Raze's eyes snapped open and he gasped, lungs burning as if he'd been drowning for hours. Air rushed into his chest in desperate gulps, his body demanding oxygen with urgency that bordered on panic.

Gasp gasp gasp.

His hands clawed at the rubble beneath him, fingers scraping against broken stone as he tried to orient himself. The world spun violently, his vision swimming with afterimages that made distinguishing reality from hallucination nearly impossible.

He rolled onto his side and retched, stomach heaving though nothing came up. The dry convulsions wracked his body for several seconds before subsiding into trembling weakness.

Hack hack hack.

His breathing gradually steadied, becoming less frantic as his body remembered how to process air normally. But confusion remained absolute, his mind struggling to grasp where he was or what had happened.

The last clear memory was Gunn's fingers touching his chest, that terrible sensation of something being pulled from inside him. Then nothing, absolute void where consciousness should have been.

Now he was awake in a destroyed street surrounded by devastation that made the earlier combat seem tame by comparison.

Raze pushed himself to a sitting position, movements unsteady as his body protested coordination it apparently hadn't used in some time. His muscles felt strange, not weak exactly but different somehow, as if they'd been rearranged slightly while he wasn't paying attention.

Then he saw the destruction properly.

The entire street was crater, buildings collapsed or severely damaged in every direction. Rubble covered everything, broken stone and shattered wood mixed with debris that suggested this had been a functional neighborhood before whatever happened.

The scale was immense, far beyond what the fight with Gunn should have produced. That had been intense but localized, this looked like natural disaster had carved through multiple city blocks.

Thud.

His heart hammered as implications crashed through his confusion. Something catastrophic had occurred, something powerful enough to level a significant portion of the western district.

And he couldn't remember any of it.

A ringing started in his head, sharp and insistent like someone striking a bell directly against his skull. The sound grew louder, more painful, until he couldn't help but cry out.

"Ahh!"

His hands pressed against his temples, trying futilely to stop the sensation. The ringing peaked, becoming unbearable for a moment that stretched into eternity.

Then it stopped.

Silence.

Raze lowered his hands slowly, the pain gone as abruptly as it had appeared. But the confusion remained, his memories refusing to cooperate when he tried to recall what had transpired.

Everything was blurry, fragmented images that made no coherent sense. He remembered Gunn's attack, remembered that terrible pulling sensation, remembered darkness absolute and complete.

After that, nothing. Just blank void where experience should have been recorded.

He tried harder, pushing against the fog obscuring recent events. But the harder he pushed the more it hurt, sharp pains lancing through his skull whenever he approached whatever barrier was blocking access.

Eventually he gave up, accepting that whatever happened was gone from his awareness. Maybe temporarily, maybe permanently, but inaccessible for now regardless.

The only thing he knew with certainty was that moment when Gunn had snuffed out his life, that terrible instant when everything ended.

Except it hadn't ended, because he was alive now somehow.

Raze stood carefully, his legs swaying as balance proved more difficult than expected. He caught himself before falling, one hand bracing against a pile of rubble while his body remembered how coordination worked.

Thud.

His first step was unsteady, nearly sending him tumbling. But he caught himself again and took another step, this one slightly more controlled. Each movement became progressively easier as muscle memory reasserted itself.

He walked forward slowly, picking his way through the devastation while trying to understand what he was seeing. The destruction followed a pattern, radiating outward from the central point with decreasing intensity as distance increased.

Whatever caused this had originated near where he'd awakened.

Then he saw it.

A body lying thirty feet away, motionless in a way that left no doubt about its state. Blood pooled around the torso, dark stain spreading across broken cobblestones.

Raze's breath caught as he traced the blood trail backward, following it to its source.

A head lay several feet from the body, separated cleanly with precision that suggested supernatural force rather than crude violence.

Gunn's head.

The Master rank cultivator's face was frozen in expression of confusion, amber eyes wide with surprise rather than pain. Whatever had killed him had done so before he understood what was happening.

Raze's stomach turned violently.

Urgh.

He bent over and vomited, his body rejecting everything in response to the gruesome sight. The retching continued for several seconds, leaving him gasping and weak when it finally subsided.

He wiped his mouth with a shaking hand, trying to look away from the corpse but unable to stop his eyes from returning to it. The clean separation, the lack of struggle, the confused expression, all of it spoke to death that had come instantly.

