The pulsation of silver mana channelled itself through the frosty and glacial atmosphere of the Sowl dimension. Khonsu raised all five of his fingers, flicking them forward as he writhed the terrain of the realm.

"Time-Magic." He hollowly clanged to himself, conducting the ripple of energy into the dimension's obsidian-bedecked platform. Khonsu watched the surface crumble, time dissolving the sector. "Eternal-Obliteration."

"Now. Where is my father's temple?"

14th April 2067:

Baral Scius was the renowned and shrewd type of criminal, never one not to steal from someone. He stepped onto the local lane for a multifarious amount of merchants, unclicking his sanguine-knife from his scabbard.

His ebony, furtive, and humoured irises perused the carriage of one of the innumerable merchants, echoing his flame-mana into the steel of his knife. He crouched on top of the branch, alienating himself from all individuals.

He settled onto the platform of the obsidian-painted environs, aiming his fire-engulfed knife at the driver of the carriage. Baral gyrated his weapon, inspecting the merchant's humourless and unentertained mien.

"Where's the good-"

He immediately drilled his knife forward, feeling the pulseless-presence of magical-energy flitter itself over to him. Baral flicked his knife up, swiping it through the pitiless visage of his adversary.

Vasura ignored the gashes rippling his nose and lips, smacking his mana-augmented knee into Baral's abdomen. He snatched the knife from the bandit, wheel-kicking the crown of his head.

Baral was propelled backwards from Vasura: who twirled his stolen-knife, studying its steel and mana-capacity. He discarded it onto the purlieu's surface, obstructing the bullets of mana from the criminal.

"Lifeless-Magic: Serrated." Vasura monotonously reverberated, elongating his nails into purple knives of magical-power. He blurred forward, cleaving them through Baral's neck. "Heh."

Vasura evaporated the enlarged nails of the perished's energy, clutching onto the lacerated neck of Baral. He flung him up into the pink-bedecked empyrean, calling to his [Centre] for a solitary dagger.

Baral's body itself drifted across the aerosphere of the Flious-dimension's welkin as Vasura bounded towards his bleeding form, slashing the dagger into his clavicle. Vasura back-flipped onto the sector's terrain, unperturbed.

The convulsing form of Baral crashed itself onto the environs' platform. Vasura watched him palpitate and heard his groans of agony as he brushed his fingers across his collar-bone.

"Still alive, huh?" Vasura lackadaisically grouched, stepping over to the writhing body of Baral. He pulsated a throb of natural-mana into his dagger, swiping it through the rim of Baral's skull. "And he's dead."

Vasura summoned himself a Flame-Phantom, glancing at the carriage of Selliar: who was the merchant and driver of the vehicle. He scattered his dagger into purple-flecks, dissolving it back into his pocket-realm of storage.

"Thanks for the lift on this trip, Mr. Selliar." Vasura lazily murmured, blurring onto the top platform of the carriage. He stretched his arms, peering over to the crimson-molecules of his personal-spectre. "Busy week for me."

"My pleasure, Mr. Vasura." Selliar gravelly rumbled, his soprano throaty and raucous. He brushed the obsidian-manes of his carriage's creatures, slinging the reins forward. "Thank you for your services."

"It's fine." He casually dismissed, tracing two of his fingers over the gashes on his lips and nose. Vasura sprouted a napkin from his [Centre], swiping it onto his visage's bleeding-wounds. "Mr. Selliar."

"Hm?"

"Baral's bounty was 4, 600 Erais." Vasura languidly grouched, reclining himself onto the wooden-platform of the carriage. He dissolved the blood-painted tissue into purple-molecules, bemused. "Is he famous or something?"

"Oh, no." Selliar cacophonously refuted, flicking his hand through his creatures' ebony-decorated manes. He flung the reins forward another time, glancing at the form of Vasura Hii: who nodded. "He's a murderer and criminal."

"If I remember, he killed my brother weeks ago." The merchant bitterly laughed to himself, sinking into the mahogany-fabric of the driver's chair. Sellier canted his head, humming. "His wife issued the bounty."

