Elsewhere, the Radiant Day Parade had begun — streets gleaming with gold streamers, laughter, and music. Smiles painted every face as people celebrated the 87th Anniversary of the Divine Goddesses, The Radaint Goddess-Empress, — and The Nine Matriarchs who had safeguarded humanity through generations.
On the sidelines, Niero's mother, Emmy Ripley, watched in quiet awe in this year's march. Filled with holographic displays across the city, magic performance, a lot of floats and balloons, and the Mega Ark-City 01's sanctioned Sororitae marched — a march of celebrity-level magical girl agents who kept the city safe, radiant and formidable, their banners shimmering with mana light. Beside her, Sophie and Daisy, her daughters clapped in excitement, eyes wide with admiration, shouting to each other on the famous Sororitae they can identify.
Yet amid the joy, Emmy's gaze drifted — searching the crowd, the side streets, the faces. "Where's Niero? He's been gone too long," she murmured, worry creeping into her tone.
"He's probably fine," her sister — Niero's Aunt Alura — assured with a casual wave, smiling while drinking her hidden bourbon from her alcohol flash. "You know him, Em. He's a big boy. Probably just fussing over his clothes cuz of that brat threw that milkshake at him. Yikes."
But Emmy's smile didn't return. She pressed a hand to her heart, that mother's intuition whispering unease.
"I just… have a bad feeling," she said softly, the laughter of the crowd drowning her voice as somewhere far away.
-
=====<<<<<[ @ @ @ ]>>>>>=====
-
Meanwhile, within the sealed confines of the back alley, the air shimmered faintly — the invisible veil of the D-Blockade humming like static.
Agent Takeshi Armitage stood amid the smoking ruins of the battlefield, his breath misting in the cold, acrid air. The last Orkoid had dissolved into a wisp of ash, leaving only silence and the acrid scent of scorched metal. Beside him, the third Black Cube — the anchor of the Breachpoint — pulsed faintly, fractured and unstable, its residual mana humming like a wounded beast.
His M.A.R.S. Suit whirred softly, the servo-motors relaxing as its output gradually normalized. Moments ago, it had tripled his strength and reflexes, turning his already precise swordsmanship into a storm of steel and blood. Every movement had been amplified, every strike devastating.
Around him lay the aftermath: four Rank-E Orkoids Orcs, scattered and broken, their crude weapons melted, their ichor steaming on the rain-slicked pavement. The destruction was absolute, efficient — the result of years of training, cutting-edge augmentation, and cold calculation.
Now, all that remained was the Singularity Anchor floating black cube. Takeshi's eyes narrowed. With a fluid, lethal motion, he activated the high-frequency vibrations of his katana. The M.A.R.S. suit's artificial muscles surged in perfect synchronization, enhancing his strike with unstoppable force. The blade met the cube, and in an instant, the Singularity Anchor shattered. The energy lattice disintegrating into nothing as the pulse of mana collapsed inward, leaving behind only silence and the faint echo of a world momentarily unmade.
Takeshi slid his katana back into its sheath, the metallic click echoing sharply in the silence. The electric hum running through his combat suit subsided, and with it the furious rhythm of battle. Where moments ago roars and steel clashed, now only a hollow stillness remained—broken bodies cooling on cracked asphalt, the stench of iron thick in the air.
He alone stood upright among the wreckage—
the man who had carved precision out of chaos.
Takeshi exhaled slowly, but there was no relief in it. His fingers coiled tighter around the hilt, joints trembling not from exertion but from the harsh, unyielding awareness that the fight was far from over. Victory tasted like ash.
But yet, something was wrong, like a prickling sensation crawled along the back of his neck.
His eyes swept the ground, scanning through the carnage for possible details he could have missed, until something halted him. A row footprint embedded in the asphalt leading somewhere else—deep enough to fracture the concrete, heavy enough to dwarf anything the fallen Orcs could have left.
Takeshi crouched, letting gloved fingertips trace the cratered outline.
Broad. Powerful. Inhuman.
Something worse than 4 Rank-E Orc Orkoids.
"…A higher variant?" he murmured with interest.
His visor chimed, HUD flaring to life in violent red. Possibly threat: Orc Berserker (Orkoid Sub-variant). Threat rank: Rank D or above. Probability of threat: extreme.
Then—
BOOM.
A tremor rolled through the alleyway behind him, rattling glass and sending loose dust cascading from shattered windows. Another followed—louder, rhythmic, like a monstrous heartbeat punching through the underground. Each pulse struck the air like a war drum.
Takeshi's jaw set, eyes narrowing to a predatory edge.
"So that's where you ran off to…"
He rose in a single smooth motion, the weight of imminent danger sharpening every muscle. Without hesitation, he drew his blade again, steel singing like a promise.
And he sprinted toward the echoing detonations—
unaware that ahead, just beyond the twisting maze-like corridor, a bloodbath was taken between man and beast.
-
=====<<<<<[ @ @ @ ]>>>>>=====
-
Niero's breaths came in ragged, staccato gasps, each exhale shaking through the mangled wreckage of his body. His left leg throbbed with a fire that lanced through bone and muscle, the splintered fragments jutting beneath torn, blood-slicked flesh.
Crimson pooled around him, spreading across the cracked asphalt in slow, mocking waves. Pain should have pinned him, should have screamed stop, yet adrenaline and the sharp, bitter edge of anger blunted every nerve, forcing him forward—crawling, inch by agonizing inch, toward the battered Sedan looming like a fragile island in the chaos.