But what could do that to a Master Peak cultivator?

What force could decapitate someone at that rank so cleanly they didn't even have time to react?

Raze's mind worked frantically through possibilities, trying to identify what could have intervened. Gunn had been overwhelmingly powerful, had sealed his cultivation and beaten him helpless before attempting that soul extraction technique.

Who had saved him? And how?

Movement caught his attention, pulling his focus from the corpse. Golden hair visible through rubble, distinctive enough to identify immediately despite the distance.

Alex.

Raze moved toward the fallen hero, his steps becoming more confident as his body fully remembered how to function. He navigated through the debris field with growing efficiency, muscle memory overriding conscious thought.

The golden haired boy lay sprawled across broken stone, his body battered but clearly healing. Divine energy flickered around him in weak pulses, the Goddess's blessing working overtime to repair accumulated damage.

Cuts covered his exposed skin, his clothing torn and bloodstained. But his chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm, breathing regular despite the trauma. He was unconscious but alive, protected by celestial favor even when awareness had fled.

Raze knelt beside him, checking pulse and finding it strong despite everything. Whatever had happened, Alex had survived it even if barely.

He stood again and scanned the area, looking for other survivors. The destruction stretched in all directions but surely someone else had made it through whatever catastrophe had occurred.

Then he saw her.

Mariabel's red hair was visible beneath a pile of rubble fifty feet away, her position suggesting she'd been thrown with considerable force. Her body was partially buried, stone and wood covering her lower half.

"No," Raze whispered, fear clenching his chest as he ran toward her.

He reached her in seconds and began clearing debris with frantic urgency, throwing aside stone and broken timber without regard for his own hands. His fingers scraped against rough surfaces, skin tearing as he worked to free her.

Thud thud thud.

The rubble came away piece by piece, revealing more of her injured form. Blood matted her hair, her face was bruised and swollen, her breathing was shallow and irregular.

But she was breathing.

Raze cleared enough debris to lift her carefully, cradling her broken body as he moved to clearer ground. He laid her down gently on a relatively flat section of street, positioning her as comfortably as possible given the circumstances.

Her face was so pale, blood loss evident in the lack of color. Multiple injuries were visible, cuts and contusions covering exposed skin. Her ribs were definitely broken based on the way her chest moved, breathing restricted by internal damage.

Raze's hands shook as he opened his Inventory, pulling out one of the healing potions Kael had provided weeks ago. The glowing liquid sloshed in its container, alchemical properties evident in the way it caught available light.

He uncorked it and carefully tipped the contents into Mariabel's mouth, supporting her head to ensure she could swallow. The potion went down slowly, her unconscious throat working reflexively to process the liquid.

Glug glug glug.

The effect was almost immediate. Color returned to her face, the deathly pallor giving way to a more natural tone. Her breathing deepened, becoming stronger as the potion accelerated her body's natural healing.

The visible injuries began to fade, cuts closing and bruises diminishing as alchemical magic worked through her system. Her broken ribs were still broken, the potion wasn't strong enough to fix everything instantly, but she was stabilizing.

Her face lightened, tension leaving features that had been twisted with pain even in unconsciousness. She looked peaceful now, sleeping rather than dying.

But she remained unconscious, awareness not returning despite physical improvements.

Raze sat back on his heels, relief flooding through him as he confirmed she would survive. Two of his companions accounted for and were alive, even if battered beyond anything they'd experienced before.

Then he noticed something about himself.

His pains were gone.

The broken ribs that Gunn had inflicted, the shattered jaw, the internal bleeding, all of it had vanished. He felt his face experimentally, fingers finding smooth skin where swelling and fractures should have been.

He pressed against his torso, testing ribs that should have been agony to touch. Nothing, no pain at all, just healthy tissue and solid bone.

He was completely healed, better than healed actually. His body felt stronger, more capable than it had been before the fight. Energy coursed through his meridians with intensity suggesting significant advancement.

His cultivation base had grown.

Raze closed his eyes and examined his internal state, consciousness diving into his core to assess what had changed. The Refined core pulsed with power that exceeded what he'd possessed before, mana reserves expanded significantly.

He was at the cusp of Expert rank.

Not quite a breakthrough level but close, hovering at a threshold that would normally take months of cultivation to reach. Somehow during whatever had happened while he was unconscious, his advancement had accelerated dramatically.

