It had been a week since Kael Draven left.
Valieon trained relentlessly—not like before, not with restraint. He was training with Alpha and Omega, his dual weapons pulsing with restrained power. Though he avoided channeling their full magic, fearing the gods would sense it, their physical might alone surpassed every weapon he had ever wielded. Every move, every combo, every strike was precise, brutal, and fast.
Then, a stranger approached.
Draped in a royal robe, the man walked toward him, calm yet unreadable. Valieon noticed but set his weapons aside.
"Are you Valieon?" the man asked.
Valieon nodded silently.
The man paused. Something about his stillness unsettled the air. Then he spoke again.
"Were you related to Kael Draven?"
Valieon's gaze sharpened. The word were rang in his ears like a curse.
"What do you mean were?" he snapped, stepping forward, fists clenched. "You don't use were for someone who's alive."
The stranger looked to the sky, voice low and heavy. "Kael Draven was killed… He died in the battlefield."
The world around Valieon blurred. That one sentence cut deeper than any blade. As the weight of it dropped onto him, he froze—his eyes wide, distant. He couldn't breathe.
Just then, Veridian was climbing the mountain. He was coming to joke with Valieon, to tell him there was a public strike today and remind him not to 'accidentally' steal anything. But the second he saw Valieon's face, he stopped.
The wind died.
The land began to tremble.
The universe itself began to twist—planets shifted, asteroids shattered, the sun dimmed. Time lost rhythm. Valieon screamed. A guttural, soul-tearing scream that sent shockwaves through the Hyperverse.
Every god felt it.
The Prime God fell off his throne in terror.
"This… This aura…" he stammered, gripping the armrest, pale-faced. "It's stronger than… stronger than us… and it's still growing…"
In Flame Dominion, mountains began to collapse. Animals cried out before fainting. Old people lost consciousness. Children screamed.
Valieon was emitting pure, raw, unfiltered rage. His power was not magic—it was something beyond divine law. Veridian couldn't move. Not out of fear, but because gravity itself seemed to fail him.
Then Valieon saw the animals falling unconscious. That broke him.
He stopped.
Silence returned—but the damage had been done. The entire Hyperverse had trembled.
Without a word, Valieon vanished.
Veridian, stunned, reached out—but there was nothing. He was already gone.
Valieon appeared at the battlefield.
The sky was stained red, and ashes floated like snow. Ninety percent of the Flame Tyrant's army had been wiped out. There, among the fallen, was the Martyr's funeral. Rows upon rows of bodies, wrapped in cloth and honor.
And at the center—Kael Draven.
Valieon walked to his coffin like a ghost. When he reached it, he collapsed to his knees. No words. Just tears. Quiet, broken sobs. He held the side of the coffin, forehead resting on the edge.
The crowd watched in silence. They understood. He was the boy—the orphan—Draven had taken in seven years ago.
Three hours passed.
Thousands wept—the orphaned child clutching their father's sword, the mother who lost her only son, the wife without a husband. It was a portrait of suffering.
But something was strange—Ignar, the Flame Tyrant, hadn't attended the funeral.
Valieon noticed. It gnawed at his mind.
That was when a bruised, ragged man approached. His face was half-hidden beneath grime and scars. He looked like he had escaped from the deepest, darkest prison.
He didn't shout. He didn't kneel.
He simply called Valieon by name.
Valieon didn't move—his hand still resting on Kael's coffin. But the man stepped closer and whispered something into his ear.
Something so dark, so twisted, that Valieon's expression changed instantly.
His eyes narrowed. His body stiffened. His jaw clenched.
He rose slowly, and without turning to face the man, spoke only one word:
"…What?"
The fire inside him reignited, more dangerous than before.
And this time, it wasn't grief.
It was vengeance.