Meanwhile, Aria sat in her room, a book resting in her lap as she absently flipped through the pages. The peaceful silence was suddenly shattered by a sharp knock on her door.
"Aria, you need to come to Halstein's office. Now," a voice called from the hallway.
She frowned, setting the book aside and rising to her feet. Halstein was not one to summon her lightly, and his tone carried an edge of urgency. As she walked through the dimly lit corridors of the guild, her mind raced with possibilities.
Entering Halstein's office, she found him seated at his desk, his expression serious and unyielding. The atmosphere was thick with tension as he gestured for her to take a seat.
"Aria, we have a situation," he said, his voice low. He flicked a switch on the monitor beside him, and the screen crackled to life, displaying a news broadcast.
The headline read: "Kidnapping in the City: Girl Abducted Before Morning." Aria felt a knot form in her stomach. "This isn't the kind of news a guild typically deal with with though..." Aria said looking at him.
After a moment of silence, Halstein zoomed in on the footage, and Aria's confusion deepened. The camera panned to a scene she found unnervingly familiar.
There, in clear view, stood a figure as tall as SteelArm, effortlessly lifting a bag and dragging it toward a waiting truck. The unmistakable movements and imposing stature sent a chill down her spine.
"Wait… that's…" she started, her voice trailing off as the video continued. Security cameras had captured the whole event, revealing a group of masked individuals surrounding the truck, their actions deliberate and sinister.
Aria leaned closer, her heart racing as she recognized the bag. No, it can't be. The realization settled over her like a shroud—this was no random abduction.
"What are we looking at?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
Halstein's gaze remained fixed on the screen. "This is more than just a kidnapping. It could be tied to the cult that's been gaining traction in the area. We need to act quickly."
Aria's mind raced. A cult? The implications sent her thoughts spiraling. She needed to gather information and find a way to help. The girl in the video, whoever she was, was in grave danger, and time was running out.
Halstein turned to Aria, his expression serious as he regarded her closely. "Do you know where the last time you saw Stiles, SteelArm, and Dante was?"
Aria thought for a moment, piecing together the fragmented memories. "I saw them around 2 a.m.," she replied slowly. "They were talking to some weird bald guy with pointy ears. I didn't think much of it at the time; I just decided to head back to the guild."
Halstein's brow furrowed, and he leaned back in his chair, processing her words. "This bald man—did he seem suspicious to you? Did you notice anything else about him?"
Aria shook her head, recalling the odd encounter. "Not really, but there was something off about him. I thought they were just having a casual conversation, but now… I wish I had stayed to keep an eye on them."
Halstein's expression darkened. "They may have walked right into a trap. We need to find them, and fast." He glanced back at the screen, where the footage of the truck faded to a static image.
"Do you think they're involved in this kidnapping?" Aria asked, a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest.
"It's possible," he replied, his tone grave. "If that bald man is connected to the cult, then Stiles, SteelArm, and Dante may have unknowingly become part of something far more dangerous."
Halstein remained silent for a moment, his expression contemplative. "We already have over a hundred guild members searching for them," he said finally. "Can you try to call them? I haven't been able to get through because their phones are set to Do Not Disturb."
Aria nodded, pulling out her phone, the one she'd purchased while she was with the three. "Uh… where do I go to call them?" she asked, scanning the array of icons on the screen.
"Just hand it to me, and I'll make the call," Halstein replied, his tone brisk.
Without hesitation, Aria passed her phone to Halstein. He scrolled through the apps with practiced ease until he found the phone icon, he clicked on it and then dialed Dante's number, his eyes flickering with urgency.
On top of the mountain, Dante's phone began to ring, blaring Katy Perry's "California Gurls" featuring Snoop Dogg.
"What the hell is that ringtone?" Stiles asked incredulously, his voice barely masking the amusement that crept in.
"L-Listen, man… it wasn't my choice!" Dante shot back, his embarrassment palpable as his eyes closed in embarrassment.
Suddenly, a sharp pain jolted through Dante's leg as something claw-like wrapped around his shorts. In an instant, the grip tore the pocket off, shattering his phone into bits. The sound of cracking plastic echoed through the air, drawing the attention of the cult members.
The master glanced over at Dante with a bemused expression before turning his attention back to the ritual unfolding before him, dismissing the incident as unimportant.
The master stepped forward, his movements slow yet deliberate, as if savoring the moment. His gloved hand reached for the dagger, its wicked blade gleaming under the morning light. With a practiced motion, he dragged the edge across his thumb, splitting the flesh with effortless precision. Dark crimson dripped from the wound, trailing down his finger before splashing onto the stone table beneath the girl.
