Dull footsteps approached behind Shukan. Deliberate. The kind that digs fear into your spine.
Shukan—crawling, arm bent at a sickening angle. Tears and blood smeared together on his cheek, dripping into the dirt. He didn't even have the strength to glance at Itha— whose head leaked blood like a shattered wine bottle left to bleed out.
"A host," the voice mocked. "So weak. Almost dead… from a fall not even thirty meters high."
The figure stepped closer. His face was twisted—pure hatred warped into every line. His voice didn't rise, didn't yell—just low, venomous, barely above a whisper. And yet it struck Shukan's mind like a spike to the skull.
"W-What do you even want from me?" Shukan coughed, still on the ground. Crawling like a broken thing. Crawling because his life depended on that figure— and he knew it.
"Me?" The man tilted his head. "I don't want anything from you, exactly."
Purple energy unraveled like snakes, coiling through the air. In a blink, it tightened around Shukan's throat.
The coils yanked him up instantly—body dangling.
Shukan's legs kicked weakly. His face contorted in pain—jaw clenched, eyes wild, skin flushing to brown red. He clawed at the barely-visible coils, fingers slipping. The pressure rising. The light fading.
He manifested in front of Shukans face, a faint smirk pulled at his lips. "I was sent here by the Void Seraphs of Threnial–to eliminate the new host on this Creator forsaken planet."
Shukan, teetering upon the lines of death and life, managed to speak, air from his lungs disappearing by the second. "That shard I touched…?"
"Oh? Exactly." He chuckled––hand placed on his mouth like a noble. "Any last words you want to say? Scream them into nothing."
Silence. The rain felt more audible–the sound of droplets hitting the ground soothed Shukans ears. But his gut refused, yet there was nothing he could do, or even say.
( Three months away from being twenty. Damn.)
A light, dismissive smirk stretched across Shukans face–like he was mocking the man.
"You disgust me." The man muttered. Dropping Shukan without a second thought.
He drops—but before the ground can greet him, a knee slams into his gut, violently halting gravity.
Impact. His body folds, lungs caved in. Ribs crack. Breath gone.
"You're not dying yet." The man's voice? Calm. Like this is a routine.
He smirks. Eyes glowing faint amber beneath dripping orange-brown bangs.
"Mthesiah. Manifest." "Let's play with our little host."
"This is my…Shunogai." Azazai's smirk stretched lazily.
BOOM—Energy spirals outward, like magnetic pulses distorting rain midair. An orb of gravitic force pulls around his body. Dark shards orbit him, swirling like reversed debris.
From behind his back…a liquid-black aura condenses into shape—jagged shoulders, glowing red pulse lines, floating in segments like magnetic plates.
Mthesiah, voice gliding out like it's being pulled from metal: "Azazai… Shall I rip him apart now?" "Nah," Azazai mutters. "He's still breathing. That means he gets to feel it."
Shukan coughs blood violently. "W-What did I even do…?" he muttered.
Mthesiah holds out a hand—And from sheer force, a halberd rips into existence, parts forged magnetically from floating junk and raw Void metal.
The shaft—obsidian with flickers of orange. The blade—black flames spin around it like a dying star in orbit.
"Graviton Breaker," Azazai whispered. He swung it once. The wind bent. Reality winced.
Azazai slams the halberd's shaft into Shukan's chest— NO buildup. Just speed.
Shukan rockets––bones snapping mid-flight. Straight through a concrete wall, into a nearby apartment.
Meanwhile––a couple watching the news. A reporter mentions something about "Void fluctuations increasing in Ka'vaels district…" THOOM. Shukan crashes through the TV.
Silence. Static hisses. The couple stares in shock. The male gets up, peeks around the corner––phone already out dialing the police. Shukan's bloodied form twitches, barely conscious.
The ground beneath quakes. Itha jolts awake. His sweater torn like a cat used it as a toy.
Blood leaked from his head, eyes not even being able to focus for two seconds.
He winces. "Did Shukan try saving me?"
He clutched his head–face convulsing in pain.
"Damn…" he stumbled to the University gates, where rain and distant booms greeted him.
Looking into the sky, he sees a black figure. Ethereal lines moving across its body in awestriking motions.
His eyes widen. Face expressionless. Tears drip off his face like it's rejecting him. He only had one thought. "Where's Shukan?"
