Neon Echelon was a city that never slept, never prayed, and never stopped bleeding. A sprawl of magic and machinery where chrome skyscrapers pierced the clouds, holograms whispered forbidden spells, and alleyway vendors sold curses in ziplocks.
It was also, currently, on fire.
And at the heart of the inferno—where three city blocks had turned to glass and metal rain fell from the sky—stood a man with a smile far too calm for the apocalypse.
Rael Vortigar.
Six-foot-something of tailored black, cracked power, and unsettling charm. His coat billowed without wind. His eyes were molten red, reflecting the carnage he'd caused with more interest than guilt.
Behind him hovered a throne—floating, shifting, built from shards of obsidian, soulsteel, and the bones of a star god he'd murdered last Thursday. The throne pulsed like a living thing, feeding off his aura.
A Technopaladin war tank creaked around the corner.
Rael raised a hand lazily, fingers glowing with crimson rune-fire.
Boom.
No chant. No theatrics. Just obliteration.
The tank didn't explode—it simply ceased to exist, atomized into fine dust that shimmered in the air like glitter at a funeral.
From the smoking wreckage emerged a woman with violet eyes and a scowl that could end wars.
Lyra Kaine—hacker, sorceress, assassin, girlfriend.
She strutted through the chaos in dark combat heels and a hooded jacket layered with enchanted threads, radiating cool like it owed her rent. Her arm glowed with a phased incantation panel, and in her other hand, she held a plasma dagger still dripping blood.
"You started without me," she said flatly.
Rael glanced over his shoulder. "They fired first."
"They always fire first. You show up, smirk, and cities burn."
"You love it."
Lyra's lips twitched into a smirk. "You're lucky I have a thing for sexy sociopaths with planetary kill counts."
"I'll kill another one just for you."
He reached out. She took his hand, ignoring the ash and blood. Sparks crackled between them—not romantic ones, literal ones. Their magic rejected the universe itself when combined.
She leaned in. "Later. When this city's done screaming."
Rael's throne snapped into a sleek battle mode behind him, reshaping into a winged cannon-bastion. He looked up—and grinned.
Descending from the clouds, slicing through the sky with righteous fury, came the Sky Warden, flagship of the Technopaladins. The cathedral-ship's bells rang with war hymns as platoons of silver-armored zealots rode down on jet-blades, armed with energy spears and holy grenades.
Lyra raised a brow. "That looks... excessive."
Rael cracked his neck. "They brought an army."
"They brought a choir."
Rael lifted a hand. His palm burned with a curse so old it made nearby AI glitch and convulse.
"I'll make them sing."
He launched upward, trailing black lightning. The sky rippled.
---
Above, deep within the Sky Warden, High Exarch Delan watched Rael ascend on the monitor. The old priest's face twisted into a scowl.
"That thing," he growled, "should have never survived the Nexus breach."
"That thing has a name," replied a voice from the shadows.
Seraph-09 stepped forward—data wings spread, robes flickering with code. Their expression was unreadable. "And he remembers everything. Including how we betrayed him."
Delan scoffed. "He is a glitch in creation."
Seraph-09 watched the feed as Rael dodged a missile midair, landed on a paladin's jetblade, snapped the man's neck with his legs, and rode the blade straight into the ship's hull.
They gave a small, strange smile. "Then perhaps creation should learn to debug itself."
---
Back in the chaos, Rael and Lyra moved like a duet of death.
He carved through soldiers like a storm in human form. Each attack wasn't just magic—it was reality coming undone around him. Walls bent. Time skipped. Men screamed as their memories were devoured before their bodies followed.
Lyra danced between dimensions, flashing in and out of sight, phasing behind enemies and slicing their shadows. Her laugh was sharp and cold, her movements precise and deadly.
One paladin, trembling, begged, "Please—I have a family—"
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "So did the people you bombed in Sector 13."
She pressed her palm to his helmet. His soul glitched—and vanished.
Rael landed beside her, slick with blood and stardust.
"Dinner after?" he asked.
"If we survive."
He kissed her cheek. "We always do."
She rolled her eyes—but smiled.
Then, behind them, a voice crackled from a shattered comm device.
"Rael Vortigar. You are hereby sentenced to death by the Order of the Sky Flame. Surrender now and die with honor."
Rael bent down, picked up the comm, and whispered:
"Tell the Order... to bring more body bags."
Then he crushed the device.
And hell truly began.
---
End of Chapter 1