Sophia stood at the epicentre of a cluster of noblewomen, the picture of practised formality. She nodded at the right intervals and offered flawless, measured smiles. Inside, she was suffocating. The hollow praise and recycled flatteries felt sluggish, a predictable script that irritated her more with every passing second.
Her attire did nothing to invite a casual approach. Sophia wore a striking all-white suit consisting of a tailored vest with gold buttons, a crisp shirt, and sharp trousers, all beneath a long white coat. Accessorised with a gold chain necklace, gold pins, and a prominent brooch, the stark outfit paired with her tall, incredibly endowed physique to radiate a cold, commanding authority. It was a visual warning to keep a respectful distance.
Finally breaking away from the social circle, she hardened her expression. She began to pace the edges of the Banquet Hall, her eyes scanning the crowd with a hidden flicker of anxiety.
"Where is he..." She thought, brushing past another group of nobles attempting to catch her eye. She offered them nothing more than a brisk nod, her momentum unbroken. "He left at 8:37 AM. It's 7:21 PM now. What could he possibly be doing? Damn it, he even tore out the tracker I hid in his car."
The frustration of spending the majority of her own birthday separated from the person she loved the most boiled just beneath the surface. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the figure stepping out of the crowd until they collided. The other girl stumbled backwards, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor before she managed to catch her balance.
"Ah, my apologies. I wasn't looking where I was going," Sophia said, her authoritative tone softening slightly as she checked if the girl was alright.
"It is quite all right," the girl replied, her voice soft and immediately reassuring. A warm, disarming smile touched her lips, instantly dissolving the tension of the accident. "No need to apologise at all. Honestly, I was standing in a bottleneck. A collision was bound to happen."
She dipped into a graceful bow. "Seraphina Nightfallen, of the House of Nightfallen. It is a pleasure to meet you."
Seraphina looked to be exactly Amon's age, standing a clear head shorter than Sophia. She had fair skin and striking golden eyes that gave her an air of doll-like innocence, beautifully contrasted by long, shimmering black hair that cascaded down to her knees.
Her figure was elegant and voluptuous, draped in a fitted black maxi dress that clung to her silhouette. An asymmetrical cream cape layered over her shoulders, and she completed the look with black pointed-toe stilettos and a sleek gold wristwatch. She looked less like a traditional noble and more like a high-end fashion model.
"Sophia. Sophia Von Crown," The birthday girl replied briefly, her attention already drifting back to the sea of guests.
"Are you searching for someone, Miss Sophia?" Seraphina asked, tilting her head with genuine, innocent curiosity.
"She's looking for me, Miss Seraphina," a familiar voice chimed in. Amon strolled out from the crowd, his hands in his pockets, completely unbothered.
"Where have you been, Amon?" Sophia's voice instantly dropped several degrees, turning sharp and demanding as she locked her gaze onto him.
"Handling important matters," Amon offered with a casual shrug, a calm smile playing on his lips before he turned his attention to the newcomer.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Seraphina. Amon Von Crown—younger brother to the birthday girl." His voice dripped with playful charm, his eyes hidden, yet distinctly focused behind his blindfold.
Seraphina felt a sudden flush rise to her cheeks. "Even with the blindfold... he's incredibly charming," she thought, though she quickly recovered her poise and offered a bright smile. "The pleasure is all mine, Mr Amon," she replied softly.
Seraphina's flustered reaction was entirely justified; Amon was devastatingly handsome, and he knew it. Blessed with the flawless genetics of the Crown lineage, both he and Sophia had inherited an effortless aesthetic appeal that even a blindfold couldn't obscure.
DraconicSoul: "OMG!!! SERAPHINA IS SO DAMN ADORABLE!!!! SUCH A PRECIOUS CHILD!!!!!!" |
VillainEnjoyer: "MUST PROTECC!" |
RandomGuy69: "AWWWW!!!!! SHE IS SUCH A CUTIE PATOOTIE!!!" |
CatnipIsDelicious: "Why did she get flustered by our mid ahh streamer vro? He ain't even that good looking..." |
FangirlingIsMyPassion: "You just have beef with him. He's gorgeous. Her reaction is 100% normal. I'd fold too if he talked to me like that." |
Amon tracked the scrolling chat from the corner of his eye, feeling a fresh volley of a hundred imaginary arrows impale his ego. This was the second time his own audience had dunked on his looks, and it stung. Deciding to ignore the digital critics, he focused his attention back on Seraphina.