Leaning in close, his breath barely more than a whisper against her ear, he murmured an ancient chant—words older than time itself. As the incantation left his lips, the girl's struggling ceased. Her body slackened, her breathing deep and steady as if she had been swallowed by a dreamless sleep.
Straightening, the master exhaled slowly and raised his other hand, unleashing a surge of mana that pulsed through the air like an unholy tide. The dagger trembled in his grasp, reacting to his power. Its surface darkened, absorbing the energy, until the once-gleaming blade was consumed by an eerie blackened glow.
"May this sacred offering be worthy in thy eyes, O God of Blood. We call upon thee, ancient one who dwells beyond the veil, to grant us thy boundless power. Let the essence of will itself bow before thy might, and let the heavens tremble as darkness claims this day. As the crimson tide spills forth, may its sacrifice carve a path to thy favor, and may our souls be bound eternally to thy unyielding embrace. By thy decree, let the cycle of death and rebirth be fulfilled, and may the blood that falls upon us be the key to our ascension. In the name of your loyal servant, kieth Bounds."
As Kieth Bounds exhaled slowly, his movements deliberate and precise, he positioned the dagger directly over the girl's chest. With an eerie grace, he released the blade, letting it sink into her skin. A shallow cut formed, stretching down the center of her body. Scarlet ribbons of blood trickled down her sides, yet she remained motionless, her body unresponsive to the pain.
Once the initial incision was complete, Kieth gripped the dagger firmly and, without hesitation, plunged it deep into her chest. The blade pierced through flesh and bone until it reached her heart. The moment steel met the organ, a pulse of raw mana erupted from the peak of the mountain. A vortex of deep crimson energy spiraled upward, twisting violently before darkening into an abyssal black.
The sky trembled as lightning forked down in furious arcs, striking the surrounding cliffs with deafening roars. The air grew heavy, thick with power, as the blood spilling from the girl's body seeped into the stone altar beneath her. A deep red glow spread across the carved surface, illuminating the ancient runes etched into its foundation.
A chilling laugh echoed from Kieth as he tightened his grip on the dagger, his eyes gleaming with unholy anticipation. With a swift, merciless motion, he dragged the blade across her throat. The razor-sharp edge parted flesh effortlessly, carving a gaping wound that sent a fresh torrent of blood cascading onto the stone altar.
Above them, the sky twisted, the swirling storm clouds splitting apart as an ominous eclipse took hold. The only light that could be seen for miles came from the altar itself, the blood-soaked stone now pulsating like a living heart, feeding off the sacrifice.
Dante's breath was unsteady as he watched the horrifying ritual unfold. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, and the eerie crimson glow from the altar cast haunting shadows across the mountaintop.
"This… this isn't what I signed up for," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper.
SteelArm, standing beside him, kept his gaze locked onto the scene, though his usual confidence had faded. "None of us did," he finally responded, his tone gruff yet shaken.
Dante turned to him, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and anger. "Then why the hell are we still standing here? Why aren't we stopping this?"
SteelArm exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "And do what, Dante? Fight them? Do you feel that mana? That's not just some ritual—something big is happening. Even if we tried, we wouldn't make it five steps before they cut us down."
The sky twisted with unnatural energy as the mana surged violently, no longer following the intended ritual. The air grew thick, charged with something beyond Kieth's control.
"What… is going on?!" Kieth bellowed, his usually calm demeanor cracking as his sharp eyes darted across the unfolding chaos. His hands clenched into fists as he watched the mana swirl wildly. "Why the hell is it doing this?!"
Before anyone could respond, the answer revealed itself.
The mana didn't disperse—it flowed into Stiles.
A shockwave erupted around him, shattering the invisible force that had restrained his body. The oppressive grip of the cult's magic disintegrated in an instant. The eclipse above remained, casting an eerie, eternal twilight, and lightning streaked across the sky, striking around Stiles as if nature itself bowed to his awakening.
His eyes, once their usual color, burned dark red, glowing with an unnatural intensity. He lifted his gaze, his presence commanding. A deep hunger laced his words as he spoke, his voice a mixture of something both familiar and utterly foreign.
"Strength… blood… all of it is mine."
In the blink of an eye, Stiles vanished, reappearing at the mountain's edge as another bolt of lightning crashed behind him. The flash of light illuminated his new form—his once-short hair had grown, streaked with crimson and black, his aura crackling with raw energy.
The cult reacted instantly. A masked member hurled a blade of energy straight toward him, the shimmering weapon slicing through the air like a death sentence.
