Anthony, zeke, and Riley who finally met up with them, and a few young conduits and citizens of Dunbar came along to assist with them have gotten out of Dunbar and unto the search for the myths. 4. These 4 who battled the emperors and demons of the old world and saved the world together.
The 4 were.
The rogue; Gudder. A creative mind of explosives and gunpowder. A master of destruction.
The engineer Marilyn. A woman who's thoughts spark an era of invention.
The warrior. William. A true swordsman who's blade faced the blood of emperors and demons alike.
Romeo the architect.
builder of worlds.
The leader of the order.
These 4 battled on the old world to save the light of a dying world. And succeeded in bringing it back to safety.
These 4 are the ones Anthony is looking for.
Anthony moves on with the others.
A conversation insues all the while they are looking for Williams fortress.
Zeke talks first asking Riley "since I survived a falling tower. Will you gorgeous one go out with me?"
"you're out of shape. Damaged. Bleeding. Storing and smart. Only if we Both survive this week." Riley replies.
In a bit of time they find a sea overlook. Anthony speaks "I could make a quick boat of barriers. A raft. Or a room. It will be unstable since it will attract enemies. Or we could do a wooden one."
The group has its differences.
Anthony decides on a vote.
14 of The young vote for a barrier.
9 of the youth vote for a barrier.
All 7 of the elderly vote for a barrier.
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On the other hand.
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4 of the young vote for wooden.
7 of the youth vote for the wooden.
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It was settled. A barrier.
Anthony creates a barrier made boat. Reinforces it 7 times. And then Riley rebuilt it from the inside as furniture and flexible matts 4 times. Focusing on a softer version of it.
It was created.
Anthony made rooms.
Storage.
Cafeteria.
Lounges.
Roofs.
Windows.
And compartments.
He made it move by using a stable blast from all sides using heat. Barrier pushes. And Wind charges. Which it blasted fast and unstable at first. And soon it stabilized.
Anthony thought about how such a vile creature could even exist. Let alone be created by Mankind.
Humanity is nothing to scoff at.
Resilience.
Strength.
Intelligence.
Coordination.
All in the hands of humans. While in the other hand. Vile beasts demons and monsters roam humans persisted.
Some Monsters can be intelligent. But they lack coordination. Demons are intelligent and strong. They can be coordinated. But they lack resilience and can fall by their own arrogance.
With the white demon as king the monsters can persist.
And within hells bowels demons are ordered by angels.
Angels. They used to be high and above. Coordinated. Strong. Intelligent. Resilient. But what they have followed is falling apart. All their prowess is useless at the hands of the Powers that roamed the old world. Back from the earth's core. All but gone. Dionysus. Lilith. The white demon. A domino effect. One after another awakens. Of kin. Chance. And coordination. All rise back. One could only Dream for Another to not Rise. Anthony held on the memories of his real father. His mother and kin. Lost he is. When he found shelter at the orphanage he found zeke. The only one who could understand his interest. And he thought of how he went to work for the church for a while before he can get an actual home in the city. Dunbar is all but gone now... His home.. All is consumed by the storm. Some call it the malestorm. Which is what the name was. Now he is gonna name it an actual name. Not out of love. But spite.
Let's start again.
Shall we?
"This is the system you bargain. It is a destined fate."
The sky had never been so still.
Not dead—stilled, like a breath held by the world itself.
Dunbar was no more than a silhouette now, swallowed by gray winds and swarms of ash. Behind it, the Maelstorm had revealed itself, as if tearing through layers of illusion. A walking catastrophe. A storm given form.
Anthony stood on the outer cliff, watching it with wide, unblinking eyes.
A titan of blackened bone and screaming wind.
Its veins pulsed with stolen blood. Its flesh twisted with the corpses of cities.
And far above, embedded in the swirling crown of its skull, were crystal eyes that seemed to stare directly back.
Riley joined him at the ridge, silent. No words.
Then Zeke—panting, mud-streaked, clutching an old cracked datapad and out of breath from doing absolutely nothing heroic.
