Chapter 91: The Origin Gears Up

Chapter 91: The Origin Gears UpThe sky was split like a wound—dark, pulsing, bleeding light. The tear stretched wider now, groaning as if the heavens themselves were being pried open.

Below it, chaos bloomed.

People screamed. Cars crashed into each other. Sirens wailed like they were crying out for mercy. But none came.

Vina darted across rooftops in her partial transformation—golden eyes glowing, claws out, ears twitching at every sound. Her boots scraped across shingles, her tail flicking with tension.

No one noticed her.

They were too busy running for their lives.

And for good reason.

Because the monsters had come.

From every alley. Every crack. Every shadow.

They poured into the streets like a flood of nightmares.

The first was a Fleshling.



A low-class monstrosity. Humanoid, but only just—its body hunched and twitching, skin flayed open like ribbons. Its jaws were vertical, splitting its face in half, and as it caught a man trying to crawl away, it clamped down over his entire head and crunched.

Blood sprayed against the cracked glass of a storefront.

The second was a Hollow Grin—a puppet-like monster made of pale limbs and stretched skin. It laughed as it moved, skipping on all fours like a spider. A woman ran for her child—only to be yanked back by invisible threads. The Hollow Grin’s mouth opened impossibly wide, and with a jerk, it sucked the soul straight out of her.

She dropped like a doll with her strings cut. Her body twitched once... then stilled.

The Grin giggled and danced away.

Then came the Carrion Prowler. It slithered like a serpent with dozens of tiny legs, its back covered in eyes. It hissed steam and pounced onto a truck, melting the hood with its spit before dragging the driver out through the windshield.

Others followed.

A Boneclad Beast—a class C brute with a skull helmet and armored hide, stomping through the street, ripping fire hydrants like they were weeds.

A Skulkshade—nearly invisible, cloaking itself in shadows as it stabbed people with spiked fingers, laughing in whispers.

A Glutton Fiend—rolling through a crowd, mouth like a gaping pit with arms reaching from inside to drag people in.

It was a massacre.

Blood painted the sidewalks. Souls were snatched mid-scream. Parents died shielding their children. The world had turned into a feeding ground.

Vina stopped on a rooftop, watching.

She growled low in her throat. Her muscles tensed like she was about to leap in.

But she didn’t.

She stayed still.

Below her, a teenage boy tried dragging his little sister away from a burning car. The girl was crying, her leg bent wrong. They wouldn’t make it. Not with the Carrion Prowler closing in.

Vina’s claws curled.

She could save them.

She could stop that one.

But—

She looked at the tear again.

Lucifer. Her target. Her key.

To her mission. And her brother.

Helping now wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring her closer to what mattered.

She shut her eyes.

"I’m sorry," she muttered.

Then—

Her body flickered.

And with a silent hiss of shadow—



She dissolved into the darkness and vanished.

Leaving the city behind.

And the screaming continued.

Elsewhere

The Origin Clan stood in formation, assembling like a force born for war. The sky was blood-red above them, and the tear in the sky pulsed ominously at the horizon like an open wound in the heavens.

They were ready.

Vans lined the street, each one reinforced with spellcraft and armored plating. The air hummed with quiet power, a silence just before the storm.

Lucifer stood at the center, his arms crossed as he watched his people climb into their transports. Their uniforms moved with unity and pride, each tailored to their role, and stitched with the newly-forged mark of Origin — a circular emblem etched with a central flame coiling into three crescents, representing unity, rebirth, and destruction.

The crests on their chests glowed faintly in the light.

The vampires wore sleek, high-collared combat coats with obsidian plating across the shoulders and ribs — lightweight, flexible, resistant to both magic and steel. Each of the 12 bore a personal crest — ancient, stylized emblems denoting their bloodline within the clan, embroidered in deep crimson thread over the heart. The coats split at the back, allowing them movement in the air.

The witches wore rune-threaded robes, cut into modern tactical patterns — dark with shifting sigils glowing faintly across the sleeves. Each witch bore the crest of the crescent moon flanked by a quill and flame — the symbol of spell and will. Their gloves were fingerless, allowing better flow of arcane energy.

The werewolves had custom-fitted gear, laced with transformation runes provided by the witches. Their suits were close to bodysuits but reinforced with silver-threaded armor that would stretch and retract depending on their form. The runes ensured their clothes didn’t shred during transformation, sparing them the post-battle awkwardness.

The humans bore the crest of the eye and blade — tacticians, fighters, snipers, engineers. Their uniforms were lighter, more mobile, designed for utility and movement. Each human soldier had small enchantments hidden under their armor: protective glyphs, luck charms, adrenaline spikes.

And among them...

Zane stood out.

His uniform was entirely black, marked not with a crest of a race — but a single large insignia of the Origin flame. The cuffs of his sleeves were etched with gold. His shoulders bore blackened dragonhide plating, and a crimson cape lined the inside of his coat, flaring slightly in the wind. The back of his jacket bore the number "IV" in deep red — signifying his seat among the Fifteen. A vampire, yes — but one that held authority over all races beneath the Origin banner.

Lucifer nodded to himself.

This was unity. This was strength.

But just as he turned to move — he felt it.

A shift in the air.

Subtle. Cold.

A flicker of shadow about twenty meters behind the last van.

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed.

Rey.

He had dissolved into shadow — heading for someone approaching from the opposite direction.

Lucifer didn’t need to guess who.

Vina.

He could feel her presence now too — steady, cold, angry.

Lucifer’s lips curved into a grin.

About damn time.

He looked at Zane, who had just finished directing the loading of the last van.



"Handle things here," Lucifer said, cracking his neck. "Once you’re done, join the rest of the Seats. Don’t let them do anything stupid until I arrive."

Zane raised a brow. "Going somewhere?"

Lucifer’s eyes sparked with crimson as he started walking, coat swaying.

"I’ve got a vendetta to settle with someone."

Zane snorted, folding his arms with a lopsided grin. "Try not to burn down half the city before you come back."

"No promises."

Lucifer stepped off the paved road and into the shadows.

The hum of the tear echoed in the sky like a warning bell.

But Lucifer?

He was going toward the noise.

Toward the one who thought she could drag him back.

And this time — he wouldn’t be talking.