I woke to the sound of news anchors screaming into every screen in the apartment. My head throbbed. My ribs burned. Blood tasted metallic on my tongue. The world outside looked ordinary enough, but the broadcasts screamed otherwise.

  “Multiple explosions across the city today, authorities labeling the attacks as coordinated terrorist activity,” one anchor said. “No group has claimed responsibility. Casualties remain unconfirmed. Residents are advised to remain indoors.”

  I scrolled through my phone. Same footage, same words repeated endlessly. Smoke rising, streets torn apart, terrified people. Buildings collapsed. Emergency services stretched thin. Not a single mention of the truth. Not a single mention of me.

  Akari sat beside me, calm, almost too calm. She leaned over and gently pressed me back against the couch when I tried to rise, her grip light but firm. I winced, blood still sticky on my hands, and she didn’t let go. Not because she doubted me, but because she didn’t intend to. She wanted to make sure no one, not the media, not random strangers, not anyone, could get close enough to distract me. She moved between me and the world, a living barrier.

  “You shouldn’t try to stand,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

  I tried anyway. My knees buckled. She caught me instantly, holding me upright like it was nothing. Her eyes flicked to the doorway and the window, scanning, assessing. Anyone approaching would have had to get past her first. Anyone daring to interrupt me, she made it clear, would meet her first.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  I let her.

  Somewhere far away, Ayame, Reina, and Kaori moved quietly. They weren’t shouting. They weren’t rushing. They were plotting. Subtle, deliberate. They checked connections, whispered to allies, nudged situations toward outcomes only they could predict. Every minor conflict, every misstep by others, was being bent toward revenge for what they had lost. They didn’t need names yet. Not rituals. Not open declarations. Only preparation. Only threads forming quietly in the dark.

  I felt it, faintly, through the lingering mana in the air. The pull of their actions, careful and precise, brushing against the edges of my awareness.

  I coughed, blood spattering. Akari’s hands were there immediately, steadying me, wiping the mess without a word. She guided me back onto the couch, leaned over me, her presence a quiet but unyielding command. She didn’t just protect me. She controlled who I could see, what I could touch, what I could hear. Subtle. Physical. Absolute. She wanted to make sure the world couldn’t reach me. Only she could.

  Outside, the city burned or at least looked that way through screens. Streets emptied. Rumors spread. Citizens panicked. And far away, the threads of revenge quietly tightened. They were patient. They were precise. And when the time came, everything would bend toward them.

  I rested. Not peacefully. Not safely. But aware, in fragments, of the world moving around me while I recovered. Threads shifting. Belief taking root. Chaos stirring in corners I couldn’t see.

  I couldn’t just wait here forever. Using Doom had taken more out of me than I expected, my body, my mind, even pieces of my memory were paying the price. I needed to figure out a way to wield it without it turning against me, to make it sharper, stronger, more absolute. It wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t be quick, but I had to try. Another mistake like this could cost more than I was willing to lose.

  And beneath it all, Akari waited. Watching. Guiding. Protecting. Controlling. The storm would come. It always did. But for now I let it move without me