A few minutes earlier—just after the palace was blown to pieces.

  Ziraiah stood inside a broken house, her feet pressed against the stomach of a corpse. The man’s body was still warm beneath her soles. She stared down, dazed, trying to summon a healing elixir. Nothing came. The spell fizzled in her palm like dying light.

  A woman’s scream pierced the silence.

  “Paul!”

  Ziraiah looked up. The man’s wife was standing in the doorway, eyes wide with horror.

  Ziraiah raised a trembling hand. “I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Stay away!” the woman shrieked and ran, her sobs fading into the chaos outside.

  Ziraiah turned toward the shattered wall. Through the gaping hole, she saw the city dying—people screaming, clawing through rubble, trying to pull loved ones from beneath collapsed buildings. The palace in the distance was gone, reduced to burning stone.

  She lifted her hand again, forcing mana through her veins, whispering an incantation—but no light appeared.

  Again she tried. Nothing.

  Her voice broke. “What’s happening to me?”

  She leaped through the wreckage, landing on the street. If magic wouldn’t work, she would save them another way.

  Then she moved—a blur of black and green hair.

  Ziraiah darted between ruins, pulling bodies from under broken beams, lifting fallen walls with raw strength. She carried two people on her back, two more under her arms, racing them to safety. Again and again, she vanished and reappeared in streaks of motion until the ground itself seemed to blur beneath her.

  By the time she stopped, she had saved thousands.

  A crowd had gathered, dusty and trembling. When she set down the last survivors, they began to clap, voices rising in gratitude.

  “Thank you! Thank you!”

  But one woman pushed forward, tears streaking her soot-covered face.

  “My child—my child is still inside! Please!”

  Ziraiah knelt beside her. “Which house?”

  The woman pointed, voice breaking. “There—please!”

  Ziraiah blurred out of sight.

  Within seconds she was inside the ruins, smoke curling from splintered beams.

  “Hello?” she called, scanning the debris. “Is anyone here? Say something!”

  A small voice answered from beneath the rubble. “I’m here! Please—help me!”

  Ziraiah knelt, heaving chunks of stone aside. She found the boy crushed beneath the weight of wood and masonry. With careful strength, she lifted him free and pulled him into her arms.

  “You’re safe now,” she whispered. “You’ll be okay.”

  The ceiling groaned.

  CRACK.

  She turned just as it collapsed. Ziraiah wrapped her body around the boy, taking the full force of the fall. Dust exploded outward—but when it cleared, she stood, unscathed, the boy still in her arms.

  She leapt back through the smoke, landing among the crowd.

  “There!” a man shouted, pointing upward. “She’s coming!”

  Ziraiah touched down softly and set the boy down.

  The child’s mother ran to him, crying as she pulled him close. “Thank the gods… thank you!”

  Ziraiah smiled faintly—but the moment was shattered by a voice shouting from behind the crowd.

  “Where’s Pungence? He swore he’d protect us! Did he abandon us?”

  Murmurs rippled through the people.

  “He wouldn’t do that,” someone said.

  “Then where is he?” the man barked.

  Another replied, “Something must have happened to him.”

  The first man sneered. “You kidding me? That’s Pungence—the unstoppable weapon. He’s finally shown his true colors. He’s a coward!”

  The crowd turned on him, furious.

  “Watch your tongue!”

  “How dare you!”

  “You don’t know how much he’s done for us!” They started throwing stones at him.

  A young girl’s voice broke through the noise, small but certain. “Pungence will come back. He always does.”

  Ziraiah looked toward the ruins of the palace, her heart twisting. She turned toward a clothing store nearby, its windows shattered. Inside, mannequins lay toppled beneath ash. She stepped in, took a set of combat clothes from the display, and laid a pouch of coins on the counter.

  Then she stepped back outside—and vanished in a sonic boom.

  The air split as she arrived at the palace ruins.

  What remained was horror.

  A massive black orb pulsed at the center of the wreckage, radiating energy that warped the air around it. Andrea stood beside it, pounding her fists against the sphere, shouting Pungence’s name.

  Bodies lay everywhere—nobles, guards, servants. The marble was soaked in red.

  Ziraiah’s eyes widened as she saw David impaled against a wall, a jagged rod piercing his chest.

  “No…”

  She ran to him, ripped the rod free, and caught him in her arms. “David—no, no, please. David, answer me. Please!”

  Tears streamed down her face, falling onto his cold skin.

  He didn’t move.

  She pressed her forehead against his and sobbed until her voice was hoarse. Then she lifted her head and shouted, “Sierra? SIERRA!”

  Andrea appeared behind her, voice trembling. “Ziraiah, are you all right? Pungence has been sealed inside this thing! We need your magic—help me!”

  Ziraiah just stared, tears still falling.

  “ZIRAIAH!” Andrea screamed. “HELP ME NOW!”

  “I CAN’T!” Ziraiah cried, her voice breaking. “I can’t use magic!”

  Andrea froze. “What?” She stepped closer, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “What do you mean you can’t?”

  “I don’t know,” Ziraiah said, trembling. “I just… can’t.”

  She turned back toward the ruins. “Sierra! SIERRA!”

  Andrea’s face fell. She gripped Ziraiah’s arm. “I’m sorry, Ziraiah. Come with me.”

  A hundred meters away, Sierra lay atop the rubble—she didn’t breath, her right leg gone, blood pooling beneath her.

  ---

  Ziraiah ran, stumbling across the rubble until she saw her.

  Sierra lay among the ruins — pale, motionless, her right leg torn away, blood soaking the shattered stones beneath her.

  Ziraiah fell to her knees beside her, hands trembling as she lifted Sierra’s head into her lap.

