Two Hours After the 3rd District General Bank Attack
New Breedom City — Militia Base, Sector 7
A reinforced steel blast door slides open with a hydraulic hiss. Beyond it lies the strategic command chamber—sterile, angular, flooded in pale blue holographic light. Tactical displays coat the walls: city grids, threat markers, casualty counts, all pulsing in disciplined red and white.
At the head of the obsidian war table sits Commander-in-Chief Benson, posture rigid, hands clasped like steel. High-ranking officials flank him in perfect alignment.
Across from them stand Hope, Lieutenant Charles, and two intelligence analysts already interfacing with live data streams.
The air is heavy—controlled, tense. This is not a room for grief. This is a room for response.
Benson leans forward, eyes sharp.
Benson: "Report."
Donna snaps to attention before speaking.
Donna: "At 18:20 hours, Demon faction designation The Crushers executed a coordinated assault on the 3rd District General Bank."
(She gestures; visuals shift.)
"Twelve confirmed KIA. Twenty-four wounded. Three low-end Seraphim neutralized—critical condition, prognosis unfavorable."
No one speaks. The silence is deliberate.
Benson's jaw tightens.
Benson: "Method."
Tanner steps forward, hands moving with precision as schematics unfold mid-air.
Tanner: "Enemy initiated a cyber breach, disabling all civilian and Militia security protocols within a thirty-second window. That allowed physical infiltration and explosive placement."
(He switches screens.)
"Traceback confirms the intrusion originated from Draco—Crusher's second-in-command. Subject possesses advanced quantum systems training. Graduate, New Breedom University."
A flicker of disgust passes through the room.
Benson's glare sharpens.
Benson:"I understand the outcome, but how did they manage to take down the Seraphims? "
Charles lowers his head slightly, tone edged with frustration.
Charles:"He had an artifact, Sir… That's how he overpowered Brooke and Reader."
(The words hang in the room like a curse)
Tanner:"Nitchtronian origin. Illegal, designed to amplify stardust level output to beyond natural thresholds."
Donna: " Sir… if this is brought to the public it jeopardizes the Good Faith Partner Treaty signed with Nitchtron five years ago. It could ignite conflict. A political fallout"
Benson:"That's how they brought chaos to the heart of the city." ( His jaw tightens) "That's how he took them down"
Charles:"Brooke and Reader, yes… Triumphant never even made it to the battlefield."
Tanner taps a control, and one of the hovering holo-screens flickers alive, projecting grainy street footage.
Tanner:"Triumphant was en route with the others when contact occurred about four blocks from the Bank, at a storefront. He engaged what appears to be a hostile on his own. Brooke and Reader disengaged and pulled back, leaving him behind. The remaining footage is damaged, and we're still unclear on how he ended up in critical condition."
The footage freezes—static distorting a lone figure, indistinct but human.
A voice cuts through the silence.
Benson: "Hope. Did you sense anything while en route?"
Every eye turns.
Hope's masked face reflects the pale holographic light—featureless, unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is steady, carrying the weight of certainty.
Hope:"…I felt Triumphant's stardust fading."
(A brief pause.)
"There was another presence. Dense. Malicious."
The room stills.
Hope:"I was forced to choose—save him, or save the city. I knew Triumphant well enough… he would never forgive me if I chose him over the people."
(His voice hardens.)
"I secured the Bank, then returned immediately. He was barely alive. There was no trace of the other presence."
(Hope lifts his head slightly)
"But I'm certain of this—whoever he was, he was involved in the assault on the Bank."
Benson: "Status report on him."
Tanner: "No records. No matches. Nothing in any database. He's a ghost."
Benson's voice drops, measured and grim.
Benson: "We know one thing—he incapacitated a Tier C Seraphim. That alone is enough for classification."
(beat)
"He's a Leviathan."
Donna nods immediately, fingers moving across the holo-panel.
Donna: "Understood, sir. We'll update the threat index and flag his image from the recovered footage."
Benson's expression softens—only slightly—as his gaze returns to Hope.
Benson: "…We're fortunate to have you. Without you, Hope, this city wouldn't still be standing tonight."
Hope gives no verbal response. He simply inclines his head—humble, composed, his silence carrying more weight than gratitude ever could.
Benson:"That will be all. You're dismissed. We'll handle the rest."
Hope and Lieutenant Charles exchange a brief glance before turning away. The steel doors hiss shut behind them, sealing the chamber and leaving the council alone with the consequences of what they've just confirmed.
