The moment the doctor delivered the news—grim, hesitant, like each word was coated in dread—Zuberi's eyes locked onto him with a stare so cold and lethal it could've frozen a raging inferno. That wasn't the look of a grieving husband; it was the look of a predator sizing up a man who just stepped on sacred ground.
"If anything happens to my wife… or my child," Zuberi said nothing aloud, but the weight of the unspoken threat nearly buckled the poor doctor's knees. The doctor swallowed hard, nodding fast. "I-I'll do everything I can."
Zuberi's tense glare shifted into a smile that was far too calm to be comforting. He patted the doctor's shoulder with just enough force to make his point.
"Better."
And then—BOOM.
The entire hospital quaked violently beneath their feet. Ceiling tiles trembled. Lights flickered wildly like a warning from the universe itself. Nurses screamed. Alarms beeped out of rhythm. A nurse tripped over a rolling cart and hit the ground. And then came the screams—not from inside, but from outside.
Zuberi spun on his heels and bolted toward the lobby, his heartbeat syncing with the tremors shaking the walls. He burst through the automatic doors just in time to see the world rip open.
A rift had torn through the sky, swirling and crackling with unnatural energy. Out of it poured things—gnashing, twisted creatures with too many limbs and not enough mercy. They lunged at anything that moved, bodies sleek and shadowed like nightmares made flesh.
People ran. People screamed. People died.
Zuberi stood there, still as stone, staring at the massacre unraveling in front of him. And then, slowly, his lips curled into a dark, crooked grin. The type of grin that only comes when a man has had just about enough.
"If today can't get any worse…" he muttered under his breath, voice almost playful.
And then he moved.
First, a walk. Then, a jog. Then, a full-on sprint as he charged straight into the madness. The first monster lunged at him—and he punched its skull in with one hit, blood and bone spraying like a crushed watermelon. Another leapt toward him—he grabbed it mid-air and snapped its spine over his knee.
This wasn't just a fight.
It was therapy.
Zuberi let all his rage out with every blow, painting the pavement in gore and fury. He didn't know why the rift opened. He didn't care what they wanted.
All he knew was they weren't getting past him.
Not tonight.
Not while his family was in that building.
The night air was thick with smoke and chaos, the sharp metallic tang of blood tainting every breath. Ambulance sirens screamed in a dissonant chorus with the wounded, and soldiers formed a perimeter, rifles aimed outward in trembling hands.
Hovering just above the ground, a rune-inscribed military VTOL landed near the cordoned zone. Its doors slid open with a hydraulic hiss, and out stepped a team dressed in sleek, jet-black armored coats laced with glowing sigils.
Leading them was a tall figure with an effortless swagger and a sword strapped to his back that pulsed like it was alive.
"Captain Ilori, AA-Rank Runeborn, Nigerian Runeborn Association," the man introduced himself to one of the uniformed soldiers, his voice as cool as a blade's edge. "Situation report?"
The soldier—blood-splattered, still panting—just stared at him. Blinked once. No salute. No words.
"...Soldier?" Ilori asked again, raising a brow.
The man finally spoke. "He's… a monster."
Ilori frowned. "What are you talking abou—"
Then he saw them. His own squad, the elite of the elite, battle-hardened and rune-blooded, just staring. Eyes wide. Mouths slightly open. Like they'd seen God blink.
And they weren't looking at the rift.
They weren't looking at the monsters.
They were looking at him.
Ilori turned.
And his mouth went dry.
There, standing in the middle of a mound of shredded demon corpses, was a man drenched in ichor. Shirtless, chest heaving with every breath, the cold hospital light behind him casting an eerie halo around his head.
It was Zuberi.
The monsters kept coming, and Zuberi just kept ripping. One had its arm torn off and used as a club against another. One tried to bite him—he shoved its entire face into the concrete and curb stomped it. With every kill, the grin on his face only deepened, like this wasn't survival.
This was joy.
"...Holy shit," Ilori whispered. "He's an absolute monster."
One of his men muttered, "Are we sure he's human?"
Another added, "Sir… there's no casualties. Not a single civilian hurt. He held them all off. Alone."
Ilori clenched his jaw, fingers twitching near his rune-sword. "Keep eyes on him. Don't engage unless I say so. That's no civilian. That's something else."
...
The towering obsidian skyscraper of the Nigerian Runeborn Association loomed over the capital like a monolith of secrets. Its highest floor, veiled in magical wards and surveillance dampeners, was deathly silent.
Inside, the air was cool and sterile. The only sounds were the hum of crystal servers and the soft clicks of Lilia's heels as she approached the master's desk, holding a rune-etched tablet in her gloved hands.
NCA Grandmaster Onyema sat behind his wide crescent-shaped desk, a man who looked like he'd aged in wars, not years. His salt-and-pepper beard was trimmed, and he wore ceremonial robes that shimmered like polished granite.
She placed the tablet gently before him.
