The Avenging Phoenix

October 26th, 2221 — 12:06 p.m.

Blood poured from Sun’s severed arm like a burst pipe, his skin turning white as an eggshell within seconds.

“Sun!” Akiko screamed.

“Damn you!” Gin roared as he charged toward a mocking Marius, who laughed while licking the blade of his weapon, still stained with his enemy’s blood. “Prepare to die, vampiric scum!”

Unlike his two companions, who remained frozen and consumed by panic, Kaito rushed to his comrade’s aid, moving at a speed that, to Akiko’s eyes, seemed improper for someone one hundred and thirteen years old. Then again, nothing about Kaito truly matched his age—not his pronounced musculature, nor his tendency to encourage immaturity among his younger colleagues instead of correcting them with dull, antiquated lectures. At least, that was the youthful perspective shared by most members of Squad Three, with Gin being the exception.

“Sun, stop moving!” Kaito instructed as he tried to lay his wounded companion down.

Bleeding heavily and deathly pale, Sun continued to writhe in pain, emitting sounds that triggered violent bursts of memory, clouding Kaito’s vision and dragging him back to a horrifying scene: a beach of white sand, the scent of sea salt, and the sound of hundreds of gunshots, explosions, cries, and screams of agony. Back then, the great emerald dragon had been nothing more than a terrified novice, fighting to defend the world in the greatest battle of the new age of sorcery.

January 1st, 2126 — 11:30 a.m.

“Fall back!” ordered Captain Sakuraba Satoshi, the commanding officer of the operative squads in the state of Tijuana.

“Advance!” General Natori countered.

They were outnumbered by an overwhelming margin: thirty thousand Night Knights, fifteen thousand volunteer sorcerers of Throne rank, along with the combined military forces of Mexico and the U.S.A., facing a horde of two million pale orcs—the last surviving lineage, born from a war for racial supremacy that had raged for centuries. Through countless genetic manipulation campaigns driven by extremist eugenic ideology, they had become the second most powerful species among all Shedo, surpassed only by Vampires.

They were humanoid abominations, their bodies riddled with prominent protrusions that merged into a twisted, heaving musculature, writhing with every rapid breath. Their skin was so white that blue filaments—pulsing veins and arteries—were visible beneath the surface. They wore beards so long they brushed their knees and curly manes so silky they rippled at the touch of the lightest breeze. From their mouths protruded long, twisted fangs, sometimes so exaggerated they obstructed their vision, scratched their faces, or made eating difficult. From their thick, stubby fingers—resembling German sausages—jutted sharply curved black hooks: dark metal implants used as claws in combat. Their firearms were modified with corded triggers, designed to be pulled using those claws.

They wore no uniforms, only leather loincloths. Some did not bother with clothing at all, as they could feel neither cold, heat, nor shame. Those who did cover themselves often did so for aesthetic reasons—many wore the skins of their enemies to intimidate those who faced them. These monsters were the toughest among all Shedo, capable of surviving fire, powerful electrical currents, and even nuclear radiation. Their only known weakness was Vitagia, the energy emitted by sorcerers.

Humanity fought desperately against the forces of darkness to protect the seals of one of the world’s most powerful “chaotic gods” on the beaches of Tijuana. Yet human strength faltered before the sheer brutality of the orc horde.

The white sand of the beach was submerged beneath pools of blood that reached up to the knees of the young Gi Kaito, twenty-five years old, a novice facing his first real battle.

“Damn it! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” he whimpered, consumed by panic as he stood on the brink of a fatal end—defenseless not only because his weapon had been destroyed by the impact of an acid jellyfish projectile, but because he was now surrounded by drooling enemies closing in on him.

“Stay back!” he shouted, fists raised, trying to look threatening despite the trembling in his legs betraying how terrified he truly was. “I’m warning you!”

Kaito’s threats were nothing more than desperate flailing. His Vitagia was scarce, making it impossible for him to perform any true spell.

