After the sudden pressure disappeared, Luiz exhaled slowly and massaged his forehead. He stood alone in the cockpit of a ship hovering several hundred meters above the sea.
Far ahead, he could see land—its skies alive with relentless lightning, bolts flashing across the heavens and occasionally lashing out at the earth.
Once he regained his bearings, his expression turned grim.
He tapped a sequence of codes into one of the glowing holographic panels before him and waited.
He tried again... Still nothing.
His brows furrowed deeper. He turned to an orb hovering silently at the center of the cockpit and spoke.
"Are you okay on your side?"
"You felt it too," Luiz said. It sounded more like a statement than a question.
"I believe we all did," came the reply.
"I see..." Luiz murmured, his mind already made up. "I’m returning. We don’t know how far that pressure reached—and I need to be sure nothing’s gone wrong."
"Alright," the voice responded.
"Good." Luiz cut the connection and turned, walking toward the back of the ship.
The corridor was dim, almost entirely unlit, but Luiz moved with practiced ease, as if walking in daylight. He approached a compact, single-seat aircraft nestled within the hangar bay.
Sliding into the cockpit, he placed his hands on the controls. As he channeled dynamis into the glowing runes etched across the panel, the ship hummed to life, responding to his energy.
With a low rumble, the bay doors of the mother ship slid open.
In the next instant, Luiz shot out into the stormy skies, the small craft tearing through the air as he sped toward Crimson City at full throttle.
After the terrifying man finally reined in his Will, the other Saints exhaled quietly. The world, which had seemed deaf and unresponsive under his presence, now felt like it had been allowed to breathe again.
It was astonishing how one man’s Will alone had rendered the world as still and immovable as a star locked in its system. Yet they did not linger in awe, as though it was seemingly something normal.
At once, the Saints turned their focus to the world’s fabric, attuning themselves to its runes, feeling its lingering echoes. Slowly, fragmented images began to form in their minds.
Several of them couldn’t help but draw in subtle, cold breaths as they relived the events through the flesh of the world—through its memory.
What they sensed was... insidious.
It began innocently, with Lyra resting in calm slumber—until a sudden explosion of shattering glass ripped through the peace. The window, a reinforced construct able to withstand multiple full-powered strikes from a Third Ascension ascendent, was utterly destroyed.
Not just broken, it was torn from its hinges and ground into dust while still on air.
Even witnessing it through the world’s memory, the Saints frowned. That kind of destruction... it had to be the work of a Saint. The kind of control needed, the level of molecular destruction, and most importantly, the maturity of Will needed to do that, was simply... Beyond anything less than Saint.
However, the moment the rift had formed, every Saint had been drawn toward it. Infact, they had moved the moment they began feeling the oddity in space there, before the rift had even opened up. All known Saints had gathered there immediately, and none had been absent.
Unless... It wasn’t a Saint behind it. That idea however, was quickly discarded as that was not something even the most elite Fourth Ascension ascendents they knew, could do.
In that case, it could only be the work of a Saint who was unrecorded... an unknown Saint.
The thought left them unsettled, and at the same time, their killing intent leaked a little.
It should have been impossible to reach Saint Ascension without them knowing. The process was too vast, too violent to conceal.
The transition from Fourth Ascension to Saint wasn’t merely a rise in power. It demanded a colossal draw in dynamis, enough to ripple across continents. It triggered a phenomenon so massive it was practically a universal declaration of ascension... One impossible to miss.
There was a reason why the chasm between the Fourth Ascension and Saint Ascension was so colossal. It wasn’t merely about tier or strength, it was something deep down to their existence itself.
Even Third Ascension ascendents could sense when there was an anomaly in the atmosphere, perhaps not understand it, but feel it, and this ability stretched over very large distancs. Fourth Ascension beings were more sensitive still.
And Saints... Saints stood on a spectrum entirely different from all others. They could pick out this anomalies from practically anywhere in the world.
This was why the fact that they could feel this had been done by a Saint, but could not identify the Saint, twisted something deep within them. Something that felt like fear, though none dared name it.
What if the other races already had their hands on something ? If that was the case, the human race, as well as the Crimson family, could very well be treading on a very thin and fragile line right now...
One which could snap at any moment, and they plunge deep into the abyss, or from which they could just fall over even without it snapping.
It also began to make sense why a majority of the other races, had agreed to attacking the Crimson family. Although they were hated and feared, both for their power and... THAT, it still wasn’t enough incentive to attack.
Normally, they would have rejected the notion outright. It was unthinkable. It made no sense.
But after what had happened earlier today... It would be worse than foolish to continue pretending they were gods and were infallible on Ares. In that way they had to adapt and be ready for anything.
Although their illusion of supremacy had been shattered, and with the realization that there was even something beyond, the Crimsons were anything but deterred.
There was no need for words to be spoken amongst themselves. Each one came to this same conclusion, and trusted that the others would come to the same as well.
They felt even more right in their assertions when the attacker was finally revealed.
It was made even more obvious, when they saw the attacker through the world’s memories, or rather, when they couldn’t see the attacker through the world’s memories.
Their expressions became cold.