Savannah hit the ground running.
Cream was already ahead of her.
The screams were everywhere now. Civilians trapped in wreckage. Soldiers shouting into radios. Fires crackling through broken buildings. Helicopter rotors groaning where they’d crashed into rooftops or pavement.
The sky felt quieter.
Only because most of the helicopters were gone.
Savannah’s boots barely touched the ground as wind pushed her forward. Cream was faster — a streak of white darting between debris, leaping over fallen cars and frozen streets.
They reached the center of the crater.
Savannah felt it before she saw it.
The air was still wrong.
Inside the massive impact pit lay what remained of Maxwell.
Burnt.
Melting.
Eroding.
Blue light had long since faded. His armor was gone. What remained was skeletal — charred bone fused with ash, fragments disintegrating into dust that drifted upward like black snow.
Cream stopped.
Her sickles slipped from her hands.
She fell to her knees.
“No…” she whispered.
Savannah stood beside her, wind dying down as she stared into the pit.
Cream’s shoulders shook.
“He shouldn’t be that still…” she choked out. “Maxwell is never that still…”
Savannah said nothing.
Anger built behind her eyes.
“Why she do that?” Cream cried, hands clenched in the dirt.
Savannah placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
Before she could answer—
A shockwave of freezing energy detonated across town.
The ground trembled.
Savannah snapped her head toward the source — Tila’s battle escalating.
“Oi.”
She pulled Cream to her feet.
“Come on. We have to help Snow Leopard.”
Cream’s face was streaked with tears, gold eye slits flickering faintly.
She nodded.
Savannah summoned wind beneath them.
The air lifted their bodies cleanly into the sky, carrying them toward the frozen battlefield in a powerful current.
Cream cried the whole way.
——
Denten felt it the moment it happened.
A ripple in the field.
Xila had snapped.
Again.
He didn’t need to see it — the air shifted when she let loose like that. The pressure changed. The rhythm of the battlefield distorted.
They had lost four of their own.
Three E.R.O Veythari down balanced the scale. Simple karma.
Still.
This snow witch was irritating.
Denten stood atop a jagged peak of ice, hoodie blowing in the wind as Tila danced across the air opposite him, snow orbiting her like a halo.
She had been reactive all fight — countering, redirecting, dissolving.
But something changed.
He saw it.
A new hand sign.
Precise.
The sky above them whitened.
Snow thickened unnaturally fast, swallowing the upper airspace until it became a swirling dome of white static. No external structure. No visible framework.
A barrier?
Then he realized—
His own ice spikes.
The lattice he’d created across the battlefield.
She was using them as anchor points.
Clever.
Tila smiled, ember eyes bright with challenge.
“Devour. Freeze. Engulf.”
The snow dome contracted inward.
The ice spikes began cracking, dissolving under crushing rotational pressure. Denten’s footing destabilized as his structures were consumed from the inside out, devoured by suffocating cold.
He slipped—but did not fall.
Not yet.
Three hand signs.
Supreme Skill.
His voice lowered.
“Oh! Come ye frost of origin. Oh! Come thee through exhaled breath.”
He exhaled.
The breath wasn’t vapor.
It was a concept.
A freezing that did not rely on temperature — but on stillness itself. Motion faltered. Snow crystals stopped mid-rotation. Air thickened as if time itself had begun to crystallize.
The barrier dulled to pale blue.
Tila’s smile sharpened.
“Oh we doing that now?”
She clapped her hands together.
Her snow barrier thickened instantly, layers stacking over one another in intricate fractal designs. She wove new signs, faster this time, breath steady despite the pressure pushing in.
“Supreme Skill.”
Her voice rang clear despite the suffocating cold.
“Winter Wonderland.”
The reality between them split.
Snow descended in controlled formation, endless crystalline structures blooming outward from her core. White devoured blue. Frost devoured stillness.
Denten’s origin frost surged forward.
Tila’s winter answered.
They collided.
There was no explosion.
There was a scream of pressure so intense the sound tore itself apart.
The snow dome shattered outward in a violent bloom.
Ice met snow in a blinding surge that painted the sky white and blue, fracturing light into violent refractions. Entire blocks below were flash-frozen. Windows shattered inward from pressure alone. Cars crystallized in place.
