Chapter 9: Cloud of Destruction

The world is vast, a realm of endless night where the only illumination comes from the scattered glow of countless moons and distant stars. The sky, a swirling abyss of deep darkness, stretches endlessly, giving the impression that the land itself is floating in endless space. Jagged rock formations rise from the cracked and barren earth, their edges illuminated by the pale light above. Zagons roam the landscape, their monstrous forms moving with a ghostly silence, some resting while others patrol with sharp, glowing eyes that pierce the darkness. In the distance, Sicrus, Mayzen, and Zan sit on large, uneven stones, their figures barely distinguishable against the vast, shifting shadows that dance under the moonlight.

Sicrus: They’re late.

Mayzen: Give them time. It’s better to have the job done well than early with no results.

Sicrus: I know. It’s just, we need this before seeing Aku.

Mayzen: Have you seen him?

Sicrus: Yeah. He’s already back from his mission. He’s just waiting alone.

Zan: Could’ve just had me to do it. Just saying.

Sicrus: You cause too much of a scene. Just saying.

Zan: Yeah well, at least I get shit done.

Sicrus: Things would be a lot easier too if you just had a team.

Zan: You know that doesn’t work for me. Especially when they’re all useless scum.

Mayzen: Let’s focus here. Your group is good, Sicrus?

Sicrus: So far, yes. Right now, they’re in Luria and Yumitra.

Mayzen’s eyes shift to the left.

Mayzen: Josar and Scray just returned.

Sicrus and Zan look at a distance. There are two men in their mid-twenties walking towards them. They are Josar and Scray. Josar, a slim fit young man with blond hair, wearing a gray shirt and slightly torn jeans. Scray, white hair, black shirt, gray pants, blood all over him, carrying a dead man on his back. Finally, they arrive.

Sicrus: Took long enough.

Josar: Scray wanted to handle business his way.

Mayzen: And the results?

Scray: Job complete. And this is a soldier from Luria that we managed to snag that worked with security.

Scray threw the dead body on the ground. Mayzen approached the body, getting on one knee to observe.

Scray: He kept saying Krutone won’t let anyone in or out anymore.

Sicrus: We’ll find out if that’s true.

Mayzen pointed his finger to the dead man’s head. A vein came out of his finger and dug into the dead skull. After a single second, Mayzen retracted his vein and stood back up.

Mayzen: Indeed. They really aren’t letting anyone pass anymore. In or out. Only Lessa or Kyto grants permission.

Zan observes Mayzen’s ability.

Zan: And they call me creepy.

Mayzen ignores Zan’s comment.

Mayzen (to Zan): Clean up the body.

Zan: You don’t want it?

Mayzen: This was a weak soldier.

Zan: Mmkay.

Zan sprays a mist of acid from his hand over the corpse, completely breaking it down.

Sicrus (to Mayzen): So, we break in Krutone then?

Mayzen: Perhaps. We would need to confirm a little later.

Zan (still burning the corpse): I’m all for breaking in.

Sicrus: But we’d be stopped, or at least the job would be harder.

Mayzen: Which is why it still needs to be done quietly.

Sicrus: And we still don’t know exactly when the summit is happening.

Mayzen: Have you heard from Penim?

Sicrus: He said he’d be back in a few days.

A small moment of silence.

Mayzen: We should push Kyto’s hand.  

Sicrus: What are you suggesting?

Mayzen: We push by causing a bit more havoc.

Zan (finishing with the corpse): Sounds like my kind of language!

Sicrus: If we could cause less damage, that’d be best.

Mayzen: That won’t work. We’ve already been holding back, and Kyto’s still taking his time.  

Sicrus: You’re saying let’s force their hand by a larger scale of destruction.

Mayzen: I am. A campaign of fear.

Zan: Awesome! Hahaha.

Josar: Is that necessary?

Mayzen: I believe so.

Sicrus: What are you thinking, then?

Mayzen: We start with the smaller places to gauge the reaction.  

Sicrus: Ok? Places like what?

Mayzen: Yumitra and Allatora.

Zan: We literally just killed off their Prime Minister. Now we’re completely eradicating them?

Mayzen: It’ll make a statement.

Sicrus: And why Allatora?

Mayzen: They are allies with Krutone. They’ll go rushing for help. It’ll force the summit.

Zan: I call dibs on Allatora then.

Mayzen: No. You take Yumitra.