He pressed himself against the cold, dented metal for cover, wincing as he forced his gaze upward. The nightmare was still alive. Orc Orkoid—hulking, monstrous, a creature he had stabbed, poisoned, and shattered—still stood. Its massive shoulders heaved in uneven breaths, the left hand a twisted, useless claw where his dagger had severed fingers. Green skin's red blood seeped from deep gashes, the blackened, festering marks along its neck and back a silent testament to the poison coursing within. One arm crippled, half its face scorched, yet still radiating pure, unrelenting rage.
Its growls were no longer sound; they were a living, vibrating threat, reverberating through the air around him. The stone club it gripped dripped a grotesque mixture of blood and dust as it raised the weapon again, eyes burning with feral intent that no wound seemed capable of quelling. Even its shattered lower spine, ruined by his relentless strikes, should have brought it to its knees—but instead, it radiated killing intent as if its very will alone sustained its monstrous form.
Niero's jaw clenched until his teeth ached. "…How…?" he muttered through gritted teeth, disbelief and fury mixing into a bitter tang in his mouth, witnessing the green-skinned beast is not yet dead after all that injuries.
Shock clawed at him, but there was no time for despair. He scanned his surroundings desperately, grasping at whatever remnants of weaponry he could find, knuckles white, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap. The fight was far from over—and this time, the creature would not fall easily.
Vuldyr's voice cut sharply into Niero's foggy thoughts, a razor edge of worry threaded with exasperation.
> "Niero! Your HP is at twenty one points! You're bleeding with multiple critical injuries! If you stay there, that crippled Orc will finish you before your next breath!" Her mechanical halo spun faster, throwing fragments of light across the alley as her sensors flickered red, tracking the tremors in his vitals like a hawk circling prey.
Pain lanced through Niero's ribs and legs, each movement a fresh knife twisting in muscle and bone, but he lifted his head anyway, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
"How many HP does he have left?" His voice was cracked, hoarse, but there was a reckless glint in his eyes.
Vuldyr's digital face display twisted into a grimace, equal parts incredulity and frustration. The soft hum of her systems faltered for a moment, a barely perceptible whirr of despair.
Niero clenched his jaw, the metallic taste of blood thick in his mouth. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like molten fire, sharpening every sense, numbing most of the pain.
"I need to know…" he muttered, voice low and jagged, "if I can take it down before it kills me."
His eyes darted toward the hulking green silhouette still looming in the ruins of the alley—muscles rippling beneath scarred, knotted skin, the very air around it seeming heavier, darker. Every instinct screamed retreat, yet every fiber of his being burned to stand and fight, to see if sheer grit could tip the scales against impossible odds.
Vuldyr's halo dimmed, her voice softer this time, almost pleading, yet layered with an undercurrent of digital steel.
> "Niero… please. Don't make me watch you—"
The Orc let out a guttural roar, stepping forward, each footfall splintering the cracked stones beneath.
And in that moment, pain and fear coiled tightly in Niero's chest—but so did resolve.
Vuldyr let out a long, exasperated sigh, her mechanical halo flickering with digital static as she activated the [Appraisal] function to scan the hulking Orc. Streams of data cascaded in Niero's HUD: HP: 19/150.
> "The poison's wearing off. Its HP is critically low… but Niero," she said sharply, her voice cutting through static, "you are not in any condition to fight. You're at 21 out of 100—one misstep and you're dead."
Niero barely flinched, leaning against the car for cover, blood seeping through his torn jacket. "How much more EXP until Level 11?" he asked casually.
> Vuldyr's circuits whirred in horror. "Halfway—but… are you seriously thing about this while about to get crushed by a nine-foot death machine?" Her voice trembled, equal parts exasperation and disbelief. "It's crippled, yes—but you are still in no shape to finish it off!"
What nearly made Vuldyr short-circuit wasn't the danger—it was Niero's calm, almost gleeful expression. No panic. No retreat. Just a reckless, almost romantic gamble with death itself. He knew if he killed the Orc, his Level 11-up would trigger instantly… if he survived.
> "You're probably the dumbest, suicidal person I've ever met," Vuldyr muttered, half in disbelief, half in genuine worry.
Niero smirked beneath his blood-stained balaclava.
"Aunt Alura always said that sometimes in life… you make your own luck."
> "AND NOW YOU TAKE LIFE LESSONS FROM YOUR DRUNKARD, GAMBLING AUNT?!" Vuldyr shouted, voice shrill with indignation.
With that, he gripped his newly acquired [ElectroMagnum], the cold metallic weight familiar in his hands, and aimed at the Orc from behind the crumpled sedan. His eyes glinted with determination, adrenaline, and that insane spark of luck he always seemed to gamble with.
The Orc—massive, jagged, and dripping with raw fury—scrambled across the alley, each movement shaking the cracked pavement beneath its clawed feet. It roared, a sound that seemed to rattle the very walls around them, and seized a nearby car as if it were a child's toy. With a guttural roar, it hurled the vehicle toward Niero's cover. Metal shrieked and glass exploded into glittering shards midair, catching the dim streetlights in a sinister, chaotic dance.
Pain lanced through Niero's side, but it was drowned in the surge of adrenaline that spiked his veins. His injured right leg protested, screaming with every weight shift—but instinct overrode agony. With a grunt, he vaulted sideways, twisting midair, and narrowly escaped the crushing impact. Concrete cracked and splintered where he had been moments before, the ground erupting in a cloud of dust and jagged glass that rained down around him.
