Summoned as an SSS-Rank Hero… with My Stepmom and Stepsisters?!

Somewhere on the examination field where the five great clubs clashed, the air folded, and a portal opened with a metallic whisper. A cold light poured out, tinged a livid blue, before freezing into a stable rift. From that tear in the world, Oratius emerged slowly — a straight silhouette, black coat whipped by the wind, eyes of steel beneath the tremulous glow of mana.

Behind him, five shadows advanced. Not a word. Not a breath. Their outlines shivered as if the light refused to acknowledge them. They stood motionless, ready, their eyes empty, a presence carved for killing.

Oratius watched them for a moment, then spoke in a calm, precise tone — that of a man who had already weighed the value of every life on this ground.

— "Kill everything you meet. No matter the camp, the crest, the face. If it moves, if it breathes, it dies. No distinction, no mercy."

He then took a small folded portrait from his jacket. The paper trembled in the portal light, revealing a calm face.

— "One exception," he added.

His voice had grown deeper, slower.

— "This one… do not touch him. If you encounter him, just flee."

The five shadows inclined their heads in silence.

— "At your command."

Oratius put the portrait away, and with a gesture of his hand, he pulsed the rift. A sharp sound — like an inverted heartbeat — resonated through the air.

The shadows evaporated at once, each in a different direction: north, south, east, west, and one toward the center, slipping like specters across the mountain. Their silhouettes dissolved between the trees, swallowed by the wind, by dust, by the mana itself.

When the last had disappeared, Oratius remained alone in front of the portal.

The wind blew, carrying the smell of stone and iron.

Oratius lifted his eyes to the horizon — a long, impassive look, without a word. With a measured step he retreated and vanished into the portal's light. The rift closed on a short breath, sucking the air like a wound sealing shut.

Only silence remained.

A heavy, motionless silence — the one that precedes massacres.

~~

— Genesis

The ground had split with a dull shudder, as if the mountain were holding its breath. I felt the golden threads run beneath my skin — exactly as usual: precise, cold, mechanical. Genesis answered without protest.

Two streaks of light shot from the earth, as thin as needles, and rose toward Shaliel's throat. They flew straight, perfect, without sound, only the air tensing around them.

She did not grant me the pleasure of the sight. Her two swords sang, silver silhouettes, and met the lances with a sharp clap. The tips shattered like broken glass and fell back onto the stone. I had time to tell myself, coolly: as expected.

— "Pathetic," she snapped, her voice smooth and cutting. "You hold the status of an SSS hero and you come to this? Ridiculous."

I made a dismissive gesture, because it was the best parry against arrogance.

— "Yes, yes, if you like. Now, look behind you, will you?" I said, indicating calmly behind her.

She turned, slow, cultivating an offended expression. I kept my muscles ready. It wasn't a real surprise — just the staging of a woman who knew how to play insolence.

When her gaze swept the line of elves accompanying her, I saw her mask crack in a micro-movement. She had been caught at an angle she hadn't planned for.

Around her, they stood. About thirty elves, arrayed as though for inspection. Except each spear was not pointed at the enemy: it touched the skin at the base of the neck, placed like a silent threat. A few drops sometimes ran along the tip and fell on the stone — not enough for a macabre tableau, just enough for the threat to carry weight.

My voice remained flat, unshaken.

— "Throw down your weapons. And be quiet. One wrong word and I kill them."

There was a beat. A tiny, human beat. Shaliel felt the constraint. Her fingers tightened on the hilts for a moment. Then, with a sharp motion, she tossed her swords. They rolled on the rock and came to rest, far away, useless.

Her face closed. The contempt was replaced by a hard coldness, the one you wear when you realize you're no longer in control.

I stepped forward without haste, measured, the weight of each footfall set like a metronome. Around us the air was charged, but not only with mana — with a fine expectation ready to snap. I saw their faces, the folds of cloaks, the reflection of blades thrown back by the stone; I also felt the small internal rhythm that guided me: breathe, advance, do not rush. The threat did not need shouting; it lived in the air between us, compact and cutting.

— "Your Cathedral of Mirrors is one of the most powerful blessings I've been told about," I said, tilting my head slightly. "If only you could use it — that's what you must be thinking right now."

She looked at me like one inspects an insect surprised to sting: haughty, sure of herself.

— "But you will speak when I tell you," I added, placing each word like a stone. "You say only the word 'cathedral' and I kill everyone."

It was dry, mechanical. No fury in it, only the efficiency of a man who knew the worth of silence. Of course, if she decided to speak anyway I wouldn't kill anyone, but I hoped she would not make that choice and would stay quiet — it would make everything much easier.

I took another step. The golden threads under my skin vibrated; it was not the usual frequency. Something in the shadow had begun to tremble differently, like an animal changing gait. I stopped my advance, surprised despite myself. The lights around the trees had shifted; a current of mana thickened, coming from the right. It was unnatural.

Before I could analyze it, a shape burst from the shadow beside Shaliel — a compact, wiry, redheaded silhouette. She sprang like a thrown stone. The dagger she held flew straight for the elf's throat.

Shaliel staggered for a heartbeat, taken aback. Her hand moved to her guard, but I did not hesitate. I had learned to act in the instant when a decision must be made, without waiting for consequences to be dictated.

I plunged.

The world shrank to that arc: my body launching, the arm I threw out to intercept, the cold tip of steel seeking flesh. I came too close, too fast. The dagger struck my left shoulder with a snap that shouldn't have happened. The pain exploded, bright and white, a burn like a blow of iron. I heard the scrape, the brief seep — nothing more than red on my fingers when I grabbed my arm. I pressed my sleeve against the wound to try to staunch the heat spreading under my skin.

