Still the same night, just deeper into it.
Cecil Edgar walked with a phone pressed to his ear, talking quietly as he rustled out from a line of bushes toward an old rusted gate. The sign above it read Old Pavilion Gate.
He stepped through the forgotten entrance no one had manned in years.
Not far ahead stood his home. His parents' home.
From the phone, a voice spoke.
"You're sure Timothy Slinger is dead? That guy's a tough one."
Cecil scoffed.
"Come on, boss. No one survives a bullet to the heart."
He kept talking until he reached the front door. There, his voice trailed off. A glass cup and a bouquet of flowers lay neatly by the doorstep. His brow furrowed. Something was wrong.
He hesitated, the silence behind the door heavy and unnatural. But curiosity—or instinct—pushed him forward. He turned the knob and stepped in.
The scene inside was gruesome. Blood, broken furniture... and bodies.
"That psycho," Cecil muttered. "He's not dead. He actually placed them back in their seats."
A grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. His silence caught the attention of the man on the other end.
"Is there a problem, Cecil?"
"You were right, boss," he said softly. "He's not dead. We'll have to deal with him."
"Leave the area. No one should see you," the boss replied.
"Affirmative, boss."
He hung up, pocketed the phone, and turned his gaze once more to the bloodstained room—his family's final supper.
Elsewhere.
11:49 p.m., Hero Association building.
The tall fenced walls of the building covered the walking area of the compound. Empty benches sat beneath the glow of night bulbs.
On one bench, at the far right of the grass walkway, was Timothy—alone, he sat, head tilted up to the sky, thinking of his next move.
"One branch down, a couple more to go," he muttered.
He shut his eyes; the voices of the Edgars pleading echoed in his head as he remembered what transpired at their home.
"No, no, no, please!"
"We'll right our wrongs; we won't make mistakes like this again. Just let us live!"
Timothy smirked as he remembered his reply to that.
"Why should I let trash like you live?"
Footsteps grew closer, and Timothy picked up the walking pattern and said,
"Raymond, is that you?"
"Yep, it's me." Timothy wasn't wrong—it was Raymond. He added, "As expected, you know a lot."
As Raymond got closer, he leaped over from the back of the bench, landing beside Timothy.
"I'm surprised to see you seated here," Raymond said.
Tim's eyes were still shut as he answered, "Just needed nature's wind."
Raymond nodded slightly, his ponytail swaying as he acknowledged, "Good, good. We need it sometimes."
After those words, there was quite the awkward silence between the two; no one said anything until Raymond broke it.
"You did more than just visit for Thanksgiving, right?"
From resting on his back, Timothy leaned forward, opening his eyes. "Yes, I did more than that. Do you have any problem with it?"
"No, I really do care, to be honest. I'm just wondering why," Raymond replied.
Timothy faced him, answering, "It's simple—they've outlived my mercy."
Another question came from Raymond. "Are they that bad?"
Instantly, Timothy replied, "The worst of the worst. And I'm not stopping there—I'll make it my life's duty to eradicate every Edgar in existence."
A chuckle escaped Raymond as he raised an eyebrow and stared at Timothy. "That is some hate."
"You know what? Let me do the question asking now. What about your family? Are they good?" Tim asked.
Raymond answered, "They're fine. I spoke with them recently. They wish for me to come home, but no, not now. We have to stop those bastards from taking the city."
"You're right. Phase three is coming; we have to prepare. We don't even know what they have planned."
"Well, Timothy," Raymond said, smiling, "planning will be on that day."
****
Flashback
October 16, 2027 — Morning
Dahavi Kingdom, before the fall.
A teenage boy stood alone on the golden sands, draped in regal Arabic wear that shimmered in the desert sun. His eyes scanned the kingdom before him—citizens busy with trade, soldiers guarding the gates with stoic discipline.
He was the prince, heir to the throne. The only child of King Asfaar Al-Mariq and Queen Safyr Al-Mariq. His father had instructed him to observe the kingdom closely, to understand the people he would one day rule.
"Huh. Father just asks me to do unnecessary things," the young prince muttered, his tone flat with boredom.
A soft voice spoke behind him. "Your father only wants you to know your people, Al-daeem."
He turned slightly. It was Queen Safyr—his mother. Her eyes were warm brown, her skin kissed by the sun, and her long dark hair swayed in the wind. Her smile held a quiet, hopeful strength.
"Mother, what brings you here?" the young prince asked, curiosity lighting his voice.
"So a mother cannot come to see her child?" the queen replied with a smile.
"You know that's not what I mean, Mother. I'm just surprised—you rarely leave Father by himself." His brow lifted slightly as he studied her expression.
"Well, son…" Her smile faded. The corners of her lips drooped, and sorrow clouded her features.
The look on her face stirred something in him. "What happened between you and Father?"
"Nothing happened between your father and me," she answered, composed but distant. Then she turned to her handmaidens. "Leave us."
Now it was just mother and son.
"Al-daeem."
"Yes, Mom?" He straightened, alert now. Something in her tone had shifted.
"Your father must have spoken to you about the outside world—what they've done, and how it's affected our kingdom."
"Yes, Mother. He said our land has become a battlefield for political wars. And from what he's been hearing from other underdeveloped kingdoms... another war is coming."
"Good. I'm glad you know," she said, nodding firmly.
"Day by day, your father's hatred for the outside world keeps growing—especially toward Ultra City."
"He talks constantly about his disgust for them, about how he wants them all to die. It's driving him mad." Tears welled in Queen Safyr's eyes as she spoke, her voice trembling.
"Mother… but he's right," the prince said firmly, his face hard with conviction.
Safyr froze, stunned by her son's words. In that moment, she saw just how deeply his father's beliefs had taken root.
"So you're siding with your father in this madness? You also wish to see innocent lives taken?" She shook her head, voice cracking. "You both make me feel like I'm the one who's insane."
"But Mother, they've turned our small kingdom into a battlefield." His voice rose, frustration building. "People here die without ever knowing why. Caught in a war between powerful cities, and for what? Just because we're small in number doesn't mean we don't matter. We deserve peace, too. A happy life."
Safyr's voice softened; her anger faded into weary sorrow. "Listen to me, son. It's not that I'm unaffected by how we're treated. At times, I wish we had the power to fight back." She looked into his eyes. "But we don't. And you, Al-daeem… you are the only one in this entire kingdom born with something different—something powerful."
She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand over his chest. "For the first time in generations… a Dahavian possesses abilities beyond imagination."
"Your father wants to use that power for destruction." She took his hands in hers and slowly lowered herself to her knees. "But I want to see it protect lives—not take them."
"Mom—get up, please." His voice cracked, guilt rising as he tried to lift her. But she stayed kneeling.
"I'm not getting up… not until you promise me, Al-daeem." Her grip tightened. "When the time comes for you to choose between right and wrong—you will choose right."
"Mother, I… I promise. Just stand up, please."
She looked at him skeptically, her brows narrowing. "You're not saying it like you mean it."
"I mean it, Mom. I swear. I promise."
Only then did she rise. A small, warm smile curved her lips. She cupped his cheeks and gave them a gentle squeeze, her tone playful again. "That's my son."
End Of Flashback
Al-daeem sat on a chair, memories flooding in like a tidal wave. His promise to his mother echoed louder than ever in his head.
"Mother… you were wrong." He imagined what his life would have been if he had looked away from the deeds of this city. A crooked, maniacal smile carved across his face as he added, "I'll purge Ultra City."