He landed hard on his right side, rolling to absorb the impact. Every muscle screamed in protest, yet he barely paused. His fingers closed around the [ElectroMagnum], steady despite the blood streaking down his arm. Time seemed to stretch in the split second as he aimed, heart hammering like a war drum.
The first shot roared—a metallic, piercing scream. The bullet tore through the Orc's right eye with a wet, echoing crack. Its skull reverberated with the impact, a spray of red blood marking the wall behind.
Before it could stagger fully, the second shot slammed into its right shoulder. The recoil sent a jolt through Niero's arm, burning his grip—but the damage was undeniable. The Orc's arm dangled uselessly, its thrashings growing wilder, more desperate.
A violent flash of crimson numbers erupted above the beast: [HP: 10 / 150].
Its roar was no longer just rage—it was pure, bone-shaking agony. The alley quivered under the force of its fury, the air itself vibrating with the monstrous frustration of a creature brought to the brink.
> "Niero!" Vuldyr's voice cut sharply through the chaos, tremors of both awe and terror threading his words. "Its HP is critically low… but you—you're still at 21 HP! If it hits you once more… it's over!"
Blood dripped into Niero's eyes, stinging, but he blinked it away. A grin curled beneath his balaclava, sharp and dangerous. Fingers tightening on the [ElectroMagnum], he took a steadying breath, each heartbeat measured, controlled.
"Just a little more…" he muttered, the words barely audible over the Orc's guttural shrieks. "Let's finish this."
Cornered and gasping for breath, Niero's chest heaving, he watched the Orc lunge with feral intent. Its jagged tusks glinted under the flickering alley lights, maw gaping wide, muscles coiled for the kill. The air smelled of iron and decay, thick with the creature's raw fury. Its left, fingerless arm twisted at an unnatural angle as it propelled its massive body forward, claws scraping the concrete in a sickening screech. Every heartbeat screamed danger.
> "Jump, Niero! NOW!" Vuldyr's voice rang sharp in his mind, urgent and commanding.
It pierced through the fog of pain and fear clouding his thoughts. Niero's gaze darted, calculating the impossible. Without hesitation, he slammed what remained of his strength into his right leg, ignoring the protest of his shattered left. Pain lanced through him like molten steel, but there was no time to dwell on it.
His body lurched upward in a ragged arc born of pure survival instinct. He barely cleared the towering Orc—its teeth clashed shut beneath him with a sickening crunch, shredding concrete like brittle bone. A violent eruption of dust and shattered stone blasted through the alley, pelting the walls as the roar of impact tore through the air.
Niero crashed onto the roof of a parked car, spine-first. The metal crumpled under him with a tortured scream, the windows detonating outward in a rain of glittering shards. Pain jolted up his back like an electric spike. For half a second, he tasted blood in his mouth—and relief poisoned with dread. This wasn't over. Not even close.
The Orc skidded, twisted, and came around with feral determination. Nothing elegant—just raw, rabid violence. It lunged again, tearing through debris, foam-flecked lips peeling back over yellow fangs. Niero staggered upright, hopping on his one good leg, balance wavering. Every step felt like broken glass grinding through muscle, but he kept moving, because stopping meant dying.
He saw an opening—barely a heartbeat wide.
He threw himself upward, dodging the beast's grasp by inches. His body spun clumsily through the air, landing hard across the creature's massive back. His hands dug into its tangled dreadlocks with white-knuckled desperation. The coarse hair tore against his fingers, skin splitting, but he didn't let go. Adrenaline and raw terror fused into something primal—something feral.
The creature writhed violently, thrashing with bone-cracking force, smashing against walls and dumpsters alike. The alley became a warzone of splintering wood, scattering trash, and deafening rage. Niero's knuckles whitened as he clung on, dagger poised, scanning for any exposed sinew, vein, or tender patch of skin he could exploit.
> "Your HP is critical, Niero! One more hit from that thing and it's over!" Vuldyr's voice carried a note of panic now, fear tinged with awe, like watching a storm wrestle against a cliffside.
Niero ignored the pain, the exhaustion, the screams of every nerve in his body. Gritting his teeth until taste of blood filled his mouth, he murmured, "Just… one more push… I can end this now."
His right hand dug into the Orc's dreadlocks, anchoring him to the writhing beast, while his left arm—clutching the [Goblin's Dagger] he swapped with the now empty [ElectroMagnum]. The world contracted to the rhythm of his heartbeat and the Orc's desperate, enraged thrashes.
Every second stretched into an eternity. Every movement mattered. And in that suspended instant between life and death, Niero prepared to deliver the final, decisive assault.
The Orc bellowed, a raw, primal scream that rattled the concrete walls of the parking lot. It thrashed like a tempest incarnate, smashing into twisted cars and splintering concrete pillars, each impact reverberating like a deafening drumbeat. Metal groaned, glass shattered, and sparks erupted in jagged showers as the monster rolled and bucked, a whirlwind of muscle and rage. Its clawed hands scraped the ground, leaving grooves in the asphalt as it tried to fling the human clinging to its back like a ragdoll.
Niero gritted his teeth, one arm locked around the thick, matted dreadlocks of the Orc, the other hand clutching the [Goblin's Dagger]. Its blade gleamed with an eerie green sheen, venom dripping like liquid fire. Each collision sent shockwaves through his body, jolting his battered frame and making his HUD scream crimson warnings:
[HP: 21 → 17 → 13 → 9]
The numbers fell like a countdown to oblivion, each blink of red slicing deeper into his vision.
"Damn it—Vuldyr!" he hissed through bloodied teeth, coughing in hot, bitter spurts. "Fabricate… more rounds! ElectroMagnum—ANYTHING!!"
