Aaron stared at the new arrival with calm indifference, one hand still gripping the limp body of Stone. The scent of death lingered in the frozen underground, cold mist spiraling at his feet.
"I asked you a question!" the man barked, his voice laced with authority.
Ice shards materialized in the air around him with a hiss, like summoned blades from another realm. Without waiting for a reply, he hurled them at Aaron and charged forward, footsteps cracking across the frosted ground.
Aaron released Stone’s corpse, his eyes narrowing. The shards cut through the air, but Aaron twisted nimbly, sidestepping and deflecting them with ease. The moment his feet hit the ground, a heavy fist came swinging.
He barely blocked it.
The impact echoed like thunder.
The attacker was fast—faster than anyone Aaron had encountered lately. And stronger. Ice-covered fists clashed against Aaron’s body with terrifying force, forcing him into full defensive mode.
Liam’s arms were wrapped in a sleek, crystal-clear ice gauntlet—thin but deceptively dense. He moved with military precision and honed technique, overwhelming Aaron in close-quarters combat.
Fist met forearm. Knee met ribs. Blow after blow landed with punishing weight.
A final kick sent Aaron flying across the room, crashing violently into the stone wall. Dust exploded outward from the impact.
Aaron grunted but rose immediately from the wreckage, completely unscathed.
"That hurt," he muttered, dusting off his tattered clothes.
Still, inside, he was already calculating. Too fast. Too clean. This one’s beyond my current self in raw ability. He knew he’d survive this, but he also knew one thing clearly: in a fair fight, he couldn’t win.
Talent: S-rank – Ice Age
Compared to Aaron’s current build, Liam wasn’t just a stronger awakened—he was a top predator.
Liam raised a staff made entirely of frozen mana, a deadly artifact of compressed cold.
"Now, answer me," he said coolly, "Who are you?"
Aaron tilted his head, offering a soft smile. "I am the Void of Retribution. The man lying dead behind me caused suffering beyond measure. Retribution came for him—just as it will come for others. The heavens have begun to purge the rot of this world. Until then, Liam..." he paused, bowing slightly, "...we’ll meet again."
Behind him, a dark rift opened, shimmering like a wound in the fabric of space.
"You’re not leaving," Liam said sharply. His eyes glowed faintly blue. "Ice Age."
Suddenly, the entire underground chamber plunged into an unnatural, suffocating cold.
Temperature plummeted to absolute zero—so cold even sound itself seemed muted. The moisture in the air froze mid-breath, forming crystal flakes that fell to the floor like powdered glass.
Walls, ceiling, blood, corpses—everything froze.
Aaron was caught mid-step, completely immobilized.
His muscles locked. His magic sealed. Even the rift behind him paused in time, its edge flickering like a frozen image.
Only Liam moved freely, an aura of power protecting a small radius around him. Within that radius, kinetic energy still flowed. Outside it—nothing moved.
Spear in hand, Liam walked calmly toward Aaron.
"I don’t know who you really are," he said, voice echoing softly through the frozen silence, "but people like you don’t get to disappear."
Aaron’s thoughts whirred beneath the icy stasis. Damn. That’s some cheat-tier nonsense. He couldn’t resist. His every cell was frozen. Only one option remained—a trick he preferred not to rely on.
"Plot armor," Aaron whispered in his mind, triggering a buried failsafe.
With a ripple in the threads of reality, causality bent in his favor.
Without warning, the crippled masked men behind Liam exploded simultaneously. Their frozen bodies ruptured, sending jagged chunks of icy flesh and crystallized blood shards in every direction.
One large shard pierced Aaron’s chest, shattering his frozen body from the impact and hurling him backward—directly into the rift.
As Aaron vanished, the rift snapped shut with a whisper of finality.
"What the hell just happened?" he muttered, blinking.
He stood alone in a chamber of corpses and absolute frost, his quarry escaped, and any usable evidence destroyed.
He punched a wall—instantly cracking the ice, but not even a dent on the stone underneath.
This power of his—Ice Age—was overwhelming, but it was also a curse. Every time he used it at full scale, the environment remained frozen indefinitely. This underground facility? It wouldn’t thaw for months. Sometimes years.
That’s why people called him the Ice God even though he wasn’t yet a demigod. Because only disasters followed in his wake.
Still seething, Liam turned on his heel. There was no use staying. The corpse of Stone was gone. The mysterious attacker had vanished. And Liam knew the higher-ups would chew him out.
But they wouldn’t punish him seriously. No one did.
Because they feared what people like him became when they held grudges—and returned stronger.
Far away from the frozen battlefield...
A rift opened in midair above a quiet forest clearing.
Aaron tumbled out, chest still impaled by the large shard of bloodied ice. He hit the ground with a grunt, rolling once before lying flat on his back.
"Hah... That was crazy," he muttered, yanking the shard free. "Almost thought I was done for."
His heart regenerated within seconds—his body rapidly healing, steam rising from the wound.
The Phantom Mask on his face dissolved, revealing his original appearance. Scratched, exhausted—but alive.
He reached into his inventory and pulled out fresh clothes, slipping them on quickly.
"Good thing I always keep backups," he muttered, pulling a black shirt over his head.
Flameborn soared through the clouds and descended toward him, wings flapping majestically.
"You made it back," Aaron smiled faintly. "You good, buddy?"
Flameborn landed beside him and lowered his massive head. His scales shimmered with residual heat.
"You burned it all down like I asked?" Aaron inquired.
"Roar!" The dragon nodded proudly, a toothy grin spreading across its snout.
Another affirmative roar. Flameborn had incinerated the prison cells and anything that could connect Aaron—or the freed prisoners—to the raid.
Aaron nodded in approval. "Good job."
With a wave of his hand, the sanctuary folded space again. A glowing doorway opened in the air, leading them into a hidden valley deep within the mountains.
Inside stood over a hundred rescued prisoners—men, women, and children alike—huddled together, dazed, and cautious.
Aaron stepped through alongside Flameborn.
He sighed. "Should’ve tortured Stone," he muttered. "Could’ve squeezed more intel."
His form shimmered as the Phantom Mask activated again, this time turning him into an elderly man—long white hair, dignified beard, standing tall despite his apparent age.
He walked forward slowly, commanding presence now far more benevolent.
"Stone is dead," Aaron declared loudly. "One of my retributors dealt with him. You’re free."
Gasps of relief echoed. Some wept. Others dropped to their knees, overwhelmed by emotion.
The dragons—they’d seen them. The lightning beast that devoured soldiers. The fire wyrm that razed the cells. No one doubted his words.
Aaron, though, was silently disturbed. What did Stone put them through to make his death feel like salvation?
He rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of it all.
Perhaps one day, if the system gave him access to the realm of the dead, he’d finish what he started—with Stone’s soul.
"But don’t get too happy yet," Aaron continued, raising a hand for silence.
"Stone was only a puppet—controlled by forces far bigger than him. His death changes nothing... unless you change it."
He scanned their faces. Some nodded. Others clenched their fists.
"I offer you a chance," Aaron said. "To fight back. To take the slums for yourselves. Your fate... is now in your hands."