The Fallen Valkyrie
To break a human body, a person only requires enough physical force.
A heavy enough hammer will shatter a femur into splintered fragments.
A sharp enough blade will sever a spine with a single clean stroke.
But to break an S-Rank Paladin requires something entirely different.
To completely annihilate a soul forged in the fires of divine magic demands a very special kind of cruelty.
Designation Zero sat completely motionless in the metallic belly of the high-speed Vanguard drop-pod.
The vehicle rattled violently as it tore through the upper atmosphere of the ruined sector.
Her eyes were open, but they were entirely dead.
They were the dull, lifeless gold of tarnished coins dug from a forgotten grave.
She stared blankly at the vibrating steel floor plates between her heavily armored boots.
Around her thick, scarred neck rested a massive, glowing metallic band.
It was the Class-X Subjugation Collar.
The device hummed constantly, vibrating with highly compressed, lethal lightning magic.
The spell-work was wired directly into her central nervous system.
If she disobeyed a direct order, the collar would not just kill her.
It would melt her brain stem, paralyze her lungs, and keep her artificially alive.
She would experience the concentrated pain of burning alive for three uninterrupted hours.
Ten years ago, she did not wear a collar.
Ten years ago, she possessed a name that people shouted with reverence.
Seraphina.
She was the Fallen Valkyrie, the absolute apex S-Rank Paladin of the Vanguard Guild.
She had wings made of pure, blindingly brilliant holy light that could illuminate the darkest abyss.
She carried a greatsword that could cleave a Behemoth in half with a single flawless swing.
She was the absolute symbol of hope for a dying planet.
And more importantly, she was the only person in the entire Vanguard High Council who possessed a functioning moral compass.
The memory was suppressed, buried deep under a decade of magical lobotomies and cognitive wipes.
Yet the faint echo of her downfall still lingered in the deepest, darkest corners of her ruined mind.
It was the tragic day when Kaelen Cross was declared a traitor to humanity.
Marcus Thorne had stood at the head of the obsidian council table with his golden aura shining brightly.
He presented fabricated evidence claiming that Kaelen had tried to assassinate him and steal the resources of the Guild.
The other Guildmasters had nodded eagerly, blinded by the charisma of Marcus and bought by his incredibly deep pockets.
But Seraphina had stood up against the corruption.
She had slammed her gauntleted fist into the center of the table, shattering the solid obsidian into two distinct pieces.
"You lying bastard," her voice had echoed through the chamber, blazing with pure divine fury.
"He held the frontline for three days straight while you cowered in your comfortable command tent."
"Kaelen Cross is twice the man you will ever be."
She had drawn her holy blade right there in the council room.
She had threatened to expose the absolute cowardice of Marcus to the entire civilized world.
She was an S-Rank, meaning she was practically invincible on any conventional battlefield.
But she was not killed on a battlefield where honor existed.
Marcus had not fought her fairly.
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He had secretly poisoned her holy water with a rare mana-blocking agent.
He had ambushed her in her own private sanctum with thirty elite assassins.
They utilized ancient suppression arrays specifically designed to choke out divine magic at the source.
They did not kill her because Marcus knew the public would riot if the Valkyrie suddenly died without explanation.
Instead, they dragged her down into the black-site basement of the Aegis Spire.
They strapped her tightly to a cold, metal chair that drained her residual mana.
They drove enchanted runic spikes directly into the base of her skull.
For thirty consecutive days, they magically burned away her memories, her personality, and her light.
They wiped the memory of the face of her mother.
They wiped her very first victory against the monsters.
They wiped her pride until nothing remained but an empty vessel.
They reduced a goddess of war to a heavily armored, mindless attack dog.
Now, she was just Designation Zero.
She was the ultimate human shield for the dirty work of Marcus Thorne.
"Hey. Zero."
The harsh, modulated voice of Commander Graves snapped through the internal communication system of the drop-pod.
Seraphina did not flinch or show any sign of irritation.
She just slowly raised her lifeless golden eyes toward the speaker.
Graves was seated directly across from her, encased in a massive, eight-foot-tall Vanguard Titan Mech-Suit.
He was accompanied by six other Black-Ops Cleaners.
Every single one of them wore the same heavily armored, state-of-the-art combat exoskeletons.
They looked like walking tanks, armed to the teeth with heavy mana-cannons and repeating plasma rifles.
They possessed Tier-5 energy shielding that could withstand an artillery bombardment.
Graves sneered, his scarred face visible through the thick, reinforced glass visor of his combat helmet.
"Check your weapon, bitch. We are dropping hot in two minutes."
