The fighting dragged on longer than Felicia wanted.
At first, the soldiers held their ground. Rifles thundered, skills flashed, and elves fell—burned, torn apart, or riddled with bullets. But then Felicia saw it.
The portal.
It pulsed like a living wound in the air, carved in emerald light. Every few seconds, another elf stepped through—unharmed, disciplined, eyes cold and focused. For every one that fell, two more replaced it.
A losing equation.
Felicia's eyes narrowed.
She raised her fist.
The signal was sharp and final.
"Fall back. All units. Now."
The scouts retreated first, disciplined despite the chaos. The soldiers followed, dragging wounded men, covering each other as they pulled away to higher ground. The elves advanced, believing the humans were breaking.
That was their mistake.
Felicia stepped forward alone.
The heat around her body spiked violently. Cracks spread across the scorched concrete beneath her boots. Then—
She leapt.
Not a jump.
An ascension.
Flames erupted from her back, twisting, condensing, and then unfurling into vast wings of burning gold and crimson. The sky itself seemed to recoil as a phoenix screech tore through the battlefield—ancient, furious, absolute.
Every living thing froze.
Felicia hovered high above the portal, her silhouette blazing like a second sun.
She raised both hands.
"Eternal Flare."
The world burned.
From the heavens, orbs of condensed fire fell—not wild flames, but precise annihilation. Each sphere struck with the weight of judgment, exploding on impact. Elves were erased mid-charge, their barriers shattering like glass. The portal screamed as flames poured into it, destabilizing its structure.
The battlefield turned into hell made manifest.
Firestorms swallowed formations. Ash rained like black snow. The ground melted and reformed, glowing veins of magma tracing where elves once stood.
One by one—
They died.
When the final elf tried to crawl away, charred and broken, a last sphere descended silently and ended it.
The portal collapsed in on itself, shrieking once before folding into nothingness.
Silence followed.
Felicia descended slowly, wings dissolving into embers that faded into the air. Her boots touched the ground softly.
Not a sound.
Smoke curled around her like incense. Burned weapons, blackened armor, and ash-stained earth surrounded her. To the soldiers watching from afar, it looked as though an angel had descended among fallen devils.
The platoon captain swallowed hard and pressed his communicator.
"Command… we need immediate backup," he said quietly. "Target neutralized. But—"
His eyes never left Felicia.
"—we just witnessed something far beyond projected power levels."
Felicia stood still among the ruins, chest rising slowly, eyes glowing faintly with dying embers.
She did not look at the soldiers.
She looked at the sky.
Because she knew—
This was no longer just a fight for survival.
This was the moment the world began to notice her.
Felicia lifted her gaze.
The sky split.
Not with fire, not with lightning—but with numbers.
They burned themselves across the heavens, vast and merciless, counting down once more. The sight stole the breath from her lungs. Her heart skipped, then slammed painfully against her ribs.
"No…" she whispered.
The air around her trembled.
Memories crashed into her without mercy.
Her boys.
Their laughter echoing in a house that no longer existed. Small hands tugging at her sleeves. Dirt-stained knees, arguments over nothing, the way they used to sleep pressed against her sides when storms came. Faces half-remembered, half-burning, as if the world itself was trying to erase them.
Felicia's vision blurred.
The phoenix within her screamed.
Flames erupted around her body again, uncontrolled this time. The ground cracked outward in a widening circle, glassing under the sudden heat. Soldiers staggered back, shields raised, instincts screaming danger.
She clenched her fists, knuckles white.
"Was it not enough?" she shouted at the sky, her voice breaking into a raw, tearing cry. "You took my world. You took my children. You burned everything I was—"
Fire surged upward, spiraling around her like a raging inferno.
"You want more?" she roared.
The phoenix flared behind her, enormous wings spreading wide, blotting out the smoke-filled sky. Its cry wasn't just sound—it was grief given form, fury sharpened into flame.
Tears burned down Felicia's cheeks, evaporating before they could fall.
Her knees trembled, but she did not kneel.
She looked up at the numbers again, teeth clenched, voice hoarse yet defiant.
"If this is your game," she said, each word carved from pain, "then watch carefully."
The fire slowly drew back, condensing, folding into her chest like a sun being caged.
"I will not beg. I will not break."
Her eyes burned gold.
"I will end it."
Around her, no one spoke. The soldiers, the survivors, even the wind seemed afraid to move.
Above them all, the numbers continued their silent countdown—unmoved, uncaring.
And for the first time since the world fell, Felicia did not look small beneath them.
She looked like a challenge.
The call connected with a faint crackle.
A man stood alone in a reinforced command room deep beneath concrete and steel. He was dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, his posture rigid even at rest. His hair was white, not from age but from something far older—experience, war, and survival in a world that no longer forgave weakness.
He wore a full Tanzanian military combat uniform, the flag stitched over his shoulder, worn but spotless. Rank insignias gleamed faintly under cold lights.
He lifted the receiver calmly.
"Niambie, afande."
Talk to me, officer.
On the other end, the platoon captain's voice trembled—not from fear, but from awe.
"Sir… we encountered an awakened individual near the coastal ruins. Female. Solo engagement. She eliminated an entire elven wave after our unit was forced to retreat."
The man's expression did not change, but his eyes sharpened.
"She manifested wings," the captain continued. "Fire-based, but… not ordinary flames. Controlled descent. Area annihilation. No collateral panic among civilians."
There was a pause.
"Sir… I believe she's a potential S-grade."
Silence filled the room.
The man finally moved, setting the receiver closer to his ear.
"S-grade?" he repeated slowly.
"Yes, afande. Possibly higher if growth continues."
The man exhaled through his nose, a slow, measured breath. He turned toward a digital map projected on the wall—Dar es Salaam, Kinondoni sector, marked in red and gold.
"Name?" he asked.
"Felicia, sir. No registered rank yet. Acting as an independent leader. She's already forming a clan."
The man's fingers tapped once against the table.
"A phoenix," he murmured, almost to himself.
He straightened.
"Do not antagonize her," he said firmly. "No chains. No orders."
"Yes, sir."
"Observe only. Offer supplies if needed. Medical aid. Intelligence. If she refuses, you withdraw."
The captain hesitated. "And if higher command demands control?"
The man's voice dropped, cold and absolute.
"Then higher command will answer to me."
Another pause.
He looked up at the ceiling, as if he could see through the earth and into the sky where the numbers still counted down.
"Register her as Priority Asset—Unaligned," he continued. "And afande…"
"Yes, sir?"
"If she survives the next six months—"
A faint, dangerous smile tugged at his lips.
"—this world will not be the same."
The line went dead.
The man remained standing, silent, eyes burning with quiet resolve.
Somewhere above ground, fire still smoldered.
And somewhere in the chaos of a dying world, a phoenix had been noticed.