The Third District—once safeguarded by three Tier C Seraphim—has fallen.
All three defeated.
And from the wreckage, a grim truth has emerged.
An unidentified young man has been elevated to Demon rank: Leviathan—a living anomaly, a threat. An uncertainty with deadly fangs, capable of striking without notice.
A nightmare the world does not yet realize it is facing.
Day After
Morning light spilled across New Breedom's 7th District west side, bathing the metropolis in gold. Amid the bustling streets, a tall, fit man walked with quiet ease. His long brunette hair—tied in a samurai's bun, strands falling past his shoulders—caught the sunlight as he moved. A leather blue jacket hugged his frame, a gray shirt beneath it, black pants and boots completing the look.
But it was his eyes that drew people in. Deep blue—so vivid, so steady—that anyone who met them felt caught in a calm tide. Strangers glanced his way, and without knowing why, they smiled back. The man's presence carried a peace that seeped into the air itself, mingling with the laughter of children in the parks and the chatter of families starting their day.
He paused for a moment, taking it all in—the sunlit skyscrapers, the pulse of life that made the city feel renewed. He continued walking, stepping through the doors of a sleek building marked by a hovering, crystalline hologram:
Breedom's News Station.
The nation's most famous broadcast hub.
He passed through security with a warm nod, greeting the front desk with an easy smile, walking the halls like he belonged there—because he did.
At the end of the corridor, he slipped into the locker room. The man shrugged off his jacket and shirt, trading them for plain janitor's overalls. A name tag caught the light as he fastened it to his chest:
William Faith.
He tied his hair back just as the door creaked open. A stocky man stepped inside, his face lighting up instantly.
Bobby: "Billy! How ya doin', pal?"
William (smiling): "Couldn't be better. How about you, Bobby? Everything alright with that new truck of yours?"
Bobby groaned, shaking his head.
Bobby: "Nah, not yet. Took it to the shop and those weasels tried fiddlin' with me again. Already burned me once—I ain't lettin' 'em do it twice."
William (concerned): "Sorry to hear that."
Bobby (sighing): "Ah, it's my own fault. Shoulda paid the extra bucks to get the flyin' system fixed sooner. Without that, my baby won't pass inspection. No inspection means no driving. Can't let that happen."
William's lips curved into a faint grin.
William: "Maybe I could take a look at it. I've got some mechanical experience."
Bobby blinked, eyes widening.
Bobby: "You serious, Billy? You'd really do that for me?"
William: "Of course. I'll see what I can do."
Bobby's shoulders relaxed, relief washing over his face.
Bobby: "Thanks, Billy. You're always so kind… especially to an old guy like me."
William (warmly): "Think nothing of it."
The two men shared a laugh as they left the locker room together, ready to start their shift.
And just like that, the morning continued—quiet, ordinary, unsuspecting.
William and Bobby moved methodically across the studio set, mopping floors until they gleamed and dusting equipment worth more than their annual salaries. Overhead, the bright studio lights hummed softly, bathing the stage in a sterile glow.
Then—
The creak of the backstage door drew their attention.
Striding in came two familiar faces—and a new one. Adam Spencer entered first, his ever-present camera operator, Eddie, trailing behind. Beside them walked Rebecca—the anchor whose presence seemed to soften even the harshest studio lighting.
Rebecca's heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she walked, her dark bob swaying with each step. For a brief second, her emerald eyes met William's—then she quickly looked away, refocusing on her colleagues.
Adam puffed out his chest, clearly enjoying himself.
Adam (smug): "Yeah, guys, believe me. After the assault, me and Hope are pretty tight. We talk on the phone almost every day now."
Rebecca and Eddie exchanged a look, both shaking their heads—equal parts amused and unconvinced.
Rebecca (arching an eyebrow): "Really? And why exactly would Hope be best buddies with you, Adam?"
Adam (grinning): "Ha! C'mon—who wouldn't be? I'm Adam Spencer, the most famous reporter in New Breedom City. I'm the guy you wanna be best buds with. Ain't that right, Eddie?"
Eddie (awkward smile, scratching his head): "Uh… yeah. I mean—you did try to cover me when those shots went off, so… thanks for that, Adam. I still have nightmares though…"
Their voices echoed through the cavernous studio as they walked—until they spotted William and Bobby.
Rebecca brightened instantly.
