The skies above Eternivagans glowed a haunting orange. The sun, half-swallowed by the horizon, stretched its dying light across a broken forest.
Markus sat alone on a rotting tree log, shoulders slumped. Wind whispered through the brittle branches. The air was dry. The grass… turning pale and shriveled at his feet.
He stared at the dirt, motionless.
Everything's dying…
We don't have much time left…
He slowly brought his hands together—his palms scraped, rough, still caked with dried blood from last week's skirmish.
"…I'm not much one for praying," he mumbled under his breath.
But even so…
"Great Spirit…"
"I don't know if you're out there or not… but if you are…"
"Please… send help."
"Not for me… these people don't deserve this."
The words hung there.
Empty.
A wind curled unnaturally through the trees. Cold. Sharp.
A presence pressed at the edge of his thoughts.
Familiar.
Be honest…
You want revenge.You want to watch them suffer like they made you suffer.You want to kill them. Every last one.
His eyes narrowed.
"…Yes."
But the prayer never finished.
His hands dropped back into his lap.
I must survive…
Crunch.
He heard footsteps—light ones.
He didn't turn. He already knew.
"Iris…"
"Markus…"
She stepped into view, brushing a lock of white hair behind her ear.
They stood there in silence, staring at one another.
"…I'm sorry," he said first. "About last night. I shouldn't have… snapped. You were just trying to help."
She lowered her gaze.
"You were hurting…"
"…Of course I was. I need to get back out there. The others—"
"That's not what I meant."
Her voice was gentle. But it cut.
"You're hurting… inside."
Markus blinked.
"…What do you mean?"
She placed a hand over her heart.
"I hear things… it's weird. Not voices, but heartbeats. Emotions. They all sound like… songs."
"…Songs?"
Iris nodded slowly.
"When someone's happy, their heart sings soft. Smooth. Beautiful."
"When they're scared, it stutters… like the strings are fraying."
She stepped forward—eyes glinting with something between sadness and empathy.
"But yours…?"
She stopped in front of him.
"It's loud, Markus.""Loud and broken."
It sounds like someone crying… with no voice left.
His breath hitched.
"…That's a strange gift you've got."
"You're not the first to say that," she replied, tugging her sleeve down, covering the faint white scars along her arm.
"…That's why they hurt you, isn't it?" he said. "People fear what they don't understand."
She nodded.
"Will you go back to fighting?"
"…Yes."
Iris looked down, her voice just above a whisper.
"Then please… take care of your heart."
He gave a faint smile.
"I'm fine."
…Is that really what my heart sounds like?
Her ears twitched sharply.
She turned her head—eyes narrowing at the sky.
"…I hear something."
Markus stood. "What is it?"
She pointed upward.
"Something's coming."
He squinted.
Nothing.
…Then he saw it.
A single ship. Long. Wide. Descending fast through the clouds like a falling blade.
Iris's face lit up.
"Markus! Look—it must be them! Our rescue!"
Below, villagers began cheering.
"It's here!!""They've come for us!""My kids will be safe!!"
Markus didn't move.
His eyes locked on the warship.
He took a step forward, scanning every inch of its hull.
And then he saw it.
Rust-streaked metal. Unpolished bolts. Smokestacks puffing black ash.
And on the side, in thick red paint:
HAND OF GOD
His heart sank.
"…No."
"What?" Iris blinked.
He grabbed her wrist.
"That's not one of ours."
"What are you—"
"IRIS, MOVE!!"
BOOOOOOOOM!!!
The ground where they stood was obliterated. Fire, dust, and shockwaves flung bark and stone into the air.
Markus pulled Iris to her feet and ran full sprint toward the village.
"EVERYONE! GET TO THE TREES! NOW!!"
Confusion broke into chaos.
"They're pirates!!" he shouted.
But the whispers were already rising.
"I knew he brought trouble…""He cursed us…""Why didn't we leave him in the snow…?"
Markus grit his teeth.
I can't blame them…
To them, I'm the outsider who brought the storm.
He slammed open the wooden hatch to his shack.