But that was a concern for later, once the immediate crisis was addressed.

His attention shifted to Mariabel's hand, noting something clutched in her fist. He pried her fingers open gently, revealing fragments of crystal that glowed weakly despite being shattered.

The broadcast crystal.

She'd been carrying one of the devices they'd prepared, trying to reach the western broadcasting station before being caught in whatever had destroyed this district. But the crystal was broken, destroyed beyond any hope of functionality.

Which meant she'd failed her mission.

Raze stood slowly, his mind working through implications. If Mariabel had failed and there was no commotion in the city, no signs of widespread alarm or mobilization, then the other teams probably hadn't succeeded either.

The entire operation had failed.

Except they'd prepared for exactly this scenario, the contingency Raze had insisted on despite everyone's confidence. He'd kept one additional broadcast crystal in his Inventory, final backup in case everything else went wrong.

Good thing paranoia had overridden optimism.

Raze opened his Inventory and retrieved the crystal, its glow steady and strong in his palm. This device contained everything they'd gathered, all the testimony and evidence compiled over weeks of dangerous work.

One corrupt lord and one criminal organization had caused all this suffering, had destroyed lives and corrupted institutions meant to protect people. But it was ending now, ending because he would ensure this information reached the people regardless of what obstacles remained.

He looked around at the devastation, at his unconscious companions, at Gunn's corpse lying in a spreading pool of blood. Whatever had happened here was over, the immediate threat eliminated by forces he didn't understand.

Now came his part, the final step that would make everything they'd suffered worth the cost.

The western broadcasting station was visible from his position, tower rising above the destroyed buildings. It was perhaps three streets away, close enough to reach within minutes if he moved carefully through the rubble.

Raze began walking, his grip tight on the crystal as he navigated through destruction. His steps were steady now, body fully recovered and responding with precision that suggested more than simple healing.

He felt different, stronger, more capable than he'd been before whatever had happened during that blank period. But understanding that could wait until after he completed this mission.

The streets were eerily quiet, survivors having fled or gone to ground during the chaos. No one challenged him as he moved toward the tower, no guards or officials attempted to stop his progress.

He reached the station's entrance and found it unlocked, the door hanging open as if someone had fled in panic. The interior was abandoned, equipment still running but no operators present to monitor it.

Perfect.

Raze climbed stairs to the main broadcasting level, his footsteps echoing in the empty building. The control room was exactly as he'd expected based on descriptions, a complex array of magical and mechanical equipment designed to transmit information across vast distances.

And there, in the center of the array, was the slot designed for broadcast crystals.

He approached it carefully, crystal held out before him like offering to some technological deity. This was it, the moment everything came together or fell apart depending on whether the equipment still functioned.

The slot glowed faintly, indicating the system was active and ready to receive input.

Raze raised the crystal, positioning it above the slot.

---

Miles away in the eastern district, Kael opened his eyes slowly. Pain lanced through his head, the blow he'd received having knocked him unconscious but not killed him. He pushed himself to a sitting position and immediately noticed the shattered crystal fragments scattered around him.

The guards who'd taken it had destroyed it before leaving, ensuring his mission failed even though they'd chosen not to kill him.

His expression remained calm despite the situation, analytical mind already working through what this meant for their overall plan.

---

In another section of the city, Aslan lay unconscious among bodies of the knights he'd fought. His transformation had receded completely, leaving him in human form surrounded by evidence of violence his Mercurian nature had inflicted.

Blood covered his hands and face, a mixture of his own and his opponents. But he was breathing, chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that suggested he'd survive despite extensive injuries.

---

Further south, Oziel remained motionless on the destroyed street where his fight with Bowman had concluded. Both Master Peak cultivators had pushed beyond sustainable limits, exhaustion claiming them simultaneously.

Helena lay nearby, her arms still paralyzed by the silver needle Oziel had used to stop whatever she'd been attempting. She was conscious but unable to move, trapped by technique designed to prevent rather than harm.

---

Back at the broadcasting station, Raze's hand lowered toward the slot, crystal approaching the mechanism that would activate it.

This was for everyone who'd suffered under corruption that went unchecked, for every victim the Syndicate had claimed, for every life destroyed by nobles who thought themselves above consequences.

This was justice, delayed but inevitable.

The crystal settled into the slot with a soft click.

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