"We have made more friends- than enemy"
"..And now the mistakes of our past seems to be haunting us"
"We-are - so- badly- fucked"
The weather was optimistic and the day bright. Birds moved in silhouette across the sky — until suddenly, everything changed.
Right at the rooftop of the Shanghai Tower, the atmosphere plunged into chaos. What looked like a storm began to build in the sky.
The air ruptured. It swirled violently as deep crimson lightning sparked within a gaping hole in the clouds. The winds that burst from it made it feel like a black hole had opened above.
The portal took the shape of a hexagon with six sharp edges. It appeared rusted and etched purple lines across the atmosphere as it pulsed in the air.
Then — he emerged.
He shot out of the portal just as it snapped shut with a turbulent whipping sound. A head dropped from the portal before it sealed.
He landed hard on the rooftop, skidding to one knee, one hand on the ground, head bowed. In his other hand, he clenched a head by the hair.
Slowly, he raised his face. His expression was ice cold. Steam rose from his hair, and the rooftop where he skidded was now glazed with frost.
He rose to his feet. Green liquid soaked his body, as if he had bathed in it. Yet there were still traces of blood — some dried, others disturbingly fresh.
He was badly scarred. From a single glance, anyone could tell: he had survived a battle — not just any battle, but one so brutal that no ordinary person could have endured it.
Why?
Because in his hand was a severed head, clutched by its hair. And it was no ordinary head.
It was bald, save for a single plaited section left at the temple. Its skin was green, with an extra pair of eyes above the normal ones. It had no nose, just two long slits where one should have been. Its mouth stretched unnaturally wide, almost to the chin, filled with scattered, broken teeth — a result of the brutal blows it had taken.
The head was identical to the one that had fallen out of the portal earlier.
That left only one conclusion: whatever beast he had faced — it had two heads.
He dropped the head.
Then, without a word, he turned and moved toward the edge of the tower.
The tower's rooftop was empty, apart from a small booth — the elevator's door — standing at the very center.
When he reached the raised edge of the tower, he looked down. Cars streamed past far below, and the lights from countless buildings illuminated the city. Houses — both towering skyscrapers and smaller structures — were arranged in patterns that lit up the night like a woven constellation.
Billboards flashed news headlines, advertisements blared in digital colour, and the soft murmur of the metropolis rose faintly to the heavens.
The billboards, the news tickers, the glow — it was all what made this place feel like home.
But just then, his face began to shift. It stretched, twisted — as if his very thoughts were unraveling and intermingling. His expression wobbled briefly, and then one of his glowing blue, ice-cold eyes turned red.
The left side of his face became rough and rocky, crimson in color, with what looked like an oversized tooth jutting out.
His face split in two.
One side: icy, smooth, handsome — cold as the void.The other: burning red, thick-eyed, jagged and raw, like volcanic stone — fierce and untamed.
The transformation felt ancient. The sight was powerful — as if centuries had passed since he last set foot here… or since they did.
He stood now as something more — or less — than human.
It wasn't just him who had come back.
It was them.
Two souls housed in one broken vessel. Two wills coiled together through eternity.They were the twin demons —
Of Ice and Fire.
Balance and chaos. Stillness and storm.
They were not just brothers.
They were not just legends.
They were the keepers of the ancient law — the protectors of the natural order.
They were Yin and Yang —
... And they had returned.