Fragments of shattered stone and splintered earth lay scattered across the clearing, the aftermath of a battle fought by the most fearsome fighters that this world had ever seen.

  In the center of it all stood Darren Ittriki.

  Across from him, the swordswoman stood motionless, eyes closed.

  Her expression had settled into something calm, nothing more than grim acceptance. The fight had reached its conclusion, and she knew it. She should have known it the instant her weapon had finally given way beneath the relentless force of Darren’s Divinity. The broken remnants of her sword still hung loosely in her hand. She had seen the arc of her brother's sword in that man's hand as it drew back, the gleaming steel preparing to descend and bring an end to her life.

  But it never came.

  “What is your name, warrior of Earth?” Darren asked, as his own sword hovered just at her neck, so close that she could now feel the cold presence of the metal against her skin.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  Bewilderment flickered across the swordswoman's face as she looked up at him. For a moment she simply stared, struggling to reconcile the man before her with the one she had sworn to kill. This was the same warrior who had slain her brother and yet here he stood, asking her name.

  Her lips parted slightly before she managed to answer.

  “Joan.” The name left her in little more than a whisper.

  Darren studied her quietly for a moment after that, as if committing the name to memory.

  Then he gave a small nod.

  His blade moved.

  Joan braced herself for the fatal strike.

  Instead of the expected killing blow, the edge of Darren’s sword slid across her neck with careful precision. The steel parted the skin just enough to draw a thin line of red before he pulled the blade away.

  “This battle is over, Joan of Earth,” Darren said calmly.

  He lowered the weapon slightly, though he did not sheathe it.

  “Take pride in yourself. You are strong."

  Joan stared at him in stunned silence.

  Slowly, the strength drained from her body. The broken remains of her sword slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground with a dull clatter. The sound echoed faintly across the battlefield. Her knees gave out a second later. She collapsed down onto them, the impact sending a faint puff of dust rising around her legs. Her head remained lowered as she knelt there, the weight of everything that had just happened settling over her all at once.

  Grief.

  Exhaustion.

  Confusion.

  In truth, Joan had no idea what she could possibly say or what to even feel.

  The battle should have ended in the one way she had prepared herself for, defeat and death at the hands of the man who had slain her brother.

  Yet here she was, still alive and breathing.

  Part of her mind struggled to understand why.

  Darren watched her for a moment longer before turning away.

  The truth was that he had wanted to follow through with the blade. Ending her life would have been the simplest outcome. With the knowledge that he had killed her brother, the possibility of this swordswoman seeking revenge in the future was more than likely.

  It would have been logical to execute her right there and then.

  But when the battle had first begun, she had made a choice.

  Even while he had been distracted—his attention divided between the marksman and Marianne—Joan had not taken advantage of that moment to strike him down unfairly. Because of her code, the one that she had based her morality and thus her honour upon, she had chose to face him like a real warrior.

  Darren had not forgotten that and he had chosen to answer in kind.

  His gaze shifted across the battlefield then, settling on the source of the blinding golden explosion that had distracted the swordswoman.

  The Wicked Witch approached.

  Marianne walked slowly across the scarred ground. One hand gripped the leg of the unconscious marksman she had defeated, dragging his limp body across the battlefield behind her.

  The man left a trail in the dirt as she moved.

  When she reached Darren, Marianne gave the marksman a final tug before tossing the unconscious warrior down at his feet. The body landed with a heavy thud.

  Without a word, she gestured toward the bag slung across the marksman’s shoulders.

  “Drink up.”

  Darren followed the motion of her hand and crouched slightly as he pulled the bag free. When he opened it, his eyes immediately landed on the contents inside.

  Rows of glowing red vials.

  The liquid inside them shimmered faintly with magical energy.

  A small smile spread across Darren’s face.

  “Those are magical potions of replenishment,” Merlyn’s voice explained calmly within his mind. “Each one will give you a total of 1000 Mana Points!"

  It would not have been the first time he had seen concoctions like these. For a brief moment, Darren was reminded of an Archmage from his own world, an eccentric old man who had once introduced him to similar potions during his early training. The sight of the glowing liquid was strangely nostalgic.