> "I'm trying!" Vuldyr's voice crackled through the comm, sharp and strained. "The Omnia Sand is processing—it'll take nearly a full minute to synthesize just six rounds!"
"A minute—" Niero spat the word, his chest heaving, blood mingling with sweat, "—is too damn long!"
The Orc's roar split the air again. It leapt and twisted with maddening agility, a chaotic pendulum of rage and destruction. Niero's world swirled; concrete walls became streaks of gray and fire, the asphalt a trembling blur beneath him. Every nerve screamed, every heartbeat thundered like a war drum in his skull, reverberating through every bone and muscle.
> "Niero!" Vuldyr's voice cut through the storm. "You're fading! If you fall, it's over!"
"Not yet…" Niero rasped, breath ragged and shallow, lungs burning with exertion. His grip tightened on the dagger, knuckles whitening, dreadlocks biting into his fingers. "Not until one of us is dead…"
His entire body screamed in agony—bones fractured, flesh bruised, blood dripping down his temple—but Niero's eyes burned with the manic resolve of someone who refused to die cowering in the dirt. Every heartbeat thudded like a hammer against his ribcage, each inhale a razor slicing through lungs battered by pain. Below him, the Orc writhed violently, its roar shaking the rubble-strewn ground like a collapsing thundercloud. The stench of sweat, smoke, and raw fury clung to the air, suffocating yet invigorating.
"SCREW IT!!!" he growled through clenched teeth, his left hand digging into the Orc's filthy dreadlocks as if trying to anchor himself to life itself. "I'm gotta use my trump card!!"
His right hand trembled violently, nerves screaming under the weight of pain and adrenaline. Fingers twitching, shaking, almost refusing to obey, he forced his palm forward, the energy within him coiling like a living thing.
"[ Skill: Nova Bolt ]!"
A surge of azure light exploded from his palm, crackling with a ferocity that split the air with a miniature thunderclap. The blast struck the back of the Orc's skull, searing hair and flesh alike. The creature howled in anguish, stumbling forward, its HP gauge dropping by –3 points as the acrid stench of charred meat filled the air.
Niero's HUD flared red again—
[HP: 9 → 8]
—the feedback from the backlash making his fractured hand scream in protest, trembling violently. Every nerve felt like it was being pulled through fire.
Energy surged through him again, wild and untamed, arcs of blue lightning sparking and snapping along his arm. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to stop, but he pushed further, firing again and again.
"NOVA BOLT!"
"NOVA BOLT!"
"NOVA BOLT!"
"NOVA BOLT!"
"NOVA BOLT!"
The air around him shimmered, warped, and split under the force of his strikes—each blast brighter, louder, and faster than the last. His EP bled away at a terrifying pace; sweat and blood streaked down his face, but he refused to stop.
The Orc thrashed helplessly, muscles bulging beneath blistering hide, steam hissing from its half-melted scalp. Its guttural bellows collapsed into broken, animalistic screams as charred flesh tore free, raining down in a nauseating, sizzling shower.
> "You're tearing yourself apart!" Vuldyr's voice ripped through the chaos, raw with panic. "Let it go, Niero! You'll die before that thing does!"
"Not yet," he spat, voice raw, ragged, soaked with fury. "Not until. This. Bastard. IS. DEAD!!!!"
Energy surged again—wild, unstable, and lethal. Arcs of electric-blue energy coiled around his arm like serpents hungry for blood.
He roared the command.
"NOVA BOLT!"
Then another.
Each blast strobed brighter than the one before, the recoil knifing through his bones. His EP gauge nosedived with every strike, and his body trembled on the brink of collapse—held together by rage alone.
The Orc thrashed violently beneath him, its screams degrading into guttural, desperate bellows. Steam hissed from its melting scalp, chunks of charred flesh raining down in grotesque motes.
His body convulsed from the backlash of his own attacks, with every blast tearing into his right arm, nerves on fire with every strike. HP dropped rapidly—8 → 5 → 2—and still he pushed on, eyes wild with unrelenting rage. The Orc's HP bar flickered violently—7 → 5 → 3 → 2 → 1…
Niero's scream split the air—not of pain. No, this was something darker, rawer—a scream of unfiltered rage that clawed out of his chest:
"JUST—FUCKING—DIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!!!"
A final, earth-shattering Nova Bolt erupted from his palm, a brilliant, blinding cascade of azure lightning and searing heat. The Orc's massive skull exploded in a grotesque spectacle of red blood, bone fragments, green skin, and arcs of pure blue energy. Its convulsions shuddered through the rubble, and then the monstrous body collapsed like a fallen mountain, silence reclaiming the battlefield.
Silence pressed against the battlefield like a physical weight.
Niero, panting and trembling, clung to its charred back for a heartbeat longer. His HUD flickered erratically—
[ HP: 2 / 100 ]
—edges of vision dimming, the world swaying around him. Pain still screamed through his body, but adrenaline and dulled senses allowed him to endure, like fire smothered beneath ice.
Niero collapsed fully onto the ground beside the Orc's corpse, chest heaving, sweat and ash coating him. A shaky grin crept across his battered face.
He slid from the corpse onto the rubble, with every breath ragged and shallow.
"Fuuuuck meee…" he groaned in pain, every bone in his body screaming, blood pouring from his flattened left leg, energy completely drained.
He turned his head to check if the Orc was truly dead. It was—its skull crushed, leaving only a searing handprint on the shoulder where its head used to be.
