Dawn of the day after the London Square Massacre, three separate groups of justice-seekers made their way throughout the city. Each one had a task at hand to accomplish. Each one had a target to take out and a mission to complete. Today was the only day it could happen, for Libra was at its weakest. If any more time was wasted in idle planning or justified hesitancy, everything that all those who rebelled fought for would be lost.

Platinum John, once the ace fighter in Aries, now found themself allied with an unlikely group. After the massacre yesterday, they noticed a shift in their mental states, which was rare because they had been trained to handle mental stress all their life. Seeing their best friend, Silo, be reduced to nothing more than a scared child, unsure of who they are, was crushing. What’s more is that their sibling, Fang, had suddenly shown up seemingly out of nowhere.

Needless to say, there was more than enough rattling around in their mind to give them pause. Feelings are complicated and no human is immune to them, no matter how hard they may try.

John ran around the corner of an alley, their steps as silent as the night. Every movement they made was calculated and precise, because of the immense control they had over their mind, and moreso the connection their mind had with their body.

Using the shadows to their advantage, they managed to make their way toward the main street that divided the east and west sides of the city. It was once something revered and feared by the general populace—to them, one side represented peace while the other represented poverty. However, that line was blurred in the face of war.

As they skirted along a back alley that ran perpendicular to a main road, John saw a group of marching citizens making their way down that main road. John pressed themself up against a wall and barely peaked their head out to watch. The citizens were beginning to arm themselves to the teeth with crappy rifles, pistols, knives, and anything else that could potentially take a life. Worn and torn combat vests and apparel were passed from person to person as they made frequent stops.

Damn, Achard is quicker with it than I thought, John thought. Then again, he wouldn't be a billionaire if he didn't jump at any chance to exploit the masses.

It seemed that the deadline to take out the remaining forces of Libra was dwindling. The fires of hatred inside the average citizen’s heart were already alight. The threat of the erasure of everyday life is enough for people to mobilize under a unifying force. It’s something time and time again that humans do. Fortunately, in this case, it seems that most people have not yet fully bought into the crazed words of the Godfather. But if nothing is done about him soon, that may very well change.

Looking around, John noticed a small potted plant that was near the edge of a windowsill, about 30 or so feet away. They then placed their hand on the wall of the building next to them and let a small section of their brain resonate. Small gyrating waves flowed down their arms and into the wall. It wasn’t enough to be noticeable, but there were some puffs of dust that floated off of the wall as it slightly vibrated.

They closed their eyes and focused entirely on where their mental waves were going. With each breath, their mind became clearer and their control got tighter—it was a basic technique that Yoshin had shown them years ago.

As they opened their eyes, they released the rest of the resonating waves, causing the wall to vibrate just enough for the potted plant to move. And move it did. Without seeing it, John heard the crash of a clay pot and the voices of spooked citizens. The next sound that followed was hesitant footsteps walking toward the source of the crash. As that sound continued, John sensed the presence of those minds drift further away. When the coast was clear, they leaped from their alley, darting across the main thoroughfare and into a different alley.

For another hour, John continued to run up and down the dividing line of the city, searching and scouring. Multiple times they had to hide away while a group of either Libra mobsters or rag-tag militias passed them by. Just as they began to question their judgment, a small ping registered in their head. A Resonator was using their powers.

“Bingo,” John said to themself.

With haste, they sprinted down multiple twisting alleys until they arrived right next to where the throbbing in their head pointed to. As they turned the corner, all that was in front of them was an empty corridor.

“What?” they whispered. “I thought for sure she would be here. Where is this…”

And just as the thought left their mouth, they realized that the throbbing was just pointing them toward this alley, but it was also pointing slightly downward. Their eyes glanced downward just in time to see a spectral hand reaching up from the ground toward them.

Luckily, John’s reaction speed was just quick enough to avoid the attack. They jumped back about a dozen feet and watched the ghostly figure fully emerge from the ground. In its full form, the figure looked to be Siegella, but with some obvious differences. Her body was partially translucent and it swayed like a blanket in the breeze. Parts of her clothing were torn and mixed up—some of them looked like her normal attire, while some looked like pieces of a shredded sailor. Finally, the strangest thing about her was her head. While it was in the right place, it was upside down and constantly flowing with tears that puddled on the ground beneath her.

“Don’t look so surprised, Platinum John,” Siegella said, her voice whispery and bellowing, like a tormented soul crying out in solemn sadness. “Fang isn't the only Awakened Resonator in this city.”

