Lavitz ran aimlessly.
The echo of the Devourer rumbled in the distance, each of its steps like a hammer striking the earth. Ever since the group had split up, he hadn't had time to think. He just ran. One street after another, jumping over barricades, dodging debris, turning wherever instinct told him. He didn't know if the others were still alive.
Emerald City was no longer a city. It was a tomb. The broken, silent houses seemed to watch him with empty windows. Corpses mixed with shattered stone. The sky was veiled in smoke, and the sun barely filtered through the dust.
Lavitz turned into a narrow alley and stumbled into an overturned cart. The roar echoed again—closer. He couldn't stop.
He turned sharply down another street and spotted a shop with the door ajar. A charred wooden sign hung by a single hinge. He didn't stop to read it. He entered.
The interior was dark, but not completely so. A faint light filtered through the broken ceiling. The place was in ruins: shattered furniture, scattered objects, shards of glass. It still smelled of fresh smoke. Lavitz stepped forward, panting—and then the floor gave way.
There was no time to react.
The wooden planks creaked and collapsed beneath him. He fell through rotted boards and old dust, landing hard on the stone floor.
—"Ah…!"—he gasped, the air knocked from his lungs.
It took a few seconds to recover. The darkness of the basement was almost total, save for a few beams of light filtering from the hole above. He slowly got to his feet, his body aching. He coughed, spat dust, and felt around.
It looked like a cellar or storage room. There were old shelves, broken crates, and a strong smell of damp. In a corner, one piece of furniture still stood. And on top of it, covered in cobwebs and ash, was a book.
Lavitz saw it glow.
Not with its own light, but with a faint bluish shimmer that seemed to pulse from the aged leather cover. As if it were breathing. As if something inside vibrated.
He approached cautiously, still trembling from the effort of fleeing.
The object glowed faintly on the shelf. Lavitz reached out, not entirely sure why. It was a leather-bound book, dusty and fire-stained.
His fingers touched it. Nothing happened. He picked it up, standing tall with his back straight, senses still alert. For some reason—perhaps instinct, or simple curiosity—he opened it.
The pages were filled from the start. Not stories, nor prayers, nor tales. Explanations. Precise. Technical. Written in firm calligraphy.
"The path of the mage begins with the creation of the core. This structure, invisible to the common eye, manifests as a small tangible sphere formed within the heart itself. Though its origin is magical, its existence is real and constant."
"The core, when born, is white. This color does not indicate weakness, but rather the initial stage of an ascending scale. As the mage absorbs mana from the environment, the core changes color. Each new shade represents growth in its capacity: more energy, greater reserve, better control."
"The most common progression is as follows: white, gray, green, blue, red… and even rarer ones beyond. Each higher color represents an expansion of the bearer's magical domain."
"Mana is everywhere: in the earth, air, water, stones, even underground. Most people cannot see or feel it. But those with natural affinity—or born with the gift—can perceive it clearly. They see it as filaments of light floating in the air, subtle threads only a few can distinguish."
"Mana leaves traces. When a spell is cast, the residual energy can linger for minutes, even hours. Those with true talent can detect it, like glowing footprints untouched by the wind."
Lavitz swallowed hard.
He remembered the moment he saw the silhouette of the Devourer under a glowing trail, like an echo floating behind it. Back then he didn't understand, but now… it made sense. He had seen the trace of a spell.
He closed the book slowly. His hands trembled. Not out of fear, but because of the magnitude of what he had just read. It was as if the entire world had been hiding something… and now stared him straight in the eye.
Then, a sound broke the silence.
Not a roar. Not a scream. Just a long, heavy creak—like a part of the city collapsing in the distance. The echo of the collapse slithered through the alleys until it reached the basement, a veiled warning.
Lavitz held his breath.
Another noise. Softer. Closer. A beam giving way. A wall shifting. Then, footsteps. Slow. Deep. Irregular. As if each step dragged tons of weight. The ground beneath him vibrated—just enough to chill his blood.
He didn't need to see it.
He knew who it was.
The Devourer was outside.
He didn't know if it was coincidence or if something drew it there, but its presence distorted everything. The air grew heavier. The world smaller.
