Halochassis

At the western seaport on the outskirts of Luminous City, the air was thick with the briny scent of salt and rotting seaweed, carried inland by a restless, howling wind. The wooden docks creaked under the constant push of the waves, and distant gulls shrieked overhead as if sensing the violence about to unfold. 

Gathered on the damp, uneven ground were several parties from the Adventurer’s Guild—rows of armored figures, their weapons glinting faintly under the overcast sky. Leather straps tightened, blades unsheathed with metallic whispers, and boots shifted against gravel and mud.

All of them had come for one purpose, one promise that hovered in their minds like a gleaming prize:

[Eliminate all Iron Bandits. Rewards: 5000 EXP and 10000 Gold]

It was a raid-type mission issued by the Adventurers Guild, one that drew in both seasoned fighters and eager newcomers alike. Nearly twenty parties had assembled, forming a loose but imposing line just beyond the perimeter of the Iron Bandits’ camp. From where they stood, faint smoke curled into the air from poorly kept fires, and the scent of unwashed bodies and stale alcohol drifted toward them. The bandits’ camp looked crude—patched tents, crooked wooden barricades, and watch posts barely held together.

”Let’s go kill them all!” a knight roared, his voice booming over the crashing waves. He raised his massive axe high into the air, the blade catching a dull glint of light. The adventurers answered with a thunderous war cry, voices overlapping into a chaotic roar that shook the stillness of the coast.

Then, like a breaking dam, the raid began.

Boots pounded against the earth as the adventurers surged forward. Steel clashed violently against steel, ringing out in sharp, deafening bursts. Swords sliced through the air with deadly precision, axes hacked down with bone-crushing force, and lances thrust forward with brutal intent. Arrows whistled past, cutting through the wind before sinking into flesh with sickening thuds. 

Magic followed close behind—fireballs roared as they tore through tents, sending sparks and embers scattering into the air; jagged icicle spears formed midair before launching forward, piercing through armor with a chilling crack; bolts of lightning split the battlefield, their blinding flashes accompanied by thunder that rattled the bones.

The bandits were completely outclassed.

Clad in rusty iron armor that barely held together and wielding worn, chipped machetes, they stood no real chance. Their defenses crumbled almost instantly under the overwhelming assault. Some tried to fight back, their desperate swings clumsy and slow, while others stumbled backward, eyes wide with terror. But it didn’t matter. As low-level hoodlums, they were cut down within moments—two, three hits at most before their bodies gave out.

Limbs were severed and sent spinning through the air, landing with wet, heavy thuds on blood-soaked ground. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, thick and suffocating, mixing with the salt of the sea and the smoke of burning wood. Warm droplets splattered across armor, faces, and hands—some flinched at the first touch, but most didn’t even react.

To the adventurers, this was not slaughter.

It was routine.

They moved through the camp like predators among prey, their expressions ranging from focused determination to outright exhilaration. Some laughed as they struck down fleeing bandits, others shouted in triumph with every kill. The screams of the dying blended with the crackle of fire and the clash of weapons, creating a grotesque symphony of violence.

”Woo hoo! I’m going to level up after this quest!” one swordsman shouted, grinning widely as he dragged the back of his hand across his cheek. The smear of blood left behind was warm and sticky, but he wore it like a badge of honor, his eyes gleaming with excitement rather than disgust.

Around him, the carnage continued—unrelenting, merciless, and disturbingly alive with energy.

”Hey, that leather boot is mine!” a mage snapped, his voice sharp and irritated as he lunged forward. His gloved hand snatched the worn boot from another adventurer who was in the middle of forcing it onto his foot. The leather was stiff, still damp with sweat and grime from its former owner, and it let out a faint creak as it was pulled away.

”The hell it is!” the other adventurer barked back, stumbling slightly as he lost his balance. Mud squelched beneath his boots, stained dark with blood and seawater, as the two glared at each other like scavengers fighting over scraps.

