PROLOGUE: UNDER THE VEIL OF THE STORM

The rain that night didn’t feel like mere water falling from the sky. It was heavy, dense, as if each drop carried forgotten memories—ancient secrets the human world was never meant to touch.

Cars passed, horns blared, shops closed their doors… everything moved as usual. But behind the ordinary, there was a second world stitched together by invisible threads, impossible for human eyes to see.

This world was shaped by Spiritual Energy.

A living, ancient force, as old as Earth itself. A force capable of bending reality, distorting perception, erasing memories, and manipulating everything a human sees—or thinks they see. And that is why, when monsters walk through the shadows, when blades cut the air, when explosions split the heavens… humans do not notice.

They live under the Veil.

The Veil is a layer of energy that manifests automatically when spiritual powers clash. It acts as a curtain between worlds:

Turning epic battles into industrial accidents.

Converting destruction into short circuits, landslides, power outages.

Erasing traumatic memories and replacing them with more “acceptable” versions.

Masking screams, lights, and shocks with thunder, lightning, and sudden storms.

To an ordinary human, everything is coincidence.

To a Warrior… it is the battlefield.

Warriors are divided into Classes (H to R), a scale that measures the ability to rupture natural laws:

Class H: Ordinary humans. Blind. Fragile. Protected by the Veil.

Classes G and F: Initiates. They can manipulate basic elements (fire, water, earth, metal, wind…), but within human limits.

Classes E and D: Trained Warriors. They can channel true Spiritual Energy. Move entire structures. Change local weather. They are military-level forces.

Classes C and B: Elite combatants. They create craters. Tear buildings apart. Can destroy city blocks.

Class A: One person, one army. Capable of changing the course of wars, toppling nations, causing global catastrophes.

Class S: Spiritual titans. They can subdue the planet. Alter world climate. Make the Veil tremble.

Class R (The Taboo): Warriors whose existence borders on myth. Their power can annihilate continents, realities, or existence itself. No Class R has appeared for centuries… but the world still trembles at the memory that they once existed.

Earth is quietly disputed by ancient races surviving along the edges of the Veil:

Werewolves: Strength beyond flesh and lunar fury.

Vampires: Masters of the night, seduction, and necromancy.

Witches: Manipulate spiritual energy through forbidden rituals.

Demons: Beings from another dimension, so dangerous the Veil itself twists around them.

They live among us—hidden, disguised, using the Veil to hunt, conspire, and wage political wars within the shadows.

The balance between Light and Darkness has never been stable. It is an ancient war, as old as the first being to breathe on Earth. But today… something has changed.

A presence awakens.

An artifact is stolen.

And the lines between the two worlds begin to unravel.

“While Darkness watches in silence… the fate of Earth begins to shift.”

ACT I: Metal vs. Earth

The rain sliced through the air like thin blades of glass; each drop scraped across Korran’s face and washed the city in gray. He ran between stacked containers—slipping footsteps on oil and mud, splashes marking the night.

Against his chest, wrapped in rags, the artifact trembled: hot, pulsating, carrying a light that should not exist there. Behind him, the breath of pursuit came in bursts: muffled voices, metal groaning, and something else—the sensation that the world itself was breathing against him.

The ground vibrated as if the earth wanted to spit the fugitive out. A sharp sound—feet planting with purpose—and Maira appeared: tall, unmoving, a lighthouse in the storm. Her eyes were stone. She planted her heels, cracked her knuckles, and the street obeyed.

From the dirt, a wall rose—dense, rough, lifting like a piece of the city torn from its urban body to stop him.

“End of the line, Korran. Surrender,” her voice cut through the rain, leaving no room for negotiation. “Or I’ll bury you so deep the Earth’s core will beg me to pull you back out.”

Korran coughed, the taste of iron filling his mouth. His ribs burned from exhaustion, but his smile was crooked, mocking.

“A Class F trying to play hero… pathetic.”

The world responded to him before Maira could. As if the rain feared his will, every piece of metal vibrated. The containers groaned as their structure bent inward; rusted plates reshaped into arched blades—predators sharpening their teeth.

Korran raised his arm, and his fist swallowed itself in living metal. The missile that formed was grotesque, dense, too heavy for a human to hold—but Korran had stopped being human a long time ago.

He fired.

The projectile tore the air like a meteor, smashing into Maira’s wall with a deafening impact.

BOOOOM!

Shards of rock flew like wounded birds fighting to survive the storm.

The wall cracked. Bowed. Cried dust.

But it stood.

Maira barely had time to inhale—because Korran was already on her.

“MOVE OUT OF MY WAY!” he roared, charging like a bull forged from steel.

The ground shook. The air vibrated. The rain shifted under the pressure. Maira raised her arms to summon another layer of stone, but Korran was too fast. His metallic fist—an irregular block of living steel—slashed toward her face.

She knew she wouldn’t make it.

Her heart dropped. Vision narrowed.

And then—

The world exploded in green.

A perfumed gust of wind tore through the rain curtain like a theater curtain being pulled open. From the darkness beside the containers, something moved too fast to be human.

