Several robots were flung from the stall that bore a hand-scrawled sign reading: Don Pepe. Amid the chaos of twisted metal and acrid smoke, a boy emerged. His hair was unruly, golden with orange tips, as though he carried a fragment of the sunset with him. His cerulean eyes shimmered with electric fluctuations, tiny sparks that seemed to dance like contained energy, giving him an almost supernatural aura. Despite his youthful appearance, he couldn’t have been older than twelve. His outfit was unremarkable: a faded orange polo shirt, black shorts, and worn-out sneakers. Yet there was something about him that made him stand out. The sound of his footsteps on the pavement echoed calmly as he surveyed the battlefield.The people who had taken refuge inside the shop began to peek out timidly. Some whispered among themselves; others simply stared at the boy in awe. He had defeated the robots without breaking a sweat, without showing even a hint of fatigue. The silence was broken only by the

The three quickly disembarked from the vehicle, moving with urgency toward the battlefield where civilians were fighting against the relentless advancing machines. Marcus ordered the cadets to press forward and bring the injured to the point marked on the car’s radar, which continued its course automatically. "Well, I'll make another one later," Marcus said, adjusting his gloves with a metallic gleam.Meanwhile, Marin extended her hands forward, summoning torrents of water that crashed forcefully against the robotic motorcycles. Their circuits screeched and shut down instantly, leaving a momentary silence that was interrupted by the stammered thanks of the residents. One of them pointed toward an imposing building, a tower surrounded by smaller structures. "There are still more over there... and people who need help!" one of the survivors shouted.From atop the tower, strange figures descended: some resembled humanoid insects, grotesque and menacing, while others had the absurd shape

“No, guys, no!” Travis shouted as he witnessed the heart-wrenching scene. His fists clenched tightly as his voice trembled with anguish. “I’m going to lose more teammates again,” he murmured, lowering his head in despair. Beside him, Eliot pretended to focus on evacuating the civilians, but his eyes gleamed with a mix of coldness and cunning. It wasn’t Eliot thinking; it was Xen, the entity residing within him. This was my chance to take down Travis, Xen thought, savoring the moment. But something stopped him.The rest of the group also fell into a somber silence, believing their companions had been annihilated by the missile. The air was heavy with grief and mourning. However, just at that moment, Anais's voice began to echo across the battlefield with a shout.Travis, Eliot, Berta, and Patricia exchanged confused glances. Where were they? They could still hear their voices, but there was no trace of them. “Could they be voices from beyond?” Berta wondered aloud, placing a hand over

"Hello, sister!" The boy’s voice echoed from above, where he stood perched on the shoulder of a colossal creature with a lion's head and twisted horns that seemed forged from obsidian. The young man was identical to her, except for his jet-black hair braided with a golden strand that gleamed like a trapped sunbeam. His eyes were two crimson pools, deep and dark as puddles of fresh blood. He wore an impeccably black suit, with a long coat reaching down to his knees, adorned by a white line that ran along the collar and descended to the row of buttons. A red handkerchief peeked out of the right pocket of his chest, adding a touch of color to his somber attire. Folded dark wings rested on his back, ready to unfurl at a moment’s notice."What kind of 'hello' is that?" she retorted from below, crossing her arms as her gaze reflected a mix of relief and reproach. "Where have you been? You left me alone here in this disgusting gloom, worried that you’d lost control of your powers again. In f

In what remained of the building, fear hung like a dense mist, enveloping everyone who still lingered there. Their ragged breaths mingled with the crunch of debris beneath their feet. Before them, a dark figure emerged from the shadows. Cloaked entirely in black, with a hood obscuring their face and a long, sharp object in hand, they seemed plucked straight from the oldest tales of death itself.The air vibrated with the echo of frightened whispers. Some closed their eyes, convinced that the grim reaper had come personally for them. But then, a voice broke the silence.“What’s wrong with you all? I’m not who you think I am,” said the hooded figure as she stepped cautiously toward them.When she crossed into a beam of light filtering through the remnants of the ceiling, everyone got a better look at her. What they had mistaken for a scythe was nothing more than a staff adorned with long, dark ribbons, their edges subtly glowing as they moved. The metallic shimmer danced in the shadows,