Back to Shukan. He lays on the floor, hand trembling against a cracked tile. Felt like sharp sand grinding against his palm. Eyes wide. Staring. Not at Azazai. Not even at Mthesiah. But at his own reflection in a puddle of rain.
His mouth is slack. The fuck is wrong with my face? he thinks. It's contorted—pain and disbelief twisted together.
He doesn't even recognize it.
A hiss of electricity sparks behind him—metal beams in the shattered building twist unnaturally. Mthesiah's magnetism coils through them like snakes.
BOOM. A stray car folds in half on the street from stray gravitational pulses––repelled to the apartment Shukan was still in. The whole ceiling shattered like glass. Rain poured like those gigantic buckets at water parks.
Azazai calmly walks through the hole he created. Rain slips off his orange hair, now plastered against his face. The halberd drags behind him, sparks lighting the night in brief flashes.
"Damn. Still breathing?" "Strong host. Or just stupid."
Shukan wheezes—every breath is a struggle. Ribs cracked. Vision bleeding into static.
But then— "Heh…"
That same faint smirk returns.
Azazai frowns.
"What's so funny?"
"You called me the host like it's a curse..." Shukan chuckled slightly, blood dripping out his side. But you're the one acting like this is personal."
Azazai pauses. Just slightly.
"…Hah. So, your brain still works. Maybe I should dissect that first."
Mthesiah lifts a hand. Suddenly—EVERY piece of metal in the building begins to quiver. Bolts unscrew. Pipes contort. The couple SCREAMS as kitchen knives float toward the ceiling like possessed birds.
Azazai turns to Shukan—
"Let's play a game. Try to crawl to the window before I let this whole building collapse in on itself."
He turns the halberd in a spinning motion. Rain stops mid-air for a second. Reality warps from the pressure.
Itha stumbles toward the gate, eyes widening in horror.
"SHUKAN–!"
He sees the black figure again, magnetic lines crawling down the building, and then—the top two floors of the apartment implode.
Shukan is still inside.
Everything goes black. Shukan isn't sure if he's alive.
But in the silence…a faint voice echoes in his ears. Not Azazai's. Not Itha's.
"You heard him. Crawl." "…If you don't want to die here, then crawl." "Let's see what kind of host you really are."
Shukan's fingers dug into the shattered floor.
He starts crawling. Not fast. Not desperate. But like someone who refuses to be erased.
Meanwhile in Keia––Chronos observes.
"Shit."
Toraei's eyes widened as he looked at the rectangular box that was spectating the one-sided fight.
"Chronos! If he dies… you will too." Toraei's face contorted, his paws on the box, tears streaming down.
"You know the shard that he touched?" Chronos asked. Obsidian armor glinting in the 'light'.
"The Host?" Toraei asked, tone cracked and somber.
"Yeah. That wasn't just me he contracted with. That holder shard that was on the table, another Shunogai touched that before me."
Toraei's eyes widened. Shock practically radiating off his face. "I thought there could only be one contract present?"
"Not exactly. The Shunogai that touched it before me…contract rules were not applied to him, allowing a bypass of some sort."
The live recording inside the box flickered. Steam started rising off Shukans body, magma like threads twisted around his broken arm––repairing it instantly with a sickening crunch.
"Looks like all it needed was a push." Chronos remarked.
Back to Shukan, the steam rising off his back condensed. Then shaped itself into a weapon born of pain and defiance—a spear, long and translucent, steam drenched, pulsing like a fresh scar.
Azazai clicked his tongue. "Tch. His contract awakened."
In his mind, a throne made of magma and flames stood before Shukan––an armored figure sat beside it, glaring down at him with a dissatisfied look.
The figure leapt off the magma. Landing on the steamy, cracked ground below.
Shukan crawled back instinctively, his mind racing.
"DOOM. DOOM. DOOM."
"RISE. RISE. RISE."
He doesn't hear a voice––the figure approached. Footsteps echoed across Shukans mental plane. Jagged horns made of molten magma on its head, crimson eyes that looked into his very soul.
"Halt the descent. Death in remembrance. Ozkira."
The sensation of being too alive to die filled his body to the brim. Like the universe trying to snuff him out and his soul is saying:
"Then let it try."