A weak, ragged chuckle escaped him. Finally… he'd killed something that could have killed him.
"Heh… heh… fuck you, you… green…"
Before he could finish the insult, a calm, heavy fatigue washed over him.
His eyelids began to droop, slow and relentless.
> "Niero, your vitals—!"
Before Vuldyr could finish, the HUD flared brilliant gold.
> [ TARGET ELIMINATED ]
> [ +EXP GAINED ]
> [ LEVEL UP! ]
> Lv 10 → 11
In an instant, the agony evaporated. His shattered hand mended, torn muscle reformed, and blood evaporated into faint, golden motes drifting into the air.
At that moment, Niero's eyes snapped open, and he drew in a sharp, ragged breath, as if rising from the dead.
Confusion clouded his mind, but as his gaze swept over his surroundings—and landed on the Orc's lifeless body beside him—a grin slowly curved his lips.
"Finally…" he muttered, his voice hoarse but triumphant. "…I win."
-
Niero lay sprawled across the cracked asphalt, chest rising in ragged rhythm, staring blankly at the sky through the waving veil where the D-Blockade shimmered faintly above him. The echoes of the fight lingered in his body like phantom pain — the dull throb of his fractured arm, the faint burn of energy overload still dancing through his veins. Every nerve screamed at him for his recklessness.
He exhaled shakily, realizing how close he had come to dying.
"Damn…" he muttered with a dry laugh, tasting the iron of his own blood. "I'm alive… but that still hurt."
From the fading veil of light beside him, Vuldyr manifested — her human form materializing in a shimmer of particles: a petite girl, clad in a sleek bodysuit woven with luminous digital grids, her mechanical halo flickering above her head. Her asymmetrical hair fluttered slightly as she stomped toward him, anger and worry painted across her face. She crossed her arms, fury and worry fighting for dominance on her face.
> "You utter, irredeemable MORON!" she screamed, launching herself to his side. "You had TWENTY-ONE HP LEFT!! TWENTY-ONE!!! Do you even comprehend how terrifyingly close that abomination was to turning your skull into a fruit salad?! Has the pain and adrenaline nuked your IQ straight into negative infinity?!"
Niero blinked up at her, still catching his breath. "Maybe…" he wheezed with a crooked grin. "Maybe I bit off a *little* more than I could chew."
> "*A LITTLE?!*"
Her voice cracked with relief even as she scolded him.
Niero couldn't help but chuckle, the sound weak but genuine. "Its either me being hospitalized and bedridden until I can slowly level up by grinding through rigorous exercise, or I can risk myself to level up quickly but potentially getting killed."
The fight was over.
The Orc was dead.
He had survived—barely.
Before he could rise, a sudden shock surged through his chest — like his heart had been struck by lightning. His breath hitched-sharp, and his vision blurred for a moment. His pulse thundered in his ears as an invisible force gripped his heart. He winced and grabbed his chest, eyes wide. "VULDYR! W-what the hell—?"
> Vuldyr dropped to her knees, panic flashing in her digital eyes, placing a glowing hand on his chest. But then she paused, scanning his vitals—her alarm turning into awe. "It's not a heart attack… it's happening—your Ascension!"
Golden light erupted from Niero's chest, spreading through his veins like liquid sunlight. The fractured ground around him hummed, symbols forming beneath his body as the air shimmered with unknown resonance.
> "GASP! You're crossing into the second phase of the Mortal Realm," Vuldyr said softly, her tone shifting from anger to reverence. "The Convergence Phase. Your energy, body, and soul are slowly aligning—you've officially stepped beyond human limits."
Niero could feel it—power, heat, and something ancient coursing through him. The burning subsided into a deep warmth, like his entire being was reforged in light. When it finally faded, he opened his trembling hand and summoned his HUD.
His system window burst open before his eyes:
-----
[ STARGOD SYSTEM: LEVEL UP! ]
> Ascension Realm: 1st Realm – Mortal Realm
> Ascension Phase: Phase 1: Awakening → Phase 2: Convergence
> Ascension Level: 10 → 11
> + Stat Points +3
> + Perk Roll +1
> + Trait Roll +1
> + Aspect of Trinity: Mind
> + ACTIVATE: [Instant Recovery]
> + ACTIVATE: [Trait (Origin): What Doesn't Kill You... (Passive)] Converting 2% of injuries, ailments, physical trauma, and near-death experiences into EXP, permanent stat boosts, and increased resistance.
-----
He stared at the holographic window, breathless. "So this… is what Ascending feels like."
> Vuldyr let out a long, exhausted sigh and sat beside him. "You're lucky, you know that? If sheer stupidity were a stat, you'd have maxed it out already."
Niero laughed quietly, the golden motes around him slowly fading. "Yeah… but it worked."
As the surge faded, he exhaled deeply, feeling his wounds slowly knitting together — though the ache of his battered body reminded him this victory had a cost.
-
Their [Mini-Map] flickered to life which made both Neiro and Vuldyr flinched — a pulsing red blip darting across the grid, closing fast from the nearby alleyway.
> "We've got incoming," Vuldyr said sharply, her serious tone cutting through the static of adrenaline. "We need to book it, right now. Head for the D-Blockade veil wall. I'll open a breach. This time. YOU. FOLLOW. MY. LEAD. Got it?"
"Yeah, yeah…" Niero groaned, clutching his non-existent injured ribs forced himself upright. "Besides, I've had enough being a Orc's pinata for one day."
