Chapter: 139
Title:A beautiful Tragedy
Theme:Soundscape to Ardor
Beneath the velvet skies of Washington D.C., the Gala Night shimmered like a diamond set in the chaos of the world. Limousines crawled across the boulevard. Flashbulbs lit the steps. The elite laughed and posed, unaware of the storm silently approaching.
Just beyond the red carpet down an alley veiled in moonlight a young lad, barefoot and ragged, sprinted toward the grand entrance. His clothes were torn, his eyes wide and sunken with desperation.
"Hey! Hey, kid!" barked one of the U.S. military officers posted near the entry gates. Five other guards stepped forward, blocking the boy's path.
"What are you doing kid?" One said
"Rats like you don't belong in places like this," one jeered, gripping the child's arm.
Another sneered. "Smells like he hasn't showered in weeks. Do kids like this even live around here?"
The boy didn't answer. He only looked up and whispered slowly , "I'm hungry Boss"
And then—he charged forward again, attempting to break through.
"Enough!" the officer snapped and grabbed him by the arm—
CRACK.
The arm snapped off like brittle plaster off his body,
"…What the hell?"
The officer stumbled back in horror, holding a piece of hollow clay hand. The boy's broken sleeve crumbled further, revealing the empty shell within t at entirely made of clay his body construct that is.
"What is this?" one guard whispered.
The boy tilted his head and looked forward starring at them and said "Explosion."
"Huh what do you mean explosion —?" But before he could finish asking that something rocked instantly,
BOOM!!!
Flames erupted like a miniature sun. The blast vaporized the five officers in an instant—flesh, blood, bone—gone but this explosion was different it didn't make a single sound but the explosion took its effect perhaps the properties of this was special . All that remained were charred skeletons, still standing for a second before they collapsed like ash statues.
High above the explosion, perched on the edge of a building, stood a figure—hair wild, grin wicked.
Jabo.
"Puppet Art: Clay Human Explosion," he murmured.
He dropped from the ledge, landing amidst the wreckage, eyes filled with something deeper than malice—disappointment.
"Why do we treat the others like they're nothing?" he whispered, walking through the blackened remains. "Climb high enough, and we forget the bottom even exists."
He formed a tiger seal with his fingers. "Puppet Art: Clays of Remake."
His Shen surged outward, and the ash from the skeletons twisted and reformed—five humanoid shapes rising again, this time composed of hardened clay, silent and deadly they where the US soldiers and now they where made of clay bombs and there was no difference between there previous form and this current form that Jabo constructed.
"Now that you exist… you'll be used to fix the world you once ruined with arrogance."
Inside the Gala
The chandeliers sparkled, laughter chimed like glass, and high society glided through the ballroom with confidence. Guests mingled near velvet couches, drink carts, and ambient fountains. The grand stage shimmered beneath violet lighting.
President Cecelia stepped up to the microphone.
"Welcome," she said warmly, voice echoing across the domed ceiling. "To the 52nd Annual Gala Night. I thank all of you who traveled across the world to be here."
She paused for applause, then smiled.
"Tonight, I'd like to present a special award to one of our guests—a symbol of unity between continents. Please join me in celebrating Luca Debrah."
Cheers rose from the audience.
A woman in a stunning black gown stood from her table and gracefully began walking toward the stage.
The SUHA team—Madagascar, Tito, Chiro, and Asger—watched from various corners of the room. The atmosphere was light, the mission smooth—until it wasn't.
Luca froze mid-step.
Her hands trembled. Her breathing quickened.
Beads of sweat formed on her forehead.
Asger's eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right.
At that moment, five military officers stepped into the hall—faces cold, movements robotic.
They whispered urgently to the team. "Sir. There's a situation outside."
Madagascar turned. "What happened?"
"One of our men is dead."
Madagascar nodded to Tito and Chiro. " let's Check it out. Now, Asger you stay still"
The three quickly moved toward the exit, leaving Asger alone inside the ballroom.
She turned her eyes back to Luca—still frozen, twitching slightly, eyes filled with horror.
"…Blood bending."
Asger's stomach dropped.
She turned toward the new "officers."
Too late, they already blend in to the crowd moving at different points inside the hall.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!!
Five synchronized explosions erupted inside the Gala simultaneously.
Fire devoured the guests.
Glass and screams shattered into chaos.
The elite—dressed in silk and diamonds—burned alive in seconds. Bodies flew through the air. Tables ignited. The chandeliers exploded into raining fire.
Onstage, Cecelia flinched—but before the flames could touch her, a wall of glitching blue static erupted around her and Marcus.
GLITCH SYSTEM: DEFENSIVE GRID.
FZZZRRMMM—!!
Marcus clenched his jaw, sweat on his brow, as he tanked the full force of the blast with a vibrating Shen barrier made of corrupted energy code.
Asger was flung across the hall—her gown torn, skin burning—but her regenerative Shen began healing her on impact.
The world screamed in fire.
Outside the Ruins
Madagascar, Tito, and Chiro rushed into the courtyard, only to find a young boy lying unconscious near the sidewalk.
Tito moved to check his pulse—but the moment his fingers brushed the body—
FWOOSH—!
A thunderous shockwave from the main building rocked the ground.
The Gala Hall was gone. A smoking crater remained.
They turned back to see the explosion and then turned back to check the child properly but the child's body was gone.
"Where the hell—?" Madagascar hissed.
Back in the Wreckage
As smoke and fire continued to spiral through the remains of Washington's most prestigious hall, a slow clap echoed.
CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.
From the shadows emerged a tall figure in dark blood-soaked robes. His red eyes gleamed with pleasure.
Silas Moraku.
"Wow," he said, voice thick with mockery. "Jabo's explosions… still the most beautiful art I've ever seen."
He stepped over charred limbs and flaming wood, laughing softly.
"Now that was perfection."
He turned—and there she was.
Cecelia. Alive.
Beside her stood Marcus, eyes ablaze, sword drawn, cloak torn.
Silas grinned.
"Oh… you survived? I hoped so"
He tilted his head.
"How… amazing."