Zan: Why? We already made that place our bitch.

Mayzen: Sicrus will take Allatora. Just make their leader force the summit. Take liberty in killing Jinra. It’ll definitely force Kyto to take more action.

Zan: You’re boring shit. I don’t want Yumitra.

Mayzen ignores Zan.

Mayzen: Is the mission clear?

Sicrus: How soon do you want this done?

Zan: We might as well as do it now. There’s nothing else left to do in this rotting hell.

Mayzen: Now is fine.

Sicrus: What about Penim’s plan? Are we then no longer using Zarnem as a way to sneak in?

Mayzen: We should allow ourselves both options. But for now, we take action on Yumitra and Allatora.

A moment of silence.

Sicrus: Got it.

Zan: Well, I’m off now if that’s the plan. I’ll kill every living thing in Yumitra.

Zan walks away. Mayzen looks over a different direction.

Mayzen: He’s back. I’ll report to him the change.

Sicrus: Sure.

Scray: Well, if I’m not needed, I’m off.

Scray leaves. Sicrus and Josar were left alone. Josar takes a seat on a nearby boulder.

Sicrus: Everything going well for you?

Josar: You’re seriously asking that?

Sicrus: Just checking in.  

Josar doesn’t reply.

Sicrus: Well, if it makes you feel any better, they aren’t great for me either.  

Josar stayed silent.

Sicrus: I’m sorry to put you through that mission with Scray.

Josar: No, you aren’t.

Sicrus: I am.

Josar: You aren’t. Look at you now. You’re going to tear down Allatora. More will die by your hands.

Sicrus doesn’t respond.

Josar: You’re going to justify yourself because it’s for the bigger mission, right? Ruin these people for the bigger picture, yeah?

Sicrus: And yourself?

Josar: Yeah, but I’m not killing anyone. We agreed my hands don’t shed blood.

Sicrus: And what if they come for you? What if you’re attacked?

Josar: Well, I won’t get myself in that situation.

Sicrus: You’re confident in that?

Josar: More confident than you’ll ever be.

Sicrus: Can we not with this right now? You get like this every time you come back from a mission.

Josar doesn’t answer.

Sicrus: It’s easier when we get along.

Josar: I don’t know, Sicrus. I just don’t know anymore.

Sicrus: About?

Josar: Everything.

A moment of silence.

Sicrus: Well, I have to head to Allatora.  

Josar doesn’t reply.

Sicrus: I won’t do too much. I promise. Just enough.

Josar still doesn’t reply, and Sicrus leaves.

The training ground was a wide, uneven field of dirt and cracked stone, marked by the scars of countless battles fought before. The midday sun hung overhead, its light casting sharp shadows across the rough terrain, but the air carried a cool breeze, a stark contrast to the heat of the upcoming spar. Sen stood in the center, rolling his shoulders as he faced Shera and Makota, his body already humming with the familiar pulse of Intergy. Shera’s stance was light, fluid, her presence like the wind itself— unpredictable, ready to shift in an instant. Makota, on the other hand, was grounded, steady, his eyes locked onto Sen with quiet focus, tense like a predator waiting to strike. Zarnem stood away, arms crossed, his heavy presence was here to judge, to push them beyond their limits.

Zarnem: Now that we know your darkness consumes heat, let’s see what your light does.

Shera was the first to move, rushing in as a gust of wind kicked up dust around her. She arced around and behind Sen, aiming a precise strike at his back, but his body flickered with radiant light, and he twisted just in time, deflecting her blow with the back of his arm. Before he could counter, Makota struck from the front, sending a spiraling torrent of water straight at him. Sen responded, his hand igniting with light Intergy as he swept his arm forward. The water collided with the light, hissing and evaporating instantly into a cloud of mist. Makota’s eyes narrowed, already shifting into another stance, but Sen didn’t let up. He lunged forward, slipping through the mist like a phantom, his speed forcing Makota onto the defensive.

Shera swooped in from above, using the brief distraction to send a slicing current of wind toward Sen’s exposed side. He barely turned in time, but a pulse of Intergy erupted from his palm, dispersing the wind before it could land. Shera gritted her teeth, flipping back into the air while Makota struck again, his water reforming into whips that lashed out like serpents. Sen’s body glowed even brighter, his movements crisp, precise— every time a tendril of water shot toward him, his light cut through it, turning each attack into harmless steam. Zarnem watched intently from the side, his sharp eyes narrowing as he observed the way Sen’s Intergy interacted with Makota’s water. Each attack dissipated instantly, the heat from Sen’s power not just countering Makota, but outright negating him. Shera weaved around, searching for an opening, but Sen’s reactions were too fast, his radiant glow making it difficult to even get close.

