Halochassis

“You want revenge against the Celestial Wardens?” Shin repeated, his voice low and uncertain, the words tasting bitter on his tongue as they left his mouth. The dim air around them felt heavy, almost suffocating, as if the very idea carried weight.

Adzeel let out a dry chuckle, the sound echoing faintly through the hollow space as he began circling Shin at an unhurried pace. His boots scraped softly against the cold concrete floor, each step deliberate. 

“I know it sounds like a fever dream,” he said, his tone almost amused, as if he relished the absurdity of it. “But that is the sole purpose of the Iron Bandits.” He gestured lazily with one hand, his shadow stretching and twisting under the flickering overhead lights. “Robberies, theft, arson, kidnapping—every crime you can think of. All of these are just stepping stones. Fuel to increase our power.” His grin widened, sharp and unsettling. “Our true goal… is to kill the unkillable heroes.”

Shin felt a chill crawl up his spine despite the stagnant warmth of the room. “Just how are you going to do that?” he asked, his brows knitting together, skepticism and unease mixing in his chest.

“We have no idea.” Adzeel smiled, almost boyishly, but there was something hollow behind it, something unhinged. “But we are closer than anyone else has ever been.” 

He turned slightly, raising his hand toward the towering figure behind them. 

“Using this armor—the frame forged from fallen angels’ remnants… their armors, their bones, their very bodies—we’ll make more than a dent.” His voice hardened, the air seeming to tighten around his words. “No… we will put those fuckers down.”

Shin’s gaze slowly shifted toward the power armor—the one they called Halochassis. It stood motionless in the shadows like a dormant giant, silent yet oppressive. Its black-and-gold surface gleamed faintly under the weak lights, reflecting dull, fractured glints like broken halos. The metal looked cold, almost wet, as if it still carried the memory of something alive. It towered at least three meters tall, its sheer size making Shin feel small, insignificant. Even inactive, it radiated a quiet menace, like a predator patiently waiting to awaken. The air around it seemed colder, tinged with a faint metallic scent that clung to the back of his throat.

Just what the hell is Empyrea thinking…? Shin thought, his stomach tightening. Trying to create a weapon out of fallen angels… The idea alone felt wrong—unnatural, like something that should never have been brought into existence.

He tore his gaze away and looked back at Adzeel, swallowing the dryness in his mouth. “What’s my role in this?” he asked, his voice steadier than he felt. “Why did you bring me here?”

“You have the activation code for the Halochassis,” Adzeel replied without hesitation. He stopped pacing, the sudden stillness making the room feel quieter, heavier. “Professor Gagarin entrusted it to you.” 

Slowly, Adzeel extended his hand toward Shin, palm open in invitation. The faint hum of distant machinery filled the silence between them.

“I am here to offer you a choice,” Adzeel continued, his voice lowering, almost persuasive. “Join us… and continue your friend’s legacy. Or walk away… and live the rest of your life knowing you did nothing. No justice. No answers.”

Shin let out a quiet breath, forcing a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The weight of the decision pressed heavily on his chest, making it hard to breathe. “So you need me to activate the armor,” he said, his tone edged with reluctant understanding.

“Precisely,” Adzeel answered, his smile returning—calm, confident, and just a little too certain.

Shin fell silent, the question lingering in his mind like a weight he couldn’t easily shake off. He thought about it carefully, his thoughts churning beneath the surface. I know the activation code… The memory surfaced clearly—the files Emmanuel had handed to him, the faint rustle of paper, the urgency in his voice. It wasn’t even complicated. Just a name. The name of the Halochassis.

His fingers twitched slightly at his side as he glanced again at the towering armor in the distance. If he used it… if he could somehow activate it… maybe he could turn the situation around. Maybe he could escape this place alive—unharmed, untouched. The thought flickered like a fragile flame, offering a sliver of hope in the suffocating tension.

But the bandit leader’s offer… it lingered longer.

It was dangerous. Insane, even. And yet, there was something about it that pulled at him—something personal, something that resonated with the anger buried deep in his chest.

Shin exhaled slowly, the air dry against his throat. “Before I help you, I want to ask something.” His eyes narrowed slightly at Adzeel. “Just what the hell did the Celestial Wardens do to you?” He paused, tilting his head just a little. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“As I said,” Adzeel replied calmly, his tone losing its earlier amusement, “we are just like you. We are seeking vengeance.”

The word hung heavy in the air.

Adzeel reached down and pulled open a drawer. The faint creak of old wood echoed in the room, followed by the soft shuffle of paper. He pulled out a thick, uneven stack of newspapers, their edges worn and slightly yellowed with age, and tossed them onto the desk with a dull thud. A faint smell of ink and dust rose from the pile.

“See for yourself.”

Shin stepped closer, hesitation slowing his movements. He reached out and picked up the top paper, the texture rough beneath his fingertips. His eyes scanned the bold, dark headlines—and then froze.

Silent Warlock of the Celestial Wardens Party Accused of Kidnapping Children Aged 14 and Below, Imprisoned in Magic Academy Basement.

Shin’s grip tightened slightly, the paper crinkling in his hand.

He grabbed another.

Queen of Shadows Reportedly Hunts Dukes and Duchesses in Luminous City.

A faint chill crept up his spine.

Another.

Saint of Life of the Heroes Party Allegedly Summons Demons That Ransack the Empire.

The words felt unreal. Twisted.

He flipped to the next, faster now, his breathing growing shallow.

Garruk Stonehill, Accused of Sexually Assaulting a Priestess in the Adventurer’s Guild.

Shin’s jaw tightened, a flicker of anger crossing his face.

Another page.

Qinglong Reportedly Slaughters Five Men in a Bar.

The stack felt heavier with every page he turned, as if each headline added weight not just to the papers—but to his chest. The faint rustle of newsprint filled the silence, sharp and restless against the otherwise still room.