He saw himself as a mouse surrounded by cats. Yet as bleak as that image sounded, Kaito did not see it that way. A cornered mouse could still attempt to kill its predator—and so it was with the warriors of the Gi clan, founded upon the values of the Berserker code: Fight, kill, and spill the enemy’s blood until the final breath.

Kaito wrapped his skin in Vitagia and solidified it, turning it into armor as hard as diamond—one that orc missiles and bullets could not pierce.

“Die! Die! Why won’t you die?!” one of the orcs screamed in fury as he fired his machine gun wildly until his ammunition ran dry.

Though unharmed, Kaito remained at the mercy of his enemies. As their firearms ran empty, the orcs lunged at him, now resorting to claws and fangs, throwing themselves against the solid protective shell that kept the fatal grip of death at bay.

Kaito tried to defend himself with his bare hands, but it was useless to fight the immense difference in power between a human and a pale orc.

Yielding under razor-sharp slashes and savage bites, Kaito’s shield began to crack and tear apart as his body was shaken like a rag doll, passed between the beasts as they competed to see who would crack that hard nut first. It was as if they were playing with him.

Seeing the end draw near, Kaito knew what he had to do. "The Avenging Phoenix" was his only option—a Gi clan immolation spell that turned its caster into a living bomb, whose detonation would embrace all life within a four-kilometer radius.

No Berserker dies alone; he always takes his enemies with him.

This belief was the foundation of the practice of engraving a conjuration circle into the skin of every newborn of the Gi clan. Even after the Law of Negation following the sealing of magic by the last sorcerers and the reforms of the Mystic Ministry, the circle remained, serving as a symbol of clan identity.

Kaito had always condemned the practice. He, too, had been sentenced to carry a bomb in his chest since birth. He was not alone—several members of his family, unaware of the truth when they received the circle, had protested before the elder patriarchs. Invoking legacy and tradition, the elders turned a deaf ear to their indignation, expelling and stripping of privileges those who dared to blaspheme against Berserker ideals. Kaito himself had been among them.

After his expulsion, he did everything in his power to rid himself of the curse bound to his skin, but it was futile. Even after slitting his chest open and grafting new skin onto the wound, the circle reappeared. From that familial curse, he would never be free.

What enraged Kaito most was that when he was born, the Eternal Night had already begun. The clan had knowingly returned to its ancient customs to take part in the war against darkness. His parents had placed the circle upon him fully aware of what it represented—a fact he never forgave them for, carrying resentment toward his lineage for years.

Despite this, while he condemned such customs, he did not entirely reject the Berserker code. Like his ancestors, he had been born with the spirit of a warrior—one who honored combat as an essential element of human nature, who took pleasure in it, and who firmly believed that violence, when properly directed, could be a tool for peace, considering the ability to wield it with mastery a blessing. These passions led him to become a Night Knight.

What he had not expected was to be thrown into a massacre like this the moment his training ended. In seconds, he found himself submerged in an ocean of violence that dragged his soul into a dark pit of despair, driving him into a murderous frenzy. Dozens fell beneath his arrows until his bow was destroyed by the direct impact of a missile, leaving him unarmed and with only enough Vitagia left to immolate himself.

To die while taking one’s enemies along, to die killing—there was no greater honor for a Berserker of the Gi clan. But for Kaito, doing so would mean accepting the sentence his family had imposed upon him. And yet, the thought of being devoured alive by orcs felt humiliating. To remain faithful to his ideals, or to ascend gloriously into the afterlife.

His internal struggle was interrupted when his gaze locked onto a grim scene unfolding just a few meters away.

Caressed by the salty waves of the sea, a shattered aircraft lay smoking, mere minutes away from exploding. Just centimeters from it, a handful of Night Knights stood in a circular formation, their backs pressed together as they conjured magical shields to withstand the rain of bullets fired by a group of orcs. Some of the rounds rebounded, striking their attackers. That group of five, like Kaito himself, stood at the twilight of their battle—yet they clung to life.

