A solitary dewdrop was streaking down a wall reflecting the moonlight. The milky rays shed their light upon two silhouettes in particular, as if their charm was enough to attract light itself.

A dark knight standing majestically against the sky was bending down in a rather paternalistic way. His hand was clutching the shoulder of a young guy whose stoical gaze made him seem unheeding of reality.

“And justice will always be by the poor’s side. Never by the wicked’s side,” Pseudonym smiled behind his pitch-black helmet. The armor suggested a moral standing which could give courage to friends and terror to enemies. The metallic flares reflected on the face of a te years old Goblin who was holding tight a bowl of stew, now pretty much aware that no one would come and took it off his hands.

Meanwhile, a fascinating pale-skinned young woman was gazing at the scene from behind a corner. She had half a smile on her lips: “Where was my Pseudonym when I needed it?” Shaking her head, Francesca disagreed with the words of the dark knight. She let out a bitter nostalgic giggle, gave a sigh and said to herself: “The weak succumb. Will you tie together the Clan of the Heavenly Eagle and the Sect of the Worthy for me, Pseudonym? Who will free my heart of this burden?”

Francesca leaned against the wall of the hovel, immersed in darkness. She exhaled a long sigh whose moisture spiralled up to the moon.

As it extinguished, the warm breath of air reached two figures standing on a rooftop. Their faces gave off dignity and royal bearing. One’s arm was wrapped around the other’s shoulder. A slight shade of red covered his face. “Can you remember when we were young? Gnic! Hahahaha! Look at them, having fun!” said Caesar as he raised his glass to the moon with a big round of laughter.

“You decrepit bastard. When you were young, you spent more of your time rising empires than you did with your friends, I must remind you,” Aure smiled, a mysterious light in his gaze.

Caesar’s expression grew melancholy: “Still, I envy them. We’ve never enjoyed peaceful times. Those who found peace have actually just given up. Orma is under the threaten of many other races. We have our hands in mud.”

“You mean in shit?” Aure sighed. “If we hadn’t spoilt our people by welcoming Humans, maybe now we would have had way more promising talents in your younger generation,” a flash of fierceness cross Aure’s eyes as he stared at Helial and Pseudonym. One moment later he glanced away, a powerless expression on his face.

“Oh no, spare me. Last time our ancestors opposed Humans, both parties only got thousands of corpses to bury and nothing more.”

While the two old friends discusses on the rooftop, on the other side of the square, on top of an imposing bell tower, a huge white cat and a silvery-haired little girl sitting on his back were taking a look at the view. The girl seemed more of a tiny goddess; her long shiny hair sparkled in the moonlight and glided through the wind in breath-taking silver choreographies.

“Pseudonym is way stronger than the poor dickhead,” snorted Snowflake as a strange gleam shone in his eyes. If Pseudonym could nail Helial down with one hand, then Snowflake would be nailed down by his mere Aura.

Lumia inspected the area all around them, scanning every corner in Suburra with her big green eyes. With one creamy hand she held the other and sat cross-legged as an ancient wise man. Lumia’s royal bearing was in striking contrast with her age, but her gaze carried an experience that no ten-year-old could boast to match.

The elegance Lumia gave off was far beyond what human mind could concei-

“The filthy whore is here,” Lumia groaned in a hoarse voice as a frightening killing intent glistened in her eyes.

Snowflake stared blankly for a couple of seconds before recollecting himself. He wasn’t yet used to Lumia’s mood swings. “Well, challenge her to a death match or something,” the huge cat yawned, as if he had just said something obvious and thoughtful.

“If I challenged her to a whore match, she’d be the one winning for sure,” said Lumia as she shrugged.

In that very moment, a third silhouette appeared on the bell tower.

A woman in dark tight-fitting clothes enhancing her voluptuous figure and a black bangs covering her forehead said: “But if you challenged me to a flat breast match, your chances would increase drastically,” Circe let out a giggle. Lumia brought her hands up to her non-existent breasts, where she didn’t touch but a desolate meadow.

Lumia glared at the giant bumps trying to explode from within Circe’s clothes in their search for freedom. She spat out. Then, her gaze flew back to Helial and Pseudonym.

Her spit flew from the very top of the tower to the ground.

A dark shadow stepped slightly aside to avoid it. The shadow covered his mouth shaping a yawn and shrugged. His eyes glistened in shades of red as his slender fingers tumbled against the wall. His face was the perfect mixture of disinterest and unwillingness. His unrevealing gaze seemed to fly back and forth from Helial and the dark-clothes silhouette on top of the tower – namely, his cousin.

Vlad had been caught during on his night walks. Suddenly, he had sensed the presence of Francesca’s Aura just as that of many other people he knew. There all heading to the same point. Curiosity had led him to follow them and gotten him to stumble on that curious scene.