> "Good." Excalimed by Vuldyr. "Follow me then"
The smell of burnt ozone and oil still lingered in the air. Around them, the flickering streetlights reflected off shattered glass and twisted metal — the aftermath of their clash. As they prepared to leave, the body of the slain Berserker Orkoid convulsed one final time before collapsing completely. Its hide shimmered with faint light, then — with a wet, metallic hiss — several items burst free from its wounds, scattering across the blood-slick car park.
Without hesitation, Vuldyr extended her hand. A luminous ring pulsed at her wrist as she activated her [Inventory]. The loot shimmered midair before dissolving into motes of light, pulled into storage with practiced precision.
-
> [ Loot Acquired: ]
> 2× [Berserker Orkoid's Tusk (Rank D)]
> 1× [Hollow Gem (Rank D)]
> 5× [Hollow Gem (Rank F)]
> 52× [Omnia Sand]
> 3× [Lootcube]
-
Niero exhaled, leaning against a crumpled car door. "You and your magpie instincts…"
Vuldyr responded with a smirk. Her attention was already on the flickering boundary ahead — the faint shimmer of the D-Blockade that separated this artificial zone from the waking world. She traced a sigil through the air, and the veil split apart with a low, harmonic chime. The edges of the rift rippled like molten glass.
> "Move," she said, stepping through the breach.
The two vanished just as the echo of distant alarms began to fill the maze-like back alley — sirens wailing, car horns blaring — a chaotic symphony marking the aftermath of their brief incursion. Within seconds, the breach sealed shut, leaving behind only the fading hum of spent energy and the smell of ozone.
-
=====
-
Minutes later, Agent Takeshi Armitage of Section 13 arrived at the scene — what used to be a quiet intersection was now a warzone, drowned in the hiss of ruptured pipes and the faint crackle of cooling metal.
The aftermath was pure chaos: scorched cars lined the street, asphalt split open like fractured glass, and in the center lay a massive orc corpse, twisted into a grotesque husk of charred flesh and shattered bone.
Takeshi stepped over a fallen streetlamp, the crunch of glass and bone echoing beneath his boots. The air was heavy — a choking blend of burnt rubber, ozone, and blood.
He scanned the destruction: overturned vehicles, four buildings gouged by a single impact trail, and at its terminus, the corpse of the orc — half its skull gone, the lower body snapped like a broken marionette.
"Damn... whatever did this wasn't human."
Crouching beside the carcass, Takeshi brushed a gloved hand across the cracked pavement. A faint shimmer of blue residue clung to his fingertips — trace energy discharge. Something had fried the creature mid-attack. High output. Possibly overkill.
Then, a glint caught his attention beneath a slab of concrete. He knelt down beside a puddle of dried blood, brushed aside the debris, and revealed a small keychain — an acrylic trinket shaped like an cartoon orange cat with a cupcake for a body. It was absurdly cheerful amid the carnage.
He turned it over. The back read:
"Maison Bella Café."
For a long moment, he stared at it. The glossy acrylic reflected his tired eyes — dark, sunken, and quietly suspicious.
"Huh. Long way from home, aren't ya?" he muttered.
Engines rumbled in the distance. Moments later, the rest of Section 13's Response Team arrived — Agents Janette Sanchez, Agent Fes Grayfeng, and Agent Lyra Mari — emerging from armored vehicles, scanners and drones already humming to life.
"Agent Armitage!" Janette called, jogging up beside him. "Perimeter's secured. All three Singularity Anchors — the black cubes — are neutralized. The spawned entities are confirmed down. Surviving members of the Church of Abyss are restrained and awaiting transfer."
Takeshi rose, slipping the keychain into his coat pocket before anyone could notice.
"Three Anchors?" he muttered, flicking dust from his sleeves like it could erase the memory. "Sanchez and I tore through one—Rank-F Fleshangel Thralls. Then I smashed four Rank-E Orkoid Orcs without breaking a sweat. From the comms, you and Mari took the third—Rank-F Derelict Husk. But… that ambush. The black cube—the Singularity Anchor—shattered into four pieces and scattered in all directions. So… tell me this—what the hell happened to the fourth?"
Agent Grayfeng adjusted his visor, voice steady and clinical. "I managed to one location with spacial distrotion, a possible sign of the fourth Singularity Anchor and its Breachpoint. Three Rank-E Goblin Orkoids were found at that site. Two show signs of blunt force trauma as well as high-voltage damage, while the other one had its right arm brutally twisted and had its head destroyed by some sort of an explosive. Each had their bodies cut open — fresh cuts with surgical precision. Whoever or whatever did this knowingly extracted their [Hollow Gems]. This doesn't match your M.O., sir."
Lyra Mari continued where Grayfeng left off. "Judging by the debris trail, whoever fought those goblins also met and engaged the Rank-D Orc. They got thrown through that Indian biriyani restaurant, then smashed through three— no, four building walls — before ending up here."
Takeshi's brow furrowed. It didn't add up.
No ordinary human could stand against an Orc, much less kill one like this — severed spine, obliterated skull, massive internal trauma. Whoever did it either had a death wish, or wasn't human at all.
He exhaled slowly, glancing once more at the mangled corpse. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Quite a party crasher, isn't it? Something or someone did a real number on them. A Rank-D Orc, no less."
"What?" Agent Sanchez blinked in confusion.
Agent Takeshi turned toward the horizon, smoke curling against the crimson sky. His coat billowed softly in the wind as one hand placed on the hilt of his katana while his fingers of his right hand idly traced the keychain in his pocket.
He had a feeling, a gut feeling.
Whatever it is, his guts telling him something else in amidst of this chaos.
