Aargh! Drop the sword, I'm not your enemy! The enemy isn't here with us, Emrys, you could hurt someone or yourself!" Hector wrestled with the blinded Emrys, his grip slipping as he tried to pull the katana from Emrys' frantic hands.
"Raaargh! I must cut you down! It's you, haunting me with that damned dream!" Emrys' voice trembled with fear and fury as he struggled against Hector's hold, his sword aimed wildly into the open air, slicing close to anything in reach.
"What on earth is going on here?!" Luna's voice rang out, her face pale with fear and confusion. "What happened?!"
One of the girls, Melanie, stood just behind her, hand clapped over her mouth in horror, her eyes wide with disbelief. The other two girls beside her were similarly frozen, barely breathing.
"The last I saw him, he was napping… just an hour ago," Melanie stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, every word tinged with dread. "I don't know when he woke or when he got one of your swords."
Aeron and Corsair rushed forward, their faces grim as they went to assist Hector in holding Emrys down. Luna could only watch, helpless, her hands trembling.
As Aeron and Corsair closed in, Emrys broke free from Hector's grip, his body twisting as he staggered forward. For a brief second, he stilled, his blindfolded sight focused into the distance.
"You think hiding behind a tree will save you?" Emrys yelled, brandishing the katana with both hands, his voice wild and raw. "I'll cut you down with it!"
With a swift horizontal swing, he slashed the air. The katana's blade sliced through the stillness, a sharp, menacing hiss echoing across the empty clearing. The blade struck nothing. His momentum spun him slightly, and he lost balance, collapsing forward. His head struck a pile of abandoned lead bars lying just before him, and he went limp. The katana clattered against the bars, its metallic clang sharp and final.
For several seconds, no one moved. They could scarcely process what they'd witnessed, and even their breaths seemed suspended.
Then, at last, Luna broke the silence. She dashed toward Emrys, sliding her arms under his armpits, her shoulders heaving with the effort as she tried to lift him.
Seeing her struggle, Aeron, Hector, and Corsair snapped from their daze and rushed to her side. Each took hold of him from a different angle, helping Luna lift Emrys' weight, which felt strangely heavier than usual. As they placed him carefully in the cart, Luna stifled a sob, her face turned away from the others.
After making sure Emrys was resting, Aeron quickly recounted what they had learned at Hestia's Hall. They'd have to leave immediately for Athena's.
The urgency in Aeron's voice rallied the group into swift action. They gathered supplies, donned their thickest clothing against the encroaching cold, and prepared the children for travel.
As they stepped through the gates of Hephaestus' lonely forge, the chilling wind bit into their faces. With Emrys lying unconscious in the cart, they began their final journey northward to Athena's Hall, following the sage's directive in hopes of some remedy or relief.
…
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows in Atlas' Hall. Alvis Gleeman, the imposing boss of the Seraphic Summit, stood motionless in front of the great Atlas statue—a muscular warrior frozen in the agony of holding a colossal sphere on his back. Every detail of the statue captured struggle and strength: the strained muscles, the gritted teeth, the weight of the world embodied in stone.
Footsteps echoed from behind. A slender figure emerged—a student dressed entirely in black corporate, his sleeves unbuttoned, his long dark hair tied into a loose, chaotic ponytail. His hands tucked into his pockets, he stopped twenty feet behind Alvis, silently observing.
Alvis' voice broke the silence, deep and reflective. "Ferron Axel, the legendary shipwright of the Harlequinn royal stand. It is written that he carried the Crimson Black on his shoulders in order for the Harlequins and their warriors to cross the Great Divide during The Third Great Scramble." His gaze lingered on the statue's tortured expression. "They call him Atlas now."
The stranger behind him remained silent, his monolid eyes watching with a calm, almost amused look.
"But… the part about him carrying the Crimson Black is a lie," Alvis continued, his voice low but unwavering. "Ferron Axel was a deluded man. His delusions may have driven him to become a great shipwright, but they also brought him to ruin."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "Yes, he did attempt to carry the great ship himself—and he failed. That failure shattered his delusions. Recognizing his limits, he put his skills to work in metalcraft, collaborating with other talented minds to build the first rail line that would transport the Crimson Black across the Great Divide."
Alvis' eyes glinted. "It was a historic achievement. With it, the Harlequins claimed their greatest victory, tipping the scales of the war."
Behind him, the stranger shifted uncomfortably and frowned.
"Funny," the stranger muttered, "because last I checked, it's the Vions sitting on the throne now."