The air itself became lethal.
This was what it meant when A-ranks clashed.
White and blue fragments rained across the sky like broken glass, dissolving before they hit the ground. The pressure release sent shockwaves across rooftops, frost cracking and sliding off buildings in heavy sheets.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Tila floated backward, boots skimming the air as she steadied herself.
Denten dropped.
He caught himself mid-fall, summoning a slab of ice beneath his feet to hover. It formed shakily this time.
Both of them were breathing hard.
Blood ran from a cut along Tila’s brow, trailing down her cheek. Her sleeveless combat top was torn at the shoulder, fabric half-frozen and cracking as the cold dissipated.
Denten looked worse.
Ice armor gone.
Blue hoodie shredded.
Skin exposed, bruised and cut, frost burns crawling across his torso. He was effectively naked, steam rising faintly from his skin as he forced circulation back into himself.
He had taken more damage.
He’d had to counter a barrier technique and a Supreme Skill layered together — while using his own.
He survived.
Barely.
He exhaled slowly.
And spread his arms.
“We win the night,” he said calmly. “Regardless of this little fight.”
Tila tilted her head.
“Aww,” she grinned. “This your surrender speech, darling?”
“Surrender?”
“You don’t have much left. That Supreme Skill did a lot of work.”
He stared at her.
“It’s ok,” she added casually. “Not most can use multi Supreme Skills back to back. Let alone move around and fight after one.”
“You’re tired as well,” he replied evenly. “So I think it’s even.”
She smiled wider.
“Let’s test that theory then, shall we?”
He lifted a hand to summon more ice spikes—
She moved first.
Her finger traced a small circle in the air.
White light sealed the motion.
The circle snapped into existence behind him.
Then below him.
Then above.
His eyes widened.
“What—?!”
“You had snow on ya,” she teased, appearing directly behind him as the white circles locked into place.
“Shoulda shook yaself off.”
The snow he’d ignored hardened instantly, transforming into binding rings that tightened around his arms and torso. White frost spiraled inward, compressing like a vice.
He struggled — ice trying to form again — but every movement only fed the snow constructs gripping him.
Tila tightened her fist.
The white rings constricted further.
“It’s ok,” she said lightly, floating closer, “everyone forgets the little details.”
Below them, the frozen battlefield groaned.
Above them, the sky still shimmered from the aftermath of two Supreme Skills colliding.
Tila didn’t hesitate.
With Denten bound in white rings of compressed snow, she drove a clean right hook into his face.
Crack.
His head snapped sideways.
She followed with another.
And another.
Each punch sharp and controlled, snow tightening with every impact.
He spat blood, red streaking across the white bindings.
“That’s for resisting,” she muttered.
Then her senses shifted.
Savannah and Cream were closing in fast — wind carrying them like a blade through the sky.
Good.
She could—
The air changed.
The darkness beneath her feet warped.
Massive shadow skulls erupted from the darkness, jaws wide, teeth like obsidian blades. They burst upward around her, snapping shut where she’d been a fraction of a second earlier.
“What the ever living fuck?!”
She kicked off the air, twisting away, but one of the skulls clipped her thigh and shoulder. Shadow teeth grazed flesh — not deep, but enough to draw blood.
The largest skull lunged—
And swallowed Denten whole.
Inside the black maw, before it sealed—
She saw them.
Denten, still smirking despite blood on his chin.
Xila.
Smiling like she’d just watched a fireworks show.
And—
Lucio Recardo.
Calm and composed.
His black suit blended so perfectly with the interior of the skull that for a moment he looked like a floating head and pale hands in a void.
Chezzar stood beside him, catching Denten as the bindings dissolved into snow.
Recardo tilted his head slightly.
“Have a good night,” he said smoothly.
The skull’s jaws snapped shut.
The massive constructs folded inward and dissolved, melting back into the earth’s shadow like oil sinking into water.
Silence followed.
Tila hovered in place, breathing hard, blood trailing down her leg.
Her teeth clenched.
“Recardo was here?” she muttered.
A S-rank.
They’d been lucky.
Only the A+ Red Beast and A-rank Bloody Frost had chosen to fight openly.
If Recardo had stepped in personally—
They probably would have all died...
Wind surged nearby.
Savannah and Cream floated beside her.