  “The data that I have collected on the Warriors of Earth has been quite satisfactory." His System reported. “Congratulations, Darren. You have completed your Mission!"

  The declaration of success echoed in the aftermath of the battle. Completing the mission should have been a moment to pause, to breathe after everything that had happened.

  Darren had been about to respond to his System but circumstance would not allow him to.

  A sound carried across the scarred landscape.

  At first it was faint, little more than a distant rumble vibrating through the earth beneath his boots. Yet Darren recognized it immediately. The noise was familiar to someone who had fought through countless battlefields before.

  An army was approaching.

  His eyes lifted toward the source of the noise.

  Dust clouds were rising in the distance, stirred by the movement of many soldiers advancing together. Beneath the rumble of marching boots came the grinding roar of heavy machines rolling across the ground, metal engines churning as they descended toward the battlefield.

  Without hesitation, Darren reached into the bag Marianne had tossed to him and pulled out three of the glowing red potions. The glass vial felt cool in his hand, the liquid inside swirling faintly with magical energy. He uncorked all three and drank the entire thing in a single motion. The taste was sharp and strangely sweet in that medicinal way, the enchanted mixture sliding down his throat like liquid fire.

  Almost instantly, the effects took hold.

  Clear and sharp bells rang out in his mind.

  Ding!

  // MP (Mana Points): 7867 (+1000) → 8867 / 5500

  Ding!

  // MP (Mana Points): 8867 (+1000) → 9867 / 5500

  Ding!

  // MP (Mana Points): 9867 (+1000) → 10867 / 5500

  His Mana Points surged upward as the potion’s magic replenished what he had spent during the battle. Energy flowed back into his body, filling the reserves that had been slightly depleted moments ago. It was likely that only through the System was Darren able to hold onto such surpluses in magical energy that went beyond his own Pool of Mana, of which was more than grateful for.

  Despite the fact that his mental strength was likely waning, he felt as good as new.

  Across from him, Marianne had noticed the incoming forces as well. The Wicked Witch’s gaze shifted briefly toward Joan, who still remained kneeling where Darren had left her. The swordswoman had not moved from the ground, her shattered blade lying forgotten in the dirt beside her.

  For a moment Marianne studied her warily.

  Darren caught the look and simply gave a small, wordless nod.

  That was all the answer she needed.

  With that silent exchange settled, both of them turned their attention toward the approaching army.

  Just because Darren had defeated the strongest warriors of this world did not mean the battle itself was finished. Their strongest had fallen, but the rest of Earth’s forces were clearly not prepared to surrender.

  They were coming to fight.

  The rumble of machinery grew louder.

  As the advancing line became clearer, Darren began to see the weapons and machines they carried. His eyes narrowed slightly as unfamiliar devices came into view.

  There were those same cylindrical weapons the marksman had wielded earlier, long metal objects designed to fire explosive projectiles with terrifying force. Many of the soldiers carried them slung across their shoulders. Behind them rolled massive metal carriages unlike anything Darren had seen before. Their armored frames gleamed under the light as they moved, heavy wheels or treads crushing the earth beneath them. The machines carried power, engines roaring as they advanced toward the battlefield.

  Those were machines of war.

  Darren exhaled slowly.

  Without another word, he called upon the Internal Arts once more.

  Just moments earlier he had forced the technique to settle, halting the circulation of energy within his body after the duel with Joan. But now he reopened those pathways again, drawing the magical power through his core and throughout his entire body.

  The familiar sensation spread through him immediately.

  Energy coursed along his meridians, flowing through muscle and bone like a controlled rushing current.

  // MP (Mana Points): 10867 (-10) → 10857 / 5500

  Beside him, Marianne reached into the bag and grabbed another potion for herself.

  She drank it without hesitation.

  The empty glass bottle slipped from her fingers a moment later, clattering against the ground before rolling away across the dirt.

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  Golden light erupted around her.

  Magic poured from the Wicked Witch in brilliant waves, swirling around her form as she began preparing her own spells. The glow illuminated the battlefield in warm radiance, reflecting off the dust and broken stone scattered everywhere.

  She was ready.

  So was he.