Nearby, the dull creak of wood echoed as a different adventurer pried open a battered chest. The hinges groaned in protest before finally giving way with a cracking snap. Inside, it was only a quarter full—just a handful of dull gold coins and a few tarnished pieces of jewelry that clinked softly against one another.

”Look at this loot!” he shouted, his voice brimming with excitement despite the meager haul. The faint metallic scent of the coins mixed with the heavier stench of blood lingering in the air.

”Mine!” his party member immediately interjected, shoving him aside with a rough shoulder. His hand shot into the chest, fingers greedily scooping up the coins before they could be contested. The coins jingled loudly as they were stuffed into a pouch, the sound almost cheerful against the backdrop of distant screams and crackling flames.

Meanwhile, not far from them, another mage raised his voice above the chaos. ”Can somebody give me a Bandit Leader dog tag? I need four for my rank-up quest!” His tone carried a strange mix of urgency and casualness, as if he were asking for spare change rather than trophies taken from the dead.

Before anyone could respond, he abruptly turned—his robes fluttering with the motion—and thrust his hand forward. A fireball bloomed into existence, bright and roaring, heat radiating outward in a sudden wave. It shot past him and slammed into a bandit who had been creeping up from behind, the impact erupting into flames. The man’s scream was brief, swallowed by the crackling inferno as the smell of burning flesh quickly spread through the air.

Shin watched everything unfold from inside the wooden ship, his fingers gripping the rough edge of the railing. The wood beneath his hands was splintered and damp, and he could feel the faint vibrations of the distant battle through it. From where he stood, the entire scene stretched out before him—smoke curling into the gray sky, bodies scattered across the ground, and flashes of steel and magic cutting through the chaos.

Most of his life had been quiet—calm streets, familiar faces, days untouched by violence. The world he knew had been distant from bloodshed, almost insulated from it. And ever since he was a child, he had believed in adventurers. To him, they were figures of justice—heroes who protected the weak, much like the Celestial Wardens who had once risen from their ranks.

But this...

This was nothing like the stories.

There was blood everywhere—thick, dark pools soaking into the dirt, streaks splattered across armor and faces, droplets still fresh as they slid down blades. Bodies lay twisted and broken, some unmoving, others barely clinging to life as faint groans escaped their lips. The air was heavy, suffocating with the metallic scent of blood, the bitterness of smoke, and the lingering heat of magic.

And yet, the adventurers laughed.

They moved through the carnage with excitement, their voices loud and carefree, as if this were some grand outing rather than a massacre. Some joked as they looted corpses, others competed over kills, their eyes gleaming with anticipation for rewards and experience. To them, it felt less like a battle—and more like a game.

Shin’s grip tightened.

Adzeel was right.

Even if the Iron Bandits had committed sins... even if they deserved punishment... this—this overwhelming, merciless slaughter—was not justice.

Carnage is not the answer.

The thought lingered heavily in his mind as he continued to watch, unable to look away, yet wishing he could.

Shin slowly turned his back on the chaos outside, the echoes of clashing steel and distant screams still ringing faintly in his ears. He shifted his gaze toward Adzeel, who was now preparing for battle near the center of the wooden ship. The dim light filtering through the gaps in the planks cast uneven shadows across Adzeel’s figure, making him look larger—almost imposing.

Adzeel reached for his massive sword, its blade dull with wear yet still intimidating in size. The metal gave off a low, heavy scrape as he lifted it, the sound resonating through the quiet interior. He then began fastening his chainmail, the rings clinking together in a steady rhythm. Each movement was deliberate, practiced—like a man who had done this countless times before. The faint scent of iron and old sweat clung to the armor, mixing with the damp, salty air drifting in from outside.

”Boss Adzeel!” a voice called out, trembling slightly.

A young bandit woman rushed forward, her boots tapping lightly against the wooden floor. ”Are you heading out?” she asked, her brows drawn together with worry. There was hesitation in her voice, as if she already knew the answer but hoped for something different.