Lavitz stayed still. The book pressed against his chest. He could hear only his own ragged breathing, like every exhale could betray him. The basement didn't shake. It didn't groan. But time itself seemed to hold still, waiting for the monster to decide whether to move on… or not.
Seconds passed like eternities.
And then, the sound faded. The footsteps grew distant. Slowly. With the same restrained violence as their arrival.
Lavitz didn't move. He didn't dare thank his luck. He just exhaled, still trembling.
The danger hadn't passed. But for now… he had survived.
He tucked the book beneath his clothes and climbed back up into the shop, emerging through the broken floor. The outside air smelled of ash and dried blood. The city was still dying, a vision of hell.
Lavitz didn't run. This time he moved in silence. He stayed close to the walls, using every shadow, every corner. He avoided making noise, even in his breathing. He couldn't risk another encounter.
But the inevitable came.
An undead spotted him through a gap between two collapsed houses. It didn't growl. It just lunged, dragging a rusted sword.
Lavitz drew immediately. He blocked the first strike. The impact made his arms tremble, but he didn't drop the weapon. The undead attacked again. Lavitz dodged. Slash. Blow. Step back.
And then it happened. He felt a wave pass through him, moving ahead at impossible speed.
The enemy stopped. A white flame ignited from its chest. Silent. Absolute. Within seconds, its body collapsed, reduced to ashes without leaving even a trace of heat.
Lavitz stepped back, confused. He didn't understand what had happened, but there was no time to think.
He kept moving.
Every street he passed showed the same. Motionless bodies. Undead already engulfed in white flame. None moved. None seemed wounded. It was as if something had ignited all of them at once. But he had no intention of figuring it out.
He didn't know what caused this strange phenomenon, but he knew one thing: he had to get out of there as soon as possible.
And then he saw it.
A breach in the wall. Part of the structure had collapsed. A wide gap between the stones—an exit.
Lavitz ran toward it, dodged chunks of stone, slipped through the cracked archway, and leapt through the opening.
And he was out.
The world opened before him: a dry wasteland, scorched fields, charred trees, abandoned corpses on the roads. Carrion birds took flight as he passed.
The air smelled of death… but also of freedom.
Lavitz stopped.
He looked back one last time.
Emerald City burned in the distance, covered in smoke, silent.
And for the first time since he arrived in that world…
Lavitz was out of that hell—or so he thought.
—
A few minutes earlier…
The sound of a collapsing wall shattered the sepulchral silence of the city.
Marcos ran, gasping, his lungs burning, his muscles stiff. The city kept crumbling beneath the weight of the beast. He didn't dare look back. He didn't need to. He knew what followed.
The Devourer.
The monster walked, but its steps made the streets tremble as if dragging the earth itself. It didn't run. It didn't need to.
Marcos turned down a broken street and froze. In the distance, nearly six blocks away, he saw two figures moving through the debris. Their shapes were familiar. Victor and Jack.
—"Victor!! Jack!!" he shouted with all his strength. "Run!! It's coming!!"
The two figures stopped for a moment. They turned in unison. Marcos's voice pierced the silence like an arrow. No further explanation was needed.
Victor grabbed Jack by the arm to wake him, and they both began to run.
Marcos forced himself forward again, but the tremor behind him confirmed the inevitable. The Devourer was already rounding the corner he had just passed.
The monster had him in its sights.
He jumped over a pile of fallen beams, passed an unrecognizable corpse, and turned into a narrow street, hoping to buy a few more seconds. Sweat stung his eyes. His chest pounded like it was going to burst.
Then he realized.
They wouldn't all make it.
Victor and Jack were still far, but if the Devourer kept its pace… it would catch them. He didn't hesitate. He stopped, turned toward the oncoming threat, and with contained fury, screamed:
—"I'm right here, you piece of shit!! Come get me!!"
And it did.
The Devourer turned, drawn by the sound like a vulture to blood.
Marcos ran in the opposite direction, drawing the beast away without looking back.
Victor and Jack were still running, crossing a split street and climbing over a collapsed archway when they heard it:
A scream. Full of pain.
Marcos's last cry.
Victor froze, as if the sound had cut his breath short. Jack heard it too, and for a moment they both stood in silence.
No confirmation was needed.
They understood.
Their companion had stayed behind.