"Sir. Rift footage from sector 35 just came in. Preliminary classification: A-Rank breach. Then… total signal loss."
He tapped the screen. The footage rolled—chaotic static, hellspawn pouring out like ink from a torn page of reality. Screams. The building shook. Then… black.
He exhaled through his nose, slow and deep. "Casualties?"
"None. That's… the strange part."
Onyema raised a brow, his eyes sharp beneath heavy lids. "Which Runeborn is currently on-site?"
Lilia scrolled, her expression unreadable. "Captain Ilori. AA-Rank. Brought a standard six-man strike team. He sent a pulse beacon—it's definitely contained. But…"
"But what?"
She turned the tablet around again, now showing a still frame.
One man. Bloodied. Bare-chested. Standing atop a mountain of monster corpses.
Her voice dropped an octave. "Zuberi Light is there."
Silence.
Onyema froze, his breath catching ever so slightly. "...Zuberi Light?"
She didn't nod. She didn't need to. The weight of that name sat between them like thunderclouds.
As if summoned by destiny itself, Lilia then presented a sealed folder. "Sir. You'll want to read this."
He opened it.
Scanned.
Stopped.
Read again.
His eyes widened.
"...He married under an alias?" His voice was low, almost amused. "Zikora Uzomah… she's expecting?"
Lilia simply stepped back with a professional poise, clasping her hands.
Onyema stood slowly, moving to the glass wall of his office that overlooked the city skyline—a million lights like stars trying to hold back the night.
"Pass my orders to Captain Ilori," he said softly, yet each word landed like a war drum. "Protect that hospital at all costs. If Zuberi's there… it's not coincidence. It's prophecy in motion."
Lilia nodded. "And if the rift escalates?"
He smirked. "Then pray the child isn't born under a blood moon."
She turned and left the room swiftly, runes trailing behind her heels.
Alone now, Onyema sipped from his tea and stared at the city.
A light chuckle escaped him.
"Zuberi Light… after all these years, you just had to show up with drama."
The night air hung heavy with the scent of ash, blood, and broken earth. Monster corpses piled like sacrificial offerings at the feet of a man who sat atop them like a grim reaper on a throne of sins.
Zuberi Light.
Bare-chested, fists cracked with drying blood, his breathing calm—eerily so. Around him, the remaining monsters crept in, hesitant. No battle cries. No wild charges. Just one singular intent.
Take him down.
Zuberi's eyes were half-lidded. His expression? Boredom wrapped in menace. His fingers twitched once.
That's when he heard it.
A whisper—her voice—soft and raw, drifting into his mind like wind through broken windows.
"Zuberi…"
His head snapped to the side. Eyes scanned. Empty air. Nothing.
But… no. She wasn't speaking aloud.
With a pulse of his rune sense—stretching out in an ever-expanding net like sonar—he found her. Far away. Weak. Lying on that hospital bed. Yet through their unseen bond, her essence called out.
"I… I can't keep this up much longer…"
He stilled.
"Our child… it's feeding off me. If I stop giving life force… it dies. But if I continue…"
She didn't finish. She didn't have to.
His heart clenched, but his face remained unreadable.
"…How do we fix this?" His voice was a razor's whisper.
"You need something… overflowing with life force. An artifact. A wellspring. Something ancient."
He bit his lip. "And where the hell do you want me to find that in—"
"That rift… it's a blessing in disguise."
Her voice vanished.
But he felt it. The pain. The desperate plea wrapped in unspoken words. The lingering fear that this might be goodbye.
Zuberi stood slowly, cracking his neck. His eyes lifted to the approaching horde. But something had shifted.
He wasn't fighting anymore.
He was harvesting.
His grin widened—twisted and dark, pulling at the corners of his lips like a demon set free. One of the monsters lunged—
CRACK. Its head exploded in his palm like overripe fruit.
Another. Clawed. Screamed.
Zuberi dodged, caught it midair by the throat, and ripped it in half.
Screams echoed. Monsters fled—but it didn't matter.
They were his prey now.
Some of them… began to think as they died.
Some felt regret.
Some wondered—Who is the real monster here?
Blood soaked the earth.
When it was done, Zuberi stood before the rift, glowing like the gates of hell. He didn't flinch. His eyes lifted casually toward the squad watching from afar—particularly the one trying to be invisible.
Ilori.
The poor bastard stiffened the moment their eyes met.
He spun around.
Pretended not to notice.
Took one step.
"ILORI."
The shout cracked like a thunderclap.
Ilori jumped so hard he almost met God.
"Y-yes sir!?"
Zuberi casually rotated his shoulder, his muscles twitching with anticipation.
"Hold the line. Protect the hospital. I've got… bigger fish to fry."
He didn't wait for an answer. He walked into the rift like a man late for a meeting with fate.
Ilori stared at the spot he vanished from, expression dead inside.
"…Is this how calamity-ranked Runeborns behave?"
He almost cried on the spot.