In all of Sector 10, silence reigned.
The people stood frozen, hearts pounding like war drums. Each person instinctively reached for the hand of a loved one, or even a stranger, seeking the comfort of human contact, the smallest reassurance against the growing dread.
A crimson glow blanketed the sector, its light swallowing the sun's brilliance. It reflected off their terror-stricken faces, casting them in an otherworldly red, like harbingers of an impending apocalypse.
Sector 10 was the pride of the human domain. Governed by the Nebulon family, at least, that was what the general populace believed. The truth was far more complex.
Sector 10 was not just Nebulon territory; it was a hub shared by all the tier-one families. The Nebulons controlled the majority, but each tier-one family had carved out their strongholds, their influence stretching across different parts of the sector.
Sector 10 was the largest and most vital of the human sectors, a massive ring encircling the entire domain. Within it lay humanity's most valuable resources, and along its vast borders stood countless fortresses facing the territories of Eldoralth's other races.
No single family could defend such an expansive region. Each border was assigned to a different tier-one family, their collective strength forming the shield that protected the human domain.
But now, that shield felt fragile.
The people of Sector 10 stared at the crimson cloud looming on the horizon. Fear rooted them to the spot, their minds racing with the same chilling thought.
That was where the Resonara fortress stood. The border with the vampyros.
The word formed in their minds, one that sent a chill down their spines: War.
It was a word that conjured images of death, destruction, and despair.
Some tried to convince themselves it wasn't true, but the scene that followed crushed their fragile hope.
A sharp tearing sound split the air, turning every head skyward.
Streaks of light, vivid and multi-colored, pierced the heavens, racing toward the source of the crimson cloud.
The people gasped. They didn't need to guess.
The paragons of humanity.
Fear surged like a tidal wave. If all the paragons were responding, the situation was far worse than they could have imagined.
Realization dawned on them, heavy and suffocating. Sector 10 wasn't just in danger, it was a ticking time bomb.
"We have to leave this sector!"
"Now! Grab whatever you can carry!"
"Forget the bags! Just run!"
Chaos erupted. People scattered like ants, flooding the roads leading to Sector 9 and the outer edges of Sector 10. Panic swept through the population as families, merchants, and soldiers scrambled to escape.
While chaos engulfed the sector, the first paragon reached the epicenter of destruction.
A streak of multi-colored light halted abruptly in the crimson-stained sky. The glow dimmed, revealing Zephyrion Nebulon, the paragon of the Nebulon family. He was the closest to the scene and it was no surprise that he reached here first.
Zephyrion floated above the battlefield, his piercing gaze surveying the devastation below.
He was a man of few words, one who preferred observation over conversation. Even among his family, his thoughts were a mystery, his silence a cloak of enigmatic calm. He prided himself on his ability to understand the incomprehensible, to remain composed even in the face of chaos.
But now, as his sharp eyes took in the scene before him, his composure faltered.
The words escaped his lips, unbidden, carried by a disbelief so profound it shook even him.
"What the hell is this…"
The heavens were drenched in crimson.
Jagged streaks of red and black scarred the sky, as though reality itself had been torn asunder by the battle's fury.
The ground below was a wasteland. Craters and fissures stretched as far as the eye could see, the earth scorched and broken. Steam rose in ghostly tendrils, mingling with the thick, suffocating haze.
But it wasn't the destruction that unnerved Zephyrion.
His gaze pierced through the haze, locking onto the center of the devastation.
There, amidst the wreckage, stood a figure.
Unmoved.
Unshaken.
The crimson haze swirled around him, but it seemed unwilling, or unable, to touch him. His white hair flowed faintly, undisturbed by the chaos. His katana, sheathed at his side, radiated an almost imperceptible glow.
Zephyrion's gaze trembled. His mind raced to comprehend what he was seeing.
A paragon-level battle, yet here stood a 17-year-old, untouched by the carnage around him.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't natural.