  “Sierra… Sierra, please. Please wake up. I can’t lose you too…”

  Her voice cracked. The words broke apart as sobs tore through her chest. She clutched Sierra tightly, shaking, the tears running down her face falling onto her friend’s lifeless skin.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Please…”

  Andrea approached quietly, her expression heavy with grief. She knelt beside them, placing a gentle hand on Ziraiah’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Ziraiah,” she said softly. “She’s gone.”

  The words hit like a blade.

  Ziraiah’s crying stilled. Slowly, she lifted her head.

  Her eyes were wide — not with sorrow, but with fury.

  “Who did this?” she whispered.

  Andrea hesitated.

  Ziraiah’s voice rose, sharp as lightning.

  “WHO DID THIS?!”

  The sky seemed to shudder with her scream.

  A moment later, a blast of wind swept the ruins as Juvian landed beside her, Isabela limp in his arms. His eyes were fierce, but his voice carried urgency.

  “Ziraiah! We need your help — they’re after Zelion!”

  Queen Zeliona descended from above, clutching her infant son close. Her face was pale but resolute. She knelt before Ziraiah, placing a steadying hand on her arm.

  “I’m so sorry, child,” she said, her voice thick with compassion. “I know how much she meant to you. But we need you now. The man who did this — he’s after Zelion. Eryndor is already engaged. You’re the only one who can reach the king.”

  Ziraiah’s jaw tightened. Her voice was low, trembling with rage.

  “Where is he?”

  ---

  Elsewhere…

  The ground quaked with thunder.

  Omfry stood atop Juval’s back, one hand gripping the king’s arm, forcing it toward the breaking point.

  “Come now, mighty king,” he mocked, his tone almost playful. “Aren’t kings supposed to be strong? You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  Juval roared in pain, his body straining beneath Omfry’s boot. He slammed his fist into the ground — and the world shook.

  The ground erupted.

  A tidal wave of earth exploded upward, swallowing both men whole.

  BOOOOOM.

  A tornado of stone spiraled into the air, hundreds of meters tall. From within, Omfry was hurled skyward, his body torn through layers of dust and rock.

  Diamond spikes burst from the ground — a hundred of them, gleaming like judgment. They launched upward, each one finding its mark.

  They struck him, shattering against his flesh — one drove straight toward his face.

  Omfry caught it between his teeth, grinning. He bit down, shattered it, and laughed. Then, with a lazy flick, he hurled the broken shard back down.

  Juval raised a wall of diamond to block —

  CRACK.

  The shard burst through, grazing his shoulder as he twisted away.

  Omfry leaped in the air, laughter rolling like thunder. He looked almost demonic — eyes glowing crimson.

  Juval’s face darkened. His voice was cold.

  “You laugh too easily, monster.”

  He raised his hand.

  The ground beneath them trembled.

  Dozens of massive diamond pillars — each the size of a tower — erupted skyward, spearing toward Omfry in a storm of glittering death.

  Omfry kicked off the air, weaving through them with terrifying agility. His movements were a blur of motion and power — the signature Thunder Stride.

  He deflected one spike with his forearm, shattering it with a grin.

  Below, Juval’s armor reformed — soil and crystal encasing his body until he stood clad in diamond, gleaming under the fractured moonlight.

  Omfry caught one of the spikes mid-flight. His fingers sank into its flawless surface, cracking it like fragile glass.

  Then, with a guttural snarl, he hurled it back.

  Juval soared aside, the projectile tearing through the air where he had stood. He rose higher — high above Omfry, until the two moons loomed behind him like twin halos.

  Juval extended his hands toward the heavens.

  All the diamond spikes below shifted — pulled together by an unseen force — until they merged into one colossal shape.

  A hand.

  A hand of pure diamond, one kilometer wide, eclipsing the moons.

  Everyone within a five-kilometer radius began to lift from the ground — Juvian, Isabela, Ziraiah, and Queen Zeliona among them — suspended by the pressure of Juval’s power.

  “Hand of Judgment!” Juval roared.

  The giant hand descended.

  The sky broke open.

  BOOOOOOM.

  A crater ten kilometers wide blossomed beneath the impact, dust and wind swallowing everything.

  At its center, Omfry rose slowly — blood pouring from his nose, his aura erupting in red light. He lifted the colossal hand.

  “This…” he growled, voice shaking the ground. “This is child’s play, your Majesty. ARE YOU PLAYING WITH ME?!”

  With a roar that shook Heful, Omfry threw the diamond hand into the sky. It shattered into glittering fragments.

  He leapt after it, bursting through the fragments like a crimson comet, his arm outstretched — aiming for Juval’s face. At that moment, as Juval saw the red hand inches from his face he had one thought. This is my end. Well, I've lived a good life. I have no regrets. My children will continue my legacy.

  But before Omfry could reach him—

  A fist met Omfry’s jaw.

  BAM. A Shockwave shattered the sky. Blowing Juval away.

  Omfry’s head snapped sideways, his flight derailed. Blood burst from his mouth.

  She screamed, voice breaking into a roar of pain and rage.

  “AAAAAAAAAAH!”

  With a her fist still on Omfry’s jaw, a blinding beam of fire erupted from her fist— pure, concentrated, unstoppable.

  Omfry was blasted away, smashing into the city barrier. He screamed as the fire burned through him, pressing him deeper and deeper against the dome.

  Ziraiah’s voice cracked as she poured her rage into the attack, her scream carrying through the city.

  She hovered in the air, her entire body trembling with fury.

  Tears streamed down her face, mixing with soot and ash.

  Omfry writhed in the inferno, his skin charring, his teeth gritted in agony.

  The barrier turned crimson from the heat, veins of molten red spreading across its surface.

  Still she screamed.

  Still the fire poured.

  Until the very sky above Heful glowed red with her fury.

  ---

  To Be Continued...