The world had found peace, at least that what the buildings and infrastructure would tell you.
Skyscrapers pierced the clouds. Holographic billboards flashed above clean, orderly streets. Hovercars and traditional vehicles alike streamed through city roads in a choreographed dance of modern civilization. This was Tokyo — vibrant, advanced, alive in 2020.
To most, the age of terror had finally been under control as the Zunan Fighters found a way to prevent Zunans from randomly appearing anywhere.
But peace, in this world, is only ever a mask.
On the expressway, a massive fuel truck rumbled along. The driver — a middle-aged man in a reflective vest and mirrored sunglasses — hummed to himself, nodding along to the radio. Just another day.
Until it wasn't.
In the blink of an eye, the air shimmered in front of him — bending, warping — then collapsed inward, like a portal snapping open. A grotesque humanoid form dropped out of nothingness, crushing a compact car beneath it with a deafening crunch of steel and bone.
The driver barely had time to react.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
He swerved instinctively — too hard. The truck's massive frame tilted... then tipped. Gravity did the rest. Metal screamed as the vehicle slammed sideways onto the asphalt.
Then came the explosion.
A roaring inferno burst from the shattered fuel tanks, engulfing cars, pavement — people. Glass melted. Screams tore through the chaos. Fire rained down. A child clung to a metal railing, her skin blistering from the heat, her voice hoarse from crying out for her mother. Men being burnt to death as they tried running or getting out of their cars. It was truly a scene from hell. Not even kids were immune to the fire.
From the smoke emerged the nightmare: a Zunan.
It stood nearly five meters tall, a shadowy silhouette of muscle and malice. Its body was twisted, barely human. A single, enormous red eye pulsed like a beacon in the center of its face — unblinking, hungry.
This was reality.
No sirens. No warnings. No time.
The Zunan moved like a predator in a slaughterhouse. It seized fleeing civilians by their heads, fingers digging through flesh and bone with terrifying ease. One by one, it tore out their hearts — not through the chest, but with a grotesque bite from a vertical maw on its abdomen, filled with rows of jagged canine teeth. To them we were definitely, just like chickens are food to humans, humans were food to It. Truly humanity was no longer at the top of the food chain.
It fed.
People screamed. Children burned. Blood slicked the pavement.
And then... a voice cried out.
"Mom! MOM!!"
A young girl, no older than eight, stumbled across the cracked street, a tattered schoolbag still hanging from her shoulder. Tears streamed down her soot-covered face as she limped through the carnage. She was horrified, very scared, who can blame her after witnessing such a hellish scene.
The Zunan turned. It had found its next target. Aiming towards the girl it started running.
The creature lunged forward — claws outstretched. It easily caught up and was ready to make a meal out of her.
But then — BOOM.
A shockwave cracked the ground as a blur shot through the air. A figure appeared, moving faster than the human eye could follow. In a single, thunderous motion, he kicked the Zunan skyward — the impact sent the beast hurtling up through the air, past the skyline, higher, into the clouds.
The child blinked. The wind around her had stilled. The figure stood before her now — calm, composed, hands pressed together like in a prayer.
He whispered, "You won't touch them."
Then, with a deep breath, he pointed upward.
A pulse of energy surged from his hands — red and black, swirling together like chaos and flame. A beam of pure force erupted from his palms, streaking into the sky. It collided with the ascending Zunan.
The explosion lit up the heavens.
The blast tore through the cloud layer, vaporizing every trace of the creature. The clouds above Tokyo parted, revealing a sky now crystal clear.
Silence.
Then, as ash fluttered down like snow, the figure lowered his hands. People stared. Injured. Scorched. Terrified. But still alive.
The girl fell to her knees, sobbing.
The man turned slowly, eyes burning with calm fury. Seeing his Ninja like outfit, dark red with some black patches that made it look cool and professional everyone already knew he is a Zunan Fighter.
This wasn't just another fight.
This... was the beginning of something bigger. Over a hundred people died in this incident and somehow the Zunan was able to appear from nowhere when the Zunan Fighters had found a way to prevent such things from happening.