"His wife, huh? She must love him." The flummoxed and lackadaisical falsetto of Vasura echoed. He lounged on top of the carriage's roof-top, lifting his hand at the welkin's pink-molecules. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Indeed, they were married for a good decade." Sellier softly murmured, rolling the carriage onto another of the environs' multifarious paths. He shunted it across the concrete, sighing. "And thank you."

"Eh, it's all good." Vasura casually retaliated, brushing his sapphire and unperturbed irises over the pink-fragments inundating the aerosphere of the Flious-realm. He tapped the carriage's wood, yawning. "Hm..."

Sellier drove his carriage over to one of the dimension's innumerable town's front-gates. He gave his identification card to the guard: who scanned all of its information. "Vasura?"

"Yep?"

"His wife shall be waiting at the mage-station."

"See ya, then, geezer!" He cheekily chuckled, blurring through the gates of the town. He settled onto an edifice's roof-top, identifying the mage-station in the middle of the vicinage. "Okay..."

Vasura reposed himself onto the lane of the town, slipping his hands into his sapphire-painted trousers' pockets, He scanned all of the individuals on the village's path, unentertained. "Oh, no."

"I forgot to get some proof I killed him..."

Vasura groaned to himself, counting the roll of cash worth 4, 600 Erais. He flung the paper-currency into his crimson-satchel, hooking its thread over his cloaked-shoulder, relieved.

"Thank the dimensions for head-scanning spells." He blandly mumbled, stepping onto the top of the [Connector]'s platform. Vasura canted his head, being engulfed by a yellow-layer of mana. "Hm."

"Maybe giving Wukong my sphere-connector wasn't a good idea."

"Still, Master Suryaa wasn't kidding." Vasura elatedly laughed, pulsing his nails into elongated knives of purple-mana. He flicked them forward, rippling the [Connector]'s yellow-layer. "This spell is sharp."

He dissolved the throb of pulseless-energy frolicking on top of his nails, sauntering from the terrain of the [Connector]'s platform, glancing over to the worker: who operated the [Connector] of this mage-station.

Vasura strolled into the line of mages, citizens, or creatures for the front-desk of identification. He stepped forward, pressing two fingers onto the [Identification-Rune], channelling his magic-energy into the ebony-sigil.

"Your mana-signature matches the rune, you're good."

"Thanks." He lackadaisically riposted, ambling into the corridor of the mage-station. He perused the doors for the bounty, missions, and training-departments, meandering out of its gargantuan-gates. "Ah, back in Expany."

A convergence of natural-mana pulsated into the flesh of Vasura's legs as he blurred onto a roof-top of the Expany-realm's town named Wekra. Vasura flittered through the roof-tops, enthused.

He settled onto the steel of his apartment-complex's railing, ensconcing himself on top of his balcony's platform. Vasura opened up its doors, perambulating into his living-room. "Heh, what an entrance."

Vasura unstrapped the thread of his sanguine-bedecked satchel from his body, unhooking the cloak engulfing his shoulders. He stretched his body, ambling into one of his domicile's corridors. "Man, 4, 600 Erais for one bounty."

Slithering into the precinct of his bed-room, Vasura clipped his cloak onto a rack inside the corner of his personal-sector. He clutched onto the roll of cash from his sanguine-satchel, hurtling his money into his storage-dimension.

He planted himself onto the azure-painted fabric of his office-chair, seizing a book by the author called The-Phantom. Vasura tipped his seat backwards, flipping the novel onto its 145th page of information.

Vasura lounged his legs on top of the wooden-platform of his desk, scanning the written-illustrations of his favourite book - called The-Death. He canted his head, yawning to himself in a throaty-soprano.

"What time is it, now?" Vasura insouciantly murmured, glancing at the purple-bedecked numbers of his alarm-clock. 2: 00-PM in the afternoon. He slouched into his office-chair, humming. "Where's Karasuu and Wukong?"

The aerosphere of Vasura's bed-room splintered and fragmented itself as Wukong settled onto the purlieu's surface. He gyrated the orb-connector, carrying both Horuss and a smoothie. "I'm back!"

"Huh, the devil comes when you call for him, I guess."

"Where were you loitering?" Vasura lazily groused, scattering his sphere-connector into the shackles of his [Centre]. He flicked his novel onto another page, pedalling his azure-irises through the book. "Damn, he died?"