"We'll be classmates by the end of the month, Seraphina," Amon said smoothly, effortlessly dropping the honorifics. "Just call me Amon. I don't want us feeling like strangers."
"Alright, Amon," Seraphina complied, her bright, disarming smile unwavering. "You seem entirely certain. But what happens if we don't end up in the same class?"
"Trust me, we will," Amon replied, his smile brimming with absolute certainty. "It's already a given."
"WHY IS HE BEING SO FRIENDLY WITH A GIRL HE JUST MET?!" Sophia's internal monologue was a chaotic mess of spiking jealousy as she watched the exchange. "I literally dressed in his favourite colour for my birthday, and he's ignoring me for her?! I am going to mangle this girl, I swear!"
"I can practically feel the violent, jealous thoughts radiating off Sophia," Amon noted, sighing internally. "But honestly, Sophia, you don't hold a candle to how genuinely innocent and endearing this girl is. I can't help but give her my attention."
"Uhm, Amon... your sister looks like she wants to say something," Seraphina murmured, subtly gesturing toward Sophia.
Sophia's glare was icy enough to freeze the room. Amon turned to her, his expression remaining a picture of unbothered calm. "What's on your mind, big sister?"
"First of all, don't call me that," Sophia said, her voice dropping into a dangerously cold register. "Second of all, you still haven't answered my question. Where were you all day?"
"Mother knows exactly where I was," Amon replied casually, dodging the interrogation with practised ease. "If you're that desperate to find out, go ask her."
"If... if I am not being too rude," Seraphina interjected, her golden eyes blinking with innocent curiosity. "Why do you dislike being called 'big sister'?"
Sophia snapped her gaze to the smaller girl, the look intense enough to draw blood. "It makes me feel distant from him. I don't like it."
Seraphina shrank back slightly, visibly rattled by the sheer force of the animosity. "I-I see..."
"You need to be careful with that animosity, Miss Sophia," a familiar voice chimed in.
Jeanne Nova stepped up to stand beside Amon. She donned a formal, dramatic look: a long black gown featuring a high, ruffled collar, long sleeves, and an ornate silver bodice. The outer layer of the skirt parted to reveal a lighter grey fabric underneath. Paired with black heels and an expensive black watch, she exuded a dark, polished elegance.
"Targeting a girl with hostile intent just because your brother gave her a little attention isn't a very good look, you know?" Jeanne's voice dripped with amusement as she met Sophia's gaze with a calm, steady smile.
"And who exactly are you?" Sophia snapped, turning her intense glare onto the newcomer.
"Jeanne Nova," she replied smoothly. "Now, as the birthday girl, it would be wise to lose that expression. Your reactions reflect directly on your upbringing, after all. Surely you don't want the guests slandering the Crown family behind their backs?" Jeanne's smile widened, a sharp, calculating glint in her eyes.
"Jeanne, that's enough," Amon interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And Sophia, it's about time you went up to the stage to deliver your thank-you speech to the guests."
Sophia opened her mouth to argue, but Amon's firm interruption cut her off. Forcing herself to swallow her rage, she spun on her heel and walked away, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.
"The rumours about your sister are true, it seems," Jeanne chuckled, watching Sophia's rigid departure. "She's an absolute bro-con."
"Jeanne, you didn't have to push her buttons like that," Amon said, his expression neutral. "But I know why you did it. You wanted to create a scene that gave me a clean excuse to dismiss her and dodge her clinginess."
"Good boy~" Jeanne teased playfully, reaching up to give Amon a rapid succession of headpats. "Ten out of ten for guessing correctly~"
"Can you stop?" Annoyance ticked in Amon's voice as he caught her wrist, halting the headpats.
"Aw, is the good boy shy?" Jeanne laughed, easily pulling her hand back from his grip, her teasing grin never wavering.
"Uhm... Miss Jeanne, thank you," Seraphina spoke up, her voice thick with relief. "I was terrified Miss Sophia was going to lose her temper with me just for speaking to Amon..."
Jeanne turned her attention to Seraphina, tracking her with an intense, unreadable stare that made the smaller girl fidget. After a tense silence, Jeanne's expression broke into a warm, disarming smile.