Seraphina did not speak a single word in response.
She simply raised the heavy, un-enchanted greatsword resting across her lap.
She checked the edge with robotic, mechanical precision.
One of the other Cleaners, a man named Vance, laughed loudly over the open communication channel.
"Still cannot believe this is the great Valkyrie," Vance mocked, tapping the side of his heavy mech-helmet.
"She looks exactly like a hollowed-out doll."
"Do you think Thorne would let me take her back to my bunk after we finish this dirty job?"
"Shut up, Vance," Graves snapped, checking the fuel cells of his plasma rifle.
"We have a serious job to do because the Boss is actually terrified."
"I have never seen Thorne shake like that in my entire life."
The mood in the drop-pod shifted slightly as a cold tension settled over the elite squad.
They had all witnessed the emergency broadcast at the grand Gala.
They had all seen the face of the dead legend, Kaelen Cross, glaring down from the fifty-foot Jumbotron.
"It has got to be a trick," Vance muttered, his voice losing some of its previous arrogance.
"Nobody survives ten years in the Rift without a functioning mana core."
"It is biologically impossible for any human being."
"Possible or not, Thorne wants him erased from existence," Graves growled deeply.
"We are going full scorched earth on this entire sector."
"If you see a single shadow move in the darkness, you light it the fuck up."
Graves looked back at the silent form of Seraphina.
"And if he has set up traps, we let the meat-shield walk first."
"Zero will soak up the initial damage because that is exactly what she was built for."
Seraphina did not react to the insult.
She just sat there quietly, waiting for the command to die.
◇ ◇ ◇
Two miles above them, in the luxury penthouse office of the Aegis Spire, the Golden King was completely losing his mind.
CRASH!
A priceless, ancient Ming Dynasty vase shattered violently against the mahogany wall.
It sent white porcelain shards raining down onto the plush carpet like sharp snow.
Marcus Thorne was hyperventilating, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.
His flawless white suit was completely drenched in a cold, terrified sweat.
The grand Gala was utterly ruined.
His pristine reputation was sitting on a knife edge.
The entire Guild was in an absolute frenzy trying to contain the damage.
They were desperately attempting to delete the leaked footage of the monstrous face of Kaelen Cross.
The recording was rapidly spreading across the civilian intranet like an unstoppable virus.
"How?!" Marcus screamed to the empty, cavernous room.
He violently ripped his expensive silk tie from his neck and threw it aside.
He paced back and forth across the floor like a cornered, desperate animal.
"I drove the dagger directly into his core!"
"I felt the crystal shatter with my own hands!"
"He should have died from the sheer mana-shock alone!"
Marcus lunged at his massive executive desk in a fit of uncontrollable rage.
He swept his arm across the surface, sending data-pads and crystal glasses crashing to the floor.
He fell heavily into his leather chair, pressing his trembling hands against his pale face.
He could still vividly see those cold silver eyes in his mind.
He could still hear that raspy, grinding voice promising absolute slaughter to everyone involved.
"Keep my seat warm. I am coming to take it back."
The golden aura of Marcus flickered erratically in the dark room.
It was completely destabilized by the sheer, unadulterated terror gripping his soul.
He was an S-Rank Paladin, a man who was supposed to be completely fearless before danger.
But he knew the absolute truth better than anyone else in the world.
He knew that he was nothing more than a pathetic fraud.
Every single major raid victory attributed to his name was a lie.
Every single impossible shot that saved the city from destruction was a fabrication.
Every single legend attributed to the glory of the Vanguard Guild belonged to someone else.
It was all Kaelen Cross.
Kaelen was the true monster who hunted in the dark so Marcus could stand safely in the light.
And now, the monster was returning to claim his pound of flesh.
"Graves," Marcus hissed into his private communication link, his voice shaking noticeably.
"Sir," the voice of Graves replied instantly over the line.
The connection brought the steady, professional hum of the descending drop-pod engines.
"Do not underestimate him under any circumstances," Marcus ordered, his wide eyes staring fixedly at the closed door.
He felt as if Kaelen was going to burst through the heavy wood at any second.
"He does not fight fair, and he does not panic when cornered."
"If he is truly alive, he is more dangerous than anything lurking in that fucking abyss."
"We are wearing Titan Mechs, Boss," Graves replied with complete confidence.
"And we have Designation Zero walking on point to take the brunt of the assault."
"He is just one broken man armed with a simple crossbow."
Marcus swallowed hard, his throat incredibly dry.
"Just bring me his severed head, Graves."
"Bring me his head, and I will make you a billionaire before the night ends."
"Consider it done."