“The fallen gods. I- I have heard of them from my mother, but I thought it was only a fairytale.”

It was odd that his strict mother would tell him a story instead of an order to study. She was the type of mother who would not waste her breath on meaningless things, and she had once even told him ‘Having regrets makes one a human’. Hence, her last words, ‘Never look back’, may mean more than it seems.

“There are reasons fairytales should stay as fiction. As the truth may vary than it seems,” 101 commented, the weight in her tone carried burdens. “And there's a man behind you."

“Young man, are you fine?” A paramedic asked and placed his hand on Lace’s shoulder out of concern. Unlike his frightened colleagues, his voice was genuine and warm that soothes wavering minds.

Lace flinched from the man’s touch. The lingering sensation of the creepy hands from the afterlife was still vivid. Disgust had overwhelmed him, even though it was from another human, he became sensitive to physical contact.

“I’m sorry… I know you’re concerned but, I feel uncomfortable,” He replied, occasionally looking up to the man while ignoring 101 chortling at his reaction.

“After returning from the afterlife?” The paramedic shook his head and gave a big smile that shows his teeth shining in white, “Any man would piss their pants after seeing whatever waits for them at the other side but, rest assure-

“I’m the no.1 paramedic of Pax so you’re in safe hands now! Promise!”

“I’ll believe your word for that,” Lace giggled, the immense vigor displayed by the paramedic managed to slip by the creaks of his anxiety and put a small smile on his face.

“It’s good to see you brightened up a bit. Let me patch you again since your bandages have loosened up. Unless you want that cameraman over there to see your naked upper body.”

Lace peeked over the paramedic’s shoulders and saw a cameraman along with a news reporter in a large crowd nearby an ambulance.

“That’s right, it would be wrong to show it off because it's exclusive,” 101 chuckled.

“What?”

“What’s what?” The paramedic asked, unaware of 101 as only Lace could hear her.

“Um, nothing, I just remembered something, that’s all.”

“Can you ask him to bandage you any faster, mon chou? The fallen gods are fast on their feet,” 101 grunted. She would have shaken his shoulders a lot if she was physically there.

Lace mentally told her to be patient as he sat still on the stretcher. The paramedic’s handiwork gave little to no discomfort. The clear pattern and the rhythm behind his bandaging techniques were showing the years of experience he has.

“Done. I gotta say, you look like a stud with those bandages,” The paramedic chuckled.

“I prefer wearing normal clothes, thank you” Lace replied, while touching the bandage wrapped around his forehead and his upper body.

“I’ll inform my colleagues first, then straight to the hospital we go.”

As the paramedic turned and walked away, something fell from his back pocket. A photograph, it was a picture of him with a girl that looks no younger than Lace himself. In a small kitchen cutting a cake together while smiling. Which is likely to be his daughter.

“Mister! You dropped this!”

“Hold on Lace, look up!” 101 shouted.

The blue sky had turned blood red with protruding flames licking the air, trying to reach the lands below.

The white clouds fell down to the ground as mist, covering over the city like haze. Obstructing the sights of many, as the sky became brighter with fire and hotter than California.

From above, a burst of glorious flames flared against the road in front of Lace. The sudden force behind it managed to fling him away with his body sliding across the street. The glasses of hundred shops nearby broke almost instantaneously, as small whirlwinds of flames carrying the shards flew through the young man. The moving fire formed a ring around him and anyone nearby. While the unlucky few had burned to death.

Numerous fresh cuts bleed from his body, the edges of his wounds were charred by the approaching heat. The flames burned several of his bandages loose, as it dangled from his body with kindling edges, revealing the old wounds bleeding. Hot ashes plastered his body, scorching some of his skin.

Lace screamed, the bits of his skin had melted and blackened in solid as blood sipped out between the edges. One of his eyes was sealed tight, due to the gash leaking red at the edge of it. The constant loss of blood pushed his consciousness on a thread.

Followed by an animus laughter, the tar melted under the intense heat, turning into a sizzling dark liquid. Black gases head forth from the violent nature of the element.

A crater was left behind after the flames died out. The black gases dispersed, slowly revealing a figure at the centre. It was a middle aged man, but his body was surrounded by fire. Weird bright stripes of energy were glowing underneath his unburnt clothes which signifies a deity.

“The god of fire, Vulkan. I thought this old man was already dead!” 101 laughed for a good second before fake coughing, “Though, mon chou, you should run away-”

Vulkan bashed his warhammer to the ground with his veins popping off from his muscles. A crack opens towards Lace as a wall of fire follows suit.

Despite his injuries, Lace bit his lips and grunted before throwing himself to the side. Barely dodging the thick flames within hair's length.

“-but to escape means you have to fight."

"I know, 101. So, looks like gods manifest in humans?" He guessed, while breathing heavily.

"Yes, they can. Why the sudden question?"

Lace gulped, he could taste the saltiness of his sweats as he pants, “The man he manifested in, is my friend, Hil. The father of the daughter that I had saved, is there--”

“Fat chance, there's no way to save him other than freeing his soul by… the only way."

'Killing him'

The unforgiving heat had grieved him from oxygen. Suffocating and choking him in hell called the planet Earth. Breathing became a slow torture, as if the air had thorns grinding against his lungs in and out.

"Slayer O’Slayer, never I thought I would see you groveling on the ground pathetically," Vulkan cackled.