A snap echoed. And Maira felt—did not see—something wrap around her waist and yank her back seconds before the metallic fist obliterated the ground where she stood.

When she opened her eyes, she lay on the wet asphalt. And in front of her… her.

Lyra.

Rain-soaked hair, pupils glowing with her element’s light, breathing steady as if she controlled the entire battlefield—even in front of a metal monster. She had pulled Maira from death with the same gentleness one uses to water a flower.

Lyra raised her right hand. Her fingers trembled—not from fear.

From power.

“Maira… breathe. This one’s mine now,” she said, eyes locked on Korran.

The earth responded as if awaiting her command since ancient times.

The asphalt cracked. Mud trembled. And then, like giant serpents awakening after centuries, colossal roots exploded from the ground. Not ordinary roots—thick, interwoven, alive, pulsing with spiritual energy. They lunged at Korran, wrapping his legs, torso, and striking arm, squeezing until the metal creaked.

Korran turned his head slowly, disbelief in his red eyes.

Lyra stepped forward.

“You talk too much. And you’re way too slow.”

Her sentence cut the street like a verdict.

The roots tightened. Snapped. Pulled him back with brutal force.

Korran roared, metal beneath his skin heating until it glowed orange-red. The temperature rose high enough to char the roots trapping him. Lyra felt the shift—but she did not retreat.

“He’s overheating,” Maira warned, catching her breath.

Lyra smiled—tired, but fierce.

“I know.”

ACT II: The Tear of the Abyss

Water whispered before it appeared, slicing through the silence with surgical precision. A voice followed, firm and cold as a wet blade:

“I think we’ve talked enough.”

Korran’s missile veered off course. Water wrapped around it, twisted it, and broke its trajectory before dissolving into steam.

Then she stepped into view:

Nami.

Water rose around her in thin columns, compressed into translucent blades that hummed like violin strings. The air grew colder; even the battle itself seemed to pause.

Korran smiled—not in confidence, but arrogance. Scrap, beams, plates—all flew toward him.

In seconds, Korran became a titan—

a living container of fury and steel,

spikes and plates layered like a walking fortress.

“Time to crush illusions,” his voice groaned, metallic and warped like a twisted bell.

The Titan and the Sacrifice

The Titan grew: taller, hotter, heavier.

Rain, saturated with metallic particles, turned acidic, burning through fabric and skin.

A deep crash echoed—a tower of metal beams collapsed toward the shelters. Maira raised her hands, but the Turtle Shell didn’t form whole—it came cracked, trembling.

“Hold… hold…!” she grunted, feeling the weight crushing her shoulders.

Maira screamed—not from strength, but fear—and pushed beyond her limit, holding the beam long enough for Lyra to act.

Lyra dove into the chaos like a root piercing bad soil. Her roots sprouted trembling—not from uncertainty, but urgency. They wrapped around the beam with the brutality of a desperate branch. Acidic metal burned her arms; a shard sliced her shoulder. Still, the roots pulled the beam away—inch by inch—freeing the man trapped beneath.

Across the street, a truck driver slipped toward metal spikes below.

Nami saw only a blur.

She leapt.

A puddle beside her surged upward like a blue sheet—but there wasn’t enough time. She shaped it into an unstable, trembling cushion—a desperate patch.

She dove with him, absorbing the fall with her own body. Water-blades shredded her clothes, cutting her skin.

“You… are… alive…” Nami whispered with a fragile smile.

Every life saved had a cost.

The Titan lifted his fist.

That strike would erase dozens of meters.

He wanted to end the fight, the street, the people—everything.

Maira, Lyra, and Nami exchanged looks.

No words.

But all understood.

The strategy was born in that instant.

“Leap!” — “Spin!” — “IMPACT!”

The three soared.

They collided with the Titan’s fist with everything they had—and more.

The impact was monstrous.

The street folded like paper.

For a moment, time hesitated.

The three hung between destruction and hope.

The Titan’s fist descended.

Sound died.

And everything… fell silent.

ACT III: The Turn and the Observer

As the dust settled, acidic vapor rose like ghosts. Korran remained—larger, harsher.

From atop a building, a shadow watched.

The presence looked less like a person and more like a cutout of darkness. Where a face should be, there was only a plane of void—except the eyes: two narrow, predatory beams.

The shadow’s voice sounded like dry leaves dragged by the wind:

“Korran was supposed to retrieve the artifact and leave. He didn’t need to draw this much attention.”

The figure adjusted binoculars. The lens captured every detail of the battle. The chaos looked like a bloody ballet—and the observer studied it with scientific coldness.

A final order was given:

“Continue the protocol. Our time is near. Very near.”

The shadow closed the binoculars. It didn’t disappear—it simply went out.

Something much greater had begun at that moment.

And no one present understood the scale of what was coming.

Back on the battlefield, Maira tried to brace the Titan with basalt pillars; he crushed them like dry leaves. Exhausted and wounded, the trio walked the narrow line where victory and defeat blurred.

But they found rhythm.

Maira abandoned massive pillars.

She called history.