***

On the southern side of London, three allies wandered through the back alleys. They skirted around the abandoned section of the city, bordering next to the zone that was labeled as “forbidden” by Archard. It was the place that the Slayer supposedly mainly hunted. And it was the place where these three unlikely people were going to finally take down this serial killer.

Based on his and Hal’s deductions, Zander figured that the reason the southern side of London was off-limits was because it actually had something of importance to Libra, and more specifically Archard. Going down that line of logic, the fact that the Slayer has to continue to murder people in the area speaks to the fact that whatever it was was something that couldn't move. And with that in mind, while also thinking about the sudden shift within the world, there was only one possible answer to what the Slayer was guarding: the next obelisk.

“You sure about this, kid?” Hal whispered to Zander, scratching his stubble.

“Of course, it’s the best shot that we have,” Zander replied. “Besides, it’s now or never.”

His eyes darted around the tight stone corridor where they found themselves. It was sandwiched between what used to be a bookstore and a bakery. Trash littered the floor, while stray animals were few and far between. Caked against some of the stone walls that they passed were old and dried crimson—splatters of a murder victim’s own blood. They passed at least a hundred of these patches during the 2 hours or so that they’d been sneaking around.

“But, Zan, I’m not sure how I feel about this,” Eliot chimed in. “You know, we might not—”

Zander instantly put his hand up in a silencing manner, just as the sound of a can clinking against the wall echoed through the alley. The wind was stale and calm, and time stood still for a moment. Nothing else made a sound, not even his breathing.

After a few more agonizingly tense seconds of waiting, a stray cat jumped out from behind an overflowing trash bin. It briefly glanced at the party and went on its way. All three of the allies released their held breath at the same.

“We’re really on edge, huh?” Hal commented.

“We have to be. After all, we’re dealing with the Slayer,” Zander answered. “Still, I don't know why we were so scared all of a sudden. According to my plan, he shouldn't be here yet. We still have to set it up.”

“Then let's get it done, already, damnit,” said Hal.

Zander glanced down at his watch. “Yeah…you’re right. It’s about time we get this thing started.”

***

With the noon sun shining through his window-like walls, Archard stood facing them. His metallic arm rested on the desk behind him while his other one held a plain, white notebook. He embraced the warmth of such a pristine and important day—it made his reading all the more enjoyable.

He flipped through the pages, re-reading sections that have already taken place. With each new page turn, he got closer to the end.

“Everything is going according to his will,” he said, smiling to himself.

Finally, he landed on the last piece of paper before the back cover. Written at the top of it was today’s date. He had read this page at least a dozen times, each time getting more and more excited. It was finally time. It was the fated day. It was the end of this volume. He could hardly wait to see what the future held—he wanted to read the next volume of notebooks.

Just then, the door creaked open and the mental presence made itself known. It wasn’t trying to hide itself in any way. In fact, its mental waves exuded nothing but hollow anger. The Godfather couldn't help but chuckle to himself when he recognized those waves.

“Right on time,” he said, turning around. He set the notebook down and faced his enemy with his full attention. “You’re here to take me out, yes?”

Standing one foot into the office, eyes glazed over with cold conviction was Vincent Huron. He took a couple more steps forward and closed the door behind him. His mind continued to resonate, pushing out a plethora of mental waves.

“That's right,” Vincent answered.

Archard laughed. “It really is such a shame. I would’ve preferred to keep you in Libra. You were a valuable tool. But, such is the will of The One.”

Vincent paused. “The One?”

Archard raised an eyebrow. “Ah, I see I said something that I wasn't supposed to. No matter, memories die with people, and your time is up. The One’s utopia begins today, and it starts with the death of you!”

The Godfather unleashed a torrent of mental waves at Vincent, unrestrained and full of proud destruction. The wooden floor cracked and the walls shook. Within a matter of a second, those waves were already upon Vincent…and yet he remained upright and calm. It was like he wasn't even affected.

“It really is a shame,” Vincent said with a hauntingly chill tone. The mental waves coming from him drastically increased. “I thought of you as a father—something that I never really had. And now that gets taken from me again.”

“How are you—”

Vincent used projection and released his pent-up mental energy. His mental waves tore through Archard’s like a drill through dirt, impacting the Godfather directly. He stumbled back for a second, placing his hand against the window.

“What is—”

But before he could even speak another word, Vincent ran up to him and pulled back his arm. There was vengeance in his eyes, but rather than the fires of hate that would normally accompany the average man, there was nothing but barren conviction.

“Starbreaker.”