Behind them, a few dozen survivors of Dunbar. Young conduits. Orphans. Elders. Nobodies. Everyone the storm had not yet claimed.
There was no choice now.
They had to flee.
And they had to find them—the Order.
The four who once faced demons and emperors.
The myths.
---
The Myth of Four
> "They were the flame after the fire went out."
"The final song of the old world."
Gudder — The Rogue: master of bombs and alchemy, vanished in the northern range.
Marilyn — The Engineer: brilliant, cruel, exacting. Her city fell and she with it. Or so they said.
William — The Warrior: called The Blade Who Cut the Red God. The last seen in a desert fortress, half-buried in sand.
Romeo — The Architect: visionary and madman. Builder of cities, destroyer of souls. Disappeared with his blueprints.
Some said they died with the Emperors.
Some said they became them.
Anthony didn't care anymore. If even one of them lived, they had to find them. Because whatever they faced now, it wasn't a demon.
It was worse.
---
The Escape
With the Maelstorm crawling toward them like a dying god, the group abandoned the last of Dunbar's roads. They ran south, toward sea cliffs and uncertain lands.
Anthony, drained from the battle and from himself, used his barrier magic to forge a vessel—not a ship but a moving fortress on water. A malformed thing of shields and pressure-pockets and propulsion spells. It pulsed with heat, wind, and unstable power. A floating shell of barely-contained magic.
The vote had been simple:
The elderly and most youth voted for a barrier boat.
A few wanted wood. Fewer wanted to stay.
The decision was made. Move. Or die.
Anthony built it in silence, hands trembling—not from weakness, but from the burn of memory. The cost. The loss. The burden.
Riley helped reinforce the interior, crafting furniture, mats, and protective seals from softer barrier strands. She didn't smile. She hadn't smiled since the fall.
---
At Sea
As they moved across the waves, slow and unstable, there was a brief lull.
Enough time to breathe. Barely.
Zeke leaned on a railing and turned to Riley.
His voice, worn and teasing, tried to be light:
> "Since I survived a collapsing tower, maybe you'll finally go out with me?"
Riley—bandaged, eyes hollow but bright—replied without turning:
> "Only if we both survive this week. And you learn to fight without tripping over your own legs."
Zeke raised a finger, opened his mouth, and wisely said nothing.
The moment passed. Quiet returned.
---
The Storm's Reach
900 kilometers.
That's what Averon had warned them—when he first found them, limping from a separate battle, robes torn, face shadowed by exhaustion.
> "That's its range," Averon muttered. "The plague spreads through the air. Through water. Through thought if you're not careful."
"Twenty phases. If you live past the tenth, you're either a god... or already gone."
The Maelstorm didn't chase everyone.
It hunted power.
It followed bloodlines.
It had tasted Anthony once.
It remembered.
---
Anthony's Breaking Point
Midnight.
Anthony stood alone on the roof of the barrier-ship, staring at the stars.
They felt fake.
His hands shook again. Not from magic. Not from anger.
From terror.
From the realization that he was not enough.
He looked down at the sleeping survivors. At Zeke curled awkwardly around a crate. At Riley finally dozing near the helm. He looked away.
He couldn't do this.
He wasn't a commander. He was barely a man.
And so, without waking anyone, he summoned a launch-box—a barrier chamber pressurized to blast—and a glider with flame, wind, and electromagnetic charge.
He fired himself into the sky, leaving the boat behind. Leaving everything.
He couldn't carry them. Not anymore.
---
Landfall
Hours later, Anthony slammed into a remote island—half-mountain, half-ruin. A place untouched by maps.
He lay on the sand, coughing blood, vision blurry.
But then... he saw it.
A tower. Half-standing. Symbols etched in stone. Metal frameworks powered by something old.
And a gate.
A massive one, cracked open just enough to whisper: inside is where the old world sleeps.
He had found something.
Whether hope or horror... he had no idea.
But it was something.