Rebecca (smiling warmly): "Oh! It's Billy and Bobby!"
Adam (waving): "Hey guys! How's it going?"
Bobby leaned casually against his mop.
Bobby: "Hey, kiddos. Smooth sailing today—can't complain."
Adam's grin widened, his voice rising theatrically.
Adam: "Oh-ho! You bet it is. And it's about to get even better—for me."
Bobby shot him a deadpan side-eye.
All eyes shifted to Adam as he paused dramatically, savoring the moment.
Adam (proud smirk): "I, my friends… was invited to the Breedom Gala tonight."
The room went quiet.
Eddie's jaw dropped. Even Bobby's eyebrows climbed. The Gala—the most exclusive event of the year, reserved for politicians, executives, and elites—wasn't something you just got invited to.
Eddie (almost shouting): "Adam!! Why didn't you tell me sooner?! That's insane!"
Bobby (low whistle): "Well damn… gotta hand it to ya, son. You got some pull."
Adam soaked it in, basking shamelessly.
Adam: "I know, I know. After all, I was the one reporting the bank incident. I was the guy Hope saved. I was basically the face of the whole thing."
Eddie (frowning): "Hey, I was there too. Why didn't I get an invite?"
Adam (snickering): "There's levels to this, Eddie. Maybe next time."
Rebecca, who'd been quietly enjoying the chaos, suddenly cut in—mischief dancing in her eyes.
Rebecca: "You do remember every invite comes with a plus-one… right?"
Eddie froze—then practically launched himself forward.
Eddie (pleading): "Ohhh—Adam! Please tell me I can go with you! Please, please, pleeeease?"
Adam's smile cracked. He spun toward Rebecca, whispering sharply.
Adam: "Rebecca! Why would you say that? I was gonna ask someone else—"
While Adam continued arguing with Eddie and Bobby chimed in with unhelpful commentary, Rebecca quietly drifted toward William. Her heels tapped softly as she stopped beside him, gently tugging at the sleeve of his janitor's uniform.
Rebecca (quiet, hesitant): "I was invited too… and I was wondering—if you'd maybe like to go with me tonight, Billy."
Her cheeks flushed as she tried—and failed—not to meet his eyes.
William (caught off guard): "Uh… tonight? I don't know if I ca—"
She turned fully toward him, her expression softening into something vulnerable.
Rebecca (whispering): "Please…"
William hesitated. He usually hid behind easy smiles and quiet deflections—but her sincerity was impossible to miss. After a moment, he nodded.
William (gentle smile): "Sure."
Rebecca's face lit up like the city skyline at night—bright, grateful, radiant.
The group's laughter resumed, voices overlapping as the studio filled with warmth and light—unaware of how fragile this normal moment truly was.
Night falls.
William stood outside Rebecca's townhouse, dressed sharply in a crimson suit, his polished shoes catching the glow of streetlamps. In one hand, he carried a bouquet—roses and daisies, carefully chosen.
When the door opened, Rebecca appeared. She was radiant, wrapped in a deep red dress that shimmered subtly under the light. Her hair was styled elegantly, her emerald eyes glowing with a mixture of nerves and excitement.
For a moment, William simply froze, struck by her beauty.
William(genuinely, almost breathless): "You look… marvelous."
Rebecca flushed, her smile breaking through as she smoothed a hand over her dress.
Rebecca(shyly, with a laugh): "Thanks. I didn't know you'd be wearing red too…"
(Her gaze fell to the bouquet in his hand)
"Are—are those for me?"
William (smiling warmly): "Who else would they be for?"
Her hands trembled slightly as she took the flowers, cradling them like something precious.
Moments later, they were on the road in William's sleek black bike, its quiet hum blending into the night traffic. The city lights stretched before them, leading toward the Gala—where glittering luxury and lurking danger awaited.
They arrived.
The Gala unfolded before them like a dream carved into reality. The mansion was colossal, its marble façade glowing under golden floodlights. A sweeping staircase stretched toward grand double doors, the crimson carpet spilling down like a royal river. In the front yard, a fleet of luxury vehicles lined the entrance—sleek hover-cars, chrome-tinted cruisers, and gleaming imports from across nations—all waiting for valets in crisp uniforms.
William (low whistle): "This is sweet."