His nose pointed to the burning skies with an ever-crescent smile. The tone of his voice carried the haughtiness of those standing above others.

Lace felt an impulse from hearing Vulkan's voice. A sudden large amount of blood has been pumped from his heart, pounding heavily. He clutched his chest, yet the strong beatings stayed unrest.

"Do I know you?" Lace asked, with his voice shakened by pain and fear.

"Such a shame you don't remember, if not, I would have enjoyed torturing you slowly."

Vulkan dashed forward, leaving a trail of torrents of fire. A burst of energy propelled him forward, covering a far distance within seconds. As he swung his two-handed warhammer over his head.

Lace gritted his teeth and his face soured. Even if he dodge, he would lose a limb or two. But then, his ankles were tied down by fiery ropes from the ground.

A thud could be heard, yet nothing hit him. Only a large back stood before Lace. Another man's shadow loomed over his body. The crescent moon and star symbol of a paramedic visible on the man's back.

“I made a promise,” The paramedic muttered.

Blood seeped out from the edges of his mouth. Red droplets dripped on the surface of the street. The broken metal bar in his hand rolled on the ground.

“To keep him safe…"

He fell onto his knees, and glanced at Lace over his shoulder. The young man's particular anxiety reminded him of his deceased step-daughter. Whom he had lost to a fire incident, horribly turned charred and disfigured.

He had stepped in, the moment Lace was approached by the very same thing that killed his daughter. The intense flames pulled the strings of his guilt, the memories that reminded him of his incompetence as a father.

People's lives are his priorities, but failed to save his daughter. The scene where the fire that burned her as she wailed for her father's help haunted his nightmares each night. He should have dive into the burning house that day, and sacrifice himself for his daughter. Yet, he stood there and watched with shakened body as the flames took away the joy of his life.

The paramedic had heard how Lace had died. That young man had died to save another, something which he was unable to do in the past.

But, in the end, that was Lace but not him. Why did he sacrifice himself for Lace?

The answer is simple.

“I'm home, Tina…”

Dark red stained the road, sizzling under the harsh heat. A headless body dropped to the ground. Twitching with a blood pool underneath, until it finally settles down.

Lace froze, his eyes wavered at the scene. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, as he closed his eyes. He covered his face with his hands, the droplets leaked in between his fingers. The unforgiving heat evaporated each one of it into steam.

He could hear 101 shouting profanities at the god in his mind. Her voice carried a particular emotion, it felt familiar but also not at the same time.

“What a laughable mortal, don't you agree?” Vulkan smirked, the air was filled with his laughter.

Each of Vulkan’s words were hammer to the nails. Prickling, drawing the blood of Lace's crying soul. It roused a swirl inside him, something unknown was slowly coursing through his body.

“This is… primordial mana? ” 101 muttered, as she peered into the state of his mind. Specifically, his soul that had sparked her curiosity.

“A wonderful display of despair, slayer. Very satisfying, so I’ll give you 3 seconds to run away before I chase you down.” Vulkan waved his hand and chuckled, as a part of the ring of fire disappeared, “Even so, you’ll be dying from bleeding before getting killed by me.”

Vulkan pinched his index finger and thumb together while showing it closely on Lace’s face. The twisted smile of sadism smeared on the god’s face as he retracted.

“No, you sick fuck,” Lace replied, his tone was harsh unlike usual.

Lace placed his palms on the ground. The pain jolted into his arms, causing his limbs to tremble as he tried to push himself off from the ground. Sweats and tears were pouring down endlessly filling up the small cracks of the broken road, as his muscles ripped against his bleeding wounds.

He stood up with a furious shout. The paramedic’s broken metal bar could be seen in his fidgeting hand. His thighs were closed together, struggling to support his body, like a zombie woken up from its grave.

Vulkan frowned, he crossed his arms and said, “Ungrateful bastard, it’s true that you can stand back up but that’s the only thing you can do other than grovelling like your father!”

A heartbeat.

Only silence filled Lace's ears.

The maskless humans emerged from Lace’s memory. Their true colours were beautiful yet utterly ugly. They laughed in unity and joy while staining their shoes red as a bleeding thief grovels and begged before them. They drowned themselves in rewards and pleasure when the thief was caught and jailed. The court had sentenced the thief to a lifetime in prison, as the thief's child watched and innocently questioned his father’s former friends, but none paid attention.

The thief was Lace’s father. He was fired from his job and was blacklisted from employment for false reasons after he lost his wife. So, he had no choice but to dip his hands in thievery. He stole no more than enough money to feed his family for another day.

Lace knows stealing is lawfully wrong, but the punishment his father received for petty crime is a far cry from suitable.

He remembered the smiling eyes of those who harmed and imprisoned his father. Their fake sympathy orchestrates a joyous symphony. The fake masks that hid their grins as they witnessed the family of a kind man fell apart. Vulkan reminded Lace of those rotten souls.

The particular emotion rose once again as Lace looked at Vulkan with a burning gaze. Ever so familiar yet unknown. It gave the same irk he felt from the afterlife, which raised his blood pressure as his heart beats harder. His thoughts were whispering to him nothing but violence.

“Hatred, mon chou. You’re experiencing hatred,” 101 explained. She was all too familiar with the emotion unlike Lace.

The same scene from the afterlife flashed again. A memory which showed a man holding a broken stick that turned into an elegant spear of mana, after the man muttered a word.

“Weaponised.”