The figure lightly tapped Shukans forehead. Then––A red star flashed between Shukans vision, burning. Alive. Hungry.
Shukan slowly rose, arms wobbling, body trembling like a tower about to collapse, and skin flickering with heat veins. His body was acting viscerally.
Azazai and Mthesiah took a defensive stance. "We should've killed him before he started doing…whatever the hell it is."
"Right." Mthesiah raised her hand. A nearby car crumpled like paper, twisting midair and kept close like a bullet in reserve.
Steam cleared from out the room. Shukan, one eye bruised shut, the other? Half-lidded, almost soulless.
"…I get it now…" He laughs. Once. Dry. Hurting. But there's steam leaking from his grin. "I'm not supposed to win this…"
"I'm just supposed to survive it."
Steam erupts, no––SCREAMS out of his back like a jet vent. His body staggers forward with a brutal step. Every motion a threat, every breath a challenge.
His breath was ragged. Unstable. "Hey. Asshole." He jabs a finger at Azazai. Eyes piercing through the steam cloud around him. "Next time you put me down…" He trekked towards the clearing. Rain sizzling down to nothing before it can even get close.
"You're really pissing me off." Azazai muttered. Voice tinged with disgust, he swung his halberd sideways, black flames smearing reality around him, like yanking a marionette, the blood shot off from the blade.
Shukan laughed—his gaze determined, the only thought in his mind was pure survival. "I don't know what those Void seraphs told you…" He fixed his posture. Back arched aberrantly.
His entire body pushed through the steam like a ghost walking out of a volcano.
"You better make sure I don't wake up."
"…you better make sure I don't wake up."
Rain hissed into vapor before it could even kiss his skin.
Azazai finally stepped in. "Enough."
The halberd flicked—boom.
Black flames whipped like a guillotine, splitting the asphalt in two.
But Shukan DODGED. Barely. Sloppy.
He stumbled as a blast scraped across his ribs—but he kept his feet planted. He wasn't fighting to win. He was fighting to exist.
Azazai's brow twitched. "You think you're special?"
Then— The world rippled.
Mthesiah's body froze mid-step. A hum. A tone. A call.
From nowhere—and everywhere—came a voice not heard, but felt.
Azazai tilted his head slightly.
"...This is Azazai."
A multi-layered voice, crystalline and inharmonic: "Has the new host been terminated?"
"He's resisting. Contract's awakened. He won't last long."
"Ensure he is unrecognizable. Threnial demands absolute erasure of all newborn carriers."
Azazai's brows furrowed.
"Then why delay the order?"
"You do not question the Thirteen-Winged. Carry out judgment."
The link snapped closed.
And Azazai turned to Mthesiah.
"We're done here."
"Toss him into the wreckage. Let the rats clean up what's left."
Mthesiah raised her hand.
Shukan hesitated, eyes widening in shock––bracing for what comes next. (Shit!)
An invisible shockwave gathered––Impact.
A pulse of telekinetic energy SHREDDED the street, slamming into Shukan like a freight train, sending him FLYING—through concrete walls, metal girders, and shattered windows—Until he crashed through the emergency wing of a nearby hospital, unconscious, bruised, steaming, and barely clinging to life.
The air settled.
The battlefield cooled. But on a scorched wall, etched by melted concrete and superheated pressure, one word remained: Ozkira.
The red star behind Shukan's eyes? Still flickering. Still hungry. Still alive.
Meanwhile––A place that shouldn't exist.
The air is still—not calm but suspended. As if time itself is choking. As if the multiverse regrets birthing this realm.
Black monoliths hover in the sky, forming an endless circle over a cathedral without walls—only floating pillars of obsidian, spiraling up into the dead stars.
In the center of it all, Azazai stands—kneeling.
His halberd rests beside him, humming with residual heat. Steam trails off his armor as a faint red circle pulses below his knees, holding him in place like a prisoner... or a guest.
13 Thrones. All empty. All towering. But above each… A pair of wings.
Not angelic. Not divine.
These are wings made of void scripts, shifting shapes and patterns, symbols that hurt to understand, languages lost before time had names.
Then—a hum.
The same resonance that called him before, but now face-to-face.
One of the Thrones illuminates.
And from it, a form rises.
No face. No voice. Only a mask—pure white, featureless except for a black tear drop sliding upward. Its body glows faintly with violet resonance energy, veins of corrupted light pulsing across its robe of silence.
