Afternoon. East Zenith.

  Outside Hero Association Headquarters.

  Jack Briar swung his legs out of the car and immediately regretted it. A wave of dizziness hit him. He caught himself on the doorframe, blinking hard.

  Too many late nights. Not enough sleep. He knew the drill. But hell, it was worth it. After a full day of wrangling overpowered dick-swingers with egos the size of small moons, he deserved some downtime. Even if it meant binge-watching movies until his eyes bled.

  Didn’t matter. Nothing a strong cup of coffee couldn’t fix.

  “Right, Mitchell?” he muttered, still half in a daze.

  His driver, a squat man with zero interest in context, gave his usual response. “Of course, sir.”

  Jack exhaled. See? That was the kind of attitude he needed more of around here. No arguments. No bullshit. Just yes, sir.

  He straightened his jacket, rolled his shoulders, and strode toward the glass doors. Time to start another day in paradise.

  Jack barely had time to register the cool blast of air from the lobby before his security detail closed in.

  No words. No briefing. Just a firm grip on his elbow, steering him toward the Inter Lift—the one that didn’t officially exist.

  One agent hit the button. 10th floor. Basement.

  Another handed him a tablet. Video ready to play.

  Jack took it, frowning. “This better be—”

  He pressed play.

  And his world flipped upside down.

  .

  .

  .

  Jack moved fast. Almost ran.

  Turned the corner. Doors slid open.

  Inside, the chatter died instantly.

  Chairs scraped. People stood. Waiting.

  Jack dropped into his seat at the head of the table. The others followed suit.

  The screen on the wall flickered. Same video. Playing on a loop. Ward 13. Burning. Exploding. Then—undoing itself.

  Jack watched for three full seconds. Then turned to Rafe, the head-analyst.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Archives recorded this in Cintra, sir. A port city in the North. Not an hour ago,” Rafe said.

  An analyst slid a laptop across the table. Jack pulled it closer. The screen glowed with raw data—graphs, timestamps, mana readings. Numbers that shouldn’t exist.

  He skimmed. Listened to Rafe. Both said the same thing.

  – Villain attack. Ward 13.

  – Earlier Invincible Haeden (Guild: Leo / HN - LHFF1721) let him go. Out of goodwill—or laziness.

  – Fight broke out. Explosions. Collateral damage under acceptable margin. Insurance work.

  – Haeden killed the villain. Standard.

  Until it wasn’t.

  – Time stopped. But only in the damaged areas. No System with that power. No records in the Archives or Framework.

  – A barrier went up. Blocked everything—physical entry, cameras, even mana scans.

  – Thirty seconds. Ward 13 restored itself. Completely.

  – Buildings. Roads. People… The dead came back to life.

  – Not even the Zodiac Gods could do that.

  Jack exhaled. The video played again. Burn. Destroy. Reverse. Rebuild. Over and over.

  He tapped a finger on the table. Slow. Measured.

  Everything in front of him—data, footage, reports—should have been impossible. If not for the archived recordings, he’d call it bullshit. But it happened.

  He raised a finger. Rafe stopped talking.

  “Hypothetically,” Jack said, voice calm but sharp, “how is something like that possible?”

  Silence. Ten whole seconds.

  A dozen analysts. Some with intellectual-class Systems, others enhanced beyond human limits. And yet—not a single answer.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Jack’s jaw tensed. He was about to snap when—

  “A new kind of System?” one analyst offered, hesitant. “That’s the only logical assumption, sir.”

  Jack’s gaze snapped to him. The man swallowed hard but continued.

  “The Great Gods could verify it,” he said. “But…” A pause. A glance at the blinking red ‘NO RESPONSE’ on the framework log. “They refuse to answer the framework calls.”

  Jack exhaled through his nose. They never do.

  He could go through the Apostles—grovel, negotiate, bite his damn pride—but the hoops they’d make him jump through? Not worth it.

  Logic. He had to rely on logic.

  Except logically, this made no sense.

  There hadn’t been a new System since the Zodiac Gods descended, since the Governing Framework was established, since the first Awakened, since the first Heroes.

  And that was a century ago.

  Jack shook his head, running a hand through his graying hair.

  “How,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the room, “could a new System show up now?”

  He turned his eyes back to the analysts. Sharp. Expectant.

  “What changed in the Framework?”

  “Changed…” Rafe frowned, thinking. Then—snap—he remembered. Fingers flew over the keyboard. Click. Click. Click. Found it. Spun the laptop around.

  “Speech,” Jack read. Brow furrowed. “From the guild Aquaris?”

  Rafe nodded. “Lord Apostle himself. After a little one-on-one with the Great God Aquaris.”

  Jack’s brow twitched. He reread the words. Once. Twice. A third time.

  “The stalemate has gone on for too long,” he murmured. The war must end. The Great Gods shall forge a new power, so absolute, so divine, that no sinner shall stand against it. The faithful shall rise. The righteous shall triumph. The light will prevail—without question. Have faith, always.

  He exhaled, slow and deep. The Gods were changing the game.

  That wasn’t just a speech. It was a warning.

  “You’re telling me,” Jack said, looking up at Rafe, “that a Great God—one of the Twelve—openly declared they were developing something new?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And no one thought that was worth looking into?”

  Rafe spread his hands, uneasy. “We assumed it meant…doctrinal reinforcement. More miracles through Apostles. Maybe an empowered System Holder or two.” He hesitated. “But not this.”

  Jack drummed his fingers against the table. His stomach churned.

  The Gods never intervened this directly. They set the rules. They enforced the Framework. But they never actively escalated the war. Until now.