  Darren raised his blade.

  The edge of the blade began to glow as the crimson light of his Divinity awakened once more. Red energy crackled along the metal like living fire, small arcs of power dancing along its length.

  // MP (Mana Points): 10857 (-100) → 10757 / 5500

  His expression hardened.

  Earlier, he had allowed himself to enjoy the battle. Fighting skilled opponents like Joan had been engaging, almost entertaining in its own way.

  That feeling was gone now.

  What little patience he had left had completely vanished.

  If the soldiers of Earth wished to continue this fight, then he would give them exactly what they were asking for. He would cut them all down if that was what it took to secure their survival. Judging by the steady golden light from the runes surrounding Marianne, he was certain she was prepared to do the same.

  The advancing forces quickly spread out across the battlefield.

  Within moments, soldiers had positioned themselves all around Darren and Marianne, forming a tightening ring of armed fighters, each unit taking position with practiced efficiency.

  Weapons were raised.

  Dozens—perhaps hundreds—of soldiers aimed their guns directly at the two intruders of Earth.

  Their uniforms were unmistakably military in design. They looked not too different from the Admiralty on Hiraeth, the military force that his own father had controlled as King of Nozar.

  The tension in the air thickened.

  Every soldier stood ready, fingers poised on their triggers. The machines of war rumbled behind them, massive weapons slowly aligning with the center of the battlefield.

  The battlefield sat balanced on the edge of eruption, the next moment promising violence greater than anything that had come before.

  Then—

  Just as the tension reached its breaking point—

  Someone appeared.

  The one who stepped between the two sides looked utterly out of place.

  He was a young man, perhaps no older than his late teens, dressed in clothing that appeared completely foreign to Darren and even to Marianne. His attire lacked the structure of armor or the ceremonial elegance of robes. Instead, he wore simple garments made from unfamiliar materials—blue trousers that clung tightly to his legs, the fabric scuffed and worn at the knees. His shoes were lightweight and battered, their white surfaces dirtied from heavy use. Over his torso he wore a thick padded jacket, the kind meant to protect against cold rather than steel, and beneath it a brightly colored shirt covered in some sort of graphic design.

  The entire outfit seemed strangely casual for someone who had just stepped into the center of a battlefield. But the oddness of his clothing was not the most important detail.

  Because the young man had placed himself between the two opposing forces that were seconds away from tearing each other apart.

  On one side stood Darren and Marianne, their weapons drawn and their combined magical energy nearly suffocating in its magnitude.

  On the other side waited the armies of Earth, soldiers armed with strange artillery and backed by machines of war that hummed with mechanical power.

  This young man stood in the middle of it all.

  "WAIT!"

  His hands were raised toward both sides, palms open in what looked like a desperate attempt to stop the coming violence.

  The soldiers reacted immediately.

  Several of them exchanged confused glances, their formation momentarily disrupted by the sudden interruption. Darren noticed something else as well, recognition flashing across many of their faces.

  They knew him.

  This boy was one of them.

  An Earthling.

  The young man looked as though he had run a great distance just to reach this place. His breathing was heavy, shoulders rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. Sweat dampened the strands of hair clinging to his forehead, and his eyes darted nervously between the two forces he had wedged himself between. In one hand he carried a strange object, its metal legs folded together for easier transport. Attached to it was a flat handheld screen of some sort, an unfamiliar device that glowed faintly as it reflected the light around them. It reminded Darren vaguely of the floating displays produced by the Systems, though it was clearly not the same thing.

  Still, Darren did not waste time studying it.

  Before the young man could say a single word, Darren raised his blade. The sword came up smoothly, his crimson Divinity continuing to crackle faintly along the edge as he leveled it directly at the stranger standing before him.

  // MP (Mana Points): 10757 (-100) → 10657 / 5500

  “Remove yourself from here, boy. Lest you hurt yourself in the midst of battle.” Darren’s gaze remained fixed on the young man. “You do not have to die like this. I suggest you flee while you still can.”

  The determined conviction that had filled the young man's face only seconds earlier disappeared almost instantly. In its place came an exaggerated expression of offense, as if Darren had just insulted him in the most ridiculous way possible.

