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 ters high and thick enough to drive a carriage upon, were etched with intricate magical matrices that shimred faintly in the daylight. These sa 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 tropolis. More striking, however, was the unsettling hierarchy that governed them.
Each citizen wore a parchnt 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. anwhile, 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 regi. 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 ters 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: so were made of shining light, others of glimring gemstones, while a few boasted swirling flas.
Among this assembly of angels, one figure stood apart. Nearly four ters 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.
"BOOOOOOOMMMMM!"
A roar of sonic booms ripped through the skies as the fiendish werewolf shattered the sound barrier again and again, hurling himself headlong toward the fortress. Rikochet and his fellow angels barely had ti to react before the creature reached the city walls.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM!"
The imnse fortifications—rumored to be indestructible—exploded in a shower of stone and magic-infused debris. Chunks of the wall flew in all directions, leaving the citizens gaping in stunned disbelief. In a single, thunderous impact, the werewolf had done the impossible: he had shattered their supposedly invincible bulwark.
But the creature was not finished. Carrying his ferocious montum forward, the werewolf sprinted through the debris and headed straight for the city’s tallest building—the sa tower where Rikochet and the angels stood. In a blur, the fiendish werewolf bent its knees and launched itself skyward with a monuntal leap, smashing through the penthouse’s glass facade. Shards rained down onto marble floors as the intruder landed among the angels.
Silence reigned. Not a single angel knew how to process what they were witnessing. The shock of seeing the city’s legendary defenses obliterated in seconds was still sinking in. They had no idea why he would commit such a brazen act of aggression.
Unfortunately for them, the werewolf was not in a mood to explain. This was Ouroboros, and he had co on a mission that demanded angels alive—but subdued.
Without hesitation, the Depravita of Greed lunged at the nearest alien. The angel had no chance to react before Ouroboros’s massive claw seized him by the head and slamd him into the floor. The impact was so powerful that it cracked the marble tiles, drawing a gasp from the onlooking angels. Though the unfortunate victim’s skull was fractured and he was left unconscious, Ouroboros had exercised enough control not to kill him outright. After all, Overlord needed them as prisoners—and if these angels had any hint of what awaited them at the hands of the A.I. Chip Clone, they would have begged to die sooner.
Moving in a blur, Ouroboros hurled himself at the next target. His white-furred fist crashed into a female angel’s sternum, pulverizing ribs and knocking the wind from her lungs. She crumpled to the ground, alive but thoroughly incapacitated.
"Attack!" Rikochet finally found his voice, breaking through the paralysis of shock. Spreading his magma wings, he roared at his underlings to mobilize. The remaining angels hastily brandished their weapons, channeling divine energies and launching a barrage of spells toward the fiendish werewolf.
Yet Ouroboros only sneered, the faintest curve of a smile on his lupine snout. Compared to the Leviathan Lords he had faced in the past, these angels moved like sluggish amateurs. With fluid, almost contemptuous ease, he twisted his body to evade their attacks, letting the spells shatter the penthouse walls behind him. The angles of glass and stone groaned in protest as the luxurious chamber beca a war zone.
Ouroboros did not rely rely on evasive maneuvers. As one angel swung a gleaming sword toward his neck, the fiendish werewolf shattered the blade with a single claw strike. Without pausing, he followed through with a brutal kick to the angel’s jaw, crushing bone and catapulting the unfortunate opponent into the penthouse ceiling. Blood dripped from the angel’s limp body, which was now wedged in the cracked plaster above.
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