They had no option to explode and escape the horror of a more gruesome death. They were not thinking about how many enemies to kill before dying. There was no fury or hatred in their eyes—only fear. Pure, noble, humble fear, untouched by concepts of glory or honor.

Kaito felt foolish for having even considered disrespecting their will to survive by claiming their lives as collateral damage from a spell that would drag them with him into death.

In that moment, he understood the true nature of The Avenging Phoenix.

The spell was nothing more than an egocentric, glorified manifestation of cowardice. An attempt to evade—or rather, ignore—the bitter concept of defeat. It elevated a Berserker from victim to martyr, transforming death from tragedy into sacrifice. An absurd sacrifice meant only to exalt clan pride, unleashing destruction that more than once had surely claimed allies as collateral damage. An escape from dishonor in death, akin to seppuku—born from fear of one of war’s most elemental aspects: shame.

He who is willing to give up his flesh but not his dignity in combat is not a true warrior, Kaito told himself.

Not everyone could die gloriously, but every death in battle was worthy of admiration. There was no dishonor in an indecorous end. War was savage and brutal, and death itself was indifferent to such concepts.

Kaito reclaimed his will to fight. If he had the courage to die, then he would also have the courage to live—no matter the suffering that entailed.

“It’s mine!” one of the orcs growled. “I want to devour him!”

“So do I!” another snarled, saliva dripping from his mouth. “I want a piece too!”

“I want his head!” a third roared.

As the orcs argued over the sweet nut they were about to crack open, Kaito devised a way out of his precarious predicament. The only solution he could conceive came with a significant margin of risk.

The conjuration circle engraved in his chest was infused with an enormous amount of Vitagia, transmitted by the elder patriarchs of the Gi clan—more than eleven thousand units according to Helios’s official leveling system. With that power, he could continue fighting.

Whether his body could endure such an overwhelming enhancement, however, remained uncertain.

But how could he use it?

“Dragon’s Jaw.” The technique Kaito should have used to overcome the challenges on the training field. By transferring a quantity of Vitagia to another individual, they could reclaim the same amount with a personalized interest, on the condition that the Vitagia must be consumed immediately in a technique, spell, or ritual. Otherwise, one of two penalties would be imposed at the user’s discretion: the loss of the Vitagia, absorbed by a “Void Vortex,” or retaining the Vitagia while paying a physical price, which could mean forced physical deterioration or the sacrifice of a fundamental survival element—an organ, limb, bodily or mental capability, or even years of life—to “Universal Order.”

Confident that the technique described as “limited” in the Rakuen Academy library scrolls had untapped potential, Kaito trained daily throughout his academic tenure, mastering Dragon’s Jaw.

When Kaito began training to become a Night Knight, meeting the expectations set for him was difficult, particularly in combat, where he was outmatched by most recruits. He compensated by discreetly stealing the Vitagia of his peers, weakening them while enhancing his own attacks. This strategy earned him a reputation as one of the most promising graduates, which is why he was assigned to the mission in Mexico, led by General Sakuraba, which culminated in a bloody battle on the beaches of Tijuana.

Perhaps with Dragon’s Jaw, Kaito could transfer his remaining Vitagia to the Avenging Phoenix’s summoning circle, collecting it with a hundred percent interest and unleashing it to fully enhance his body. The strategy would only work if the summoning circle was considered separate from Kaito’s body—a possibility, since the circle regenerated even after removing the skin and wasn’t constructed with his Vitagia. This dilemma depended entirely on perception; sorcery itself relies on the practitioner’s imagination.

Kaito placed his hand over the circle, turning his wrist as if opening a jar, imbuing it with his Vitagia to break the seal. As the massive surge of unstable, destructive power began coursing through his body, he activated Dragon’s Jaw, halting its advance and absorbing all the Vitagia into his hand. With the volatile energy contained, it was time to use it.

