BOOM!

The technalist sides Asteria City turned to shit within moments after a Naturalist attack. The city's capital, The Celestia, suddenly erupted in flames. Thick ribbons of smoke twisted upward while chaos cascaded through the streets below. The air was filled with desperate cries as those trapped on the upper floors pressed against windows that had become portals to their demise.

An officer of the Circuit Corporation, alerted by a civilian's panicked gestures, pressed his radio's transmission button urgently.

"Got a 10-84 at the Celestia. Buzz for a Savior, over."

"Copy that, over," crackled the response. The officer on the other end pressed a button among a panel of identical switches, sending out the call.

Miles from the crisis, a young man dozed at his desk, feet propped casually on its metallic surface. A comically large snot bubble expanded and contracted with each breath until the alarm system broke the silence. Emergency lights painted the room in flashes of red. The bubble burst, and consciousness returned with laser focus as he checked his watch.

Fire at the Celestia in Asteria City! Requesting assistance!

His chair spun in abandoned circles as he launched into action, moving with inhuman velocity. Slipping into a dark gray that fit like a second skin, lined with orange accents that came alive with subtle luminescence. Tinted protective lenses slid over his sparking orange eyes. His flowing yellow hair, faded to a vibrant orange at only his wispy temples. He sprinted through the complex in a blur of motion, exiting into an expanse of untamed grassland that stretched toward the horizon, leaving the cylindrical building behind.

Back in Asteria City, the situation deteriorated at terrifying speeds. Flames empowered by savage winds whipped between buildings, climbing the tower's glass face. Below, the gathering crowd's collective gasp turned to horror as the first body fell, followed by another, their descent a last resort to escape the fire.

A streak of orange split the sky like a comet's tail. The speedster arrived, prioritizing the falling victims, intercepting their falls with precision. Each rescue created a sonic boom, rattling windows as he placed survivors safely on the ground. Second, he evacuated the building's occupants, leaving the flames in the capable hands of firefighters. Five seconds was all it took - five seconds to turn certain tragedy into miraculous salvation.

Once the flames were subdued the fire chief came to speak with the Savior. Covered in smoke residue and dressed in a baggy flame-resistant suit, he approached.

"We finally got the fire under control, but there's something you'll want to hear."

The Savior swept off his goggles, fully attentive, "Lay it on me chief."

"The explosion wasn't a malfunction. Someone intentionally started this fire. It could be those damn Naturalists...Anyway, I just thought you should know. I'll leave you to it."

"Right, thanks again for your help."

Survivors left surrounded him, unable to give a chance to process. Their faces were painted with gratitude. The Savior's eyes scanned the gathering professionally. "Everything will be okay! Is anyone injured?"

Everyone appeared pleased, so he turned to leave the crowd, only to feel a desperate hand catch his arm. A woman in her late forties stood there, her business attire scorched and her dried tears black of smoke residue on her face.

"Please, help me find my husband and son! They're missing!" Her voice cracked with raw emotion.

His expression softened beneath the protective gear. "I'd love to help, but that's out of my jurisdiction. You'll need to report it to the officer over there."

"No! You don't understand," she cried, fingers tightening on his sleeve. "People all around the city have disappeared, and the officers have had no leads on their whereabouts for years. We need you, a Savior!"

From the crowd, another voice rose, carried by shared pain. "She speaks the truth! My brother also vanished years ago!"

Compassion tempered his professional detachment. "I'll see what I can do. You have my word."

The woman's knees gave way, hope overwhelming her composure as tears flowed freely. "Thank you," she whispered to the pavement.

He nodded, vanishing with a gust that scattered loose papers across the square. Asteria City's walls told silent stories. Missing person posters decorated every surface, their edges curled by weather and time, faces fading like the hope of finding them. The nearby officer logged the incident and dispersed the lingering crowd. Another successful save by the Saviors, even as deeper mysteries waited to be uncovered.

Rushing back to the Outpost he came from, the Savior logged the save at the entrance. Speaking his suspicions on the attack to be relay to the leader. After the information was properly accounted for, he took his leave, pulling out his phone.

"Yo. Mind doing me a favor?" He asked politely, following up on the ladies requests.

Days later, in a wilderness where winter ruled, pickaxes rang against frozen stone in a rhythm as old as human suffering. Snow fell relentlessly, transforming the landscape into an endless expanse of white. A wooden mineshaft entrance fought a losing battle against the accumulation, its timbers groaning under the weight of winter. Inside, bitter winds tormented the men who toiled in the darkness.

Miners formed a ragged line, their tools repeatedly striking frosty black stone. Each wore snowsuits that had long since surrendered to wear and tear, their leather bags and pickaxes showing similar signs of brutal use. Among them worked Skrap, a boy whose once-golden hair was now dulled by grime and sweat. Cold wind painted his nose crimson. His pickaxe struck something that responded with an unusual sound - a deep blue stone nestled in the frozen earth like a captured star. Permafrost.

Skrap's thoughts flickered with desperate hope: At this rate, we'll meet the quota and finally be set free!

The moment of warmth shattered under the overseer's voice, words as cold as ice.

"Quit standing around and get back to work! Sit still for too long, and you'll freeze to death."

Zealle, a man with no empathy. His buzz-cut framed a savage scar that carved a path along his cheekbone before disappearing into his hairline. His dark grey puffer cloak, pristine and whole, stood in stark contrast to the miners' tattered garments. Around his neck, a lengthy collar emitted a soft orange glow that heated him, a luxury denied to the men. His gaze was like a mid-winter's midnight, scanning the workers like inventory rather than humans.