"I was in Lilih's dimension." Wukong casually grinned, sipping in a deluge of his vanilla-smoothie. He dissolved his signature staff, whizzing out of the door for Vasura's bed-room. "Oh, and Suryaa kidnapped Karasuu!"

"Kidnapped?"

Suryaa channelled an inundation of lava-magic into the welkin of the dimension, manipulating his mana into the body of a sizzling-spear. He flung it over to Karasuu: who cleaved his runic-glaive through the boiling-weapon.

He immediately blurred towards Karasuu, wheel-kicking the nose of his disciple. Suryaa clutched onto Karasuu's neck, smacking him into the soil of the concrete, humoured. "You're being pretty slow, Karasuu."

"Forgive me for being slammed into the dirt, master." Karasuu lackadaisically retorted, regenerating the wounds and gashes splintering his visage. He revolved his blade, inspecting the molecules of dissolving lava. "Hm."

"Regenerative-Magic: Vitality-Thief."

Karasuu bounded over to Suryaa, stretching his mana-engulfed hand onto his master's entertained and childish mien. Suryaa toppled onto the realm's terrain, rolling backwards from Karasuu's fingers.

"Spear-Of-Hell!" Suryaa cheekily vociferated, germinating another tool of his lava-mana. He flicked it towards Karasuu, watching the magma-swallowed spear being evaporated by the glaive. "Karasuu."

"What, now?" He sardonically grouched, clicking his sigil-painted blade into its purple-scabbard. Karasuu stretched his over-exerted arms, huffing. "You're going to murder me and not bury my corpse?"

"Nah. I heard your family was messaging you?" The master languidly chuckled, a childish and unbothered grin sprouting atop his features. He scanned the crumbled concrete of the realm, humming. "The Shikyo family, eh?"

"Indeed, they are." Karasuu acerbically murmured, scattering his purple-bedecked scabbard into frolicking fragments of mana. He slipped his hands into his sapphire-slacks' pockets, unentertained. "I'm ignoring them."

"Ah, family issues." Suryaa childishly laughed, his soprano care-free and unperturbed. He snapped his fingers, summoning Karasuu a rectangular-connector. "Some good, old advice, my dear apprentice."

"You Death-Seekers love dying!"

"It's in the name of my species, master." Karasuu sardonically smirked, obliterating himself into frolicking and purple molecules. He reposed himself inside Vasura's bed-room, flummoxed. "Death-Seekers love dying, hm?"

"Stop teleporting into my room of all rooms." Vasura disgruntledly grouched, slinging his book towards Karasuu: who repelled the novel onto the carpet of the purlieu. "Why this room?"

"No clue, my good sir." The Death-Seeker cheekily shrugged, striding out of the personal-environs of Vasura. Karasuu stepped through the corridor, perusing the paintings of dragons he purchased. "Huh..."

"Master Suryaa is a terrible influence."

He sauntered into the living-room of his apportioned residence, descrying the elated-mien of Wukong. Karasuu disregarded his room-mate, ambling towards the balcony of his domicile. "My family..."

"Family issues is an accurate depiction of them." Karasuu blandly chuckled to himself, pulsating his healing-magic through the gashes on his shoulder. He tapped the metal of the railings, suspiring. "Hm..."

Karasuu slithered back into the district of his apartment's living-room, strolling over to the corridor. He opened up his bed-room's door, identifying a flood of envelopes and letters. "I guess I could respond to them."

He flittered the rectangular-connector of Suryaa onto the carpet of his bed-room, summoning himself a purple-painted pen. Karasuu lifted up an envelope, cleaving his finger across the top. "Why am I being called back?"

"Ah, the discussion for who shall be father's heir." Karasuu bemusedly echoed, flicking all of the letters or envelopes onto the bed-room's terrain. He sank into his chair's ebony-fabric, sighing. "That was it, then?"

His purple, lackadaisical, and vexed irises themselves inspected the books and weapons scattered across his bed-room. Karasuu hefted up one of his crimson-designed blades, chuckling. "Perhaps they could accompany me?"

"Heh, guess I'm going home."

Wukong sprouted his favourite weapon from his pocket-dimension of storage, extending and growing its proportions. He nodded to himself until smacking his staff into the screen of his entertainment-crystal.

Keen eyes watched.