The walls shook. The windows cracked.
Inside… a sack waited. Dust-covered. Untouched for weeks.
He dropped to one knee. Pulled it open.
There it was.
His armor.
What was left of it.
Chestplate—shattered at the side. Helmet—split down the middle. Dried blood clung to the edges.
He stared at it.
Then slowly… strapped it on.
One piece at a time.
His massive double-edged sword lay waiting near the door—if it could still be called that. Once a mighty weapon, now it was chipped along the blade's edge, hairline cracks running up both sides. The tip of the sword split into a sharp trident-like fork, and a chain hung from the end of the hilt like a ragged serpent. Time and battle had not been kind. This was not a sword ready for war.
But Markus picked it up anyway.
The metal groaned as he swung it once through the air. It wobbled slightly in his grip, but he held it steady.
He stepped outside.
The village had gone nearly silent. All eyes turned to him. Children clung to their mothers. The elderly whispered prayers. Others simply stared—frozen in place, uncertain.
"Everyone! Get deep into the forest!" Markus's voice cut through the fear. "I'll hold them off! I swear to you—I will defeat them!!"
A beat.
Then panic turned to motion. The villagers scattered, retreating toward the dense woods behind the crumbling houses.
Markus turned to run—but a hand latched onto his wrist.
"Iris—"
"No!" she shouted, eyes wide. "Markus, it's too dangerous!"
He smirked, resting a hand on her head. "This is what I do. Now… run. I promise I'll be fine."
A voice rang out from the side.
"Hey, kid!"
It was Solan Tossed something to Markus
An old pistol. Heavy. Scratched. But reliable.
"It's not the model you're used to… but it should help," Solan says with a smirk on his face.
Markus nodded once, firm. "Alright."
He broke free of Iris's grasp and sprinted, the forest behind him fading. Dirt kicked up beneath his boots. Wind howled louder the closer he got. Then—he stopped. Right on the edge of the clearing. The looming warship stood above like a beast descending from hell.
He stared at it head-on.
....
Inside the warship…
"Sir, there's a man down there," one of the pirates said, peering through his screen
The pirate boss leaned forward, grinning. His face was half-covered by a jagged helmet, one eye glowing red.
"Deploy the ground troops. Raid the village. I want everyone dead."
He paused, licking his teeth.
That must the one Angel Squad brats… this should be fun.
The ship descended lower until its bottom hull scraped the cracked earth. A massive hatch opened with a hydraulic hiss, releasing a stench of grease, blood, and smoke.
Hoverbikes began to pour out—thirty riders, their engines screaming, lights blinking like vultures in formation. They fanned out in wide arcs, surrounding Markus from multiple angles.
One of them laughed.
"Alright, boys! Kill this bastard—then we can deal with whatever's past that!"
Another cackled, "What about the women?"
"You can keep who you want."
"Good!"
Markus didn't move. He placed both hands firmly on his sword hilt. His stance widened. His breath slowed.
Come on… a little closer, idiots…
Shots rang out.
Magic bolts zipped through the air—fast, glowing green, blue, red.
Zip—zip—ZIP—ZAP!
Markus's body moved like a phantom. He twisted, ducked, spun. The bolts missed him by inches. His feet barely touched the ground. The wind curved around his movements like he belonged to it.
"He's fast!!"
Then—he pivoted. A hard twist of the heel. The hoverbikes were just meters away now.
He roared.
"GIVE ME ALL YOUR POWER, OLD FRIEND!!"
The blade responded.
The cracks glowed a blinding green. Energy surged across the sword's length, spilling out like it was alive—screaming with him. It lit the whole field for one moment like a sunrise.
He swung.
A full-body slash—wide, unrelenting. A diagonal arc that split the air itself.
BOOOOOM!!!!
The slash carved through the pirates in front of him like paper. Bikes exploded. Bodies were flung skyward. A deafening shockwave blasted out in every direction, ripping up grass, tearing bark from trees, shattering the nearby hill's rocks.
Metal rained from the sky. Screams followed.
Markus stood at the center of the destruction.