And his first clue:
Maison Bella.
-
=====<<<<<[ @ @ @ ]>>>>>=====
-
The world outside the veil was alive again — bright, loud, and blissfully unaware of the carnage that had just unfolded a few blocks away.
It was the 87th Radiant Day after all — a day of peace, prosperity, and the light of humanity's endurance.
Floats of gilded blossoms drifted past, holographic petals raining down over the cheering crowd.
The streets were bursting with color. Floats in the shapes of mythical beasts and symbols rolled slowly down the avenue, confetti drifting through the air like pastel snow. Giant balloons of cartoon mascots bobbed between the rooftops, their strings held by smiling volunteers in radiant uniforms. Music from brass bands and speakers blended into a festival chorus that could be felt in the chest.
Among the crowd stood Emmy Ripley, her eyes bright with pride yet shadowed by a quiet worry. A mother's instinct whispered something was off.
Her son, Niero, had been gone far too long — supposedly just to wash off a milkshake stain.
"He's been gone for twenty minutes… How long does it take to clean a shirt?" she murmured, frowning slightly.
Before her sister, Alura, could reply — half-drunk and waving a parade flag — a familiar voice cut in from behind.
"Sorry, sorry! I'm back, Mom! Took me longer than I thought."
They turned — and there was Niero, standing there as if nothing had happened. His shirt looked freshly washed, though a few faint scuffs still marked his collar. He wore that easy, sheepish grin he always used when trying to look innocent.
"Where have you been, young man?" Emmy asked, arms crossed. "We were about to go look for you."
"Stomachache," Niero lied without hesitation, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sudden nature call... and a bad food stall."
His older sister, Sophie, folded her arms but smiled nonetheless.
"Glad you're back. You almost missed the main march, dummy."
Meanwhile, Daisy, his younger sister, leapt onto his arm with a delighted squeal.
"Big Bro! Look! Look! It's the Bloom Dominion's army!"
The crowd erupted like thunder as the honorary Bloom Dominion's Defense Force surged down the radiant avenue in a breathtaking display of power and discipline. Legions of foot soldiers marched in perfect unison, their green fatigue blazing beneath the sun like forged spirit of both spear and shield. Behind them followed soldiers clad in exoskeletal frames, their every step shaking the ground—frames bristling with integrated weaponry and shoulder-mounted armaments that gleamed with lethal promise.
The air trembled as ATLS Mechs, towering more than twenty feet tall, advanced with thunderous strides—humanoid war giants draped in ceremonial blue plating, each carrying weapons capable of leveling a fortress. Their shadows swallowed the avenue, turning the parade into a spectacle of awe and controlled terror.
And at the heart of it all rode three radiant figures upon a grand ceremonial float, leading the march with unshakable pride—their presence alone enough to ignite hope and reverence throughout the Dominion.
-
There is the pride of the Bloom Dominion—
The Ordo Bellatrix —towering seven-foot Amazonian demigoddesses of war, forged in steel and glory. Super-soldiers of impossible beauty and overwhelming brutality, they heft autocannon rifles, seismic war-axes, heavy grenade launchers, and power-halberds as if they were regular infantry weapons. When they march, the earth trembles; when they roar, the heavens quake.
The Sororitae Magical Battalion—radiant magical warriors who fight for love, peace, and destiny, clad in flowing cloaks of starlight and armed with luminous staves that channel pure arcane brilliance. Their hearts shine with hope, their spells blaze like dawn, and their songs carry the will of miracles across the battlefield.
Finally, the Marauder Mercenary Guild—the Dominion-sanctioned legion of freelance mercenaries, a chaotic mix of renegades, wanderers, and survivors. Newbloods and battle-scarred veterans, from non-superpowered men in weathered exo-frame armor to mana-powered women blazing with power, all pursue glory beyond the city walls, braving the anomalous ruins where death waits unblinking. High risk, higher reward—the mortality rate is infamous, but those who return alive become legends.
The Trio of Mega Ark-City 01, fighing for a better tomorrow.
Together.
-
A sacred silence rippled across the plaza as the first honorary figure emerged from the radiant gate—
Bellatrix Remaris of the Valeriad Cohort, the indomitable juggernaut of the divine demigoddess that is the Ordo Bellatrix.
She moved with a thunderous grace, like a war-goddess descended to walk among mortals. Seven feet tall, armored in amber-bronze plate that blazed like molten sunrise, she carried herself with the unshakable certainty of an executioner delivering judgement. Her emerald eyes burned with the sharpness that could cleave through arrogance and hesitation alike. Every step was a marching drumbeat; every breath felt like a command.
For she belonged to the Valeriad Cohort, a famed sub-faction of the Ordo Bellatrix—
the Jack-of-All-Blades, masters of every field yet slaves to none, the adaptable vanguard capable of filling any role the battlefield demanded. The First Matriarch's ideal made flesh: balanced, unwavering, unstoppable.
On her shoulder rested a massive halberd—
a weapon so colossal it looked capable of splitting a Grav-Jeep clean in half.
She did not smile.
She did not wave.
She marched.
And the world parted for her like water before a blade.
Niero felt his mother straighten instinctively, spine locking to rigid attention. Even he swallowed, feeling the invisible pressure crush down on his lungs. This is what a hero looks like—the masterpiece engineered by one of the Matriarchs, the warrior who had stared into the nightmares beyond the Walls and never once blinked.