Then something changed. As Sen dashed forward to engage Makota, a dark pulse flickered across his fingertips. He didn’t notice at first, but when Makota summoned another surge of water, Sen instinctively reached out with both hands— one glowing with light, the other shrouded in an eerie black mist. The moment the water met his outstretched palm, the dark Intergy froze it solid in an instant. Makota recoiled in shock as his attack shattered into icy fragments, scattering across the ground. Sen’s breath hitched— he hadn’t tried to do that, but the sensation of using both elements at once felt strangely natural. He turned just as Shera struck again, her body nearly invisible in the wind, but his dark Intergy expanded, forming a shadowy haze around him that slowed her approach. She forced herself to stop mid-air, her instincts screaming at her not to enter whatever zone he had just created.

Sen took advantage of her hesitation. He shot forward with newfound confidence, weaving between Makota’s defenses and striking with alternating bursts of light and dark. When Makota retaliated, Sen’s light intercepted him, but when Shera attempted to flank, the shadows surged outward, forcing her back. The flow of the battle shifted— he was no longer just reacting, he was controlling. Zarnem’s eyes flickered with intrigue, noting the way Sen’s movements had grown smoother, more instinctive. The battle that once felt like a two-on-one was now Sen against two struggling opponents. Shera and Makota exchanged quick glances, silently acknowledging what had just happened. Their advantage was gone. Sen wasn’t just keeping up— he was surpassing them.

Shera and Makota moved in sync, the air shifting as they combined their wind abilities into a relentless onslaught. A powerful cyclone formed, its force pushing against Sen from all sides, forcing him backward as dust and debris whipped violently around him. The wind howled, distorting the battlefield, their combined force creating an inescapable wall meant to corner him. But before they could tighten the trap, Sen unleashed something far greater. A surge of pure darkness erupted from his body, expanding outward in an instant. The world disappeared. Makota and Shera's vision was ripped away, swallowed by an abyss of darkness. They staggered, unable to see, their instincts screaming as they tried to locate Sen.

In the black void, dark Intergy wrapped around their limbs, constricting them. Makota struggled, but his strength meant nothing when there was no direction, no light, no way to counter what he couldn’t see. Shera gasped as she felt the same cold grip around her, her body locked in place before she could react. Then, as quickly as it had come, the darkness completely vanished. The battlefield returned in a blink, the sun glaring down once more, revealing both Makota and Shera bound and immobilized before Sen, his form radiating with a balance of light and shadow. Zarnem, watching from the sidelines, exhaled slowly, his arms still crossed, but his expression now one of true recognition. Sen hadn't just won— he had dominated.

Zarnem: Absolutely impressive, Sen.

Sen released the dark Intergy holding down Makota and Shera.

Zarnem: And you said you never had formal training?

Sen: Never did.

Zarnem: You only ever trained with Dain?

Sen: And now you guys, I guess.

Makota dusted himself off, exhaling.

Makota: Okay, show-off.

Shera stretched her arms, shaking her head.

Shera: Didn’t have to do us that dirty.

Sen gave a sheepish shrug.

Sen: Oh, my bad.

Zarnem: Don’t apologize. They should’ve done better.

Sen blinked.

Sen: Oh…

Makota: Oh, hell with that. We had no idea what his abilities were or what they could even do!

Shera: I know, right? Like seriously— dark and light? What even is that?

Zarnem smirked.

Zarnem: I learned something too.

Sen nodded.

Sen: Yeah, Dain and I were just figuring it out not too long ago, like I said.

Makota folded his arms, thinking.

Makota: So, let me get this straight— darkness is so cold it puts out the flames Dain sends?

Sen: Yeah. Or at least, that’s what we discovered.

Makota: And the heat from your light cancels out things like water and ice?

Sen: Seems like it, judging from what just happened.

Makota: But then your darkness is so cold it can freeze my water?

Sen rubbed his chin.

Sen: It really is versatile.

Shera shook her head in disbelief.

Shera: Man, what a broken pair of abilities… And you blind your opponents by making the area pitch black. What even is that?

Makota: Your mother and father had these abilities?