His sword…
Cracked again. Then shattered in his hands.
He let the pieces fall to the dirt.
"…Well… it was a good sword while it lasted."
He drew the pistol.
The surviving pirates groaned, dragging themselves up from the carnage.
"Kill the demi-wolf!!"
They surrounded him and opened fire.
The air turned into chaos.
But Markus was already gone from their sights.
He slid behind a fallen bike, then sprinted low—zig-zagging through the barrage of shots. Sparks erupted from the ground where the bolts missed. Dirt burst around his feet.
He popped up mid-run—firing with one hand. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Five pirates fell—bullet holes through their necks and heads.
Then the gun clicked—jammed. Broken.
Markus didn't slow down.
He slammed into the next pirate, ripping the man off his bike and slamming him into the ground. Using the corpse as a shield, he charged again. Bolts struck the dead body—sizzling flesh. Markus didn't flinch.
Another pirate leapt toward him—sword drawn.
Markus grabbed a broken pipe off the ground, batted the sword away, and drove the pipe into the man's stomach. He spun—caught another attacker by the arm—snapped it backward, and disarmed him.
Markus now held a fresh blade.
It hissed with magic.
He let out a growl and lunged.
They came at him in waves.
He met them head-on.
One slashed—Markus ducked, stabbed upward through their jaw.
Another attacked from behind—he spun, kicked the attacker's leg out, stomped their chest until the ribs cracked.
A blade struck his back—he turned, his arm bleeding—but his fist met the pirate's face with such force it collapsed his helmet inward.
Another pirate swung a flaming axe—Markus blocked with the stolen sword, then swept their legs and drove his knee into their throat.
He grabbed one of their rifles—fired a burst point-blank into three enemies, then threw the gun like a spear into another's face.
He was hit again—twice, in the shoulder and side.
He kept going.
Blood spilled. His body burned.
But his eyes—
Still sharp.
Still glowing.
You'll never break me.
Another pirate screamed, rushing in with a two-handed cleaver.
Markus let him come.
He sidestepped at the last second, slashed the man's leg, then grabbed his neck and threw him into three more attackers. He vaulted forward, rolling, picked up a short dagger mid-tumble, and plunged it through another pirate's throat.
More bolts flew at him.
He dodged some. Took others to the arms, to the leg—but didn't stop. Pain screamed through his body, but he didn't slow down.
He picked up a cracked riot shield and charged, ramming through two more enemies. His boot slammed down on a sword—snapped it up with his foot—caught it midair.
Another weapon in hand.
More fell.
One tried to run—Markus threw the sword like a spear. It skewered the man through the back.
The final two pirates turned—too slow.
He was already behind them.
With one scream, he twisted their blades away and slammed both heads together.
CRACK.
Markus stood surrounded by the bodies of twenty fallen enemies, his breath steady despite the blood trickling down his side and arms. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of battle—but his eyes never dulled. Not even once.
The remaining ten pirates stared at him with wide eyes, hands trembling on their weapons. One stumbled back.
"H-he's not human…"
"He's a beast!!"
"Fall back!!"
In the blink of an eye, they turned tail, scrambling onto their bikes and zipping back toward the warship in panic.
Inside the ship's command chamber, the pirate crew watched in horror as the live feed displayed the massacre.
One soldier turned slowly toward the center chair. "Sir… he's… he's strong…"
A pause.
"…Should I fire the cannons?"
"No need," came the cold response.
The chair creaked as the figure seated there stood up.
"Sir, you can't—!"
"Quiet." The voice was low. Hungry.
The subordinate tried to protest again, but before he could finish, the man's hand shot out—grabbing his face with iron fingers.
"You forget who I am," the man growled.
His grip tightened.
Bones cracked.
"I am Draven Vox… the strongest pirate alive."
"…Y-Yes, sir…" the man whimpered as he was released.
Draven grinned, licking the blood off his palm like it was syrup.
"Prepare my armor."
Back outside, Markus rolled his shoulders and dropped what remained of a cracked sword handle. His eyes scanned the fallen bodies one last time.
