Chapter Title: The Oath of the Shaman Hunters
"Yes, he's dead," Varion said, his voice heavy with the weight of loss. "Killed by Arcade Comrades. And more will fall if you don't lend us your support, Volcanus."
The words hung in the air like smoke, curling around the crackling fire at the heart of the Shaman Hunter tribe's encampment. Volcanus stood motionless, her amber eyes distant, as if tethered to another time. Memories flooded her mind, vivid as the flames before her.
Once, as a young woman, Volcanus had crossed the perilous Forest of Death, a shadowed passage to the Anumari family settlement. It was there, in the human world, that she met Fendero. She could still see him—a lanky, nonchalant boy, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he pulled her from the jaws of a snarling tiger. "Be careful in this forest," he'd said, his voice gruff but kind. "Go home." Then he'd turned, bow slung over his shoulder, and walked away. But Volcanus, stubborn and curious, followed him. For weeks, they hunted rabbits together, shared stories under starlit canopies, and forged a bond that felt like destiny. Fendero's quiet strength, his effortless skill, and the sharp angles of his handsome face had drawn her in, until love bloomed like wildflowers in her heart.
"Hey, Volcanus, what are you doing?" Cain's voice snapped her back to the present.
She blinked, the forest fading, replaced by the rugged faces of Varion and Sakamoto. Her heart steadied. "We will lend all the help we can to SUHA," she declared, her voice resolute. "You have my word."
Varion's shoulders eased, and Sakamoto bowed his head. "Thank you," they said in unison.
Volcanus turned to Cain, her trusted lieutenant. "You will accompany them in this war. Dukun and Ravenfeather, too."
Cain nodded, his braided hair glinting in the firelight. "Very well, if you say so."
"I must pray to the gods," Volcanus said, her gaze drifting to the flames. "For the future, for the safety of the fallen, and to guide their souls to rest."
She turned and knelt before the fire, planting her staff—a gnarled branch adorned with carved runes—into the earth. From a woven pouch, she drew sacred relics: a tiger's tooth, an elephant's horn fragment, a lion's skull, and a snake's fang, each pulsing with ancestral power. Spreading her arms wide, she began her ritual. Sakamoto leaned toward Varion, whispering, "What is she doing?"
Cain answered softly, "She's praying to the gods for us. For the world."
Volcanus's voice rose, a melodic chant that seemed to pull the night closer. "Sun God, radiant and eternal, hear me. Moon God, keeper of dreams, guide us. Gods of the stars, thunder, wind, water, rivers, fire, mountains, dragons, hawks, and grass—lend us your strength to fight the evils of this world." Her words wove a tapestry of divine invocation, each syllable trembling with power.
She drew a small, curved knife from her belt and sliced her palm, wincing as blood welled. She let it drip into a clay cup, its surface etched with spiraling patterns. "Cain, Varion, Sakamoto—kneel," she commanded. They obeyed, the ground cool beneath their knees. Dipping her finger into the blood, she drew a crimson line across Cain's forehead, then Varion's, her touch steady and reverent. But when she reached Sakamoto, the cup was dry, the blood absorbed by the clay. Volcanus's eyes widened briefly, then softened. "It seems the cup has claimed its share," she said. "But you are blessed, Sakamoto."
She set the cup down and raised her hands again. "We pray to all the gods for victory." Her voice carried the weight of a vow. Turning to Cain, she added, "Let's have one last dinner together before you guide our brothers to the world. Make the preparations."
Cain nodded. "Yes, that's fine." He strode off, his footsteps fading into the night.
Moments later, the encampment transformed. The Shaman Hunter tribe gathered on a vast expanse of white sand, its surface shimmering under the moonlight like a sea of stars. Children darted through the crowd, their laughter mingling with the crackle of fires. Women tended to sizzling pots, the aroma of roasted meat and herbs filling the air. Volcanus emerged, her staff in hand, followed by Varion and Sakamoto. The tribe parted to make way, their faces glowing with pride and resolve.
Cain returned, flanked by two striking figures. Ravenfeather exuded an otherworldly aura, their bald head marked with white ritual paint—a haunting handprint splayed across their chest. A cloak of layered feathers rustled as they moved, their calm, unreadable expression framed by a gourd clutched in one hand. Beside them stood Dukun, a warrior whose presence commanded awe. His wooden mask, carved with bold geometric patterns and crowned with a crest of orange straw fibers, gave him the air of an ancestral spirit. His shield, adorned with crossed-eye symbols, gleamed in the firelight, and his curved blade—a ceremonial sickle—hung at his side, a talisman dangling from its hilt. His earth-toned wraps and sandaled feet rooted him to the land, a living embodiment of tradition.
Sakamoto's eyes widened. "You guys look incredible. I love your cultural style."
Ravenfeather's lips twitched, a rare hint of warmth, while Dukun's mask hid any reaction. The group settled onto woven mats, the feast unfolding under the stars. Plates brimmed with spiced meats, root vegetables, and flatbreads, passed hand to hand. Laughter and stories flowed, a fleeting moment of unity before the storm.
But far away, in the icy expanse of Greenland SUHA, the night held no such warmth. A howl tore through the air, not of wind but of something darker. A cold, oppressive pressure descended, heralding the arrival of the Red Walkers an army of the dead, their numbers swelling into the hundreds. At their forefront stood Huey the Second, his eyes glinting with malice, and beside him, Julius Caesar, his armor gleaming unnaturally in the moonlight. The Ten had breached Greenland SUHA, their presence a harbinger of chaos. War was no longer a shadow on the horizon—it was inevitable.
As the Shaman Hunters feasted, unaware, the flames of their fires flickered, as if sensing the distant threat. Volcanus's gaze lingered on the horizon, her heart heavy with the weight of her prayers. The gods had been called, the oaths sworn. Now, the world would test their resolve.