Beyond the Apocalypse

There were countless cities scattered across Ocenis, though most lay in ruins—crumbling under the might of demonic hordes or Monster’s packs. Yet, in the midst of this devastation, one city stood tall and seemingly unscathed, an imposing fortress that rose from the plains with an air of unassailable power.

Its walls, more than fifty meters high and thick enough to drive a carriage upon, were etched with intricate magical matrices that shimmered faintly in the daylight. These same matrices were strong enough to annihilate entire hordes of Champions in an instant.

Within this fortress-city lived hundreds of thousands of humans, a number that might have been considered modest given the size of the metropolis. More striking, however, was the unsettling hierarchy that governed them.

Each citizen wore a parchment strapped around one shoulder—an emblem of status and caste. Those at the bottom dared not even lift their heads while walking the streets, bowing in submission or cowering away from those of a higher tier. Meanwhile, those at the very pinnacle carried themselves with an almost regal disdain, making it abundantly clear that they considered anyone beneath them less than human. This system stifled any form of growth among the lower classes, trapping them in perpetual subjugation.

Naturally, it was not ordinary humans who had established such an oppressive regime. This tyranny had been engineered by alien beings who now ruled the city, and their arrogance knew no bounds. In the highest tower—rising nearly two hundred meters above the rest of the skyline—a lavish penthouse served as a gathering place for the ones truly in power: a group of male and female angels.

Each possessed a radiant, almost unnaturally beautiful appearance, and their auras glowed with ethereal splendor. Wings extended from their backs in resplendent displays: some were made of shining light, others of glimmering gemstones, while a few boasted swirling flames.

Among this assembly of angels, one figure stood apart. Nearly four meters tall, with vast wings composed of flowing magma, Rikochet was both their leader and the most powerful among them—a Level 16 Guardian.

He wore an ever-present smile, basking in the sycophantic praise of his underlings who exalted his every feat. To the angels, Rikochet was a conduit to Heaven itself, and they believed their machinations in this city would soon earn them favor from Heaven.

But as Rikochet reveled in the celebration, he suddenly stiffened. His keen eyes, sharpened by angelic power, caught sight of a small dark speck on the distant horizon. Squinting, he amplified his vision, enabling him to glimpse the unmistakable contours of a fiendish werewolf covered in a swirling shadow—a creature even larger than him, with draconic horns and a monstrous aura that radiated pure destruction.

"A demon?" Rikochet murmured, his previous mirth evaporating. All around him, the other angels fell silent, sensing their leader’s sudden tension. Yet, before he could elaborate on the threat approaching their city, the werewolf blurred into motion with mind-boggling speed.