Rebecca(wide-eyed, whispering nervously): "I know… I've never been anywhere this big before. Honestly, I think I'm starting to get a little anxious…"
William paused, then quietly extended his arm without a word. Rebecca blinked in surprise before looping hers through his. Rebecca's cheeks flushed, her nerves melting into quiet comfort. For a brief moment, the noise of the crowd faded, leaving only his steady presence.
As they ascended the steps, William's gaze sharpened. The grandeur of the party couldn't disguise the security net woven around it. Black-suited operators stood with an unnatural stillness, dark glasses concealing sharp eyes. Their posture screamed training—military, government, maybe worse. Weapons were holstered discreetly at their sides, but William knew they were ready at a moment's notice.
Cameras tracked from nearly every angle, some hidden in decorative vases, others perched high on archways. No corner of the mansion's exterior escaped surveillance.
At the front doors stands War.
Seven feet of muscle encased in a futuristic battle suit. His armor bore the muted greens and browns of military camo, but the sheen of advanced plating shimmered under the lights. His helmet, half-raised, revealed a scar-lined jaw. Unlike the other Fighters stationed around the perimeter, War didn't just guard the Gala—he dominated it, standing like a sentinel carved into the mansion itself.
Rebecca tensed slightly under William's arm. William's eyes narrowed but softened again when he glanced at her.
They were just steps away from entering when—
Eddie (yelling, voice cracking with excitement): "Heeeyyy!!! Guys!!!"
Rebecca and William turned, startled. Then their faces broke into surprised smiles.
Rebecca (delighted): "Eddie! What are you doing here?"
Eddie grinned ear-to-ear, waving wildly before hooking a thumb behind him.
Eddie: "What do you mean 'what'? I came with him."
From the crowd emerged Adam, going up the stairs with the enthusiasm of a man walking toward an execution. His suit was sharp, his hair neatly styled, but his expression carried all the weight of a sulking child.
Adam(grumbling, half to himself): "This is your fault, Rebecca. If you hadn't said anything about the invite, I could've asked Julie Cross to come with me…"
William blinked, amused.
William(intrigued): "Whoa, wait—the Julie Cross?"
Adam's sulk broke into a self-satisfied smirk.
Adam: "The Julie Cross, indeed, my friend."
Rebecca rolled her eyes, her laughter bubbling up.
Rebecca (teasing):"Yeah right. As if Julie Cross would ever accept to come with you."
Adam (pointing an accusing finger at her): "Maybe if someone hadn't ruined my chance, we'd know for sure!"
Rebecca just shook her head, smirking. William stepped between them, chuckling, the tension diffused instantly.
William(smiling warmly): "Hey how bout we go inside, Adam? I'm sure there are plenty of ladies to talk to."
Adam sighed, running a hand through his hair before straightening his suit.
Adam(grudgingly, then softening): "...You're right, Billy. No sense dwelling on 'what ifs.' Tonight's for enjoying ourselves."
The four of them stepped forward together, passing under War's looming shadow and into the glowing halls of the Gala.
The inside glowed with warmth. The chandeliers hung like constellations, scattering golden light across polished floors. The music hummed smooth and elegant, a delicate counterpoint to the low chatter that rippled like a tide across the crowd. Waiters glided between guests like shadows, balancing trays of crystalline glasses filled with glowing amber wines.
Rebecca (eyes wide, whispering): "Woah…this is beautiful. I was expecting it to be a little more tense here."
Eddie (nodding, grinning): "I agree. This feels… almost friendly."
Before Adam could roll his eyes, a cluster of elegantly dressed women passed by.
Adam(grinning like a wolf): "If you'll excuse me, I've got… journalist business to attend to."
Without another word, Adam slipped away, Eddie scampering after him like a loyal puppy. William and Rebecca laughed quietly at their retreat, then wandered deeper into the mansion crossing paths with Mayor Thompson and his wife.
Rebecca(surprised, smiling):"Mr. Thompson!"
Mayor Thompson(warmly, with a slight bow): "Ms. Ross, good to finally see you here."
Rebecca: "Likewise. Thank you so much for the invitation again."
Mayor Thompson chuckles
His wife leaned in, her eyes flicking to William with playful curiosity.
Mrs. Thompson(smiling slyly): "And who is the handsome gentleman accompanying you?"
William (bowing slightly, his voice calm): "William Faith, ma'am. Sir. A pleasure to meet you both."
He shook her hand with delicate care, then clasped the mayor's firmly.
Mayor Thompson (friendly, but probing): "So tell me, Mr. Faith—how do you make your living?"
