6 YEARS BEFORE THE EXPLOSION
If someone had asked how it all began, Nicolas wouldn't have known how to answer.
He was far too desperate, too disoriented—focused solely on escaping that hell of fire that could claim his life at any moment.
As he ran through the corridors, praying for the King to save him, he stumbled upon Fernando's body—unconscious on the ground.
Fernando was a humble redhead, married, father of three daughters. The only modest soul in a family of extravagance, which left him constantly drowning in debt, always trying to please the women in his life.
Nicolas knew how much that family depended on Fernando…
And he still chose himself.
He stepped over the man, convincing himself that with enough time, his conscience would quiet down. That it would eventually let him rest.
But peace would not be granted so easily.
Just a few corridors later, a woman's voice rang out—desperate, pleading:
"Someone help me!"
He didn't even bother looking back. He knew exactly where the voice came from—behind him. Where he had no intention of returning.
"Please! Someone!" she cried again, her voice cracking with anguish.
He recognized it. Julia—the woman from the brothel.
She, too, had someone waiting for her: an elderly mother who could barely walk, who couldn't sleep without soiling the sheets, who needed help just to bathe.
Nicolas kept moving.
In his heart, he decided the old woman would pass soon anyway. Maybe it was better this way.
Maybe if she had died sooner, Julia wouldn't have been stuck with the burden, wouldn't have racked up so much debt buying medicine. Wouldn't have had to work in that cursed power plant. Wouldn't be dying now.
"Help me…!" she cried one last time, her voice trailing into a raspy noise—then vanishing beneath the sound of collapsing concrete.
Nicolas turned another corner, chasing the exit, repeating to himself that there was nothing he could've done. Nothing for either of them.
To his dismay, the corridor ahead was blocked—the ceiling had collapsed. Smoke stung his eyes as he scanned for another way out. That's when he saw it: the archive room nearby had another door, one that led to a secondary hallway, and from there… to freedom.
He covered his nose and mouth with his gray uniform, entered the room, and weaved between desks and filing cabinets until he reached the other side.
The door wouldn't open.
"Son of a—!" he cursed, recoiling as the doorknob seared his hand. "Open, damn you!"
He kicked the door over and over. It didn't budge. Not even a shake.
And then—another explosion.
This one was so loud it deafened him. He barely heard the ceiling behind him begin to give way.
He turned—
And saw death.
If the collapse didn't crush him, the fire would devour him. He dropped to the floor, back pressed hard against the door, as if sheer willpower could phase him through it.
"Help! Help! Help!" he screamed, over and over, as loud as his lungs would allow.
But deep down, he knew the truth.
No one would come.
Who would be crazy enough?
He hadn't gone back for Fernando. He hadn't gone back for Julia.
Why would anyone come back for him?
In his mind, Nicolas still clung to the hope of a miracle.
He wanted to go home. To hold his wife, Cássia. To finally name his son.
But miracles don't come cheap.
And Fernando… and Julia… they were waiting on miracles too.
And then—he felt it.
The door behind him opened.
Nicolas lost balance and fell flat on his back, just as the archive room behind him collapsed entirely.
"Nicolas! Relax, man! I've got you!" came a voice he knew all too well.
A voice he used to resent—now it felt like salvation.
That mustache. That hair. That face.
"Wattson?" he blurted, scrambling to his feet. "What the hell are you doing here? You weren't even in this sector—you should've gotten out already!"
The man laughed—weakly, drained.
"I couldn't leave without you," Wattson said.
He grabbed Nicolas by the arm and pulled him into motion.
They ran.
Through smoke-filled halls and falling debris, turning corners and leaping over wreckage, Nicolas couldn't stop the words from flying out of his mouth:
"You trying to get yourself killed?!"
Nicolas wanted to yell at the man who had just saved his life.He wanted to talk about responsibility—about how Wattson also had a family waiting for him at home.
"Me?" Wattson said, feigning innocence like a child. "Not a chance! Life's too good! Haha!"
Well, in that, at least, they agreed.More than anything, Nicolas wanted to keep living.
Then—they saw it. The exit.
But it was blocked by a fallen beam. Nicolas's heart sank.Wattson's didn't.
Without hesitation, he threw himself at the obstruction and began lifting with everything he had. Nicolas hesitated—but joined him. Eventually.
Together, they managed to raise it just enough for one to squeeze through, while the other held it in place.
But now… who would go first?
Wattson had a bigger family. And he was the one who'd done the saving. Didn't he deserve to live more?
All these thoughts swirled in Nicolas's mind—But for Wattson, there was no such debate.
"What are you waiting for?!" he barked. "Go already!"