Unsure if he could endure it, Kaito held his breath, closed his fist, and formed a tiny green star between his fingers. He closed his eyes and removed his protective shell, leaving himself exposed to his attackers.

"Finally, it’s broken!" an orc shouted gleefully.

"We did it!" celebrated another "Let’s devour him!"

In an instant, Kaito brought the green star to his mouth, swallowing it, activating his Vitagia absorption technique for physical enhancement: “Star Devourer.”

Kaito’s body burned like a furnace; his pores steamed, body hair stood on end, and his very being became a human oven. The Vitagia of the ancients tearing through his spiritual nodes made it feel as though his soul were submerged in molten magma. A powerful shockwave erupted, kicking up a cloud of sand and hurling the surrounding orcs into the air.

His body contorted in pain, skin reddened, and hair stiffened like stalactites. Kaito was reborn as a blazing monster, enveloped in green flames with a brilliance comparable to emeralds. The surrounding sand turned to glass, and the stench of sulfur was nauseating. For a being of fire, drawing attention was unavoidable; both allies and enemies stopped, captivated by his demonic figure.

"What the hell is that?!" one orc asked, standing near the five soldiers by the crashed ship, just moments before his head was torn off by the battle beast.

In a blink, the orcs surrounding the soldiers, who huddled defensively behind magical shields, were obliterated, their remains charred and scattered in the water. The soldiers were saved without realizing it, by something moving faster than their minds could process. And the assassin’s crusade of their savior had only just begun.

"General, stop sending my mens to die! —demanded Captain Sakuraba, shaking the general’s uniform frantically, while two officers tried to pull him away. The general remained stoic. "We must order a retreat! Don’t you see this battle is already lost?!"

"Captain, I beg you not to let fear blind you to the harsh reality " General Natori placed a hand on his shoulder. "Humanity cannot surrender in this dark hour. Even if our fate is failure, if the Brotherhood unleashes the evil beneath Rosario, extinction will be the least of our problems. Our souls will be condemned to eternal agony. Even if it’s false hope, hold on with every fiber of your being. Survival is instinctive self-preservation, not pride" her words made the captain unclench his fists. "Even at the dusk of our existence, we must fight!"

Before he could respond, a blast of a thousand wind gusts struck them, tossing the general’s hair and the captain’s hat. A strange, sparkling green trail swirled around them.

"What is that?!" the captain asked, bewildered.

"A miracle, Captain. A miracle" the general replied, pointing at the battlefield.

As quickly as it appeared, the green trail vanished, leaving behind the smoking remains of the orc horde, literally reduced to ashes.

Lying atop a mound of orc corpses, a pale, hairless man, thin to the bone, barely breathing, fought to stay conscious. He was covered in semi-charred scraps of his uniform.

Limping, a Night Knight from the group near the crashed ship, with sharp arcane sight, witnessed the hero’s feat, engulfed in green flames. He approached, lifting Kaito over his head with both arms.

"It was him!" he shouted. "He was the one who finished them!"

All the Night Knights gathered around. Kaito looked over his work, the lives he had saved, smiling before losing consciousness.

February 13th, 2126 — 03:45 a.m.

“Where am I?” Kaito asked, waking from a prolonged slumber in a completely white hospital room, connected to several machines.

“Saint Patrick’s Hospital, Dust Island,” answered Dr. Mario Santos, a short man in a white robe with the Helios emblem on his chest. Around fifty, balding, smiling warmly like a caring grandfather. “You’ve been in a coma for a month. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. How are you feeling, my friend?”

The doctor moved his hands around Kaito as if kneading dough.

“I don’t feel anything,” Kaito replied. “Not even my mouth; I only hear my voice.”

“That’s normal. You’re in my ‘Mantle of Mercy.’”

Kaito looked around; he was submerged from head to toe in a cold, yellow gelatinous mass, speckled with pale blue sparkles.