  A new System.

  Something powerful enough to rewrite reality.

  And the worst part?

  It wasn’t even in Zenith. It was in Cintra.

  Jack slammed his hand on the table. “We need that system. No matter what. Whoever has it—he, she, they, rock, cat, dog, piss—I don’t care. Get them here.”

  “A team’s already en route, sir,” Rafe said. “They’ll be there in… three hours.”

  Jack froze. “Three hours?” His pulse kicked up. By then, Monolith could have the system. “Why? We don’t have a Wrap device there?”

  Rafe hesitated. Then, a sheepish smile. “Uh… no, sir. Cintra was never a priority. No invasions in fifty years. We diverted the force to—”

  “Not anymore.” Jack cut him off. “Set up a base. Send our best. We’re taking that system.”

  * * *

  Early Morning. Monolith.

  “That system is ours!” Grand Cox bellowed. His voice thundered through the hall.

  “Ours!” The eleven Grand Masters roared, fists raised high.

  Cox swept his gaze across them. Fire in his eyes. “I see the end of this war, brothers. We have fought long enough. Hard enough. Died enough.” His fists clenched. “Now it is time for the sinners—the corrupt who dare call themselves Heroes—to pay.”

  “With blood!” The walls trembled with their fury.

  Cox stepped forward. “Go. Cintra awaits. Tear her down, brick by brick if you must. But do not return without that system.”

  The battle-hardened men nodded, eyes burning with conviction.

  “We will not disappoint you, brother,” they vowed, one by one. Fists slammed against armored chests. Then they turned and marched out.

  The door groaned shut. Silence settled.

  Cox exhaled, long and slow.

  Finally. After five decades of war. Five decades of blood and sacrifice. A breakthrough.

  The Great God Aquaris had foretold it. The Gods were forging a weapon. A true weapon. Justice would finally prevail.

  He straightened, eyes to the heavens.

  “I must thank my Great God.”

  .

  .

  .

  Cox knelt in the center of the Worship Chamber. The heart of the Worship Circle.

  Before him sat the Chalice of Belief. Dark. Still. Filled with the blood of twelve Grand Masters.

  He inhaled deeply. Then drank. A single sip. Copper and warmth. Life given for faith.

  The rest, he poured onto the circle. The blood slithered through the carved lines, pulsing as it spread. Light followed, burning crimson.

  When the circle drank its fill, Cox lifted his gaze.

  “Oh, My Great Master,” he called. His voice steady. “Heed the cry of your Apostle. For I have come bearing the fruit of your labor. Heed me, my God! Heed me!”

  The ground shuddered. The circle’s glow flared—brighter, hotter—until it burned white. Cox clenched his jaw. Shut his eyes.

  He had been heard.

  The air twisted. His stomach lurched. The world tilted beneath him.

  Silence.

  He opened his eyes. Darkness. Endless. Empty.

  Then—a light. A tiny speck, swelling fast. A sun, a storm, a force beyond comprehension. It rose, consuming the void, stretching beyond sight. A behemoth. A God.

  Cox was nothing before it. Less than nothing.

  He bowed. Dropped his head to his knees.

  The light remained. Silent. Watching.

  Cox lifted his head, slow and reverent. Hands clasped, he whispered a prayer. Then he spoke.

  “Thank you, Sire. For the gift you have bestowed upon us. We, your believers, are forever in your grace. Against this system, no sinner will survive. We will stop time. We will alter reality. We will bring back those who have fallen. Justice will prevail, as you have willed it.”

  Silence.

  Cox waited. Held his breath.

  A flicker of acknowledgment—that’s all he needed. Just one sign.

  Nothing.

  Seconds dragged. Turned to minutes.

  Still, no response.

  His stomach knotted. Had he misspoken? Overstepped?

  Had he angered his master?

  “My sire, have I—”

  He froze. A hand, soft as a feather, warm as fresh cinnamon, rested on his head.

  Cox’s mind reeled. Pulled back. Memories unraveled before his eyes.

  An hour prior.

  Him, tangled with two of his wives—disgust. A sharp, silent reprimand. His God watched. Judged. Cox swore, then and there. Never again. Only one at a time.

  Brother Sigmund’s interruption. A whisper of something impossible—interest.

  The rush to the War Hall. The video. A settlement, once wiped from existence, frozen in time. Then… reversing. Restored, pristine. Even the dead, breathing again—immense interest.

  But then—shifting.

  Doubt.

  Fear.

  Cox’s chest tightened. His God feared something?

  No. Impossible.

  The hand lifted. Cox gasped. He was himself again.

  “You have done well, Cox.”

  The voice was soft. Sweet. Affectionate. It wrapped around him, warm as sunlight, soothing as honey. His doubts vanished. His God feared nothing. His God was the great Aquaris.

  “That system is my gift to you,” Aquaris said. “But you must attain it—and bring it to me before use. Only then can I unlock its full potential. For you, and you alone.”

  “Yes, my sire,” Cox breathed. He bowed. Again. And again.

  “Now go,” Aquaris commanded. “Bring those sinners to their knees. You have earned it.”

  Cox blinked.

  The light was gone. The warmth. The infinite space.

  He was back in the Worship Chamber.

  Determined as ever.

  “That System is mine!”

  * * *

  Velen. Edge of Farshore.

  Communal Space. Aquaris’s Domain.

  Twelve Zodiac Gods sat in silence. Staring at one another.

  The weight of their actions pressed down, heavy and inescapable.

  One of them exhaled. A whisper in the void.

  “What have we done?”

  Shit!