Nicolas didn't argue.He simply nodded, unable to speak. Just guilt and silence.
"I've got it. Trust me!" Wattson laughed—again. Even now.
Swallowing hard, Nicolas slipped through the gap.
BOOM
The world spun.A blast hit him like a train.
He got up.His body was numb. His mind was blank.Smoke filled his vision. A high-pitched ring overwhelmed his ears.
He stumbled forward—on instinct more than will. All he could do now was run.
Suddenly, he was surrounded by people in green suits, masked and gloved.Some part of him vaguely remembered: These are the medics. Trust them.
Confused and dazed, Nicolas could've sworn he saw Fernando—the redhead he'd abandoned—lying on a makeshift stretcher, still unconscious, but alive. Being treated.
And though his vision was still blurry, he was almost certain that Julia was sitting next to him, too—breathing, alive, being cleaned and stabilized by the emergency team.
Go figure.In the end, each of them got their miracle.
Nicolas chuckled weakly, hardly believing his own luck.
Once the dizziness began to fade, he saw Kaiki—Wattson's son—rushing past the medics, screaming, sobbing, desperate.Just like all the others trapped in the plant, begging for a miracle that would never come.
Because…
Miracles are expensive.
DISTRICT 2 – Hydro City – SECTOR CTHE MOMENT OF THE EXPLOSION
"Come on, let me do it! You know no one else can do it as fast as I can!" Kaiki pleaded to the shop owner.
"No!" she snapped. "That's your second complaint this week, boy." She waved her apron and walked back into the shop. He followed her.
"The first one was just a misunderstanding! I barely messed up Tadeu's dinner!"
"Barely?! You destroyed his meal!" she shouted, voice rising. "And the second time, it was Josefa's fruit!"
"I'd never even seen a mangosteen before…"
"That's enough, Kaiki!" She spun around to face him. "Yes, you're fast—honestly, I don't even know how you cross the city that quickly. You're like thunder."
"Everyone says that…"
"But I'm sorry, Kaiki. If you need money, go sell whatever's left in your delivery bag. There are no more runs for you today."
"I already sold the cargo. But it's not enough for lunch. Camile—my sister—she got sick, and I had to give her all my money."
She paused. That was a good sign.
"Come on… I need a delivery. You know I'm the fastest."
She looked him over, slowly shaking her head, then let out a dramatic sigh.
"Fine! For the love of the King, boy!" She stomped to the counter and pulled out a medium-sized thermal box. "Here. This one just came in…"
Kaiki grabbed the package and sprinted for his bike. "You won't regret this!"
"You said that last time."
"This time's different."He jumped on the bike and took off.
Kaiki pedaled hard toward his destination. The address was scribbled on a little note taped to the lid of the thermal box. It was a brand-new building in Sector C—one of those high-end places where only the top-tier folks lived.Class B, maybe even touching A—definitely out of his league.What people that important were doing in the middle of the commercial zone was beyond him.
He weaved through tight corners, making last-second turns to keep the momentum going. As he passed shops and street vendors, familiar faces shouted greetings at him. He waved back, half-focused.
All he could think about was delivering the package, collecting payment, and finally eating.He was starving.
He arrived in front of the building, hopped off his bike, and waited by the entrance. The note said someone would receive the delivery outside, but there was no one there.
Damn it. He didn't want to wait around. Hunger was gnawing at him.
He paced. Knocked on the glass door.Security guards inside answered, but none of them were expecting a delivery.He stepped back onto the sidewalk, frustrated.
Still, he looked around, hoping whoever was meant to receive the package would magically appear.Nothing.
Minutes passed. Way too many of them.Eventually, Kaiki ducked around a hidden corner nearby, out of sight.He'd waited long enough.
He had a plan.He'd eat now, buy a replacement meal on credit from some food stall later, and stuff it back in the container. If the customer complained, he'd just say there was a mix-up.
Simple.
He pulled the box from his delivery bag and opened it.Cold air spilled out—it was chilled inside. Probably a drink, or something fancy.
He reached in and grabbed a strange object—shaped like a cube, but with far too many sides.Some kind of weird lunchbox.He tried to open it—pulled at the middle, pushed the edges.No seams. No lid.
"Does this thing even open?" he muttered.
"Identification," said a soft, robotic female voice from within the object.
Something pricked his thumb.
"Ow! What the—?!"He dropped the box and it rolled a few feet forward before stopping.
His thumb was bleeding.
"What the hell is this thing?"
"Access granted," the voice replied calmly. "Greetings, King."
The object split open—purple lightning burst forth, lashing wildly into the air, growing larger and louder until—
BOOM
EXPLOSION SUCCESSFUL
INITIATING CHANNELING…