(Excerpt from "The Pillars of Order," R.C.T. Approved History, 3rd Edition)

  "We've learned from history. From chaos comes nothing, but from Order comes Change."

  A hundred years ago, humanity stood on the brink of complete collapse. A cataclysmic war raged between the two titans of the old world: "The Global Government" and a rogue alliance of free-thinkers known as the "Golden Union."

  Even after months of triumph, the Union fell. They were simply outnumbered, ground down by the Government’s endless machinery. When all was lost, the leader of the Union, Oda Newwood, unleashed a final, desperate strike. It was a blow meant to end the war, but it broke the world instead. He left a Scar—a wound in the heart of the world that split the horizons apart.

  This was The Shattering.

  In a single night, the continents tractured. The tectonic plates splintered, and the oceans surged into the cracks, leaving asia in half, europe in pieces and america split up in the middle, a continent long but thin strip of water that reaches to the corners of America.

  The Global Government took advantage of this chaos. They regrouped, claiming the largest fragments of the world for themselves, forcing the survivors into disconnected regions where they were easier to monitor and control. The century following was a desperate fight for survival, as organizations like the R.C.T. rose from the ashes of the old military,

  We were forced to move.

  We were told to sit still.

  We were told everything is alright—

  Just listen to them.

  The news anchor clears her throat.

  Washington DC – Channel C Morning Broadcast, 2025 June.

  Her voice is steady, but the tension underneath it is impossible to hide.

  “Two weeks ago, highly wanted serial killer Terra Umbral, also known by his aliases: "The Dragon-Killer And "The Crimson" — was sighted in New York City. Thirty-two recent deaths have been linked to him — and

  DNA evidence now matches patterns from earlier incidents across multiple states.”

  On the screen behind her, a digital map appears, pulsing with red markers like a spreading infection.

  “Authorities estimate his total connected fatalities at approximately nine hundred. California: twenty confirmed.

  Arizona: thirty. Texas: fifty. Oklahoma: four. Kentucky: sixty. Idaho: thirty-seven confirmed, with additional unverified cases.

  And northern-state regions collectively reporting between five hundred and five hundred fifty casualties.”

  A rough drawing of a grinning young man with a scar on his face and deeply unsettled, crazed eyes appears

  next to the map.

  The anchor glances down at her notes, visibly unsettled.

  “A visual pattern of his movement was created by an anonymous analyst known only as ‘E.’ According to this model,

  Terra’s next appearance is predicted to be…”

  A crowd has gathered outside a storefront, faces pressed to the glass as dozens of mounted screens play the broadcast.

  Terra pushes through, brushing past a man leaning in too close.

  “Hey! Watch it, pal!” the civilian snaps.

  Terra stops. His hood shadows his face — except for the faint, unnatural crimson glint in his eyes as he turns.

  “What?” he asks softly. “Didn’t hear you. Come on, speak up.”

  The man’s confidence evaporates. He looks away.

  Terra grins faintly and continues walking, hands in his pockets.

  The broadcast finally reveals the prediction:

  “—Washington, D.C.”

  Terra exhales sharply through his nose, amused.

  “Washington, huh? Always wondered what it’s like here…”

  He looks toward the distant skyline, eyes narrowing with a half-crazed smile creeping back onto his face.

  “Fun.”

  He chuckles under his breath and disappears into the crowd.

  Terra weaves through others, standing out because of his ragged appearance.; a hooded cloak covered in dried blood,

  his reddish-crimson clothing, and the scar across his nose bridge. He flashes his signature smirk as he makes it to his

  destination, Cool-Mart.

  He always changes his clothing prior to entering a new city, but this time he doesn't need to. He was stealthy, quick, and

  sly, and all they have on him is a sketch.

  Terra takes out a scrunched-up paper, straightening it to reveal a mission paper stating:

  ` Find this gem! `

  The gem's appearance is roughly drawn, along with a drawing of the supermarket and an arrow pointing the gem to the door. Under it:

  Inside the storage room.

  - Jug.

  "Alrighty-oh!" Terra casually paces across the street, passing a red light.

  A pedestrian notices him jaywalking. "Watch out!" The civilian waves their hand frantically as a sedan speeds towards Terra.

  Terra stops in the middle of the road, the car honking and swerving desperately to avoid him.

  He simply glances at it, a bored expression on his face. "Uh-oh! You're gonna miss me!"

  A jagged tendril of crimson flesh explodes out of his palm. It snaps forward like a whip, slamming into the side of the

  speeding car.

  With a sickening crunch of metal, he forces the vehicle off its path—shoving it directly onto the sidewalk where a crowd

  I was waiting for the light.