"…It's been a while since I fought anything that wasn't a demon."
He flexed his fingers slowly, watching the blood on his knuckles flake and crack.
"I don't feel anything."
He looked up toward the ship, raising his voice.
"HEY! Is that all you've got?!"
Then…
A chill shot down his spine.
A thick, pulsing aura began to leak from the top of the warship. Purple. Violent. Heavy. It snaked through the air like a living thing, spreading like a poisonous mist over the battlefield.
Markus clenched his teeth.
I've only felt this once before…
Back then… when I fought the one who murdered my family…
This pressure… it's real.
He braced himself, sweat forming on his brow.
"I take it you're the leader!!" Markus shouted.
Suddenly, something moved on top of the ship.
A figure jumped—
No.
Exploded downward.
CRAAAAAASH!!!
The ground cratered. Metal and dirt blasted outward. The impact shattered trees around the drop point. Dust shot up like a pillar.
A man stepped out from the smoke, muscles pulsing unnaturally beneath cracked cybernetic armor. Purple tendrils of mutation wrapped around his limbs like steam that refused to dissipate. His skin glowed faintly—veins pulsing with raw energy. One eye mechanical. The other, burning gold.
"You are correct," he said, spreading his arms wide.
"You stand before the greatest pirate who ever lived!!"
"I am the last surviving warlord of the Martian War! Slayer of mages! Reaper of fleets!"
"I AM DRAVEN VOX!!"
Markus smirked, raising his hands in a loose stance.
"Then you must be strong."
But not stronger than Satsujin… If I lose here—if I die here—I'll never avenge them.
No… I won't lose. I won't fall. Not here.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Alright. Enough talk."
"Let's fight."
Draven's body surged forward—an eruption of raw motion.
Purple energy exploded off his heels, and within a blink, he was in Markus's face.
Markus parried the first strike—barely.
Draven's fist had weight—like a cannonball dipped in lead. Even redirecting it sent shockwaves through Markus's forearms. He twisted, using the momentum to swing a rising knee into Draven's ribs.
Draven caught the knee with his elbow and launched a counterpunch. Markus ducked just in time, the blow slicing air past his cheek.
Too strong to block outright… I have to redirect everything…
Markus sidestepped, planting a foot behind Draven's ankle and shoving his shoulder forward. The mutant stumbled slightly.
Markus struck—open palm to the throat.
Then a jab to the ribs.
Then a hook to the side of the jaw.
Draven reeled—then grinned, blood dribbling from his lip.
He swung a low kick—mutated muscles twisting unnaturally. Markus leapt above it, twisting mid-air to land a roundhouse to Draven's temple.
Draven spun with the hit and caught Markus by the wrist mid-fall, slamming him into the ground with monstrous force.
WHAM!!
Markus grunted, breath knocked out of him, but his legs coiled immediately—he kicked upward, both feet to Draven's gut, launching the pirate backward.
Markus flipped to his feet—panting—but locked in.
Draven charged again—hands glowing now, claws forming from the mutation.
Markus weaved—one step right, twist left, duck under—then struck with a rising elbow, followed by three rapid-fire body shots. The pirate grunted—but grabbed Markus by the collar.
He lifted him clean off the ground and hurled him into a tree.
CRACK!
Bark exploded.
Markus hit the ground hard—but rolled, got back up.
His nose was bleeding. Ribs cracked. His arms ached.
But he laughed.
"I thought you were supposed to be a legend!"
Draven howled.
He sprinted again—but this time, Markus was ready.
He didn't dodge.
He met him.
Their fists collided with bone-crushing force—shockwaves ripping the air.
Markus twisted, spun behind Draven, drove a heavy knee into the back of his leg, forcing him to kneel.
He leapt—drove his elbow down—Draven caught it.
They locked eyes.
"YOU DIE HERE!!" Draven roared.
Markus's teeth bared, veins bulging.
"BRING IT ON!!"
Their fists clashed again.
And again.
And again.
The battlefield shook with every impact.
Neither backing down.
Not one step.