Late night plans

Xin rinsed the last dish and placed it onto the drying rack, wiping his damp hands on a cloth before reaching for the small bundle of food he had wrapped earlier.

He set it aside on the counter, a silent offering for Belial when he returned from whatever errand had kept him out so late. Xin didn't worry—Belial had a knack for disappearing at odd hours, but he always came back in one piece. Usually.

With a final glance around the dimly lit kitchen, he stepped out and made his way to his room. The space bore the marks of his past, a tapestry of memories strung across the walls.

Old posters from his early days as a rookie musician clung to the surface, their edges frayed and colors slightly faded with time. Pictures of him and his bandmates sat in simple frames on a small desk, capturing moments of laughter and camaraderie. Yet, among them, one image stood apart—a hologram of a younger Xin standing alongside three other figures, their clothes tattered, their faces marked by hardship.

He stared at it, a warm smile tugging at his lips. Those days felt like a lifetime ago, yet the echoes of them still resonated within him. He let out a quiet sigh, shaking himself from the past as he turned his attention back to the present.

Tonight, he had work to do.

He moved to his wardrobe, sifting through his belongings before settling on a set of light leather armor. It was dark brown, flexible, and worn in just enough to feel like a second skin.

Over his tunic, he strapped a breastplate, securing it tightly before fastening shin guards and gauntlets. He could have opted for iron—stronger, more protective—but he still loathed the weight of heavy armor.

His gaze drifted to the corner of the room where his great axe and hammer rested. Reliable weapons, crafted to deliver devastating blows, but tonight was not a battle of brute force. They were cumbersome for the mission ahead, restricting movement in ways he could not afford. Stealth was going to be his ally tonight.

With everything in place, Xin exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders as he prepared to step into the night.

...

Belial dragged the limp body of Flint behind him, the unconscious man's boots scraping against the uneven ground. Every step sent a sharp jolt through Belial's body, a reminder of the toll the battle had taken. His ribs throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, and the Oracle's voice echoed in his mind, confirming what he already knew: Fractured rib.

Again.*

His talent, 'Tenacity', was the only thing keeping him upright, suppressing the worst of the internal damage. But the external pain? That was another story entirely. His body felt like one giant bruise, every muscle screaming in protest as he moved.

He trudged forward, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of Cassidy. The last he'd heard, Cassidy had been holding his own against a swarm of B-rank cultists.

Belial had been skeptical—no, downright incredulous—that Cassidy could handle that many on his own. But then again, Cassidy had always been full of surprises. Still, Belial wasn't about to take any chances. He'd promised to have Cassidy's back, and he intended to keep that promise, even if it meant dragging his battered body across the battlefield.

As he approached the area where Cassidy had been fighting, Belial's steps slowed. The scene before him was nothing short of apocalyptic.

The massive barrier of water that had once surrounded the factory was gone, leaving behind a landscape of utter devastation.

The factory itself was reduced to rubble, its once-imposing structure now little more than a jagged crater. It looked as though a meteorite had slammed into the earth, obliterating everything in its path. Belial's eyes narrowed as he took in the destruction.

What the hell happened here?

He moved closer, his boots sinking into the damp, muddy ground. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid smell of charred debris. Bodies—cultists, by the looks of them—were scattered across the area, their forms twisted and broken in ways that made Belial's stomach churn. It wasn't just the fact that they were dead; it was the sheer brutality of it.

Limbs were bent at unnatural angles, torsos caved in, faces frozen in expressions of pure terror. It was as though some monstrous, wet beast had rampaged through the area, leaving nothing but carnage in its wake.

And then he saw him.

Cassidy.

The man sat in the midst of the destruction, his cyan dreadlocks damp and clinging to his face. His posture was relaxed, almost aloof, as if the chaos around him was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His armor was scratched up and had a few minor dents barley visible really, but he seemed unharmed, his breathing steady and calm. Belial's eyes flicked over the scene once more, his mind struggling to reconcile what he was seeing.

This crazy bastard did all of this? Alone?

Belial had always known there was a gap between Balancers and Aetherions, but this… this was something else entirely.

He had struggled to take down two B-rank cultists, and even that had left him battered and broken. But Cassidy? Cassidy had fought twenty-one of them.

And won.

