded with the desperate, primal fury of newly crowned gods.
But not all who fought did so for power...
Aira ran through the heart of the conflict that had erupted across Earth. She moved with deadly grace, her dark robe a blur against the carnage, leaving only faint trails on the blood-soaked ground.
She didn't hesitate to kill anyone who attacked her, her blade flashing with lethal efficiency. Her violet eyes, usually so calm, were cold and efficient as she sliced through lives, though a subtle grimace, a barely perceptible tightening of her jaw, betrayed her inner turmoil. She was not happy with what was happening.
Barely five months! That's all it had taken. Five months since the Aurafall descended upon humanity, and already, Aira was beginning to believe she and Etah had made a terrible, irreversible mistake.
She watched one Ascendant crush a man's skull with a laugh—so proud of his power, so ignorant of its origin. Humanity always reached too far. Like infants given fire.
Humanity blessed with the abnormality?
That was a tragically ironic question.
Humans shouldn't know more than what they already knew; they should only discover knowledge little by little, cautiously, with proper guidance.
Humanity is like a toddling child—curious, reckless, and utterly unfit to wield fire. If possible we shouldn't seek knowledge and just leave things the way we found it without being too inquisitive.
Humans should explore, yes, but not beyond their grasp, not into realms of power they couldn't comprehend or control.
'Humanity...'–Aira realized with bitter clarity, watching the wanton destruction, 'could not be trusted with anything, most especially absolute power'.
They merely used it to tear each other and seek more of that power.
Aira had her own reasons for unleashing this power upon humanity– a desperate, ancient attempt to perhaps, protect humanity from future, unseen threats. She and Ethan had armed humanity with the power to protect themselves.
Looks like humanity had it own plans. Its own pathetic, predictable desires. Each individual, each nascent faction, each nation wanted to be the one in control of the power. To be the greatest, strongest, supreme.
Classic humans....
They could never be satisfied. Never!
Slash!
Aira's sword, a blade of obsidian darkness that seemed to drink the light, sliced through a man's chest with effortless, almost casual precision.
He crumbled to the blood-soaked ground, a ragged gasp for his final breaths escaping his lips before he fell silent, his wide, unseening eyes fixed on the smoked-choked sky.
She didn't even glance at him. Her momentum unbroken.
****
She finally reached her destination: a simple, weathered hut on the western side of Africa, its mud brick walls scarred by stray aetherial blasts. Even here, miles from the main battlefronts, the war had bled. Lifeless bodies, contorted in their final agonies, lay scattered around the small dwelling.
These were "The Riot People", she thought with grim distaste. The war was highly dominated by the Ascendants...who seemed overpowered compared to the confused, relentless Dormants.
Only Vassals were blessed with superhuman abilities, the normal Ascendants just thrive with enhanced body actions– agility, strength and aura cultivation.
Ascendants used their newfound abilities to selfishly give themselves the title "strongest beings". Not satisfied with the titles, they use every opportunity to torment the Dormants.
Dormants hadn't yet awakened their abilities—if they even had any. Even the so-called 'Contractors' didn't truly understand what their roles entailed.
Dormants still proved relentless and are keen on starting an uprising anytime soon.
'The Riot People'–mostly the Ascendants..the opportunistic scavengers and minor Ascendants thugs who thrived on the chaos, preying on the weak. Their powers had been crude, thier ambitions vast, and their lives, now, very short.
Aira immediately rushed into the hut.
A horrifying tableau unfolded before her. A man, his face contorted by a mixture of menace and murderous rage. His eyes was burning with cruelty and sheer wickedness.
He stood looming over a terrified couple, who clutched a small boy, their faces pale with despair, their pleas choked by fear.
The man's sword, a crude, bloodstained thing, dripped crimson liquid on the earthen floor, raised high ready to strike.
Aira moved with impossible speed, a blur of motion that defied human perception. Her own blade, a shimmering streak of black, intercepted the descending sword in a shower of sparks that illuminated the dusty hut.
With a single, fluid bend of her wrist and a subtle turn of her body, she disarmed the attacker, sending his weapon clattering to the floor. Before he could even register what had happened, her blade flickered.
He crashed to the ground lifelessly, a small, dark stain spreading beneath him, his eyes staring blankly at the hut's thatched ceiling, the menace in them quickly fading into nothing.
She was already used to this. This was her tenth time living this life, her tenth time seeing this exact scene, this specific tragedy.
She had witnessed this moment, this war, this desperate, doomed struggle, nine times before, and she knew there were still more to come, more cycles to endure.
You could call it Rebirth or Regress..
For that reason.....
Slash!
Before the horrified couple, still frozen in terror and disbelief, could even react or utter a sound, Aira's sword flashed again. They gasped, their eyes widening in final, desperate comprehension, and died instantly, thier bodies collapsing to the floor in a heap.
Why she had killed them? The question might scream in the mind of others, but for Aira, the answer was cold and logical. Perhaps they were merely hindering her from achieving her true, paramount goal.
If they remembered, if they warned others... everything would unravel. The war would repeat, not end.
Aira wasn't actually the only Rebirther or Regressor, though they might have known each other in the past nine lives as enemies or allies. Their plans are best known to themselves, without sharing. They were few Rebirthers, with their knowledge could change the balance of the world.
Stopping the war amongst humanity, the pitiful squabble for power, wasn't her primary objective. Her mission best known to her, was far grander and more terrifying: to stop a war that was coming to humanity, a war far greater and more terrible than this pathetic, bloody squabble, a war that would consume all realms if left unchecked. These sacrifices were necessary. More bloodshed are still to come.
This was the tenth time she had seen this boy, this particular child, at this specific moment.
"Who could have figured I would be saving you the tenth time, Leo," she hissed, her voice a mixture of weariness, grim determination, and something softer, almost fond.
She gently scooped up the toddler, cradling him against her chest, his small, warm body a stark contrast to the cold steel of her blade.
Though she was clearly angered by the war, by humanity's predictable folly, a flicker of profound tenderness softened her rare, violet eyes as she looked down at the boy's innocent face.
Despite the chaos and death surrounding them, despite her own endless weariness and the colossal weight of her purpose, she felt a profound, almost primal connection to him.
She loved him, in some strange, cyclical way, a love forged through countless repetitions, and she would definitely do anything for him.
In life three, he'd died in her arms, whispering that he was ready. In life seven, he had begged her not to come. In the recent past life, he had made a promise to be the one to protect.
"Welcome back, Leo."