Concrete fragments, old rebar, scarred asphalt—everything rose like an entire neighborhood rebelling. The debris crashed into the Titan. The blow made the giant stagger.

A metallic arm swept the air.

Maira was thrown backward—hit the ground, rolled, coughed blood.

Still, the Titan hesitated.

The first crack in the wall.

Maira stood with a roar.

This time, she hit the Titan’s knee—and the giant bent.

Small gain. First real achievement.

Lyra saw the knee buckle.

She ran—vines forming living steps to launch her onto the Titan’s shoulder.

The giant reacted, trying to crush her.

“Not today!” she growled, climbing desperately.

She drove roots into joints—living claws gripping hot metal. And with one deep strike, she opened a fissure—tiny, but real.

Second achievement.

Nami saw the fissure.

She shaped water into a liquid scalpel.

But the jet ricocheted off the Titan’s plate—wrong angle.

The beam dispersed into useless steam.

Korran laughed:

“You can’t even hit that?”

Nami clenched her teeth.

The mistake burned worse than any wound.

She gathered more water—puddles, rain, sweat, breath.

But the moment wasn’t right yet.

Everything seemed to fall apart again.

But the fissure remained.

Third achievement—small, but alive.

Maira limped back, raising only small fragments now.

No attack would matter alone, but together they created rhythm, pressure—slowing the Titan.

Lyra thickened roots around loose parts.

Nami circled the giant like a dancer, watching timing.

It was the first time they truly controlled the fight.

Fourth achievement:

The Titan didn’t advance—he reacted.

The colossus tried to lift his arm—but Maira struck the elbow.

Lyra widened the fissure another millimeter.

Now.

Nami inhaled deeply.

Water trembled around her like a silver-blue mantle.

She aimed without hurry.

“Water Jet…”

Lyra held the fissure open.

“…Abyss Tear.”

The jet cut through the fissure.

This time, it struck the unstable core.

The Titan convulsed.

The metal mountain collapsed—crumbled like a cliff finally giving in to time.

Korran was expelled—spat out like scrap.

Victory—earned, constructed, deserved.

Maira looked for the artifact.

Nothing.

“He wasn’t just running,” she said. “Someone was watching. This was meant to draw attention.”

Lyra stared into the shadows.

“Or distract,” she murmured. “And whoever holds the other piece didn’t like the commotion.”

Far away, the man wrapped in darkness held the artifact.

“Even though Korran was… ‘neutralized,’ the artifact reached the right hands. Three Class F defeated a Class E. The forces of Light are moving. Prepare yourselves.”

The night swallowed the words.

ACT IV: The Cost of the Veil and the Strength of Friendship

The sun was leaning toward the horizon when the city tried to return to normal.

The Veil—this invisible mesh of Spiritual Energy—did its job: workers woke confused, with fragmented memories of smoke. Selective forgetfulness. The Veil stitched their recollections.

But among the fighters, blood still boiled.

The victory was bitter.

Korran’s fall was just a spark in a field ready to ignite.

Cut to a park lit by warm yellow lamps.

Ten friends gathered.

The contrast was intentional: ordinary life against the echoes of the extraordinary.

Maira, Lyra, and Nami were there, hiding exhaustion.

Around them: Lucas, Dante, Aiden, Kael, Ryu, Jessica, Sophia.

The conversation began lightly.

A joke here, a tease there.

Warmth spreading through the tension.

Aiden turned to Nami:

“You okay? You were a little distant at dinner…”

“I’m fine,” she answered. Her gaze met Lucas’s—he smiled calmly, as if saying we’re here.

Lyra talked about movies.

Maira fixed Lyra’s coat without being asked—a small, intimate gesture.

In each moment, their friendship glowed.

Dante watched Maira with quiet admiration.

Something unspoken lingered between them.

The night ended softly.

The three heroines exchanged looks:

warning, promise, and a tiredness that was also hope.

“The Veil is weaker,” Lyra said.

Lucas nodded.

“If we’re right… this is just the beginning.”

Elsewhere, a shadowy figure wrote numbers.

A message blinked on a phone:

“The chaos has been planted. Observe their reactions. Even under illusions, the Light has chosen new bearers. Humans will forget—they always forget—but the balance is broken.”

And while Darkness watches in silence, the fate of Earth begins to shift.

In the Defenders’ fortress, Korran opened his eyes.

The metal around him dissolved.

He instinctively searched for the artifact—

Empty.

He was bound by seals and Spiritual Energy.

Defeat weighed heavy.

Maira wrote the report with steady hands.

Lines were crossed out—too dangerous to speak aloud.

Lyra meditated, sensing fluctuations in Spiritual Energy—

a distant howl that refused to fade.

Nami compiled data:

rain composition, metal reactions, temperature anomalies.

Each did their part.

In the park, Lucas held Lyra’s hand a second longer than needed.

A simple gesture, saying more than words:

promise, warmth, the life worth protecting.

The artifact—now in the hands of those who plot and manipulate—glowed with intentions only time would reveal.

And deep below, the rise of the Shadows approached—

slow, patient, hungry.