Silence drew his attention. "Hey! Why are you just standing there!? Get back to digging!"

His hand hit the shoulder of an unmoving worker, and horror unfolded. The man's body, frozen to its core, toppled with the brittle sound of shattering ice. The impact scattered frozen fragments across the stone floor like macabre diamonds. Zealle's orders to clean up the remains carried no more emotion than if he were discussing sweeping dirt. The other miners watched in mute terror, their survival instincts warring with their humanity. Skrap, unable to resist the pull of tragedy, met the shattered man's eyes just as the last spark of life left them.

Night dragged on, its dark cloak coating the wilderness as the men emerged from the mine. Their bodies moved stiffly like machinery in need of oil, tools hanging from frostbiten fingers. Exhaustion had settled into their bones like lead, yet hope drove them forward.

Soft snow betrayed them without warning. Collapsing beneath Skrap's father like a trap door to oblivion, swallowing him whole. Skrap's desperate attempts at rescue left his fingertips burning cold, the snow stealing warmth faster than his body could generate it. An attempt at pulling his father free caused his palm to bust open, blood painting the pristine snow in abstract patterns. His father's erratic movements decreased as consciousness slipped away beneath the white shroud. The other men's voices carried to the overseer, their pleas mixing with the sound of his father's muffled screams.

Zealle turned to observe the scene with clinical detachment, his response cold and clear. "There's no saving him. Keep moving, or you'll join him."

"But-"

"Silence! There is a lesson to be learned here."

One guard, his empathy greater than his ruthlessness, stepped forward. Icy breath marked his words: "Isn't that a little harsh, sir? We still need them for mining permafrost."

The winter air crackled with the discharge of an energy weapon - a high-pitched staccato that echoed off falling snowflakes. The guard's body fell, a cauterized hole smoking in his chest marked his demise. Zealle's weapon hummed with residual charge, its white barrel glowing faintly under the twilight. The remaining miners stood motionless, their survival instincts freezing them more than any winter storm.

"It seems you all need a reality check!" Zealle yelled, visibly becoming more unhinged. "You are nothing. You are expendable. You are to obey my commands without a second thought, until you perish in the name of Sero!"

His declaration was met only by the whisper of wind. "Leave him and get back in line."

Skrap's injured hand remained locked with his father's, blood crystallizing into crimson ice along his arm. His face bore the expression of someone ready to die for a cause.

"Very well," Zealle said, raising his weapon. Energy hummed as it charged, but before he could fire, an unnatural wind swept across the snow-covered ground. The temperature, already well below freezing, seemed colder. Zealle turned to face something that defied natural law - a creature of pure darkness, its form unstable and ever-shifting.

Black wisps peeled away from its body like dripping slime, dissipating into the star-studded sky above. The creature's presence disrupted reality itself. Zealle's usual cold confidence turned to terror as the entity devoured him, leaving nothing behind but disturbed snow and echoing screams. Turning its attention to the gathered men, panic broke out. It pursued them like a predator, each pounce accompanied by the sound of tearing flesh. The creature's attention went to Skrap, identifying him as easy prey.

This is it. I'm gonna die. Someone! Anyone! Please, save us!

A bolt of lightning split the night, its brilliance connecting with the shadowy creature's back. A second strike followed to its head, the intensity forcing Skrap to shield his eyes from the light. When the afterimages faded, reality had shifted yet again - an older boy who could have been Skrap's mirror image had the creature pinned. His strange gear gleamed yellow with purpose, his clean golden hair catching the moonlight. Aiming a peculiar weapon at point-blank range, he fired, the blast atomizing the shadow creature's form into nothingness.

A second figure approached through the swirling snow, his wild maroon hair catching specs of white. Despite the brutal cold, he remained shirtless, equipped only with cargo pants and boots. Leaving distinctive impressions in the fresh powder, he knelt beside Skrap's trapped father. He pressed his palms into the snow, letting them disappear underneath.

"Looks like Tazuō was right! They're all here."

His hands began to glow red with controlled intensity, the snow beneath them transforming from solid to boiling vapor. Thermal patterns spread until Skrap's father was completely free. The Savior pulled him in, hugging him close to act as a biological heater. Color gradually returned to his paling skin, thermal equilibrium asserting itself under careful supervision.

The other Savior gathered the survivors, his voice carrying notes of regret. "We were still too late to save them all. Let's get back to base before we lose anyone else."

After a quick walk, the outpost came into view like a beacon of salvation. Its walls deflected the relentless wind and maintained a precise balance of warmth inside. The rescued men were huddled inside the first floor, given warm mugs of cocoa that heated their cold hands. Skrap appreciated the heat coming through the bandages on his injured palm, sensation gradually returning. Beside him, his father rested beneath a pile of thermal blankets, each breath now steady and unlabored.

Skrap studied the two men who had saved them, his voice barely above a whisper. "Who are you?"

The shirtless young man's smile carried genuine warmth, a stark contrast to his previous environment. "We're Saviors."

"Your Saviors," the other corrected with a grin.

Something in their presence, their assured competence, told Skrap everything he needed to know. Emotion overwhelmed his careful control as he raised the mug to his lips, tears mixing with his drink. His words of gratitude were clear through the barely contained sobs.

"Thank you... Thank you for saving me..."