"Don't sweat it," Jeanne waved her hand dismissively, the intimidating aura vanishing instantly. "I only did it out of the goodness of my heart."
"In any case, Seraphina," Amon said, his tone softening back into a gentle, polite cadence. "You don't need to worry about my sister. If she—or anyone else—ever gives you trouble, just call me."
He offered her a reassuring, gentle smile. Seraphina's cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink, and she managed a quiet, happy nod.
. . .
Amon pushed his sports car down the deserted highway, the engine a low, predatory hum against the silence of the night. In the passenger seat, Gia Nova slept peacefully, her head tilted slightly against the leather. He was driving her toward the private airfield, where a heavily fortified, magi-tech transport waited to fly her straight to the safety of the Holy Empire.
The strategy had been hammered out just after 11:00 PM, once the last of Sophia's birthday guests had departed. Emilia Von Crown had called a final briefing with the escort team to review the double-blind operation.
The plan was a high-stakes gamble divided into two distinct components:
The Decoy Convoy: A heavily armed fleet of armoured vehicles, packed with most of the escort party, surrounding a central limousine designed to withstand S-Rank destructive magic.
The Stealth Transport: A single, unescorted vehicle driven by a high-tier combatant, carrying the Saintess away from the main route.
It was a reckless play, but with an ambush practically guaranteed, it was their best shot at survival. Amon had volunteered for the solo extraction, shutting down his mother's frantic protests with cool, unwavering insistence until she finally relented.
He drifted the sports car into a sharp, sweeping bend, only for his headlights to illuminate a barrier of heavy barricades and flashing signs: Under Construction.
Amon's eyes narrowed behind his blindfold. This highway infrastructure had been reinforced with high-grade materials years ago; there was no scheduled maintenance. The leak was real. The Aimus already knew about the split-group strategy, and they had bottlenecked his route.
Reversing hard, he spun the car back onto the main artery of the highway, slamming his foot down on the pedal. "These freaks really think they've trapped me," he thought, his gaze flicking to the rearview mirror as a faint, unnatural shadow began to stretch and blur along the asphalt behind him. "Time to show them who has really trapped whom."
He threw the gear shifter forward, the transmission whining as the car lunged into a terrifying acceleration. The digital speedometer climbed rapidly—320... 350... 369 km/h—yet the dark silhouette in his mirrors continued to close the gap with impossible, supernatural speed.
Instead of panicking, a faint, dangerous smirk touched Amon's lips.
"I have to wonder," he muttered to the empty cabin, his voice dripping with cool amusement as the shadow drew level with his rear bumper. "Instead of just blowing up the chassis like a sensible assassin, you guys went for dramatic theatrics. What is this, a speedster race?"
As if responding to his mockery, the shadow surged alongside the driver's side window and discharged a concentrated beam of energy. The impact shattered Amon's traction. The steering wheel ripped out of his grip, and the sports car spun violently across the asphalt before crashing hard into the concrete highway barrier.
The pursuing silhouette screeched to a halt, joined immediately by two more dark shapes. The shadows dissolved to reveal three women dressed in matching tactical gear: black harness crop-tops, low-rise grey cargo shorts with thigh holsters, asymmetrical black jackets, and heavy combat boots.
Each assassin possessed a tall, athletic, and voluptuous physique with striking features, but their most defining trait was identical: their eyes all bore the Aimus insignia—a cross constricted by a coiled serpent.
The driver's side door of the wrecked car hissed open. Amon stepped out onto the empty highway, his wand already resting casually in his hand as he levelled it at the trio.
"I would've appreciated it if you'd just asked me to pull over nicely," he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm as he stood his ground in the centre of the road.
The assassin with rust-colored hair and orange eyes glanced at her companions, her brow furrowing with a hint of confusion. "Are we seriously going to bully a kid?"
"That 'kid' is a certified Prosecutor, you idiot," the honey-blonde beside her sighed, her emerald eyes narrowing.
"Ooh, but he's a gorgeous little thing," the third assassin murmured, her dark brown eyes glinting with a sharp, perverse interest as she ran a gaze over his silhouette. "He'd make an excellent 'toy' for us, don't you think?"
"Blackhole Bullets."
Projectiles of compressed, absolute darkness erupted from the tip of Amon's wand, locking onto the three targets. At the same instant, he mentally triggered his skill: [No Longer Human].
