A Luck?

Liam's head hit the ground with a wet thud, rolling until it came to a stop in Olivia's grasp. Blood gushed from his neck like a fountain, his lifeless eyes frozen in an expression of shock, disbelief, and—just the faintest trace of betrayal.

For a moment, there was silence that was broken by Olivia's laughter. A wicked, gleeful smile split her face like a cruel joke, her fingers tightening around the severed head.

The others barely had time to process what had happened before her body shifted. Muscles twisted, bones cracked and rearranged, her very form unraveling and reshaping itself before their horrified eyes.

The delicate curves hardened into sharp angles. Slender limbs broadened into a stronger, leaner frame. And in the place of Liam's lover Stood Klaus Zakharov.

Wearing a dress and high heels.

A chuckle escaped his lips, rich with amusement. "Well, that was something." He glanced down at himself, lifting the hem of the bloodstained dress with mild curiosity before shaking his head. "A dress? And heels? The things i do for threatrics."

Tatiana, grinning ear to ear, tossed him a bundle of clothes.

Without hesitation—and without a single care for the audience staring in shock—Klaus stripped, slipping into his usual attire with unhurried ease. Then, adjusting his cuffs, he turned to face them all, spreading his arms wide.

"Awakeneds of Beauté du Passé," he began, his voice smooth as silk, yet carrying an undeniable weight. "Do recall that I am Klaus Zakharov. The Smiling Man." His lips curled, his violet eyes gleaming with something sharp and dangerous. "And I cannot be defeated."

His gaze swept over them—at their broken expressions, their trembling hands, the raw fear thick in the air.

"I've heard rumors…" he mused, almost casually. "About my district. My creation. And what do I find upon my return?" His smile widened, but his tone sharpened. "A disgrace."

A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, humor laced with something far more menacing.

"The government isn't happy, either. Not that it matters. You see, unlike your dearly departed leader,"—he gestured lazily to Liam's lifeless corpse—"I am above judgment. No one will punish me. No one will dare."

His voice dropped, the lightness evaporating as a dark, chilling finality settled in.

"And now, I offer you all a choice."

Noah sighed while watching his brother acting like drama queen. Diego and Tatiana trough were sipping juice while watching show curiously.

"Surrender to the government..." Klaus tilted his head, his smirk razor-sharp. "Or die... Though, if we're being honest… you'll die either way."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, his expression darkened, the warmth bleeding from his face like the blood soaking the ground.

"But I'm not in the mood for games." His voice was annoyed, a anger could be discerned in his voice as his expression hardened, killing intent leaking from him. "And oh… I pity those who dare to cross me Because your ends will be... A spectacular."

Then, the weight of it sank in.

The Awakened warriors—those who had fought so desperately for this territory—stared in horror. Their leader's head lay discarded, their last hope severed in a single stroke.

Some took a step back, fear overriding pride. Others dropped to their knees, surrendering before they could even think twice. A few even began to pray, as if begging some distant god for mercy.

Kevin—the last remaining Master among Liam's people—stared at the scene, his face pale, his breath uneven. His lips parted, and in a whisper barely audible, he spoke the words everyone feared to say aloud.

"… A Great Evil."

Kevin watched the others surrender, their weapons clattering against the bloodied streets. Cowards. All of them. They had chosen submission over dignity, kneeling before a monster instead of fighting for their lives.

But he would not kneel.

If he was going to die, it would be with a blade in his hand, not on his knees like a dog.

Kevin took a step forward, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword as white sparks danced along its length. The weapon materialized in a brilliant flash, its edge gleaming with the energy of his burning defiance. He set his sights on Klaus, ready to carve his path through blood and fire—

But In front of him, A figure was suddenly there, standing right in front of him. A young man. A teenager, barely out of boyhood, too young. Too damn young to be standing there with that smirk, that mischievous glint in his eyes. smiling like he knew something Kevin didn't.

He couldn't have been older than fifteen, dressed in casual black, his messy brown hair illuminated by the city's neon glow. He didn't look imposing. Didn't look powerful. And yet, the way he stood, his weight shifted slightly to one side, hands lazily stuffed into his pockets, a mischievous smile curling his lips.

Kevin's sword swung with vicious intent, but the teen's reflexes were far sharper. The young man darted to the left, dodging Kevin's blow with a fluidity that defied logic, like a shadow slipping past an open hand.

Kevin's jaw clenched. He'd been trained to anticipate moves, to feel his opponent's intent, but this... this was something else. Something wrong.

He lunged again, this time with his fist, a powerful strike meant to catch his opponent off guard. But instead of dodging or blocking, the teen did something that made Kevin's heart freeze.

The young man faced it head-on.

Kevin's fist collided with the teen's palm—an open, unflinching palm. He felt the shock travel up his arm, his body instinctively bracing for impact. But the teen didn't even flinch. His smile only grew wider, more playful.

"Paper beats rock..."

Kevin's mind struggled to process the words before something impossible happened. From thin air, a glowing green sword materialized in the young man's hand. It was like a sick joke, an insult to his experience, to his strength. And yet, as the blade hummed with a supernatural green glow, Kevin felt the weight of the fight shift.

What the hell...

That's... His Dormant Ability?

Kevin, enraged now, slashed downward, his enchanted sword crackling with a surge of energy. He moved faster, stronger, the air itself bending under the force of his strike. But the teen merely sidestepped with a fluid grace that seemed to mock him.

No.

This couldn't be happening. He wasn't supposed to miss.

