LOCATION: CURSED HEART OF THE DIEX PENINSULA—SENSON TOWN.
Director Eir: "Captain? Dictator Hera! He's… spacing out again."
Hera: "…Tch!"
SMACK!
Jerry jolted forward.
His messy blue curls swayed wildly in the frigid air as a sharp breath escaped his lungs, his body instinctively recoiling from the sudden impact.
He slowly turned his head toward the source, finding Hera standing beside him with an expression so hollow that, beneath the bleak gray light hanging over Senson Town, she almost looked dead.
She had slapped him.
Jerry blinked several times before shaking his head, gradually dragging his consciousness back into the present.
He straightened his posture and absently brushed dirt from his fluttering scarlet mantle, his fingers eventually rising toward his cheek.
A faint sting lingered there—the unmistakable souvenir of Hera's swift strike.
His flat, desaturated eyes narrowed slightly.
Jerry: "You could've just shaken me."
Hera didn't respond.
She rarely responded nowadays.
The only times Jerry heard her strained voice were when she was beside Kaiser, or when they discussed the matter of locating the Titan of Love somewhere within Senson Town.
Even then, her words scarcely rose above a soft whisper. Her voice had become something distant and brittle, as though every syllable demanded more strength than she possessed.
Hera: "Move."
Jerry's eyes widened.
His brows rose slightly as he tilted his head toward her, almost surprised that she had spoken at all.
Jerry: "Huh. That's… new."
He muttered the observation under his breath before adjusting his glasses. Then, without arguing, he continued walking through the ruined streets.
Accompanying the First Captain and Elective Dictator was Director Eir—the daughter of the renowned Jarl Fortesica.
Her brilliant emerald hair swayed gently against the cool breeze as she adjusted the brim of her glinting silver morion, her dark-azure cape flowing behind her like a torn banner beneath the dying sky.
Then she looked ahead.
And saw the devastation.
Pure, unforgiving devastation.
Buildings had collapsed atop one another, their shattered skeletons jutting crookedly from the mud like the exposed bones of some colossal dead beast. Jagged chunks of splintered wood littered the streets while endless streams of caked mud forged filthy canals through the remains of Senson Town.
Fractured stone and smoldering earth stretched as far as the eye could see, every surviving structure appearing battered, broken, or moments away from surrendering completely to gravity.
Pitch-black dust flurried through the atmosphere beneath a suffocating sea of thick gray clouds.
The ravaged earth had been painted in the blood of Senson's most devoted townsfolk—those who had pledged not merely their allegiance, but their very souls to the so-called "God-King." The false prophet they had secretly revered above even the Balance itself.
And yet… their faith had not saved them.
Their prayers had not protected them.
Their unshakable devotion had ultimately reduced them to little more than crimson stains beneath the feet of those now walking across their wasted homeland.
Jerry: "I'm surprised they weren't washed out."
The First Captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he stared down at the blood-stained ground, his expression carrying a strange flicker of detached interest.
Eir grimaced, shifting her disturbed gaze away from the blood and bones.
Eir: "Captain… I—"
Jerry: "Feeling apprehensive about what I've done to this place? As expected."
He glanced over his shoulder at the Director, giving a slow shake of his head before turning around completely to face her.
Eir: "Indeed, sir… I just—"
Jerry: "You do not need to bear the weight of my actions upon your shoulders. That insurmountable burden is mine to carry… alone."
Jerry moved his gaze away from her, staring toward the heart of Senson.
There it was.
The ancient golden statue that had once stood gloriously at the center of the town—the divine monument dedicated to the holy King Tellewin, the Lord of Prosperity.
A symbol of conviction.
A symbol of good fortune.
A symbol that had supposedly been created to withstand anything so long as the people's belief in their God-King remained absolute.
Now…
It was gone.
In its place stood a gigantic cluster of obsidian spikes, born from the earlier waves of boiling magma that had swallowed the heart of Senson. Jagged black pillars pierced the earth at every angle, their glossy surfaces reflecting the sickly daylight in fractured pieces.
Windfield's lapis eyes narrowed as they finally stepped into the bosom of Senson Town.
Hera's hoodless light-blue cloak billowed gently behind her as she approached the enormous formation.
Without speaking, she extended one gloved hand and pressed her palm against the hardened black ore.
Cold. Almost freezing.
Her fingers remained there for several seconds.
Jerry yawned softly behind her, casually crossing his arms as he watched the Dictator inspect the massive cluster as though she were admiring some magnificent work of art.
Jerry: "Find anything useful?"
Hera: "…No."
Jerry rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with pure exasperation.
Jerry: "Seriously? Then for goodness' sake, let's move o—"
CRACK!
Jerry's head snapped sideways.
A rugged rock had struck him directly in the jaw, sending a thin string of saliva flying from his lips as his spectacles nearly slipped from his face.
Eir: "Captain!"
She rushed toward him in alarm while Hera simply raised one eyebrow, calmly sweeping her gaze across the surrounding ruins in search of whoever had dared to attack the First Captain.
