The sky was torn.
Enrai drifted through the smoke-stained heavens, his immense figure soaring effortlessly between the scattered clouds of war.
Beneath him lay a nation in tatters.
Cities once proud were now reduced to graveyards of concrete and ash. Screams of terror echoed through streets lined with flames. Cries for help reverberated against the moaning ruins of skyscrapers. Collapsed buildings lay sprawled like fallen titans, with crushed vehicles, bloodied sidewalks, and shattered hopes buried beneath them.
From his vantage point, he could see it all — a panorama of pure, raw devastation.
Civilians lay pinned beneath rubble, some unmoving, others struggling weakly. Children huddled against their lifeless parents, unaware of the cruel finality of what they clung to. On every block, mutated Nomus stalked like predators, their guttural roars sending flocks of crows skyward. Villains ran wild, slicing down survivors, looting shattered homes, some even dancing in the firelight like lunatics.
And amidst the chaos… heroes fought on.
They bled, screamed, and pushed past exhaustion. Some stood between children and monsters with broken limbs. Others pulled strangers from rubble with trembling hands, whispering "You're safe now-" even as death loomed overhead.
Enrai's eyes narrowed.
His face was calm. He had just come from Apocalypse—a battle that shook the grounds—but this sight…
It reminded him of the Lands Between.
Of wars that never ended. Of madness and rot.
Of a world that never claimed peace but only ever knew ruin.
He exhaled.
"Enough-" he muttered, his deep, godlike voice barely audible over the wind.
Then the sky changed.
Villains looked up. Nomus froze. Civilians paused.
Something golden pierced the heavens like a divine flame.
A comet.
No—a sword.
Spinning. Roaring. Glowing with celestial fire.
It descended like vengeance made real—Radahn's greatsword, hurled from the sky with unstoppable fury. It struck the heart of the chaos like the wrath of a forgotten god.
BOOOOM.
Nomus exploded into viscera. Villains were torn apart—some bisected, others vaporized. The street cratered. Flames were snuffed out by the shockwave.
The greatsword spun back through the air in a grand arc, slicing through another cluster of enemies like a divine guillotine. Screams filled the sky.
And then—
He landed.
The dust churned outward like a storm. Flames around him flickered and died. Air itself recoiled.
As the dust cleared… a mountain of a man stood tall.
There was no ethereal majesty—no divine aura of a benevolent god descending from the heavens. What stood amidst the crumbled earth and burning cityscape was something far more primal. A warrior. Towering and unyielding. His Torn Shirt flared behind him like a battle banner, scorched at the edges. His golden eyes, once curious and gentle when he first arrived in this world, were now narrowed into a piercing glare, hardened by war and betrayal.
His body was a sculpture of raw might—muscles taut, veins bulging like cords of steel across his arms and neck. Dust clung to his scarred skin, blood—his and others—dripped slowly from the edge of his greatsword. This was no savior in shining light. This was a conqueror from the stars. A wrathful storm given flesh. And he had returned to finish what was started.
Radahn. Enrai.
Golden eyes burning. One hand held the massive, blood-soaked broadsword, now raised.
He then rested the sword on his shoulders.
Silence.
Then he raised his other hand.
A glowing purple orb formed in his palm—unstable, chaotic, humming with gravitational fury.
He opened his hand—and the orb expanded, sending a ripple of purple energy across the entire city like a shockwave through space and time.
Everything changed.
The villains and Nomus suddenly froze, their movements locked, limbs stiff.
Debris began to rise.
Cars. Bricks. Steel beams. Ruined signs. Shattered homes.
They lifted into the air, orbiting the battlefield like a dying solar system.
So did the people.
– "W-What's happening?!" a boy cried, floating gently into the air with his unconscious father.
– "I-Is this a quirk?! No… I feel warm… safe…" whispered a pro hero, her arms wrapped around a child, both of them rising skyward.
– "I can't move!! SOMEONE HELP—MY ARMS! MY LEGS—!" a villain screamed, eyes wide with terror, trapped in his own skin.
– "No… no no no… who IS that?!" yelled another Villain as it hovered, locked in place, eyes glowing with panic.
– "Mom, the stars… they're coming down…" a child whispered, looking at the floating debris which were glowing in purplish hue looking like stars around them.
Heroes and civilians alike—exhausted, injured, terrified—were lifted by unseen hands toward the designated protection shelters outside the city. A tranquil gravity surrounded them. No pain. No noise.
Just warmth and direction.
But for the villains and Nomus?
A fate far darker awaited.
They were dragged together by invisible force—dozens, then hundreds—merging into a grotesque ball of broken limbs, and twisted bodies.
Their screams echoed in maddening harmony.
– "STOP! WHAT IS THIS?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
– "LET ME OUT! PLEASE!"
– "SOMEONE—NO—NOOOO!!!"
Then the floating debris shifted.
Large slabs of buildings. Steel girders. Walls. Rebar. Rubble. Thousands of tons of concrete converged on the mass of villains.
They saw it coming.
– "OH GOD NO—LOOK ABOVE—IT'S COMING—IT'S COMING TOWARDS US!!"
– "H-HERO—PLEASE—WE'LL SURRENDER—WE'LL—"
CRASH.
The debris slammed into the villain mass like a collapsing star. The air trembled. Dust erupted.
What was left was a massive orb of fused debris and bodies, floating silently.
Radahn clenched his fist.
And the orb began to shrink.
Screams erupted once more—bloodcurdling, panicked, hopeless.
Bones snapped. Flesh tore.
CRUNCH.
Rivers of blood poured from the cracks, staining the earth below crimson.
The orb grew smaller.
And smaller.
Until it was the size of a man. Then smaller still.
Until it matched Radahn's own size.
Then, it fell.
THUD.
A final sound. Heavy. Permanent.
No screams. No cries. Only silence… and blood.
Radahn exhaled, gazing upon the stillness.
Around him, the city floated in solemn beauty. A broken nation held aloft by a single will. A single wrath.
He turned his head toward the far horizon.
His golden eyes glowed.
Without a word, he moved—