The burning streets of Tokyo quieted under the weight of shock. The girl stared up at her savior, tears streaked across her soot-covered face. The man lowered his glowing hands, his expression calm, yet unreadable. He turned towards the fire and raising his hand towards it his hand turned icey blue and the fire died down instantly.
He then turned to the girl who just escaped death that close. He looked down at her and spoke with a gentle, almost casual tone.
"Don't worry, kid. Luck doesn't want you dead yet. Go find your mama."
The girl nodded shakily and ran off into the smoke.
He turned away. His name was Taneki Iruwaya, a veteran Zunan Fighter.
He was tall, slim yet defined, with short, slightly tousled blonde hair and eyes that carried years of battle. His uniform was unmistakable — sleek and tight-fitting, jet red with black patches and stripes that gave it a sharp, militaristic elegance. Across his chest, a symbol fused the letters Z and F together, encased in a red circle: the insignia of the Zunan Fighters.
But the scene around him was anything but elegant.
Fires still raged. Screams echoed from alleyways. Crushed cars smoked beside crumpled bodies. Emergency responders hadn't even arrived yet. The Zunan was gone — obliterated — but the damage had been done.
Elsewhere – Okinawa Island
Far from the chaos of Tokyo, on a remote part of Okinawa Island, two teenagers sat on a top decker bed of a 2 decker bed a phone balanced between them as they watched a livestream.
The news reporter spoke through the screen:
"This is Jasmine Akiratu reporting live from Tokyo. Earlier this morning, a Zunan appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a busy expressway. Hundreds are feared dead. However, veteran Zunan Fighter Taneki Iruwaya arrived on the scene and neutralized the threat within seconds. Still, people are asking questions — how did the Zunan appear at all? Especially with the Saptha System in place? The Zunan Fighters have yet to release an official statement..."
The taller of the two teens sighed, brushing a hand through his sleek black hair that faded into a vibrant blue at the ends. His yellow-brown eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
"So the Saptha failed to teleport this one, huh?" he muttered.
Beside him, the other boy — slightly shorter, lean, with messy brown hair and piercing dark red eyes — nodded.
"Let's hope it was just a glitch. Otherwise..." he trailed off, eyes narrowing.
"...things are going to fall apart real fast."
The Saptha — not a man, but the device — had been humanity's greatest breakthrough. Developed by the Zunan Fighters, it automatically detected and teleported Zunans to barren planets within seconds of their appearance on Earth, turning potential warzones into distant battlegrounds. It was the only reason cities like Tokyo could thrive again.
If the Saptha ever truly failed...
It would be the early extinction days all over again. Cities would fall. Chaos would return. Even if the Zunans could be killed, the collateral damage would wipe out hope for peace.
The red-eyed boy broke the silence.
"Well... I guess that's what we'll be dealing with tomorrow — if we make it through the test tonight."
His friend smirked and gave him a light shove on the shoulder.
"Of course we'll make it. We've trained too damn hard to die now."
The red-eyed boy chuckled.
"I guess you're right. But skill-wise? You've got the edge. I might be clever, but you're built to survive."
The blue-faded teen shook his head.
"When it comes to Zunans, survival isn't guaranteed. We're still just... people. Martial arts, strategy, instincts — all of that matters. But take one wrong hit, and you're joining the angels before your body hits the ground."
They both laughed, the kind of laugh that masks fear.
"Well then," the red-eyed boy said with a smirk, standing up and cracking his knuckles, "just in case — no excuses. Let's spar one more time."
"Heh. Sure. But don't cry when I mop the floor with you."
"Dream on. You're not even gonna touch me."
"Oh yeah? Let's see about that!"
They both leapt down from the bed ready to spar, you could tell that Okinawa Island was a school, a military school meant to train people before becoming Zunan Fighters. The two boys disappeared into the training grounds below as the sky above Okinawa turned a dusky orange preparing for their final test. The test that will decide if their lives end or new lives begin.
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To Be Continued...