"Whoa, the kid can cast S-Rank gravity magic," the rust-haired assassin muttered.
Before the dark spheres could connect, she blurred forward with impossible speed, appearing directly in Amon's blind spot. She delivered a vicious kick to his ribs, sending him crashing heavily into the concrete highway wall.
"Whatever he's trying to cast, it takes more than that to stop three Harbingers," the honey-blonde said, a volatile spell already crackling into existence across her palm.
"Aw, can we please not break him entirely?" the third woman giggled, dodging the tracking projectiles with a series of fluid, acrobatic leaps. "I want him in one piece. He's going to be my new favourite toy."
Harbingers were the Aimus equivalent of the Empire's Prosecutors—high-ranking, fearsome fanatics whose baseline threat was classified by the state as SS-Rank. Trapped on an empty highway against three of them, Amon was at a devastating disadvantage.
"Thunder Crack!"
Amon vanished, reappearing directly in front of the rust-haired Harbinger. A concentrated blast of lightning erupted from his wand, slamming into her chest and throwing her backwards across the asphalt.
Before he could recover, the honey-blonde unleashed her volatile spell. Amon brought up his wand, catching the raw energy on the tip to block the initial impact, but the spell detonated violently on contact. The shockwave shattered his guard, sending him flying through the air.
"Fuck..." Amon coughed, spitting a thick glob of blood onto the asphalt as he forced himself back onto his feet. "An SS-Rank spell disguised as an A-Rank... I'll give you credit for that one." He reached up and tore off his blindfold, exposing his crimson, skull-patterned eyes to the night.
"Hey, I told you to be careful, Louise!" The brown-haired assassin whined, her dark brown eyes flashing with genuine worry as she looked at him. "You're going to ruin him too much!"
"Shut up, Lea," Louise snapped, casting an annoyed glance at her companion before locking her green eyes back onto Amon. "You're durable, kid. I'll give you that much." Her expression twisted into a mocking sneer as her hands began to glow with a fresh surge of volatile mana. "But this ends—"
"Pandora's Box."
Before Louise could finish her sentence, a massive, ornate silver vault materialised from the ether, snapping shut around the three Harbingers. The box rattled violently, its metallic surfaces groaning under immense pressure for a single, breathless second—and then it shattered into glittering dust.
The highway was empty. The three Harbingers were gone.
"It was that easy?" Amon thought, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his face as he lowered his hand.
"Surprise!"
Lea's voice echoed directly beside his ear. Before he could even register her movement, she lunged forward, snapping a heavy, metallic mechanism tightly around his wrist.
A white-hot wave of agony tore through Amon's nervous system, forcing a choked gasp from his throat as his knees buckled. He collapsed hard onto the pavement. With a swift, practised kick, Lea sent his wand flying over the highway railing, watching it vanish into the darkness below.
Louise and the rust-haired assassin materialised right beside her, stepping up to form a crescent around Amon as they looked down at their broken prey.
"I used a spell that erases your existence from history itself," Amon rasped, his voice tight and strained against the searing agony in his wrist, though his eyes still flared with disbelief.
"Oh, it did!" Lea giggled, leaning over him. "We were entirely wiped from this world. But unlike the regular cultists, we don't just stay dead. We regenerate from anything. Erase the timeline, destroy the concepts, burn the history—we still come back. That is what it means to be a Harbinger."
As the echoes of her explanation faded, the heavy, distant roar of jet engines thundered above. Amon tilted his head back, watching the flashing lights of a high-altitude aircraft cut through the dark sky. A low chuckle escaped his throat, building until he was laughing out loud, the sound echoing manically down the empty highway.
The rust-haired Harbinger knit her brows, her hand dropping toward her holster. "What's so funny, brat?"
Louise's emerald eyes widened as a sudden, sickening realisation hit her. She spun on her heel and sprinted toward the crumpled wreckage of the red sports car. She ripped the passenger door open, her gaze sweeping the interior.
Empty.
"The Saintess..." Louise turned back to her squad, her voice tight with shock. "She isn't here!"
The remaining two Harbingers froze, their confident expressions instantly fracturing into frantic confusion.
"Of course she isn't, you absolute retards," Amon said. He forced himself upright, pushing past the pain as he looked at the three assassins with the wild, triumphant grin of a madman. "She's already airborne, on her way to the Holy Empire. And there isn't a damn thing you three can do about it."