Without their knowing, Helial and Pseudonym became the show of many of their acquaints.

The crowd stretched as far as to the feet of the tower. People began to whisper.

“That’s Pseudonym! Did he get angry with the boy? When he grabbed his shoulder, I heard a distinct crack!” one said.

“Pseudonym is the greatest talent of this generation. What did you expect? That a baby could go unpunished just in his face? Pfui!” another said sharply.

“Since Pseudonym began to talk, the other had barely a chance to reply. It isn’t the first time Pseudonym’s in Suburra, after all. And it’s not the first time he fends for the weak either. The boy is the new Human pupil of the King, and he’s clearly too spoiled to understand what it means to be weak and suffering.”

The crowd soon began to spread untrue voices, to which Vlad shook his head helplessly.

“The greatest talent in his generation?” said Vlad, an eyebrow raised. “The Aura of that Human…” a scarlet spark flashed in his eyes. Suddenly, he started to see as if in the daylight.

Skill Activated:

Scarlet Eye

Helial’s Aura expanded under the serious gaze of Vlad, whose eyes were now of a different color. Uncanny mysterious shades of crimson were gleaming in his pupils.

Vlad slightly furrowed his eyebrows as an icy gust of wind carried the dust under his feet towards the center of the little square where stood Pseudonym and Helial.

Fwooosh

Suddenly, a string of images from the past came into Helial’s sight.

He saw a little newborn wrapped in clothes held in his own arms. It felt like a dream. The baby had a vague trace of silvery hair on her tiny pink head. Her green eyes pierced his ice heart. He had long forgot what if felt like to feel something other than the hatred for his brother.

The gaze pierced his very soul. It seemed to give him some strange inner quiet which let him ascend to a higher level.

His Aura changed quickly enough.

Pseudonym felt an unusual heat on the hand holding Helial which speedily wormed its way to the rest of his arm. He took notice of a SCARICA of sparks and a trail of smoke rising up from where his hand touched the shoulder of the boy. He knitted his brow. He gathered up his Mana to cover the whole armor and avoid the risk of having it corroded.

And yet the strange power wouldn’t seem to decrease.

Air turned electrified, like a wind from out of nowhere whose epicenter was Helial himself. As if the boy was the eye of an invisible storm. Helial’s dark hair began to flutter according to the rhythm of the wind as he slowly won back the control over his muscles.

Pseudonym squinted.

Before his eyes shone an illusion whose story let an unusual heat seethe inside his chest. The two Immortals over the rooftop caught sight of an illusory pearl-white Qilin materialized behind Helial. The Ancestral Creature was giving off such powerful a pressure it even hurt Caesar and Aure.

Their expression grew serious. Caesar reemerged from his daze to give Helial the most satisfied look.

“Can you see it?” Caesar asked, his voice filled with pride.

“See what? You mean yet another human messing Orma up?” Aure helplessly sighed.

Pseudonym felt the terrifying pressure emitted by Helial weight up on his own soul. It seemed like a primordial radiance the boy’s bones were imbued with. The Aura Helial’s soul was giving off seemed to awaken the Black Phoenix legacy inside his body just as if it had just recognized its natural nemesis.

Pseudonym instantly took his hand off Helial’s shoulder. The boy began to slowly stand back up,his back turned on him. Meanwhile, Pseudonym let all his Mana rush from his Soul to his Meridians. A blackish gleam immediately covered him up.

Behind Pseudonym suddenly appeared the avatar of an humongous black phoenix who fiercely glared at the Qilin behind Helial.

They seemed as strikingly different as water and fire. It was impossible for them to combine.

Helial turned towards him as a shock of electricity was emitted by the contrast between such different Manas.

“Have you even suffered in your life, Pseudonym? Was your life a difficult one, were you deprived of someone you loved?” Helial said bluntly. “Have you ever seen someone slaughter a thousand people in the name of some Ideal? Have you ever seen villages of common people whose last thought was a Dao of Mana be killed off in punishment? Do you really believe we live in a world of heroes?”

Helial’s voice resounded solemnly. It was filled with pain. The boy was clearly reliving some scenes of his past in quick succession.

“Those who want to stand out among anyone else, these so-called heroes in search for an ideal which sublimes their thinking , they’re only meant to cause suffering. Would you kill ten people to save one? Would you kill dozens of wicked to save three good souls? At the end of the day, your hands are as covered in blood as theirs were. Spare me your speeches on good and evil. Do your utmost, make your choices, be inconsistent if you like, but don’t restrict your will within the boundary of a dead ideal. Ideals can kill.”

As Helial’s words fell one by one upon a baffled Pseudonym, Curse of the Demon flashed into existence in a dark beam. With a shockwave generated by his Aura, Helial had everyone step back into safety.

He firmly clutched the hilt of Curse of the Demon as he said: “And now let’s see if I can defeat the legendary Pseudonym.”