Sen: Yeah. My father— light. My mother— dark.

Shera: And you got both.

Sen’s expression darkened slightly.

Sen: I thought it was just light until we were ambushed in Clyden. Then this darkness broke out of me… And when Zan spilled that Intergy on me, I felt more in control of my own Intergy. Heightened.

Zarnem studied him for a moment before clapping his hands once.

Zarnem: Anyhow, good sparring session from all of you. Get some lunch prepared.

The midday sun hung low, casting a warm glow over the small clearing where the crew gathered for lunch. A makeshift fire crackled in the center, the faint aroma of roasted meat and vegetables filling the air. Dain sat cross-legged on a flat rock, talking with Makota while Shera stretched out nearby, still recovering from the sparring session. Fex stood at the edge of the group, while Zarnem observed everything from his usual composed stance. Sen stepped forward to grab his share of food. Ira returned carrying Yerah on her back then laying her down. Yerah sat off to the side, her back resting against a tree, her face tense with pain as she adjusted her posture. Her ankle was visibly swollen, wrapped hastily in bandages, and her knee bore fresh scrapes and bruises. Sen didn’t hesitate. Leaving his food behind, he moved straight toward her, his footsteps quick but controlled, his focus entirely on the injuries.

Sen: Are you ok?

Yerah: Yeah, I’m fine.

Ira: She just got a little hurt. Good sparring session though.

Sen: Are you hurt?

Yerah exhales as she adjusts her legs. Sen crouched beside Yerah, his gaze fixed on her swollen ankle and the scrapes along her knee. His fingers hovered just above the bandages as a faint pulse of light Intergy flickered over his palm.

Sen: I can help heal it.

Ira: She should try healing herself first. It’s a good time to practice.

Sen glanced up at Ira.

Sen: I need practice too.

Ira raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. She watched as Sen carefully placed his hands over Yerah’s injuries, his light Intergy beginning to flow. Yerah inhaled sharply at the sensation, both working together— warm, soothing, a contrast to the lingering sting of pain. Ira smirked slightly, her expression knowing. Without another word, she stepped back and turned away, leaving Sen and Yerah alone. Yerah looked at him, her voice softer now.

Yerah: You really don’t have to.

Sen (still focused, his voice calm): I know.

The warmth from his energy continued to spread, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded, leaving only the two of them. Dain watched from a distance and smiled a little.

The air was thick with smoke, the scent of scorched wood and charred flesh clinging to the wind as it rolled over the ruins of Allatora. Fires raged through the remains of the once-thriving land, consuming everything in their path. Sicrus stood at the highest point of the wreckage, a collapsed structure that might have once been a government building, his gaze steady as he overlooked the destruction. The faint flicker of embers danced around him, floating through the air. Somewhere beneath the chaos, screams and sobs echoed from the remnants of the broken land, the desperate sounds of survivors trying to grasp the reality of what had just happened. Sicrus remained still, unaffected, as if he were merely observing a natural disaster rather than one of his own making.

Around him, the bodies of fallen soldiers lay scattered, their armor cracked, weapons broken, lifeless eyes staring into the sky. The ground was soaked with blood, seeping into the dirt. Some of them had tried to run, others had fought until their last breath, but the result had been the same— none of them were a match for him. Sicrus rolled his shoulders, a quiet exhale escaping his lips, his body still loose and composed despite the battle that had just taken place. His coat, darkened by soot and streaks of blood, fluttered slightly as another gust of wind passed through. He took a slow step forward, the crunch of debris under his shoes barely audible over the distant wailing. His mind wasn’t clouded with guilt, nor was it fueled by pride. There was no satisfaction, no regret— only the simple acknowledgment that the task had been completed.

Hundred of miles away, the wind howled through the cliffs, carrying the distant hum of the land below. From his vantage point, Zan stood motionless, his sharp gaze fixed on Yumitra. The sky above was eerily still, thick clouds hanging low, smothering the moonlight, casting a muted glow over the land. Zan inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

Zan: Hello again, Yumitra. Your favorite mass murderer is back.

He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at the monstrous cloud looming just behind the cliff’s edge. A thick, swirling mass of acidic mist stretched across the sky, its greenish hue blending into the darkness, silent and waiting. The sheer size of it was overwhelming, an unstoppable force hovering just beyond sight. Zan’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied grin, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. It was always the same— first came the silence, then the panic, and finally, the screams. And he always loved the screams. Finally, with blinding speed, he jumped from the cliff and ran towards Yumitra, and the massive mist of acid followed him.