Then came the scream.
Lorana Morginstein: "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, DEMONS! I REBUKE YOU ALL!"
Standing only a few paces away was a tiny elderly woman.
Her long, tangled gray hair cascaded wildly down her shoulders while pale, wrinkled skin pulled tightly across a face twisted into a murderous scowl. Foam gathered around her trembling lips as she glared at Jerry with mud-brown eyes filled with enough hatred to bury an entire mountain.
Clutched tightly within her left hand was a primeval steel pitchfork caked in dirt. Disgusting nests of mold had crawled up its weathered shaft, releasing a rancid stench that seemed capable of poisoning the air by itself.
Windfield wiped his lip with the back of his hand before pinching his nostrils shut.
He stared down at the enraged elder with mild disgust.
Jerry: "…Urgh. Nasty old bitch—"
Lorana: "DON'T YOU DARE UTTER ANOTHER WORD!"
The elderly woman charged.
For someone so frail, she moved with startling speed, her pitchfork raised directly toward Jerry's throat as she shrieked like some forgotten banshee finally freed from its grave.
August: "STOP! I said STOP!"
A young woman suddenly sprang forward.
August wrapped both arms around her grandmother's waist and desperately hauled her backward, struggling to restrain the furious elder before she could reach the First Captain.
For the briefest instant, Jerry's eyes lit up.
Recognition.
But only for a moment.
Then it vanished.
The faint spark disappeared beneath his usual mask of indifference as though it had never existed at all.
Lorana released an animalistic growl, thrashing violently against her granddaughter's grip.
Lorana: "Let go of me, girl! Listen! Everyone! He's here! THE DEVIL IS HERE!"
STEP.
Eir whirled around.
Her breath caught.
They were no longer alone.
Thirty-five Senson residents had emerged from the ruins surrounding the town's heart, appearing almost simultaneously from shattered doorways, collapsed homes, and shadowed alleys
It was as though they had spent weeks hiding beneath the wreckage, waiting patiently in darkness for the arrival of the First Ones before finally tearing away whatever remained of their fear and revealing themselves.
They stood together.
Silent.
Watching.
Faces drenched in oceans of loathing.
Skin paler than the wandering clouds above this violence-fueled realm.
Eyes stripped of the worship and hope that had once defined them.
These were the people foreigners had always dismissed as nothing more than order-obsessed husks—blind devotees incapable of seeing the truth behind the king they worshipped.
Yet now…
They knew.
They knew the truth.
They knew their prayers had not protected them.
And worst of all…
They knew they were among the few who remained alive to remember it.
Unsettlingly thin.
Frighteningly fragile.
Terribly restless.
They had been stricken with the agonizing knowledge that they were the survivors of a catastrophe that had devoured almost everything they had ever known.
Forty…
Out of one hundred and five.
The rest were simply gone.
Mothers and fathers who had tucked their mischievous children into their seats before sitting together around the dining table for a warm evening meal.
Two brothers who had spent an entire sacred ceremony bickering beneath the watchful eye of a patient priest while the people of Senson offered faithful prayers to their beloved Lord of Prosperity and carried gifts toward the gates of his palace.
A wife meticulously washing dishes within the warmth of her home while her husband worked long hours at a blacksmith's forge, earning just enough coin to keep food upon their table.
Children laughing.
Neighbors arguing.
Priests praying.
Workers laboring.
Families living.
People.
Just… people.
Ruthlessly massacred by the never-ending havoc caused by one man.
HIM.
The feral beast that plagued their dreams every single night, poisoning their lives and families like some wicked disease.
The heartless bearer of shadows who seemed to exist solely to torture the poor and innocent beneath the Luna's malevolent gaze.
The mindless barbarian who had shattered the very foundations of their world without so much as a second glance.
Murderer of their hero…
Their only savior.
ONE.
MAN.
Jerry: "Just my luck—!?"
BOOM.
A colossal explosion tore through the far distance, an enormous eruption of fire blossoming across the horizon before a violent shockwave ripped outward with enough force to make the crooked earth tremble beneath their feet.
The surviving townspeople staggered backward in terror.
Loose stones and splinters of wood burst from the ground and spiraled through the air as the furious gust swept across the center of Senson.
Lorana collapsed against August's arms, erupting into a fit of violent coughing as August struggled to keep her grandmother upright.
Jerry and Hera spun around simultaneously.
Their eyes locked onto the radiant inferno thriving miles away.
Hera's dark-brown hair lashed wildly across her face beneath the immense gust, her scarlet eyes narrowing into razor-thin slits as she watched the distant flames.
Jerry stepped forward.
One arm rose instinctively, shielding his face from the storm of debris rushing toward him.
He peered between his fingers, trying to pinpoint exactly where the eruption had occurred.
Jerry: "…Huh?"
Click.
The color drained from his face with disturbing speed the moment realization had struck.
His throat tightened. His nostrils flared wide.
Those usually dull pupils contracted until they were scarcely larger than specks of dust.
…
The Docks.