He had sacrificed himself to give them a few more seconds.
And now…
they were alone.
—"Keep going…" Jack murmured.
Victor nodded with a lump in his throat, and they resumed running.
Their legs ached, their breathing burned their chests, and fear pushed them faster than their bodies could handle. The entire city groaned around them, as if its very structure was collapsing.
But nothing was enough.
The Devourer was chasing again.
A new tremor shook the ground. They didn't need to look back. The monster advanced, unstoppable, its goal unchanged.
They turned onto a wide street, desperately searching for an exit among the ruins—a breach, a tunnel, anything… but all they found was a shadow that reached them too quickly.
The Devourer was already there.
Less than twenty steps away.
The creature roared with silent fury, its deformed body taking up the entire street, advancing like a living landslide.
Victor came to a halt, turned with his sword raised. He knew he had no chance, but he wouldn't die with his back turned.
Jack, beside him, clenched his jaw, ready to do the same.
But then…
The sky split open with lightning.
A bolt descended straight from the clear sky, striking the Devourer with brutal force. At the same instant, a second light appeared: a giant spear of ice, sharp as a crystal dagger, dropped vertically and impaled the creature, pinning it to the ground.
The impact shook the street.
The Devourer fell still, pierced through, howling with a distorted guttural voice that faded into a deep hiss. Its body trembled, but it couldn't rise. The creature that had terrified the entire city… was trapped.
Victor and Jack, still trembling, looked for the source of the attack.
At the end of the street, through the mist stirred by the impact, stood a lone figure.
A man.
Slender but firm. A black tunic with golden trim. On his chest, several symbols floated, rotating slowly, as if the fabric of his robe held its own arcane system. His eyes, pure white, glowed with an ethereal light. He carried no weapon. No staff. No shield.
Only mana.
Vibrant. Dense. Contained.
He walked slowly toward them. The city burned silently around him.
—"I'm glad to see there are still survivors," he said in a deep voice.
It wasn't warm. Nor cold. It was the voice of someone who had seen thousands die… and still took the time to see who remained standing.
He raised his hand.
And then, he cast the spell.
—"White Flame Purification."
The words echoed with ancient power.
A white wave of energy expanded from the center of the city like a silent tide. As it passed, the undead bodies began to burn from within. They didn't scream. They didn't move. They simply disintegrated slowly, engulfed in pure flame that touched neither stone nor metal—only corruption.
The spell swept through entire streets.
Alleys, plazas, courtyards. The white fire spread like a divine mist, erasing every trace of impurity.
And then the Devourer began to writhe.
Still impaled by the ice spear, its body reacted. The white flame burst from within its torso, out through its eyes, mouth, and wounds. It arched. Twitched. Roared soundlessly. But it was too late. The flames consumed it like the others. Its blackened flesh fell away in fragments, and the body once feared now burned as a symbol of justice fulfilled.
The mage walked toward them with casual steps.
Victor stood tall with difficulty, wiping the sweat from his face. The man stopped in front of them and looked directly at Victor. No introductions were needed.
—"You're… a Bedralt, aren't you?"
Victor didn't answer right away. The weight of that name, marked by the fall of Emerald City, made him hesitate. But after a second, he raised his chin.
—"Victor Bedralt," he said firmly. "Heir to the House of Bedralt of the North."
The mage nodded slowly.
—"My name is Halster Kaenn. Hand of the Kingdom of Hackal."
Halster turned to the horizon.
—"It's over," he said calmly.
The last body still burned.
It was the Devourer.
Impaled, twisted, and now… silent.
The city, for the first time in days, was completely still.
Halster turned to them.
And then said:
—"Follow me, Victor Bedralt. The Kingdom calls for you."
Victor nodded without a word. He knew exactly who this man was and the status he held in the kingdom—known as the first mage beneath the king.
Without another word, the three of them began to walk.
Along the way…
a human body.
Jack approached first. He fell to his knees.
—"Carlos…" he murmured.
He was seated against a collapsed cart, his back resting on a broken wheel. A fresh wound in his side still glistened with blood. His sword lay nearby. No sign of a struggle. He was likely caught off guard while fleeing from the Devourer.
Victor looked away. He clenched his fist.
A part of them died there, in that city they once called home.