Its wings fracture reality behind it, splitting the sky into mirrored fragments.
"Azazai. You allowed the host to live."
Azazai grits his teeth. "He's broken. Barely conscious."
"You left him breathing."
Another throne flashes— A second Seraph materializes. This one is skeletal, draped in chains that dangle into other dimensions.
"The Ozkira Contract is not one that can be postponed. The host's survival risks resonance backlash."
Azazai snarled low, but did not raise his head.
"Then send someone else to finish it. My mission was complete."
Another voice. This time soft—almost human, but twisted at the end of every word like a corrupted lullaby.
"You disobeyed protocol."
"He awakened in defiance. That makes him unstable."
"That makes him valuable."
Azazai's eyes snap open. "...What?"
"Threnial's timeline... fractures. Something is interfering. A convergence is forming."
"If he is the anchor, we observe him. For now."
One of the thrones—burning with inverted light—FADES OUT ENTIRELY, as if its occupant left... or died.
"Threnial demands you stay until reassignments are complete."
Azazai scowled. "I was promised a return to the frontlines. To the Collapse."
The skeletal Seraph tilted its head.
"Your desire is noted."
Chains tightened around its frame, twitching like snakes.
"Remain. And if the host manifests again…"
"You will erase him. Entirely. Along with any fragment that remembers his name."
And for just a flicker of a moment—Azazai smirked. "If he wakes up again…"
"I'll make sure the hospital becomes his grave." He said in a somewhat visceral, dismissive tone–he rolled his eyes.
Behind the Thrones, a massive mirror shatters inward—a portal rippling with twisted timelines, showing a flicker of a boy unconscious in rubble—
Chest faintly glowing. Red star pulsing.
Azazai stands on a jagged outcrop, overlooking the city of Threnial—if you could call it a city.
Below him, black towers lean sideways, as if pulled by an unseen force. Magnetized bridges float mid-air, spiraling in gravity-defying loops. Neon-red rivers of resonance glow between the cracks in the obsidian streets, pulsing to the heartbeat of something far beneath.
Above it all—13 thrones, distant now, glimmer like false stars.
Azazai's eyes are locked on the horizon. No armor. Just flesh. Shirt soaked in dried blood. Faint scars along his arms, still steaming from where Mthesiah pulled him back.
And then––
A burst of distortion explodes behind him.
Like magnets flipping mid-polarity.
MTHESIAH descends from a spiraling ring of black gravitic energy, armor dripping with liquid shadow and pulsing with glowing red veins. Her body segments midair like floating shards—her shoulder plates orbiting her like jagged moons.
She lands. Light as thought. Heavy as judgement. "You hesitated."
Azazai doesn't turn. "No. I didn't."
"Could've turned his lungs inside out. Or crushed his spine. But instead…" She steps forward. Her voice has gravity—literally. The ground cracks beneath her with every word. "…you flung him into a hospital. You acted like you wanted him dead. But you didn't."
Azazai's lips twitch. Not quite a smile. Not quite regret. "It was for the performance."
"…Performance?"
"Void Seraphs love a show. Blood. Finality. They're obsessed with endings. So, I gave them one." He finally turns. His eyes tired. Honest. Human. "But truth is… that kid didn't need to die."
"He's unstable."
"So was I."
"He carries the Contract. He will fracture Threnial if he lives."
"He'll fracture it anyway. Alive or dead. So maybe…" He steps past her. Wind kicks up. His gaze back on the churning horizon.
"…we give him a chance to decide what breaks."
For a moment, Mthesiah is silent.
The shards around her begin to spin slower. Her aura dims slightly. A rare calm. "You pity him."
Azazai smirked. Calm. Patient. "No. I understand him."
"And when the Seraphs realize you lied?"
"I'll improvise."
"They'll erase you."
"…Then I'll finally be free."
He sits on the edge. Letting his legs dangle off the cliffside. Void winds spiral up from Threnial's broken skyline—carrying voices of past Shunogai. Of collapsed timelines. Of unfinished lives.
Mthesiah stands behind him, arms crossed, wings dimmed, eyes on his back.
"…Let's see what kind of host––No, person you really are." Azazai muttered, his one-sided encounter with Shukan looped aimlessly in his head.