  “Boy?” he repeated, eyebrows raised. “You don’t even look that much older than me.”

  The response came out before the young man seemed to fully think about it.

  The battlefield erupted with noise almost immediately afterward.

  Shouts rang out from the soldiers gathered behind him.

  “Get out of there, you damn streamer!”

  “Evacuate the area!”

  “What the hell are you doing, kid?!”

  Multiple voices overlapped, each one louder than the last as the soldiers tried to order the young man away from the center of the battlefield. Their formation wavered slightly as several of them gestured urgently for him to move.

  But the young man refused.

  In fact, he did not budge an inch.

  To Darren’s surprise, the young man completely turned his back on both Darren and Marianne, now facing the soldiers of his own world. It was a reckless move, one that left him entirely exposed to two powerful enemies standing only a short distance away.

  “Let me ask you all a question.” His voice carried across the battlefield, loud enough for the surrounding soldiers to hear him clearly.

  The shouting slowly faded as confusion spread through the ranks.

  Even Darren found himself watching with mild curiosity.

  The young man scanned the gathered soldiers, his chest still rising and falling from the run that had brought him here.

  “How long has it been since the System arrived on our world?”

  The question hung in the air.

  None of the soldiers answered.

  The silence stretched uncomfortably as they stared back at him, unsure how to respond. Some of them shifted their weight uneasily, while others kept their weapons trained forward despite the interruption.

  Finally, after a few seconds passed without anyone speaking, the young man sighed softly.

  “Forty years,” he said. “That’s how long it has been since the First Invasion arrived on our world.”

  He paused briefly before continuing.

  “And ever since that day…”

  His eyes swept across the soldiers again, his words carrying clear frustration.

  “…we have done nothing but follow the System’s orders, as if things will change if we continue to be obedient.”

  The young man lifted his arm and pointed directly at Darren and Marianne.

  “Look at them,” he declared.

  The accusation in his tone was directed not at Darren or Marianne but at the people of his own world.

  “Do they really look like monsters to you?”

  The question lingered in the air.

  The young man continued before anyone could interrupt him.

  “When’s the last time we stopped to think about what it is we’re doing here?” he asked, turning slightly so that he could address the entire cohort.

  His breathing had steadied now, though the urgency in his voice remained.

  “When are we going to realize that this System…might not have our best interests in mind?”

  The statement was bold, dangerously so.

  Even Darren could recognize the risk the young man was taking by speaking that way in front of his own military forces. Challenging the authority of something as absolute as this world's System was not a small matter.

  Darren watched him silently. There was no fear in the young man’s stance now, only stubborn determination. He was brave, that much Darren could not deny.

  But while the young man was speaking, something else had begun to happen. The soldiers were no longer staring at him. Their eyes had shifted past the "streamer", as they called him.

  They were staring right at Darren.

  One by one, weapons slowly began to lower out of stunned confusion. Murmurs spread through the ranks as the soldiers noticed the strange change taking place at the center of the battlefield.

  Because the sword in Darren’s hand had begun to glow.

  The crimson light of his Divinity faded beneath a new radiance that spilled from the blade. The weapon now shone with a brilliant heavenly light, the glow soft yet powerful as it expanded outward.

  Warmth spread through the battlefield.

  The white light washed across the scarred ground and broken stone, bathing everything it touched in a beautiful brilliance.

  Even Marianne glanced toward Darren in surprise.

  Then a translucent screen appeared before Darren’s eyes.

  It was the interface of his own System.

  Words appeared across its surface.

  // The Holy Blade of the Thunder has been activated!

  Darren frowned slightly.

  The message made little sense to him.

  Before he could even begin to question it, the light surrounding the sword intensified. The radiance thickened until it seemed almost alive, swirling gently around the blade like a halo of energy.

  Then a voice emerged from within the glow.

  “Whoever holds this sword,” it said, resonating through the air as if carried by the light itself, “if he be worthy, must hear my words well.”

  Every soldier on the battlefield fell completely silent. Even the machines of war seemed to grow more quiet.

  “This world is in great danger.”

  The words echoed faintly as the glowing blade continued to shine.