William: "I work at the Breedom News studio, sir."
Mrs. Thompson (brightening): "Oh, a reporter? Like that other handsome one, Mr. Spencer?"
William(smiling faintly): "Uhhh… no, ma'am. I'm actually a janitor."
The couple froze—eyes flicking in surprise.
Mayor Thompson(coughing into his fist, recovering): "Ah. Well—that's very noble."
The conversation stumbled forward with forced laughter and shallow toasts. But William's attention drifted. He caught sight of security units whispering into earpieces, moving in fractured formation. Something was wrong. His gaze slid across the hall until it locked on the towering figure of War.
The Seraphim's presence was suffocating even at a distance. His armor shimmered under the lights as he scanned the room, alert, calculating. For a moment, his cold, scarred eyes locked onto William's. Both men seemed to measure one another in silence.
Then War stepped closer.
War(stoic, polite): "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson."
The couple greeted him warmly.
Mayor Thompson (gesturing with pride): "Mr. Faith, Ms. Ross—allow me to introduce War. One of our Seraphim Fighters assigned to this district. Highly capable. With him on-site, security is assured."
War stood like a statue of resolve, his aura radiating intimidation.
A server glided past with a tray of wines, offering them with a practiced smile.
Mayor Thompson: "War, don't just stand there. Take one."
War (flatly): "Negative, sir. I'm on duty."
Mrs. Thompson (teasing, laughing): "Oh, come now! Look at you, built like a fortress. One drink won't hurt."
Mayor Thompson: "Yes, indulge a little. You're not a machine."
War didn't move.
His gaze slid to the glass—then past it.
A fraction of a second: the server's knuckles too tight around the tray… a pulse in the throat… the smallest tremor that didn't match the smile.
War's eyes narrowed.
War (low, controlled): "That's enough."
He stepped in—not to "indulge," but to intercept.
Before the Mayor's wife could reach, War took the glass from the tray with two fingers, lifted it to his nose… and his jaw set.
William's eyes narrowed too, watching.
War (quiet, almost to himself): "…"
And then, without warning, War tipped it back in a single swallow.
The crowd chuckled nervously—thinking it was just the Seraphim being dramatic.
War handed the empty glass back to the server.
War: "Clear the tray."
Mrs. Thompson (blinked): "War—"
He didn't answer.
His breathing changed—one shallow pull of air, then another, like his body suddenly forgot the rhythm.
War's stance wavered.
For the first time, he looked… human.
Then, like a mountain giving out at the knees—
CLANK!!!
War collapsed, his armored frame slamming into the marble hard enough to rattle the chandeliers.
The entire hall froze, gasps ripping through the air.
Mrs. Thompson (panicked): "War! What's wrong!?"
William crouched instantly, checking War's pulse.
William (grimly): "He's alive."
William lifted the empty glass, sniffed it. A sharp chemical sting hit his nose.
William (thinking): "A sedative… strong enough to drop a fortress."
Security agents swarmed, whispering furiously into earpieces, their formation snapping from polished to frantic in a heartbeat.
Mayor Thompson (forcing a shaky laugh): "He just had too much to drink, everyone! Everything is fine!"
William leaned close to Rebecca, his voice low.
William: "We need to leave. Now. Something's about to happen. Let's find Adam and Eddie."
Rebecca's eyes darted around, fear tightening her face, but she nodded.
Suddenly—
BANG! BANG!
Gunshots split the air.
Panic detonated. Screams collided with shattering glass as guests fled in every direction—
—and the illusion cracked wide open.
Across the hall, a waiter's apron snapped open like a curtain.
Underneath: a rifle.
Another "server" dropped his tray—detonators clattered across the floor like coins.
A woman in catering black smiled too wide, eyes gleaming wrong.
Guards fire back—
Muzzle flashes stuttered from behind champagne towers. A guard went down, throat punched open by a clean shot.
Guests trampled each other, slipping on spilled wine and shattered crystal.
William grabbed Rebecca, pulling her tight as bullets stitched across the marble, carving sparks from pillars.
Rebecca (shouting, terrified): "Billy—!"
William's gaze lifted through the chaos.
He saw it now.
Not the staff.
Demons.
William (thinking, face darkening): "They infiltrated…"
Through the stampede, they found Adam and Eddie.
Adam (shouting over the gunfire): "Not another damn war! Eddie— we need to record this, NOW!"
Rebecca (furious, terrified): "This is not the time, Adam!!!"
