When the city's worst decide to play heroes, the streets don't get cleaner — they catch fire.
Location: Nocturne City, South District — Night
The streets of Nocturne were no stranger to chaos, but tonight felt different. The air buzzed with tension — not the usual simmer of crime or whispered curses of hungry ghosts, but something louder, rawer, like the city itself knew something unnatural was about to break.
The neon-drenched alleys and flickering billboards seemed to hold their breath as Asher's alliance of freaks, criminals, and misfits thundered through.
At the front of the ragtag parade, Asher marched with brutal determination. His long coat billowed behind him, stained with old blood and new sins. His golden eye blazed like a cursed lighthouse, a beacon and a warning.
Behind him? Absolute chaos made flesh:
Succubi gangs rode hoverbikes that shrieked like banshees, wheels dragging twin rivers of blue flame across cracked asphalt.
Noir's hacked police drones roared above, speakers blasting glitch-heavy remixes of the Nocturne anthem — so distorted it sounded like a city breaking apart in song.
Rosa's witches, clad in leather and shadow, galloped on spectral beasts: some resembling serpents with wings, others snarling half-formed nightmares conjured on the fly.
And then there were the Exorcist Twins. Calm, collected, stepping lightly through the madness with their masked faces and gleaming holy blades — slicing apart barriers like they were made of paper and regret.
Slice of Life Goofy Cut — "Citizens React Again"
Somewhere along the route, a food stall owner peeked out from behind his battered cart, eyes wide with horror.
"WHY IS THERE A DEMON PARADE OUTSIDE?!"
A grandma, unfazed and prepared, hurled handfuls of salt from her balcony as the procession stormed past.
Above, an AI billboard stuttered, its smooth voice glitching into panic:
"Breaking News: Nocturne declares casual apocalypse. Weather tomorrow: fire with a chance of betrayal."
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Scene: First Roadblock — The Rupture Cultists Appear
It didn't take long for the resistance to surface.
From the shadowy alleyways and cracked rooftops, the Rupture King's cultists emerged like mold—spreading fast, grotesque in their devotion. Their golden-cracked masks shimmered with sinister energy, and their bodies twitched with unnatural spasms, leaking rupture energy that made the air hum with sickening power.
A sea of them blocked the main road, standing shoulder to shoulder, chanting in static-filled voices that grated on the nerves.
Their leader, tall and skeletal with a mask that pulsed as if alive, grinned beneath the flickering streetlights.
Cult Leader (grinning):"Nocturne belongs to the King. Turn back, freaks."
Asher stepped forward, unflinching, the glow of his cursed eye casting jagged shadows across his face.
Asher (spitting):"Funny. I thought it belonged to rats like me."
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Battle Erupts — Pure Chaos
The response came not in words but in blood and fire.
Succubi bikers screamed forward, their hoverbikes shifting mid-ride into serpents of pure flame, coiling and striking with fanged wheels.
Noir's drones zipped in low and dirty, hacking into cultist implants mid-fight — twisting their nerves into puppeteer strings. Several cultists froze, then, humiliatingly, started dancing awkwardly before exploding in showers of sparks and gore.
Rosa, cackling with feral joy, flung open her arms — her witches summoning a monstrous, ghostly hand from the ether. It crashed down like a divine slap, sending an entire cultist squad flailing into the polluted river.
The Exorcist Twins? They sang. Just a simple, ancient hymn that turned every cultist weapon within earshot to delicate ash.
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Asher's Duel — "Golden Mask vs. Golden Eye"
Through the storm stepped a brute — eight feet tall, half his body already ruptured beyond human, muscle and molten gold seeping through cracks in his skin. His mask split with each ragged breath, eyes blazing with cultish fervor.
Cultist Brute:"The King's will… is LAW!"
Asher rolled his neck with a grimace, loading a fresh shell into his shotgun.
Asher (deadpan):"Law's been dead here for years, buddy."
Then it began — a brutal, close-quarters dance of death. Shotgun blasts lit the air in bursts, dodges came razor-close, fists clashed against golden flames. The brute hit like a falling building; Asher took every punch with grit, his cursed eye flaring brighter each time he hit back.
Finally, breathing hard and bleeding from his mouth, Asher found his opening. His blade shot forward, striking true — cracking that golden mask wide open, splitting it like cheap ceramic.
In the background, absurdity thrived:
A succubus and a witch screamed at each other over turf claims while casually tag-teaming a squad of cultists.
Noir, wild-eyed and laughing, hacked a cultist's cybernetics mid-strike and rode him like a surfboard through the thick of the fight.
One of the Exorcist Twins got stopped by a drunk civilian who slurred, "Nice cosplay!" before promptly passing out.
An hour later, the road was littered with broken bodies and shattered golden masks. Glowing cracks spider-webbed the concrete, rupture energy slowly bleeding into the ground.
Breathing hard, Asher wiped the blood from his lip and spat to the side.
"That was just the appetizer."
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Quiet Moment — "Monsters Catch Their Breath"
The misfit army regrouped under the fractured glow of a busted neon sign. Their laughter was ragged, but it was real.
Rosa, grinning and still high on adrenaline, offered Asher a cursed cigarette.
Noir muttered curses about weak Wi-Fi while patching up her smoking drones.
Lady Mirth sidled up to Rosa with a wink, just to cause drama.
The Exorcist Twins? Who knew what they were doing — possibly praying, possibly cursing the city again. No one dared to ask.
Asher stared at them all, chest heaving. Monsters, every last one of them. Broken, dangerous, chaotic.
But tonight? They were his army.
And Nocturne's last damn hope.
Far ahead, beyond the burning streets and fractured skyline, the city center pulsed like a heartbeat — golden rupture light tearing apart the sky as the King's final ritual neared completion.
Atop the cathedral's jagged spires, the Rupture King waited, his figure a smear of divine rot against the stars.
Asher's voice, low but sharp, cut through the heavy air:
"Next stop — King's crown."
The misfits roared, shaking the ruins around them.
[End Of Chapter 67]
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Preview of Next Chapter (68) — "Crownbreaker"Asher and his army reach the cathedral — where the Rupture King awaits with his elite generals and the final stage of his twisted plan. It's time for Nocturne's worst to face Nocturne's worst nightmare.