The streets of Yumitra buzzed with the sounds of life, merchants calling out their wares, workers repairing damaged buildings, families trying to piece together what remained of their homes. Hope was fragile but present, a quiet determination lingering in the air as people moved forward, unaware of the shadow looming over them. Then, a hush began to spread. First, a few voices trailed off, then more, as heads turned toward the distant mountains. A greenish fog rolled over the peaks, creeping downward with an unnatural slowness, swallowing the landscape in its path. Eyes widened in horror, realization striking like a bolt of lightning. Someone screamed. Then another. Panic erupted like wildfire— people shoved past one another, desperate to escape the inevitable, but there was nowhere to go. The mist was already moving.

Man 1: Wind users! We must blow back the mist!

Man 2: We’re here!

Two men and three women rushed forward, their hands already glowing with Intergy as they prepared to summon powerful gusts to drive the mist away. But before they could even react, Zan was already among them. His form blurred in an instant, closing the distance like a phantom. A sickening hiss filled the air as his arm liquefied, splattering across their faces in searing streams of acid. Their screams barely had time to rise before their flesh melted away, their skin peeling, their eyes dissolving into nothingness. As their bodies convulsed, Zan moved with merciless efficiency— his now-liquid limb slashing outward, carving through their throats in a single, fluid motion. Blood mixed with acid, sizzling as it met the ground, the stench of burning flesh overwhelming the air. The five bodies crumpled lifelessly to the earth, their final attempt to save their land snuffed out in an instant. Zan barely even looked at them, his gaze already shifting back toward Yumitra with a smirk.

Soldiers noticed Zan.

Soldier 1: Stop him!

Soldier 2: He’s killing our people!

One soldier raised his hands, a roaring inferno bursting forth, while the other unleashed a violent arc of electricity, both attacks surging toward Zan with deadly force. The impact struck him dead on, blowing out half of his body, the fiery blast scattering acid into the air, sizzling as it met the ground. Zan didn’t fall. His liquefied form twisted unnaturally, his remaining half rippling as if his body was nothing more than a shifting pool of molten destruction.

Then, he moved.

What was left of him rushed forward, his acid form splitting into thin, searing tendrils that shot through the air like living spears. Before the soldiers could even comprehend what was happening, burning holes tore through their bodies, the acid burrowing into flesh, eating through muscle and bone in an instant. Their screams were raw, agonized, as their limbs convulsed, their weapons falling from lifeless hands. Their bodies collapsed, the remnants of Zan reforming from the acidic mass, his smirk never fading. He stretched his arms, his flesh solidifying once more, rolling his shoulders as if nothing had happened. Two more down. His fun was just getting started. Zan regenerated.

Zan (looking at the incoming acid cloud): Almost here.

More soldiers rushed in, weapons drawn, their expressions hardened with determination despite the carnage before them. They fanned out, attempting to surround him, their Intergy flaring as they prepared to strike. Zan only grinned. His body rippled, shifting unnaturally, and then— he fired. From his arms and shoulders, bullets of acid shot out like a relentless barrage, each projectile sizzling through the air with deadly precision. The first soldier’s head snapped back as a hole was burned straight through his skull, his body collapsing before he even realized he was dead. Another took a shot through the chest, the acid eating through flesh and organs, leaving nothing but a gaping cavity where his heart once was. One by one, they fell— holes punched through their torsos, limbs, and skulls, their armor offering no protection against the corrosive projectiles.

Some tried to dodge, some raised barriers of fire, wind, or stone, but it was useless. The acid burned through everything. Zan’s laughter echoed through the chaos as he unleashed another volley, dropping soldiers in rapid succession. Their screams faded into nothingness, their bodies collapsing in smoldering heaps, their weapons clattering uselessly to the blood-soaked ground.

The battlefield was now littered with the lifeless, punctured corpses of those who thought they could stand against him. Zan walked and found one soldier still alive. The soldier’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his body trembling, his fingers clawing at the dirt as if there were some escape he hadn’t yet found. His tears mixed with the blood seeping from his wounds, his lips quivering as he struggled to speak. Zan only smirked.

Zan: How unlucky you didn’t die right away. Now you have to feel what it’s like to burn slowly.