  Screams trigger, cut short by the thud of the impact.

  Terra chuckles, rubbing his nose as he watches the smoke rise. "Strike!"

  Terra walks into the supermarket, staring at the line and rolling his eyes. "Lines are for simpletons, am I right, me?"

  He nods to himself before walking to the end of the line, tapping his foot, surveying the room. "It's Terra-Time."

  He casually pushes past the people in front of him. They argue, yelling indignantly as he reaches beneath his cloak,

  his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword.

  At the front of the line stands a middle-aged man, lifting his groceries onto the counter. "Morning!"

  The cashier, a tired teenager working part-time, scans the groceries one by one. "Morning..." he mumbles, his slouched

  posture highlighting the dark bags under his eyes. He looks over to the screen. "Your total comes to 75. Cash or card?"

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The cashier stares down at the floor, oblivious to the commotion behind the man. `` 8 more hours... Just...

  8 more hours. Shit, dude, I'm not in the mood for this.``

  He stops tapping his fingers on the register as a wet crunch cuts through the mundane noise of the store.

  Blood splatters across his face and the counter. The customer's credit card clatters onto the floor.

  A heavy, metallic smell instantly fills the room.

  The teenager looks up to see the bloody tip of a blade hovering right in front of his face,

  an eyeball skewered on the end like a barbecue stick.

  "Does an eye work?" Terra rips the sword out of the man's skull. He catches the eyeball in his free

  hand as the middle-aged man collapses to the linoleum floor, lifeless.

  The cashier stares with a completely distraught face, frozen in place as his face is covered in the victim's blood. He

  tries stepping back, but his legs betray him, locked to the floor like glue.

  "What, snake bit your tongue? " Terra whispers, " Hey, how about you just open that storage roomaroonie right behind you,

  capiche?"

  He leans over the counter until they are nose-to-nose. Terra grins, peeling his lips back to reveal a row of jagged, razor-sharp teeth,

  his cheeks splattered with the dead customer's blood.

  The other customers in the line, and others start to take notice, a chain-reaction of screams or yells, and then the sound

  of hurried footsteps. Terra doesn't hear this though, just noise. And voices.

  The teen slowly nods, shaking as he takes out his keys frantically, accidentally dropping them on the way running to the back door to open it.

  [-/-]

  The cruiser parks lazily on the sidewalk. The engine coughs one last time. John leans back and yawns. Another day, another shift, eh?

  "Manny, what are the chances that, ` The Crimson ` rumor is true, and the news anchor isn't just schizophrenic?" John turns to Manny.

  The other officer in the passenger seat turns, a bagel in his mouth mid-bite. He bites down before shrugging.

  John slowly opens the car door, taking a step out, his foot hitting a spilled coffee.

  "Looks like someone was running and dropped their coffee? Wow, that's something I'd arrest over."

  Manny turns. "Someone spilled coffee?" He can barely get the words out. He's on the 'large' side, also called Officer-Donut by his co-workers.

  "You'd probably lick it up from the ground." John chuckles, his voice gruff. Manny chuckles, unamused. "Shut up."

  They approach the scene. Orange and black tape, a body bag, flashing lights. It's not just any crime...

  But before they can fully process the scene, a helicopter slowly lands, the letter E written on the side. Four armed men jump off the sides,

  one of them opening the helicopter's door to reveal a hooded young man. He seems around nineteen as he stares at the crime scene.

  John keeps walking, ducking under the orange and black tape. A black body bag, blood... Just a murder? "All this for a murder? Wow, and who's that?"

  Manny finally catches up as a detective approaches them. "This is a robbery. A robbery of a relic. Are you familiar with Terra Umbral?"

  The detective writes a few notes while looking at a body.

  John turns back and looks at Manny with a confused face. Met with another confused face, he decides to ask, "What does he have to do with this?"

  The detective glances over to them. "He's here, in Washington, just as he predicted. And this is the closest anyone has gotten to finding him EVER."

  The detective points at E, the hooded figure staring at the crime scene, seemingly taking it in.

  "That's E? Really? He looks not a day over seventeen!" John scoffs, walking off into the supermarket where a teenager is being questioned

  by two officers. He notices their pants have been wetted.

  John walks into the back room, a few detectives opening the door with a lock-pick. They find a pedestal. It seems to have been tipped over,

  a relic slot on the topside seemingly empty, as if someone carelessly took whatever gem was inside.

  One of the detectives seems to be analyzing the pedestal, rubbing it for dust with their fingers.

  "He's still around. Just not here... Start a search." The detective turns to John and other cops who examine the crates and anything for hints.

  "I'll take this up with the boss." One of the officers walks out.