The thought was almost too much to process. It wasn't just impressive; it was Crazy. Unthinkable. And yet, here was the proof, scattered across the battlefield in gruesome

detail.

Insanity

For a moment, Belial just stood there, staring at Cassidy with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Then, with a grunt, he hoisted Flint's body and tossed it unceremoniously toward Cassidy. The unconscious man hit the ground with a dull thud, his limbs splayed out like a ragdoll.

"Here's your birthday present," Belial said, his voice rough and weary.

Cassidy glanced down at Flint, then back up at Belial, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"A little late for that, but thanks."

Belial rolled his eyes, though the gesture was more out of habit than anything else. His attention was already shifting, his sharp gaze scanning the area for any sign of the missing member of their team.

"Where's that girl?" he asked, his tone clipped.

Cassidy jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and Belial's eyes followed the motion. There, slumped against Cassidy's back, was Cerise. The girl was fast asleep, her breathing slow and even, her face peaceful despite the chaos around her. Belial let out a quiet sigh of relief.

At least she was safe.

Cassidy reached into his armor and pulled out a ring, the metal glinting faintly in the dim light. With a practiced motion, he activated it, and a small health bead materialized in his hand. He tossed it to Belial, who caught it with a grunt. "Hit the showers in the med room and head home," Cassidy said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll take Cerise to Leah and report to Cole."

Belial nodded, too tired to argue. He popped the health bead into his mouth, the familiar warmth spreading through his body as it began to mend his injuries. It wouldn't fix everything—not by a long shot—but it was enough to take the edge off. He watched as Cassidy hoisted Cerise onto his back, her small form dwarfed by his broad frame. The sight was almost comical, but Belial couldn't bring himself to laugh. Not after everything they'd been through.

As Cassidy made his way toward the transport circle, Belial turned and began the slow, painful trek to the med room. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more chaotic than the last.

The battle, the destruction, Cassidy's impossible strength—it all swirled together in a tangled mess that he couldn't begin to unravel. But one thing was clear: they had survived. Against all odds, they had made it through.

And yet, as Belial stepped into the med room and let the hot water of the shower wash over him, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

The cultists, the factory, the sheer scale of the destruction—it all pointed to something bigger, something far more dangerous than they had anticipated.

And if today was any indication, they were going to need every ounce of strength they had to face it.

Belial leaned against the shower wall, his head bowed as the water cascaded over him. His body ached, his mind was exhausted-actually it wasn't, the health bead took care of it, a all of his energy was burned through. And if the world decided to throw more cultists, more battles, more chaos their way? Well, he'd probably just give up. It wasn't his goal anyways he still needed to find more clues, Cole couldn't reveal any information,

so he has to search by himself.

He had to stop being sidetracked.

Belial stepped out of the med room Leaving the armor there as Leah would return it to the weapons vault, it was sad but he was borrowing it Afterall.

The sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to him as he made his way into the main hall of the guild. The building was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that only comes in the dead of night. The guild officially closed at 11 PM and wouldn't reopen until 6 AM, leaving the vast space empty and dark. The only illumination came from the faint glow of ether nightlights, casting long shadows across the polished floors.

The clock on the wall read 2 AM, and Belial couldn't help but feel a pang of unease.

He shouldn't be here. No one should be here.

And yet, he could feel it—a presence. Faint, but unmistakable. It was like a ripple in the air, a disturbance that set his instincts on edge. Ever since the Kingpin incident, his senses had sharpened, almost as if the trauma had unlocked something dormant within him. He could feel the weight of someone else's energy, their aura brushing against his own like a whisper in the dark.

It wasn't hostile, but it was… deliberate. Someone was here, and they were leaving.

Belial's footsteps were silent as he moved through the lobby, his eyes scanning the shadows. The guild was a labyrinth of corridors and chambers, but the presence seemed to be heading toward the transport room. His curiosity piqued, he followed, his senses guiding him like a compass. 

The transport room was one of the most secure areas in the guild, accessible only to high-ranking members. Whoever this was, they had clearance—or they were very good at bypassing security.

As he approached the transport room, the presence grew stronger, more defined. He paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the doorframe as he peered inside.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the transport circle. And there, standing in the center of the room, was a figure he hadn't expected to see.

"Xin?"