"March..."
"Are we close enough for nicknames already?" March 7th puffed her cheeks, still nursing grievances from the "Succubus March" incident. Her fingers idly plucked her bowstring as frost gathered around her fingertips.
"How about... Third Month?"
"I'll punch you!"
Anming dodged March's pink-gloved fist with practiced ease. "Seriously though—how does one join your organization? Beats writing reports all day."
Stelle leaned in with her bat, ears perked like a curious raccoon.
"Hah?" March crossed her arms, scrutinizing Anming at light-speed. "You think the Astral Express recruits any random weirdo?"
"Special talents required then? Like... succubus qualifications?"
Stelle produced cat ears from nowhere, tilting her head. "Meow?"
March's eye twitched. "You're both insane!"
"Ah, the crushing monotony of earning ten credits per word..." Anming sighed dramatically, angling his phone to reveal account balances with enough zeros to make March's jaw drop.
"Must... make... him... suffer..." March muttered through gritted teeth. Why did this guy trigger her annoyance receptors so efficiently?
"March—do you know her name?" Anming gestured to Stelle.
"Uh... Stelle?"
"Stelle as in Stellar. The kind that births gods!" Anming declared with mock grandeur. "Amnesiac beauty, instant protagonist status, chosen by Kafka herself—she's basically Aeon material!"
Stelle preened until March dragged her away by the collar. "Enough! We've got bigger fish to fry!"
"Release me! This future Aeon demands—"
Thwack.
March's fist silenced the would-be deity. Anming chuckled as they approached the platform where Himeko stood—her crimson eyes widening imperceptibly at the sight of him.
...
"Behold! A maiden carved from glacial perfection!" March struck a pose, though her "ice queen" aesthetic conflicted with her cotton-candy appearance.
Himeko's heels clicked rhythmically as she arrived, strange suitcase in hand. Her gaze lingered on Anming—that face matched fragmented records from the Data Bank, echoes of a war that reshaped star systems.
The platform trembled.
"Uh-oh."
March's squeak coincided with shadow engulfing the platform. The Doomsday Beast's wingspan blotted out stars as it descended—a living cataclysm clad in voidsteel.
"Come down here!" March nocked an arrow, frost crystallizing along its shaft.
Pew!
Anming's dinky laser pistol sputtered harmless shots. "First time?" He shrugged as the beast roared, insulted by such feeble provocation.
The platform shook violently. March's frost arrow shattered against armored plating while Stelle's bat clanged uselessly. Anming gripped a cargo container, epiphany striking—
"Blade, descend!"
A sonic boom cracked reality. Ancient steel embedded itself before him—a black sword etched with dragon patterns, humming with pent-up fury.
Dan Heng lowered his outstretched hand in the distance as Anming grasped the hilt. Golden light ignited in his pupils—
Blood Rage: Tier 1.
The blade sang.
"Cleave."
He spoke.
The universe obeyed.