“What is this?”

“It’s… confidential,” the doctor said with some embarrassment. “Everything here is. When you’re discharged, you’ll receive a long, tedious explanation on why this place’s secrecy is vital. Our kind, lacking ordinary anatomy, cannot always be treated by conventional doctors, and the potential of mystical arts manipulating the human body poses a danger to the world as we know it.”

“If that’s the summary, I already have an idea… and I feel like going back into a coma.”

Both laughed at the remark.

“You know… my clan’s mystical arts also work with the body; they helped consolidate modern healing magic.”

“Believe me, sir, we know everything about you.”

“Then tell me about yourself. To start, what’s your name?”

“Mario Santos. A pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine. Do you have family?”

“My oath forbids it, but between us… I have a rather special relationship with one of the nurses here,” he winked.

“At least you have that. I don’t even have friends, and my family ignores me.”

“I’m sure you’ll find people to form bonds with. Did you have friends as a teen?”

“Well… I thought I did. Turns out they were just after the luxuries I could offer as a rich kid.” Kaito’s expression darkened. “I became a Night Knight because of my passion for the idealization of war.”

“I know.”

“I know you know! But let me continue… I thought I’d find brothers in battle, comrades, but all the recruits hated me. They didn’t approach me, fearing I’d absorb their energy. The only thing I gained from war was loneliness and pain; maybe I’d fare better following sorcery.”

“Son, my path is solitary, but it’s as painful as war. You fight against death, not always winning, bearing the frustration of not saving everyone.” The doctor paused momentarily. “After your miracle in Tijuana, do you really think your place isn’t on the battlefield?”

“As you said, it was a miracle, a single occurrence. Despite the Avenging Phoenix seal, without being a doctor, the physical aftermath would hardly be fully healed. My Vitagia flow system would prevent transformation; I doubt I could cast as before.”

“Correct…” The doctor bowed his head with regret. “But it’d be a shame to deprive humanity of such a warrior. You asked about the Mantle of Mercy, right?”

Kaito nodded, confused.

“It’s one of twelve immortality techniques; together they can create an immortal human,” revealed the doctor. “Currently, only nine are known, from scrolls in Crimson Alchemist ruins. For a sorcerer with your ‘magical nature’ oriented toward flesh, mastering this simplest technique would be easy.”

“What about ‘classified’?”

“I haven’t shared anything not publicly accessible. The rest is up to you. My only boldness is telling you where to start.” The doctor leaned closer and whispered, “Nevarfort Academy.”

Kaito didn’t know it, but that whisper would mark a key stage in the making of his legend as a Night Knight… another story.

October 26th, 2221 — 12:09 p.m.

Kaito enveloped Sun in his Vitagia, creating a healing cocoon to ease pain and preserve his soul, but the technique couldn’t close the wound or remove the poison. Fortunately, Akiko regained courage and approached to help. She placed her hand on the elder’s shoulder, smiling tenderly to soothe him.

She drew an ancient black paper from her jacket, engraved with Celtic runes. Wrapping Sun’s shoulder stump, she applied pressure and chanted in Asgardian. The runes glowed crimson, turning into golden sparks that ignited the paper.

The fire cauterized the wound, but a green cloud, stinking and nauseating, rose from a fissure.

“What was that?” Kaito asked.

“The poison,” Akiko replied.

“Impressive! Rarely have I seen such powerful healing magic.”

“It’s nothing; I only delayed the inevitable. He lost too much blood, and that cursed sword, from the infernal Imp series, feeds on the Vitagia of its victims. If Sun isn’t in a healer’s hands soon, he’ll die.”

“Take care of that, rookie. Tell Nori to open a portal.”

“We can’t abandon the captain!”

“Listen to your elders, kid. Leave this to the veterans!”

Kaito tore open his jacket and shirt, exposing his chest and the summoning circle.

“I’ll show that pale guy the power of the Avenging Phoenix!”