Savannah’s eyes were wide, fury simmering just beneath control.
Cream was still crying.
Below them, Liddle smoldered.
Frozen blocks. Burning buildings. Emergency lights flickering through smoke and snow.
And the Devil’s Den had disappeared.
“I’m guessing Blue Hero is—”
“Dead,” Savannah said quietly.
Cream folded in on herself, crying into her hands, shoulders shaking. The white of her cape was smeared with ash and blood, gold eye slits flickering faintly as if even her Manifestation didn’t know how to respond.
Tila exhaled through her nose.
“Some two days,” she muttered under her breath. “Two goddamn days.”
Savannah didn’t answer.
She stood there above Liddle, wind barely moving around her now. Sirens wailed below. Fires crackled. Snow melted into red slush across the streets.
Again.
She had decided yesterday to move first. To stay ahead. To stop reacting.
And again—
She was behind.
Again she wasn’t strong enough.
And again she was staring at a mountain of corpses.
Her chest rose and fell slowly.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Focus.
Emotion later.
“Let’s go help Slinger,” she said evenly. “Then report back to HQ.”
Tila glanced at her, studying her profile. The wind around Savannah wasn’t wild.
It was tight.
“This mission was a failure,” Tila said bluntly. “And we are royally fucked.”
Savannah nodded once.
“Yes.”
Below them, news vans were already arriving. Cameras lifting. Civilians screaming. Military scrambling to establish some illusion of order.
The world had watched.
And things were about to get a lot more complicated.
———
National Announcement
By the time the sun dipped low over Washington D.C., the entire nation had already shifted into something unrecognizable.
Crowds gathered outside the White House Press Briefing Room, spilling past the iron fences and into Lafayette Square. Protesters. Reporters. Families holding up phones. Some crying. Some yelling. Some praying.
Satellite trucks lined the streets in tight rows, dishes angled toward the sky like metallic flowers.
Inside, the press room was beyond capacity. Officials stood shoulder to shoulder against the walls. Military personnel lined the back. International correspondents filled every seat.
Across the country—
Living rooms were packed. Bars had muted music and turned every screen to the broadcast. Hospitals paused activity to stream it on tablets. Airports froze departure announcements.
Nearly every channel nationwide was airing the same feed.
Red Hollow Park.
New York.
Liddle, New Jersey.
Three disasters.
Two in under forty-eight hours.
The room quieted.
A woman stepped to the podium.
She wore a dark navy suit. Hair pinned neatly back. A thick stack of papers rested in her hands, though she barely looked down at them.
The silence was heavy
She adjusted the microphone.
“My fellow Americans.”
Cameras clicked.
“Over the past month, our nation has experienced events that have challenged not only our security… but our understanding of reality itself.”
No one moved.
“Since the disaster at Red Hollow Park in California… the attack that destroyed forty-four percent of New York City in under six minutes… and the battle that devastated most of the town of Liddle, New Jersey in under five minutes—”
She paused.
“These incidents were not random acts of war. They were not foreign missile strikes. They were not natural disasters.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
“They were battles.”
The word hung in the air.
“Battles between individuals known as Veythari.”
The cameras zoomed.
“Veythari are enhanced individuals who have come into contact with phenomena known as ‘Rifts.’ These rifts are breaches in reality that introduce energies and entities previously categorized as myth, legend, or superstition.”
She inhaled once.
“Yes.”
Her voice hardened.
“The supernatural is real.”
The room detonated.
Reporters shot to their feet.
“Are you saying monsters exist?!”
“Is the government responsible?!”
“How long have you known?!”
“Is this an act of war?!”
“Are there more attacks coming?!”
“Is this martial law?!”
“Are we safe?!”
Security stepped forward as the noise escalated into chaos.
Outside the White House, the crowd began shouting as alerts hit phones simultaneously.
Across the country—
Some people laughed in disbelief.
Some cried.
Some dropped to their knees in prayer.
Conspiracy forums ignited instantly.
Stock markets trembled.
The woman at the podium raised her hand for quiet.
It barely worked.
“This is not the end of our nation,” she said firmly over the roar. “But it is the end of secrecy.”
And in that moment—
The world officially changed.
———
“Well shit on a brick,” Ashara muttered.