Kevin's mind raced. He sent a wave of green energy from his sword, a slash that could decimate any opponent—but the teen dodged again. It was like fighting a phantom, a trickster who could see every move before it was made. Kevin's heart pounded in his chest as disbelief gnawed at him.

"This isn't possible..." he muttered, frustration bubbling over.

Without thinking, he enchanted his sword with a burst of raw energy. It was a gamble, a desperate move. Kevin dashed forward, intending to finish the fight, to end it.

But it was too late. The teen was already there.

With a flick of his wrist, the green sword danced through the air, striking Kevin's blade aside as if it were little more than a toy. His footwork was flawless, a symphony of precision. Kevin barely had time to react before the teen's blade was at his throat.

And then, a chuckle.

"You see..." the teen said, his voice soft but laced with an eerie certainty. "Luck was always on our side... from the start."

Kevin's eyes widened in horror, his throat tightening. He felt the weight of the sword press against his neck, cold and unforgiving. And before he could even process the words, the blade pierced him.

A gasp. A desperate attempt to scream. But all that escaped was a choking, gurgling sound as blood poured from the wound.

Kevin's vision blurred. His mind couldn't catch up with his body, the pain surging through him in waves. The sword twisted slightly, and his breath faltered.

And in the end, all he could do was watch as the world faded to black.

His last sight was the young man's wicked grin, the glow of his green sword still burning in the night.

___

The aftermath of battle left Beauté du Passé in an eerie, unnatural silence. It was not the peaceful stillness of a quiet night, nor the tranquil hush of a city at rest. No, this was the silence that followed massacres. The silence of ghosts.

Bodies littered the streets, their lifeless forms sprawled across the cobblestones, some half-buried under the smoldering remains of collapsed buildings. The once-pristine avenues, known for their elegance and grandeur, were now a battlefield's graveyard—charred, broken, soaked in blood.

Noah, ever the diligent and noble, wasted no time in restoring order. His undead legion moved methodically, extinguishing fires and clearing the wreckage with grim efficiency. Corpses, too, were handled—not left for government disposal, but repurposed, absorbed into his ever-growing army of the dead. Liam's rule had been nothing but tyranny, corruption, and indulgence, and whether it was Klaus or the government, someone would have put an end to it eventually.

The Aftermath

Elsewhere, the siblings busied themselves with their own tasks.

Tatiana, ever pragmatic, had not killed Olivia. They were ruthless, yes, but they were not mindless beasts. Instead, she had twisted and manipulated the girl's emotions, binding her in an iron grip of control. Temporary, of course. Just long enough for Olivia to spill every secret she knew—especially the one Tatiana really wanted.

Liam's treasure vault.

The bastard had hoarded stolen wealth, riches that rightfully belonged to them. And now, Tatiana stood in its depths, sorting through shimmering soul shards, glimmering jewels, mountains of gold, rare materials—everything that had once belonged to the Zakharovs.

She hummed as she ran her fingers through the cold metal of gold coins, a small smirk on her lips. She did love shiny things.

Meanwhile, Diego had taken the post-battle relaxation approach, lounging at a bar, a drink in hand. Bloodthirsty bastard had never been one for cleanup duty. If it wasn't a fight, it wasn't his problem.

Klaus and Isaac worked in tandem, drawing runes along the estate's perimeter—an estate so vast it might as well have been a castle. Protective runes, ritualistic wards, layers upon layers of unseen power being woven into the foundation.

Isaac glanced at Klaus, then at the fiery bird perched on his shoulder—a phoenix, its feathers shimmering in bluish-golden flames, radiating an aura of pure mysticism. He ran his fingers under its beak, earning a pleased rumble from the creature.

"Hey, Klaus. Your phoenix is really something," he mused. "Why didn't you use your spirit creatures in the fight?"

Klaus, still focused on the runes, didn't bother looking up. Beside him, a robed skeleton—a Lich—worked alongside him, its hollow eye sockets burning with cold blue flames as it methodically inscribed runes into the stone.

"Hmm?" Klaus muttered absently. "Oh, I could have gone all out… but then we'd have no district left. I prefer to minimize unnecessary destruction."

Isaac snorted but said nothing. He was more interested in the Lich anyway.

The creature was peculiar, far more than a mindless spirit. In life, it had been one of the greatest sorcerers to walk the land—so knowledgeable that even Klaus had learned sorcery from him. Now, as an undead, its brilliance remained. It was a walking archive, an eternal wellspring of knowledge.

Klaus, finishing another rune, stepped back with an amused smirk, dusting his hands.

His Aspect Legacy manifested before his eyes—glowing runes shimmering in the air as information revealed itself to him.

Aspect Legacy: The Divine Comedy

Legacy Description: No tree will grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell.

In all chaos, there is cosmos. In all disorder… a secret order.

What is wisdom without foolishness, Oldest Dream?

1. First Door: Open – Sealing/Opening

2. Second Door: Open – Faceless

3. Third Door: Open – Arcane of Madness

4. ???

5. ???

6. ???

7. ???

He chuckled under his breath. Divine Comedy, huh? Was it funny? Or horrifying?

Maybe both.

His Aspect was bizarre, a chaotic. Faceless allowed him to shift appearances seamlessly, making deception an art form. Arcane of Madness had gifted him an unnatural understanding of sorcery, enabling him to create his own ritualistic magic. And the other doors…?

Still locked.

Still waiting.

But for now, he had work to do.

The district needed restoration, needed protection. This was their home and he would see it rebuilt to its former glory.

…And maybe, just maybe, he'd find time for a date. It had been a while since he'd seen Cassia.

Klaus grinned to himself.

That could be fun.