  [-/-]

  Terra runs through the alleys, blade and cloak whipping behind him.

  A car passes—he jumps over it, rolls, pulls off his hood, and smirks.

  “Simple, easy, graceful, I'M THE BEST!” he chuckles. The street

  passing by him like a blur. A childish grin on his face.

  " Terra. Umbral. "

  The voice cuts through the wind like a gavel.

  Terra skids to a halt, The childish grin vanishes instantly, leaving his face blank, his eyes wide.

  A wave of dry, scalding heat hits him. He squints, shielding his eyes from the sudden glare.

  A figure floats ahead, suspended in the air by jets of concentrated flame roaring from his palms.

  The concrete below him scorches and darkens from the sheer heat.

  “Dragon-Killer… This is the end of the line,” The agent growls. His

  hair whips in the air, white, yet he looks around 23.

  Terra sighs. “Oooooh, scary. And who’re you, Mr. Chain-Smoker?”

  “Dragon-Killer… This is the end of the line,” the man growls, his voice vibrating with self-righteous fury.

  Terra sighs, rolling his eyes so hard it hurts. “Oooooh, scary. And who’re you, Mr. Chain-Smoker?”

  “Flame-Fist. I am part of the R.C.T, Division 3.”

  “Rogue Capture Team? Bunch of rich losers that think they're real shit…” Terra unsheathes his sword, spinning it lazily in his hand. “Did your mommy buy you those powers?”

  “You’ve killed many, Terra. Far too many. They say you’ve butchered thousands.”

  Flame-Fist adjusts his arms, pointing them backwards. The flames roar to life, turning blue at the base, creating propulsion that sends him flying at Terra.

  He reels his fist back. A concentrated ball of flame forms at his knuckles, expanding across his fist until it looks like a miniature sun.

  "Flame.. FIST!" He swings.

  The pure wind-force of his attack sends nearby crates and papers flying in a shockwave, the heat turning them to

  ash before they even hit the ground.

  Terra takes a step to the side, looking at Flame-Fist's hand engulfed in ember as it sails past his ear. He snickers.

  “Missed me, Sparky.”

  “Yeah I kill people, so? What's your point?”

  Terra swings on his planted foot. His leg snaps forward with unnatural speed, kicking Flame-Fist in the

  gut with extreme force.

  Flame-Fist winds, eyes bulging, but he manages to retreat backwards before Terra’s follow-up right-hook

  can take his head off.

  “Awh, why’d you back away? Wuss.” Terra tilts his head, a manic grin spreading.

  Flame-Fist gets into a sturdy stance, his legs planted firmly into the asphalt, melting it slightly. “I’ll end this now,” he states.

  A blazing ember forms at Flame-Fist’s palm, heat rippling through the alley, scorching the brick walls black.

  He condenses it, fingers glowing white-hot. It is beautifully chaotic,

  the flames dancing across his fingertips like erratic snakes.

  `` He's charging up? In the middle of a fight? What an amateur. ``

  “Party-trick ability at best. You'd probably be a chef at best, cooking food with your abilities like a show; I'd

  pay for that by the way,” Terra mocks, resting his sword on his shoulder.

  Flame-Fist swings his hand toward Terra, his palm unclamping.

  The energy is shot out instantly. The pressure which has been built up is released in a millisecond,

  a blazing beam comparable to a truck moving at the speed of sound, on fire, with a brick wall strapped onto the front.

  Terra’s eyes widen. `` Oh.``

  He is hit full-force.

  Terra is blasted through buildings, the masonry exploding into dust. He slams into a wall three blocks away,

  embedded into it like an action figure in a toy case.

  He slowly lifts his head to stare at the tunnel of destruction he made through the buildings, coughing out a piece of drywall.

  “I… didn’t… expect that…” he grunts, blood trickling from his nose.

  He crawls toward his sword—then a shockwave hits him.

  “Give up, you're out-matched.” Flame-Fist approaches through the smoke, glowing like a demon.

  Terra grabs his sword, his pupils contracting.

  "Cya, Flame-Dork!"

  Terra crashes through a window, ignoring the shocked homeowner eating dinner, and bolts through the house,

  leaping out the back door.

  He runs over to the opposite wall of the door, planting his foot, before kicking himself up over, now laying on the roof.

  He pulls out the gem, glowing golden, and a crumpled paper showing the same gem.

  A perfect match.

  “Piece of cake,” he mutters, wiping blood from his lip. A crazed grin forms as he turns his head to the

  distant view of the city.

  Flame-Fist loses track of him, cursing loudly in the alley Terra was just inside, his flames scorching the trash cans in anger.