William: "We have to go, now!"
Then—
A boom of static. The speakers screeched alive.
From the balcony above, a man stepped into view. Long dark hair draped over his back, his presence sharp like a knife.
Echo: "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen—oh, who am I kidding? You rich pricks."
His voice rolled through the hall, unnatural, heavy—like it grabbed the air by the throat.
Echo (arms wide, manic): "My name is Echo. And by the time I'm done, every one of you will belong to me."
All around the room, Demons raised detonators.
Guests screamed, clutching one another as panic consumed the hall.
Echo (laughing wildly): "Here's the deal! Every one of you gets a shiny vest—with a bomb attached! Try to run, fight back, disobey me—and BOOM!"
(He laughs)
"They also have a voice command. There's no getting out of this one."
All around the room, Demons raised detonators. Guests screamed, clutching one another as panic consumed the hall.
Echo(laughing wildly): "Now, I'll be upstairs meeting with your precious executives. We'll be discussing the new terms of ownership of this city. AHAHAHAH!"
Adam(furious, shouting): "You'll never get away with this!!!"
A Demon snarled, striking him with the butt of a rifle. Adam crumpled, clutching his jaw.
Rebecca(screaming): "Adam!!"
William moved instinctively, throwing a punch at the Demon—but another struck from behind, smashing into his head. His vision went black.
Rebecca(sobbing): "Billy!!"
The Demons dragged William's limp body away, along with War and several unconscious guards. Echo's laughter echoed through the hall, cruel and endless. The sound carried even as he vanished down the corridor.
William's body was being dragged across a dim hallway.
Demon 1(grunting): "Damn, he's heavy…"
Demon 2: "Quit whining"
Suddenly, like a lightning flash—
SNAP! SNAP!
Their arms twisted in impossible angles.
(A beat)
Before they could scream, a precise chop to their necks silenced them. They collapsed instantly. William stood over them, no longer the gentle janitor.
His breathing slowed, his aura flaring.
His deep blue eyes burned with resolve.
Around him, the air shimmered as radiant particles ignited, wrapping him in a luminous cape, crystallizing into white knight's armor etched with streaks of glowing azure.
The mask of William Faith had fallen.
Hope had risen.
The only light left in a night collapsing into shadow.
Hope stood silently in the shadows, eyes sharp, breath steady. The weight of the situation pressed heavy — one mistake, and over a hundred lives would vanish in flame.
Hope (thinking): "One hundred and three civilians. Each fitted with an explosive vest...I have to be careful… Precise. Even if I defeat the Demons, Echo could activate the voice trigger from afar… ending them all."
He sinks deeper into his senses, his spatial awareness expanding through the Gala. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every flicker of hostile intent.
He thinks in silence—mapping movements, predicting reactions—choosing the single path that leads to the best possible outcome.
Hope (thinking): "Seventy-six Demons…"
(He exhales slowly, lowering into his stance. His grip tightens around the hilt)
Blue light gathers around him—soft at first, then radiant—his aura blooming into a constellation of shimmering particles, like stardust drawn to a single will.
Hope (thinking): "I hope… I save them all."
Then—
Whoosh!!
The world blurs.
In an instant, Hope vanishes into pure radiance. A streak of blue, lightning-like particles rips through the Gala, so fast the air fractures with a thunderous crack.
—Moving like someone who's already chosen the right path.
Demons collapse before their minds can register danger—detonators plucked from their hands mid-fall, precision slashes flashing faster than sight itself.
Three seconds.
That's all it took.
The chaos—gone.
Elsewhere, Echo lounges in a private chamber, grinning as he prepares to dictate his demands to Mayor Thompson. He reaches for the chair—
CRASH!
A hurricane-force gust slams him into the floor.
Echo: "Ughh—!"
He groans, lifting his head—only to freeze.
Excalibur hovers inches from his face, its radiant edge humming with restrained annihilation. Standing over him is Hope—tall, unyielding, divine.
Hope: "Don't even think about speaking. One word—and it's over."
The blade drives down beside Echo's head in a blinding flash. Stone cracks. The room trembles.
Echo's breath catches—fear finally flooding his eyes.
And just like that, the Gala—moments ago a cage of terror—is saved.
The crowd trembles. Wide-eyed. Breathless.
A single name escapes their lips, carried by awe and relief alike.
Hope…
The strongest of the Fighters.
The Archangel who would not let them fall.