Shin kept digging through the pile, his fingers moving faster, more agitated. Page after page, article after article—different incidents, different victims, different horrors.

But the same perpetrators. The Celestial Wardens.

They weren’t heroes in these stories. They were monsters—unchecked, untouchable, and drunk on their own power. The ink on the pages seemed darker somehow, the words more suffocating the longer he stared at them.

For some reason, his search slowed.

Then stopped.

His eyes flicked across the remaining headlines, scanning, searching for a specific name.

But it never appeared.

Not once.

No accusations. No crimes. No whispers of corruption.

Nothing about Lireina.

A quiet breath escaped Shin’s lips before he even realized it. The tension in his chest eased—just slightly, but enough to notice. A small, fragile sense of relief settled within him, like finding a single clean drop of water in a sea of filth.

At least… not all of them.

But the question remained, heavier now than before.

If even half of this was true… then what did that make the heroes of their world?

And what did that make him, standing here with a choice?

“All of these headlines never made it to the surface,” Adzeel said, his voice lowering into something heavier, more bitter. The faint hum of the room seemed to dim beneath his words. “The Emperor of Empyrea buries them before they can even breathe. All to keep morale high. To keep the masses obedient… supportive. And besides… the Celestial Wardens has their hands wrapped tightly around the throats of the royals. There’s nothing this empire can do against these so-called saviors.”

The word saviors lingered in the air, laced with venom.

Adzeel suddenly pushed himself off the desk, his boots landing with a dull thud against the floor. The sound echoed faintly in the enclosed wooden room, its walls creaking softly as if reacting to the shift in tension. He gestured toward one of the bandits standing in the shadows.

“Gerald,” Adzeel called.

The man stepped forward hesitantly, the dim light catching the side of his face. One of his eye sockets was hollow, the skin around it rough and uneven, like poorly healed damage. The faint smell of sweat and iron lingered as he moved closer.

“Gerald here lost an eye,” Adzeel continued, his tone almost casual, “when Lireina put a bullet through it.” He tilted his head slightly. “All because he peeked into a women’s bath.”

A few of the bandits let out low, awkward chuckles, though the sound quickly died.

“And Virgo…” Adzeel motioned to another man, who shifted uncomfortably where he stood, his posture stiff. “…lost his left nut after getting kicked when he tried to sexually assault his ex-girlfriend. The Untouchable Windwalker- Lireina also did that.”

The room fell into a strange silence.

That guy probably deserves it, Shin thought, his expression barely changing. The faint scent of old wood and damp air pressed against his senses as he folded his arms slightly, unimpressed.

Adzeel moved again, this time toward another figure leaning against the wall. The man’s sleeve hung empty, the fabric pinned where his arm should have been. His face was pale, his eyes tired, as if the memory itself still lingered like a wound that never fully closed.

“Dennis,” Adzeel said, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “Lost his arm while stealing bread… trying to feed his little sister.” He paused, letting the words settle. “Qinglong did that.”

The faint creak of the wooden floor seemed louder in the silence that followed.

That guy also got this coming, Shin thought, though this time the thought didn’t sit as comfortably in his mind. Something about it lingered—uneasy, unresolved.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Adzeel said suddenly, turning back to Shin. His gaze was sharp, almost piercing. “You think they deserved it.” He took a slow step forward, the air between them tightening. “And maybe they did. But the punishment? It goes far beyond justice.”

The room felt smaller now, more suffocating.

“These so-called heroes…” Adzeel continued, his tone rising slightly, anger threading through each word, “…they act as judge, jury, and executioner. No trials. No laws. No accountability. Just their own twisted sense of justice.”

Shin held his gaze for a moment, the weight of those words pressing down on him. Then he spoke, his tone measured but probing.

“How about you?” he asked. “What’s your angle in all this?”

The moment the question left his mouth, the atmosphere shifted.

Adzeel stopped.

The faint ambient noise—the creaking wood, the distant hum—seemed to fade into nothing. Even the other bandits subtly turned away, their movements quiet, almost deliberate, as if avoiding something unseen.

Shin felt it immediately.

He had crossed a line.

Adzeel’s expression didn’t change at first. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t friendly. It was controlled.

“Let’s just say…” he began, his voice calm—too calm—“…I have a personal grudge. With the Chosen One—Alexander Goldheart.”

The name seemed to carry weight of its own, settling into the room like a quiet storm.

Shin resisted the urge to ask more. Something in Adzeel’s tone, in the way the others avoided eye contact, made it clear enough—this wasn’t something to dig into lightly.

And honestly… he didn’t care. Not really.

What mattered was the present.

What mattered was opportunity.

Shin exhaled quietly, his thoughts shifting. Working with the bandits… it wasn’t ideal. It was reckless. Dangerous. But they shared a common goal, whether he liked it or not. And more importantly—

The Halochassis is here.

Emmanuel’s legacy.

That alone made this place impossible to walk away from.

He was about to speak, to give some kind of answer—

When suddenly—

BANG!

The wooden door burst open with a loud crack, slamming against the wall hard enough to rattle the entire room. Dust shook loose from the hinges, and the sharp sound echoed in the confined space.

A skinny bandit stumbled in, nearly tripping over his own feet. He wore a crooked bonnet, sweat soaking through the fabric, his chest heaving violently as if he had sprinted without stopping. His breaths came in ragged gasps, loud and desperate, cutting through the tense silence.

“Bandit Leader!” he shouted, his voice strained and panicked. “Bad news—!”

He bent forward slightly, clutching his side as he tried to catch his breath, his entire body trembling from exhaustion.

“The Adventurer’s Guild is after us!” he blurted out, eyes wide with fear. “Our base… it’s under attack!”