She spun lazily around the new pole Mason had installed in the center of the apartment, naked skin catching the city light pouring in from the windows. The only thing she wore was a pair of men’s boxer briefs — Mason’s demand after she’d refused to shop for anything resembling underwear.
“They’re practical,” she had said.
“They’re tragic,” Mason had replied.
Now she twirled upside down, hair brushing the floor, as every television in the apartment blared the same historic announcement.
The supernatural is real.
Shocker…
She flipped upright and landed lightly on the couch, legs folding beneath her as she watched the broadcast replay.
“Well. There goes the mystery.”
Across from her, Seyvon sat still.
Red blindfold tied neatly over his eyes.
Designer bomber jacket and designer shoes. His locs fell over his shoulders, barely moving.
He wasn’t reacting.
But she could feel it.
The gears.
Turning.
Calculating.
It irritated her.
“You look like you’re about to do math,” she said, kicking her legs lazily over the armrest.
Silence.
The anchors on TV repeated footage of Liddle — snow devouring ice, red lightning carving through buildings, helicopters falling from the sky.
Ashara sighed dramatically.
“I was enjoying being a secret,” she complained. “Now everybody’s gonna be jumpy. Ugh.”
She hopped off the couch and paced barefoot across the apartment.
The world had just been told monsters and Veythari were real.
Fear would spike.
Violence would spike.
Opportunities would spike.
She smiled faintly.
Maybe with the world noisier…
She could slip a few cuts in.
Nothing big.
Just enough to relieve the itch.
Seyvon finally spoke, voice calm.
“Don’t.”
She paused mid-step.
“You don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I do.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’re no fun.”
“False,” he disagreed. “I’m usually the life of the party.”
The TV replayed Maxwell’s final impact again.
Markets crashing. Global responses flooding in. Religious leaders issuing statements. Governments calling emergency summits.
Ashara stretched, leaning against the pole again.
“So what now?” she asked lightly.
Seyvon tilted his head slightly.
“Now,” he said softly, “we let everyone else panic.”
Ashara frowned.
Boring answer.
“Remember the last guy I killed because he was boring?” Ashara asked casually, twirling a strand of her hair as she spun around the pole.
Seyvon didn’t flinch.
“Remember the pact of non-violence we made?”
She tilted her head.
“You can break it if you want,” he added calmly. “Won’t hurt me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You’re baiting me.”
“No… really?”
Her lips twitched.
Before she could respond—
Ring.
Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Phones across the loft lit up simultaneously. Seyvon’s main device vibrated nonstop on the glass coffee table as well.
Ashara blinked.
“Wow. That’s a lot of people calling at once.”
Seyvon smiled faintly.
“I stay connected,” he said. “And I connect others.”
He adjusted slightly on the couch, blindfold still in place.
“Before, everything was separate. I handled the supernatural and the natural world differently. Governments here. Organizations there. It required finesse.”
The phones kept ringing.
“But now…”
He reached forward and tapped the screen, accepting multiple calls at once and merging them into a private encrypted group channel.
Voices overlapped immediately.
—How do we secure access?
—We need containment protocols—
—Is it possible to create one of these rift events?
—Our intelligence suggests you have connections—
—We want to be first—
Seyvon lifted a hand even though they couldn’t see him.
“Ladies and gentlemen… relax.”
His tone smoothed like velvet.
He played coy for just a moment.
A measured pause.
Then he perked up slightly when the real question surfaced.
“How can we get in contact with a Rift?”
Ah.
There it was.
“We all want to be first,” one voice pressed urgently. “Our organization cannot afford to fall behind.”
Another voice layered in. “We require Veythari assets immediately.”
Ashara watched him with fascination.
The shift was subtle.
But it was there.
He leaned back.
“Relax. Relax,” he repeated gently. “We can all find an agreement somewhere.”
He smiled slowly.
“But the starting price for everyone… is seven hundred million.”
Silence.
Then a flood of overlapping objections, negotiations, outrage, and desperate recalculations.
Seyvon didn’t budge.
“And after a few necessary agreements,” he continued smoothly, “I have no problem helping you all become the Veythari of the new world.”
Ashara grinned.
There it was.
Opportunity.
The world had just admitted monsters were real.
And Seyvon was about to sell them power.