Around them, the crowd trembled between worship and fear. Gasps, prayers—and then the chaos of human worship erupted. Some men screamed themselves hoarse, proposing marriage to the towering goddess of war; others simply collapsed in awe. Niero couldn't help the small snicker that escaped him, echoed by a few nearby.
Bellatrix Remaris did not acknowledge any of it.
Her march continued.
-
Then the air shimmers with the stride of the second guest.
Sororitae Charlotte Hoffman, the newly crowned S-Rank prodigy.
A young woman floated above the procession like a celestial dream, her long silver hair cascading in strands that caught the sunlight like threads of starlight. Her **dark coffee-colored skin glowed warmly beneath the radiant aura of her divine blessing: the Arcana of Gravitas. With an effortless motion of her hand, she tugged the air itself into motion — balloons spiraled into orbit around her, confetti formed shimmering galaxies, and the street below bloomed with bursts of weightless stardust.
"Boys and girls, young and old! Thank you! Thank you all for coming!" Sororitae Hoffman's voice rang with gleeful triumph, her words electrifying the crowd. "Today we celebrate the wonderful person that is myself! And together, we honor the 87th Radiant Day, a festival of light, joy, and boundless wonder!"
Children screamed in delight, their laughter ringing like tiny bells. Adults gazed upward in awe, mouths agape. Some eyes, perhaps, lingered a little too long… Could have sworn someone masturbate to her in the crowd.
Beside Niero, his little sister Daisy nearly launched into orbit herself.
"She's so pretty! Big bro, she smiled at us! Look, look — she smiled at me!"
Sophie, to Niero's surprise, was anything but composed.
Her eyes sparkled like stars as she clasped her hands to her chest.
"Oh my gosh—she's even more incredible in person…! I have to train harder! I will become a Sororitae just like her!"
"Me too! I will become a Sororitae just like her!" Daisy jumped in, raising her fist with fiery passion.
"Let's fight together —FOR LOVE AND PEACE!!!"
Their voices echoed with unwavering resolve.
Niero found himself smiling gently at their enthusiasm—at that burning dream that refused to fade. To become a Sororitae was no simple path: it required unmatched skill, knowledge, and strength to survive the sacred trials. Only then would one earn the mythical Edenfruit, and upon taking its bite, forge a contract with the ancient fairies that transformed a chosen Mana-wielder into a Sororitae.
As he looked at the two girls—both already gifted with Mana—Niero couldn't help but feel a flicker of worry… yet also pride. Their time would come. Their trials would arrive. And when it did, he believed—truly—that they would rise to meet destiny.
He had high hopes for them.
Niero watched them, managing a faint grin.
Charlotte Hoffman waved to everyone — yet somehow, she made each person feel personally acknowledged.
-
Finally came the third.
A roaring cheer — not of reverence, but of hype — surged across the street as Marauder Lee Han-Gyul, aka, The WLYDSTORM hopped onto the parade railing with the energy of a caffeinated squirrel.
"WHAT'S UP, PEOPLE OF MEGA ARK-CITY ONNNNNEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!" he shouted, holding a holo-camera stick. "Your favorite Fog-Diver is IN THE HOUSE! YEEEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
His parade also have his team on in, along with wild fireworks and guitar riffs like a belligerent and noisy rock star. His parade even display his Ark.Net Marauder livestream, WyldStorm1177, in a bold and unmissable tag, almost in a in-your-face type of advertisement.
The crowd went wild. Young men idolized him, young women melted at his every move. Even a few moms waved with more enthusiasm than they intended.
Lee strutted across the stage in rugged battlefield exo-armor, plastered with stickers, tally marks, and his glowing channel logo. He fired finger-guns at the crowd, striking outrageously theatrical poses, while his holo-stream drone buzzed around him, a loyal, hyperactive companion.
Both of his legs had been replaced with sleek carbon-fiber cyber-blades, engineered for maximum speed and agility. No one knew whether the replacements were the price of his Marauder missions or a deliberate choice, but either way, they had made him an even more reckless adrenaline junkie, daring death with every step.
Niero exhaled sharply, tension coiling in his chest.
God, he's obnoxious… but damn if he isn't skilled.
> "You can say that again." Muttered by Vuldyr behind Niero's back. "Gaining roughly 900,000 subscribers to his lifestrems and all the sudden he acts like a king of the world"
Lee Han-Gyul was everything the Dominion expected a Marauder to be:
reckless, charismatic, borderline unhinged — yet undeniably successful.
Silver-tier citizen successful.
Monster-hunter celebrity successful.
And as Lee pointed his camera at himself and shouted,
"Stay fearless, stay crazy — AND ALWAYS CHALLENGE THE FOG! WOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The line itself, while sounds generic for a so-called 'hype beast' of a Marauder, something out it hits him.
Niero felt something shift inside his chest.
Not awe.
Not admiration.
Resolve.
The memory of the Orc's roar…
The crushing pain…
The desperate gamble to survive…
The near death he experience…
His heart pounding as he leveled up…
Yet again, Niero always felt like being a Marauder is some sort of a calling, to become an adventurer who travel thought the horror-filled fog.
However, all of it crystalized into a single thought:
I'm going to become a Marauder.
I'll go outside. I'll take missions. I'll grow stronger… and I'll use the Stargod System to carve my own path.
No more just surviving.
I'm going to rise.
The parade lights danced across his face as the honorary guests marched on — Sororitae, Ordo Bellatrix, Marauders — embodiments of three different forms of strength.
And for the first time, Niero felt like he had chosen one of his own.
To answer his calling.
-
=====<<<<<[ Ch 07, Part 4 - END ]>>>>>=====