For the first time in decades, Zephyrion felt a chill crawl up his spine.
But he already knew.
Atticus Ravenstein was an anomaly.
And anomalies had a way of turning the impossible into reality.
The boy floated in the air, his azure and purple gaze piercing through the haze like a beacon of defiance.
His body bore no wounds, no signs of the destruction that had reached even Sector 10, a great distance away.
Zephyrion's gaze shifted.
Far in the distance, hovering in the air, was the heaving form of Grand Elder Yorowin.
The once-mighty vampyros looked ragged. His chest rose and fell with heavy, labored breaths. The blood armor that had covered his face was shattered, revealing his sweat soaked visage, twisted with emotions too intense to decipher.
His usually vibrant skin had dimmed. The cut on his neck, along with his slicked arm, the one Atticus had inflicted, had healed, but it was not enough.
Hatred burned in his crimson eyes.
This was no ordinary hatred. It was a primal, consuming fury, born from the depths of his soul.
The vampyros possessed a devastating ability: the power to make blood explode, capable of obliterating even the bodies of paragons.
Yorowin had activated it in desperation, using it as his last defense against the relentless assault of Atticus. It had saved him from being beheaded, but it had failed to even scratch the boy.
He had survived. And yet, there was no joy in Yorowin's eyes.
His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked, his entire body trembling with rage.
A boy.
A fucking boy.
A child from a lower race had humiliated him, shattered his pride as a Grand Elder of the vampyros race. It was unthinkable.
No… it was unforgivable.
Even as the presence of the human paragons arriving at the scene filled the air, Yorowin's bloodlust kept rising like a wave.
He didn't care.
He didn't care about the witnesses, the consequences, or even his own survival.
He wanted to kill.
He needed to kill this boy.
There was no escape. No surrender. This battle could only end one way: with one of them erased from existence.
Yorowin's aura exploded, a shockwave of crimson energy parting the haze for kilometers in every direction.
More blood converged around him, rapidly reforming his armor, thicker and stronger than before. His scythe elongated from his hand, forming with brutal efficiency, radiating bloodlust so potent it made the air shimmer.
He said nothing.
But his glowing crimson eyes spoke volumes.
He moved.
A streak of red tore through the sky toward Atticus like a missile of unrelenting fury.
But Atticus was already gone.
Streaks of blue and purple flashed as he moved, the air around him exploding from the sheer force of his speed.
They collided.
The impact sent shockwaves screaming through the crimson haze, the sky itself trembling with the force of their clash.
Blood swirled around Yorowin, shooting in every direction, each tendril seeking to impale Atticus.
But it didn't matter.
Atticus's movements were minimal, precise. His body twisted and turned, leaving streaks of azure and purple in his wake.
It was as though he knew where the attacks would be before they even came, slipping through the barrage with an ease that defied comprehension.
And then, his counterattack came.
Atticus's katana flashed in the haze, raining down slashes in torrents. Each strike was a calculated blow, aimed with deadly lethality from every conceivable angle.
Yorowin barely managed to evade, his instincts the only thing saving him from certain death.
But evasion was not enough.
Every dodge left him open to the relentless onslaught of Atticus's kicks and punches.
A strike landed on Yorowin's side, sending him flying backward. Another hit his chest, knocking him higher into the air. Each blow carried the force of a tidal wave, battering his body and sending him reeling.
But every time, Yorowin shot back with even greater speed, his rage fueling his movements as he charged at Atticus once more.
Only to be struck down again.
And again.
And again.
At the edge of the battlefield, the human paragons watched with complete disbelief.
Even Magnus, who had also arrived, gazed at the scene with an expression of utter disbelief.
Was this really a Grand Elder of the vampyros race?
Being beaten like this?
Their gazes flickered to the distance in unison, where an overwhelming presence streaked forward with a light of crimson.
Their gazes darkened. This presence… there was no denying it.
Jezenet Bloodveil, the Blood Queen of the vampyros race, had arrived.