The soldier’s wide, horror-stricken eyes reflected the swirling mist closing in around him, his body betraying him as his strength faded. Zan didn’t stay to watch the final moments. There was no need. With a casual turn, he stepped away, his silhouette disappearing into the thickening green fog as Yumitra’s fate was sealed. Then, without a sound, Zan’s body began to dissolve. His form melted into liquid, evaporating into the very mist he had created, his being merging with the acidic cloud itself. The death he had unleashed would now consume Yumitra from the inside out, and as the first cries of agony rose, Zan was everywhere.

The acid rolled in like a creeping storm, silent at first, swallowing the city in a thick, green fog. The people of Yumitra had no time to react, no time to flee. Those closest to the city’s edge were the first to feel it— their skin prickled, then burned, the sensation so sudden and overwhelming that screams tore from their throats before they even understood what was happening. Clothes melted into flesh, eyes dissolved in their sockets, and hands that reached out for help were stripped down to exposed, sizzling bone. Panic spread like wildfire, but there was nowhere to run. Every breath drawn scorched their lungs, their throats closing as the air itself betrayed them.

The marketplace, once filled with the scent of fresh bread and spices, was now a scene of horror. Merchants clutched their faces, their cries cut short as their mouths filled with blood and liquefied tissue. Wooden stalls collapsed as the acid eroded the support beams, the fabric coverings dissolving into thin air before even touching the ground. Metal wares— knives, jewelry, coins— became coated in a corroded film, hissing as the acid ate away at their surfaces. The once-bustling square was reduced to a graveyard of slumped, twitching bodies, their features unrecognizable, their final expressions forever etched into melting flesh.

The grand stone buildings of Yumitra, symbols of the city’s resilience, fared no better. The thick walls cracked and crumbled as the corrosive mist seeped into their very foundations. Glass windows clouded over, then shattered, their fragments dissolving before they even touched the ground. Statues of leaders, once standing tall, began to droop and collapse, their faces warping into twisted, unrecognizable forms. Bridges snapped apart, the metal beams bending and sagging under the relentless acid, plunging into the rivers below— where even the water foamed and darkened as it, too, succumbed to the toxic cloud.

Deep within the city, families clung to one another inside their homes, barricading doors and windows in desperate attempts to keep the mist out, but it was useless. The acid seeped through the smallest cracks, creeping under doors, slipping through keyholes. Mothers shielded their children, their own flesh burning away first, their arms fusing to those they tried to protect. Fathers pounded against the walls, their fists leaving behind bloody smears as their muscles dissolved, their bones crumbling beneath their own weight. The houses themselves became tombs, the wood curling into blackened husks, the rooftops caving in as the mist gnawed away at every structure.

The bodies of Yumitra lay strewn across the shattered streets, but they were no longer whole— no longer recognizable as human. The acid cloud had done its work thoroughly, dissolving flesh and muscle, stripping skin from bone in slow, agonizing waves. Faces had melted away, leaving only hollow sockets where eyes once held life. Limbs, twisted and half-dissolved, protruded from the rubble, their bones exposed and pitted, eaten away by the relentless mist. Clothing had fused with charred skin, creating grotesque, steaming masses where bodies had once been. Where children had huddled in corners, only small, skeletal fragments remained. Yumitra had become a graveyard of decay— silent, still, and unmercifully empty.

And through it all, Zan was there. His presence loomed over the city, unseen but ever-present, his acidic mist moving like a sentient plague, consuming, devouring, reducing all of Yumitra to an unrecognizable wasteland. By the time the mist finally began to thin, there was nothing left but a steaming ruin. An hour later, the air cleared. A green haze swirled and thickened, the air itself seeming to shudder as the acidic cloud condensed. Slowly, Zan’s form began to take shape, his body emerging from the mist, flesh and bone knitting together seamlessly. His skin, unmarred and pale, materialized first, followed by strands of dark hair and the sharp lines of his face. His lips curled into a smirk as his feet touched the rocky ground.

He turned, unfazed by the lingering scent of burnt flesh and decay that clung to the wind. A small satchel lay undisturbed on a nearby rock, and he reached for it, pulling out a clean set of clothes. His movements were unhurried as he slipped on his outfit. Once dressed, Zan stood at the edge of the cliff, looking over the silent wasteland.

Zan: And they say Hell is a place of fires. What fuckery.

He chuckled, stepping away without a care.

Zan: I am Hell.