There was no time for despair. The pain was there, sharp and present, but adrenaline made it secondary; it became one detail among others. I saw the redhead step back a pace, eyes cold, expressionless.

— "Fuck — what the hell was your problem?!" I yelled, feeling bile rise. "It's just an exam! Why are you doing this?!"

She answered as if reciting her order, without tremor, without hatred:

— "My mission is to eliminate you."

The emptiness in her voice made me nauseous. No explanation, no remorse, only an instruction carved into a mind too clean to be human.

— "Huh?!" I stammered, stunned at first, then furious.

I slowly brought my hands to my chest and murmured to myself:

— "Lyseria…"

A pale glow sprang between my fingers, soft and vibrant, before condensing into a staff that appeared from nowhere. The wood gleamed with a cold, almost living light. It was her last gift — the final bond she had left me.

My new weapon, born from the void after her "child" had destroyed the old one.

The redhead lunged again, faster, fiercer; she vanished and reappeared in the shadows, a whirlwind of red and steel. We danced for a few seconds, she and I, an exchange of breath and metal where every strike had to be precise. The staff beat the air, returned blows, sought to create openings; she returned strike for strike, as if obeying a rhythm written into her flesh.

Then her voice changed, a rasp that was no longer merely professional but almost mad:

— "I must do more. I must kill more… for Oratius."

The simple pronouncement of the name fell like a stone in my chest — and the stone made everything explode.

I felt no compassion for that programmed madness, only the cold necessity to act; I was about to answer, to prepare my next parry, when anger rose in me — quick, pure, inevitable. A fed-upness at being pushed and manipulated by invisible puppeteers overwhelmed me. The air around me seemed to contract; my fists clenched, my jaw rang. I felt the same familiar darkness crawling under my skin: ready to bite.

— "Oblivion," I whispered.

It was not a shout, not even a threat. Just a word. A key. The world contracted around me. The light went out in an instant, as if swallowed by a pocket of shadow — then the sound dropped.

The redhead collapsed, headless. Her neck burst in several scarlet jets, painting warm arcs of blood on the ground. The silence that followed had something obscene about it.

I did not look at the fall. I had already seen enough. When I turned, thirty faces watched me — Shaliel at their head, frozen, eyes wide open. No triumph. No relief. Only that mute fear reserved for monsters.

I felt warm blood run across my hand, the pain still bright in my shoulder. Short breath. But I had no luxury to stop.

I lingered one second too long, feeling the balance I had sought for so long wobble. Then I launched after them, shoulder aching but straight: we had to run before the shadow that had just hatched devoured everything.

I grabbed her shoulders without gentleness. Her eyes were wide open, lost in the void, fixed on the assassin's body.

— "Shaliel!"

She did not react. I shook her head with a sharp movement, my tone harsher than I intended.

— "Hurry up, damn it! Pull yourself together, we have to move."

She finally blinked, as if the world slowly returned to her.

Around us, the forest seemed to hold its breath. Far off, above the ridges, bluish fissures tore the sky. One, two… then a dozen. Portals.

Massive silhouettes poured out — dragons, their wings slicing the air in waves of burning wind, their cries drowning the valley's silence.

— "Look," I said, pointing.

Shaliel followed my gaze, her face pale.

— "There is no longer a Clubs' war," I added in a hard voice. "Only survival. We must reach the others, at all costs."

Shaliel faltered, lips parted.

— "This can't be…," she murmured. "It was only an exam…"

I shook her again, harder this time.

— "Forget the exam! Move! Get off the mountain! Now!"

She blinked, like the world was finally coming back. Then, with a brusque motion, she swept the sweat-damp strands from her face and straightened.

— "From now on, we fall under Kaito's command," she declared in a loud voice.

The thirty elves, frozen, exchanged uncertain looks. The order had snapped through the air like a slap.

I raised an eyebrow, momentarily surprised.

Not completely stupid, after all.

I stepped forward, taking the lead back.

— "Good. In that case, we move. I've arranged a meeting point with the others. If Reina and my people have any sense left, they'll try to gather the clubs still standing there. It's our best chance of survival for now."

She simply nodded, without protest. Orders passed in silence.

The elves moved, their quick steps on the scree making a metallic rustle, regular, almost disciplined. The wind slipped between dead branches, carrying with it the smell of dried blood and the acrid tang of burned mana.

I closed the column, Shaliel at my side. Below, the valley opened like a gulf of shadow and bluish light. The portals hung visible, suspended in the sky like gaping wounds. From their torn edges streamed titanic shapes — dragons.

Their roar rolled over the heights, drowning the last echoes of battle.

Shaliel glanced back, her throat tightening.

— "How many… how many of them will come out?"

I did not answer. It was pointless. Numbers no longer mattered.

We descended the slope in silence, between blackened trunks and still-hot ashes. The air thrummed with mana, so dense it made the leaves tremble. Each step brought us closer to the rally point — and, somewhere above, to hell.

As we reached the last ridge, a shadow passed over the ground.

I lifted my eyes.

A portal, larger than any other, had just dilated above the mountain. The winds twisted under the magical pressure, and a scaly mass, red and gold, emerged slowly. an Ancient Dragon. Its wings unfurled with a thunderous roar, throwing down a burning light upon us like a thousand suns.

I stood frozen for a second, unable to look away.

The whole world seemed to fall silent beneath its presence.