But Stiles barely moved.
He simply raised a hand and caught the energy blade midair. For a brief moment, the attack crackled in his palm before he clenched his fist and crushed it, the remnants scattering into nothing. His expression remained cold as he let his hand drop to his side.
"Bloodshed? Blood? Power?" His voice was slow, deliberate. "Is that what you wanted?"
Lightning coiled around his frame, surging with an untamed fury.
"…Very well."
Across from him, Kieth's expression hardened. He reached up, removing his robe and mask, revealing his true appearance. Long, gleaming silver hair cascaded down his back, and his piercing eyes locked onto Stiles with pure malice. He gripped the dagger tightly, its blade still stained with the blood of the sacrifice. His breathing slowed, controlled—but his intent was lethal.
"No matter what you've done," Kieth murmured, exhaling sharply as he adjusted his stance, "for ruining this ritual, I will show you death personally."
Before he could react, Stiles was already in front of him.
Kieth's eyes barely widened before a hand clamped around his throat.
Sounds of an explosion was heard for a moment.
The force of Stiles slamming him into the ground sent cracks splitting across the mountain's surface. The impact was so sudden, so brutal, that dust and debris exploded outward. Then, before the dust could settle—
Fist. After. Fist.
A barrage of thirty relentless punches slammed into Kieth's body, each blow a thunderclap, each strike deepening the crater around them. Kieth's body convulsed under the sheer force, his silver hair stained with his own blood.
And then—silence.
Stiles gripped Kieth by the throat once more, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. His grip tightened as he wrenched the dagger from Kieth's weakened grasp. The moment the blood-stained weapon was in his hand, he drove it deep into Kieth's stomach.
A sharp gasp escaped Kieth's lips.
"Ruin?" Stiles' voice was quiet, almost mocking. He yanked the blade free, letting Kieth's body slump, before throwing him aside like discarded waste.
With eerie calm, Stiles turned, his glowing red eyes locking onto the remaining cult members.
"Now… who's next?"
Dante exhaled sharply before muttering, "…This is going to end terribly for us, isn't it?"
SteelArm didn't hesitate, nodding grimly. "Yeah… yeah, it is."
There was no time for hesitation. SteelArm clenched his fists, his muscles tensing as he activated every buff he had. A surge of raw power coursed through his body, his veins glowing faintly beneath his skin as his strength skyrocketed. Beside him, Dante took a deep breath and activated [Phantom Materialization], summoning an eerie, translucent green spear into his grasp. Its ghostly form flickered and pulsed, exuding an unsettling energy.
SteelArm didn't waste another second. He sprinted toward Kieth, whose body lay crumpled on the stone, barely clinging to life. The once-mighty cult leader now coughed violently, blood trickling from his mouth as his silver hair clung to his face, matted with sweat and crimson.
SteelArm grabbed him by the front of his clothes, lifting his broken body slightly. His voice was harsh, desperate. "How do we stop the ritual?"
Kieth let out a strained chuckle, his lips curling into something resembling a twisted grin despite his condition. He spat blood to the side before rasping out his answer.
"The ritual… can't be stopped," he wheezed. "Not until… her blood completely dries."
SteelArm's eyes widened in horror.
he cult members, shrouded in their blue robes, began to draw their weapons. The tension in the air thickened, and they charged toward Stiles, their collective cries echoing against the mountainside.
Yet Stiles moved like water—flowing, twisting, and bending through the onslaught with a grace that left the others in awe. It was as if he was dancing through the chaos, his long hair drenched by the sudden rain that began to fall, glistening against the darkened sky. Each attack from the cult members seemed to miss its mark as Stiles effortlessly sidestepped and evaded their desperate strikes.
Dante dashed forward, activating [Phantom Lunge]. He felt the rush of speed wash over him, propelling him toward Stiles faster than lightning. He thrust his spear forward, aiming for a decisive strike. But in a split second, Stiles reached out, grabbing a cult member and hurling them into Dante's path.
The spear pierced through the cult member's heart, a horrific gasp escaping their lips as they fell lifeless to the ground. Dante's heart sank as he met Stiles' gaze, which momentarily held a warm smile. But that warmth was short-lived; in an instant, the smile vanished.
With a brutal throw, Stiles sent Dante crashing to the ground, the impact rattling him as Stiles turned his focus back to the cult members. Blades sliced through the air, icy spells crackled with deadly intent, and fireballs erupted around him, each attack landing with explosive force. A series of lightning spells illuminated the area, yet they all missed their target, dancing harmlessly against the stormy backdrop.