Adzeel paused for just a moment, then glanced at her. His expression softened, the harshness in his features easing into something almost reassuring.

”Our warriors need help,” he said calmly, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. ”I will fight on the frontlines.” He rested the sword against his shoulder, its weight barely seeming to burden him. ”Go protect the dude and the armor, Risha.”

Then he smiled—a brief, confident smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

With a flick of his shoulders, his torn cape fluttered behind him, the frayed edges swaying like tattered wings. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the exit, his heavy footsteps thudding against the wood.

The moment Adzeel stepped out of the ship, the atmosphere shifted.

The battlefield greeted him with noise and fury—shouting voices, crackling flames, and the sharp clang of weapons colliding. Smoke drifted through the air, stinging the eyes, while the scent of blood hung thick and suffocating. As he moved forward, his presence cut through the chaos like a blade.

Several adventurers immediately took notice.

A marksman perched on a broken crate narrowed his eyes, his fingers tightening around the grip of his bow. ”It’s the Bandit Boss!” he shouted, his voice carrying across the battlefield.

”Get ready! He looks strong!” a mage called out, already gathering energy in his hands. Sparks flickered between his fingers, lighting up his tense expression.

”Dibs on the loot!” a fighter laughed, rolling his shoulders as he stepped forward, excitement gleaming in his eyes.

Adzeel didn’t respond to any of them.

Instead, he stepped into the center of the battlefield and drove his sword straight into the ground.

The impact was thunderous.

The earth cracked beneath the force, forming a small crater as dust and debris burst outward. A shockwave rippled across the ground, sending loose dirt and scattered weapons skidding away. The vibration could be felt even from a distance, humming through the soles of boots and rattling the bones.

Then—he smiled.

”Bring it on!” Adzeel shouted, his voice booming, fearless, almost defiant.

For a brief moment, everything seemed to hold its breath.

Then the adventurers moved.

Around a dozen of them—marksmen, mages, fighters, tanks, and assassins—lunged forward all at once. Boots pounded against the ground, weapons raised, magic flaring to life. The air itself seemed to tighten as they closed in, their combined presence overwhelming, like a wave about to crash.

From the ship, Shin leaned slightly forward, his heart beginning to pound. He wanted to see it—to understand how someone like Adzeel could stand against so many. His eyes locked onto the battlefield, anticipation and unease twisting together inside him.

But before he could focus any further—

A sudden grip tightened around his bicep.

Shin flinched, his body tensing as he turned his head. The touch was firm but not painful, warm against his skin.

It was the bandit woman.

Risha stood close to him now, her fingers still wrapped around his arm as if afraid he might bolt. Up close, he could see her more clearly—her pinkish, shoulder-length hair slightly tousled, strands sticking to her cheeks from sweat and humidity. Her breathing was uneven, and there was a faint smudge of dirt across her face, yet her features remained soft.

From Shin’s perspective... she looked unexpectedly cute.

But there was something else in her eyes—something beneath that softness.

Worry. Urgency. And just a hint of fear.

”Come, mister! You need to flee, or else you’ll be killed!” Risha urged, her voice tight with urgency as she pulled on Shin’s arm. Her grip was firm, almost desperate, her fingers trembling slightly against his sleeve.

”Wait—where are you going to lead me?” Shin asked, his voice uncertain, his thoughts still lagging behind the chaos unfolding around him.

”To the boat!” Risha replied quickly, glancing back toward the raging battlefield beyond the ship. The distant flashes of magic lit her face in brief bursts of orange and blue. ”You need to sail and go around—get as far away from here as you can!”

”What about the armor?” Shin asked, his gaze instinctively flickering toward the imposing figure of the Halochassis behind them. ”Can’t you just sail the ship?”

Risha shook her head, strands of her pinkish hair clinging to her damp cheeks. ”This old wooden ship isn’t operational anymore,” she said, her voice strained. ”We’re just using it as a base. If you want to live, then follow me—”

Her words never finished.

