Crimson Judgment Begins

The city of Eldrun was nothing like the ruins Kael had wandered before. It was alive—filthy, cruel, and loud with the sound of suffering.

Towering iron walls divided the city into sectors. The rich and powerful roamed the Inner Circle in opulence, while the Outer Slums were nothing more than a pit of misery—where the weak were hunted for fun, sold like cattle, and discarded like waste.

Kael walked through the rusted gates with silent purpose, the girl from the lab walking slightly behind him, her cloak pulled tight around her. No one dared stop them. Not because they recognized him, but because his presence pulled at their instincts—a predator had entered their cage.

From shadowed balconies, masked nobles watched with interest. Above, drones buzzed, and holographic screens displayed games—fights between desperate slum dwellers, forced to kill each other for food and the amusement of the elite. Screams echoed through alleys, mixed with the hollow laughter of those who believed themselves untouchable.

A boy no older than ten was dragged into the street by armored enforcers, accused of stealing bread. Kael paused, eyes narrowing.

They threw the boy into a metal ring where another man—a crazed, scarred brute with cybernetic limbs—waited, licking his lips.

"Fight, or die," the announcer laughed, as the crowd above roared.

The boy trembled, weaponless.

Kael stepped into the ring.

In an instant, silence swallowed the arena. Even the drones paused.

"I'll be his stand-in," Kael said calmly, his voice cutting through the air like ice.

The announcer blinked, confused. "What? Who are you to—"

Kael vanished.

The cyber brute didn't even see the strike. One moment he was charging, the next, his head rolled across the sand. Blood fountained high. The boy screamed, but Kael caught him and tossed him out of the ring gently.

The people above recoiled.

Kael turned to them slowly, raising his head.

"This city reeks," he said. "I was sent here not to preach… but to punish."

A ripple spread through the slums. The screens flickered. Drones crashed to the ground. A new signal interrupted the broadcasts—Kael's voice, echoing like a divine judgment.

"All sinners who prey upon the weak… your hour has come."

The Inner Circle exploded into chaos.

Guards were dispatched. Sharpshooters took position. One noblewoman, draped in synthetic fur, screamed into her comms, "Send the Reapers! This freak's disrupting the balance!"

From black towers, monstrous enforcers emerged—genetically modified, armored like tanks, each worth an army. They were called the Five Hounds, each assigned to crush rebellion with brutality.

Kael waited in the middle of the ring, cloak billowing as dust circled him like smoke. The girl beside him loaded her daggers and vanished into the shadows.

The first Hound, a brute with molten skin and a hammer the size of a car, charged with a roar.

Kael didn't move.

The hammer struck the ground where he stood—

But Kael was already behind him.

One clean motion. A diagonal slash from shoulder to waist. The giant staggered, looked down, and saw half his body sliding off.

Another Hound—a speed-type—blurred into motion, blades spinning like turbines. But Kael's Ghost Veil shimmered, bending light and perception. The assassin struck an illusion and found Kael's blade through his throat instead.

The crowd screamed. Some ran. Some watched in horrified awe.

The girl joined the fray, emerging to blind a third Hound with flash powder and slicing his tendons clean before Kael finished him with a spinning slash.

By the time the fourth fell, choking on his own blood, the last Hound hesitated. He tried to retreat.

Kael appeared before him.

"No forgiveness," he whispered, and cut the man's legs clean off. Then his arms.

The last one was kept alive.

Kael turned to the broadcasting cameras, now forcefully reactivated.

"You who feed off fear… you who wear the blood of children like perfume... I will not stop until every corner of this city is cleansed."

His eyes glowed with divine hatred.

"I am not your rebellion. I am your reckoning."

The girl stepped beside him, her eyes wide—not with fear, but with something else. Devotion? Awe?

The people in the slums began to gather, confused, uncertain… but hopeful.

For the first time in years, the oppressors were bleeding.

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