  “Climb the Tower that lies beyond the Portals. Find me before it is too late, before the Final Invasion arrives to bring doom to us all."

  The message ended there.

  The light surrounding the sword gradually dimmed, the heavenly glow fading until the battlefield returned to its previous dull tones. Within moments, the brilliance had vanished completely.

  Silence followed.

  Darren stared at the weapon in his hand.

  He did not understand the meaning behind the message that had just been delivered. The warning spoke of danger, of some Tower and a Final Invasion, but offered no explanation beyond that. Still, even without full understanding, the ominous weight of those words was impossible to ignore.

  Something terrible was coming.

  Nearby, the young man had completely lost the confident composure he had shown earlier.

  He was staring at Darren now.

  More specifically, he was staring at the sword in Darren’s hand, his eyes wide with disbelief. Whatever bravado had fueled his earlier speech had vanished entirely, replaced by stunned silence.

  But Darren paid him no attention.

  His body remained tense, his focus fixed firmly on the soldiers still surrounding them. Shock and unease had spread through their ranks. Many of them were exchanging uncertain glances with one another, whispering quietly as they processed what they had just witnessed.

  Some had lowered their weapons, but not all of them. Several soldiers still kept their guns raised, clearly unsure whether the moment had truly passed. The battlefield remained a dangerous place, and Darren had no intention of lowering his guard.

  Beside him, Marianne’s golden magic continued to flicker faintly around her.

  Both of them were still fully prepared to fight if necessary.

  Then a voice rang out.

  “At ease.”

  The command came from somewhere behind the line of soldiers.

  Despite their confusion, the soldiers obeyed immediately. Discipline overrode their uncertainty as weapons were lowered and the formation shifted aside, opening a path through their ranks.

  An old man stepped forward, the soldiers parting to let him pass.

  The moment Darren saw him, his instincts called out instantly.

  The old man’s appearance alone might have suggested age and experience, but Darren could sense something far more important beneath that exterior.

  Power.

  This one was strong.

  Strong enough to be a threat.

  Strong enough that Darren’s grip on his sword tightened slightly as he watched him approach.

  The old man walked calmly through the parted soldiers until he reached the front of the formation. As he did, he briefly glanced toward the young man standing nearby.

  “I’m afraid you are right, Sinclair,” the old man said, his tone was thoughtful rather than dismissive. “I do think it is time we begin acting with Humanity’s best interests in mind.”

  He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder in a small gesture of reassurance before stepping past him.

  Then his gaze settled on Darren.

  The old man studied him carefully for a moment, his eyes sharp with hyperintelligence.

  “It seems that we have much to discuss, Darren Ittriki.” he said.

  Merlyn really had collected enough Data because now—

  // Warning! The System is detecting a being of immense power. Calculating—

  // Orwell Rubin, Leader of the World Government

  // Threat Level - ERROR. [ General Level 237 ]

  // Approach with great caution.

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  ? Smoll Seriouss Business ?

  by Alexanders

  The people of the good city of New York know what their city is like. The mafia runs rampant everywhere, and worst of all, they are aware that they are only seen as prey or money to further their plans.

  Among the multiple organizations that are vying for control over the city one that stands among the rest is the 'White Concord'. A family who stands in the middle of the underworld, keeping tight control over those who attempt to make a name for themselves, be it upstanding members of society, underworld workers, or even one of the echelons of society as a Mage or Knight.

  Trixie White is the princess of the White Concord and the hidden ace of their family, she alone is the reason they keep their power, the hidden trump card, the reason they manage to stay afloat even when the other families hire two or three circle mages. She also is five years old.

  And she may be... slightly evil. But even so, she only wants to enjoy her Tea time, play with her dolls and maybe get the attention of her Papa!

  Someone stole Papa's money? Remove their head!

  Someone broke her toys? Remove their head!

  Someone bought the last candy? Remove their head!

  Someone gave this series .5 stars? Remove their head!

  Wait, what was that last one? Who cares, either way. We will remove their head ;3

  [LitRPG] [Evil] [Will attempt to be written as a comedy so it ends as Evil] [Mayhaps somewhat slow burn]