A sharp, whistling sound cut through the air.

Then—impact.

A fire arrow pierced straight through her stomach.

For a split second, everything seemed to freeze. The flames wrapped around the shaft flickered violently, casting a brief, horrifying glow across her face. Then blood burst forward, warm and sudden, splattering across Shin’s cheek and lips. The metallic taste hit him almost instantly.

Risha’s grip loosened. Her body went limp.

Shin’s eyes widened as he watched her collapse, her weight slipping from his grasp before hitting the wooden floor with a dull, hollow thud. Blood quickly began pooling beneath her, dark and spreading, seeping into the cracks of the planks.

”No!” Shin cried, his voice breaking as he dropped to his knees beside her.

But there was no response.

Her eyes were closed, her breathing gone—or too faint to notice.

Before Shin could even process it, another volley came.

The ship was suddenly bombarded by a rain of fire arrows. They struck the wood with violent force, embedding themselves into walls, floors, and beams. Flames erupted almost instantly, spreading hungrily across the dry surfaces. The heat surged outward, suffocating and intense, while thick smoke began to rise, stinging the eyes and burning the throat.

The crackling of fire grew louder, devouring everything in its path.

Within moments, the flames had begun to engulf the ship, crawling along the walls and licking at the ceiling. The air turned blistering hot, each breath harsher than the last.

Shin froze. Again.

His mind went blank as he stared at the scene before him—blood, fire, death. It was all too familiar now. Everywhere he went... it followed him. Ever since his best friend died, it felt like the world had been stripped of anything else.

Only this remained.

Only blood.

Only death.

”If only I had power...” Shin muttered, his voice trembling as his hands slowly clenched into fists. His nails dug into his palms, grounding him in the pain, in the reality of the moment.

Then—his eyes shifted. The Halochassis.

It stood there, unmoving, untouched by the chaos—for now. Its dark, imposing frame reflected the flickering flames, making it seem almost alive, like it was waiting.

Shin swallowed hard.

Escaping by boat... in the middle of this... was a gamble. The sea was open, exposed. He would be defenseless.

But this—

This was power. Protection. A chance.

Without another word, Shin pushed himself to his feet and staggered toward the armor, the heat of the fire pressing against his back. The air shimmered around him as flames crackled louder, threatening to consume everything.

As he approached, the Halochassis responded.

With a low mechanical hum, its frame shifted. Plates slid apart with precise, metallic clicks, opening itself to him like a waiting shell. Faint light flickered from within, casting a dim glow through the smoke-filled space.

Shin hesitated for only a heartbeat.

Then he stepped forward and climbed inside.

The armor closed around him.

With a series of sharp, sealing clicks, the plates locked into place, shutting out the burning world beyond. The light vanished.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

For a brief moment, there was nothing—no sound, no heat, no pain. Just silence pressing in from all sides.

”Halochassis...” Shin whispered into the suffocating darkness, his voice barely audible even to himself. Inside the sealed armor, the air felt still and heavy, each breath echoing faintly against the metal interior. He could hear the distant, muffled roar of flames outside—dull, like a storm raging beyond a closed door.

His hands trembled.

”Manny’s legacy...” he continued, his voice tightening as memories surged forward—fragments of laughter, quiet conversations, and the image of his best friend now buried beneath the earth. The weight of that loss pressed against his chest, sharp and unrelenting.

”The Iron Bandits’ struggle...” His jaw clenched as flashes of what he had just witnessed burned into his mind—Risha collapsing, the helplessness in her final moment, the way the bandits had been cut down without mercy. Not just criminals... but people, fighting, surviving, dying.

”And my way of vengeance...”

His fingers slowly curled into fists, the faint creak of the armor responding to his movement. The darkness around him no longer felt empty—it felt waiting, listening.

”All of it...” he breathed, steadier now, though his heart pounded hard against his ribs. ”...is inside this power armor.”

Then, barely above a whisper, Shin spoke:

”Awaken... Azazel.”