"That may be," Alvis replied, unbothered. "But the Harlequins fought for the world itself. Ferron Axel became known as 'Atlas,' the man who bore the fate of the world on his shoulders."
The stranger yawned loudly, indifferent. "And what's your point, man? You're putting me to sleep."
Alvis turned slowly, locking eyes with the one before him, whose delicate features and aloof expression barely masked his skepticism.
"What we're doing here is ridiculous, don't you think? We're fighting pointlessly, trapped in this cage. Everyone's too shortsighted to see it. Honestly, I find it laughable."
The stranger's expression barely changed, though he let out another long yawn.
"We could end this pointless conflict. If we'd work together, we might find a way out of this prison we've made into a playground—a place where we fight, form petty gangs or whatever and call them factions. The victors strut about, while the defeated are left to repeat the cycle."
Alvis clenched his fists. "Five years will pass, ten, twenty… even longer, all because none of you can put aside these petty grievances."
Frustration spilled over into his voice as he stared into the student's indifferent eyes. But the fellow only smirked as a cold breeze stirred, rustling their clothes.
"Unity, huh?" he said, voice dripping with irony. "You're not the only one who thinks that way. Trust me, most of the faction leaders know we could escape if we worked together. But here's the truth: we don't really care."
He stepped closer, his tone almost mocking. "The 'petty' things you scorn are big deals here—disrespect, betrayal, revenge, redemption. Some are counting the days, waiting for the moment they can laugh in the face of those who disrespected them, stare down those who betrayed them, or redeem themselves of past failures.
"People have scores to settle, Alvis. So don't pity us for not being as 'disciplined' or 'long-sighted as you. We'll leave when we're ready—when our grudges are spent, and not a moment sooner."
Alvis' expression became more serious, with his brows partially covering his eye.
"Do not lie to yourself, Wū Hè Yún Lóng. Even though I do not know you on a personal level, I can see your dark heart. There's no empathy within you whatsoever." Alvis replied, pointing at Yún Lóng.
"Interesting, I don't remember me telling you my name." Yún Lóng said, still smiling.
"My intel is my weapon. I don't plan to rot here like the rest of you. I'll find a way out before next winter." Alvis' voice carried an iron certainty, a conviction that left no room for doubt.
"Before next winter?" Yún Lóng scoffed, smirking as he shook his head. "You really believe you're that exceptional? Since you know so much, surely you've heard about the Black Arsenal and its shards."
Alvis' silence was answer enough.
Yún Lóng continued, his tone silky. "Six special-grade military weapons, hidden in every resident's cyber-portal, waiting for those with the required amount of Kounties to claim them. These Black Shards are the ultimate keys to power here. Some of them have already been acquired, and those who possess them? They are the ones with the best chance of getting out of here." He tilted his head, his smile widening. "But you don't have one yet, do you, Alvis?"
Alvis didn't answer, only turned back to the statue, his expression unreadable. "I don't need any of the so-called black shards to get what I want."
"Now I understand your words from the start. You're delusional," Yún Lóng sneered. "Just like Ferron Axel, clutching at an impossible weight."
But Alvis remained unmoved. He looked back over his shoulder, his gaze sharp and calculating. "You say the Black Shards are the peak of power? Then tell me why Starfall Reach thrives without one."
"Starfall Reach? Thriving?" Yún Lóng laughed. "I can't laugh enough. They're only strong because of Sleavetry. Sooner or later, he'll face someone stronger and fall like the rest."
Alvis cut in before Yún Lóng could continue. "And yet you stand here in my territory, after being driven out of your's. You're here because you think the Seraphic Summit is weak, easier to conquer compared to our neighbor, Aurora Bluff. Easier for you to use to settle your grudges."
A silence fell. Yún Lóng's smirk faded just slightly, his gaze sharpening.
"Tell me I'm wrong," Alvis challenged, stepping forward. "Tell me you didn't come here to usurp me, to wield this faction as a weapon of revenge. You think I don't know your plans? I know exactly why you came here, why you want this power."
Upon hearing all this, Yún Lóng closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, frost coming from his nose and mouth as he spoke in a deep voice.
"Indeed. You're simply weak, Alvis. You lack the ability to cause change even though you speak of it, hence you waste this faction. Just relinquish your position as faction boss to me without resisting. I'd like for this to be as undramatic as possible." He dipped his hands back in his pockets, his smile fading. "You shouldn't have stayed so far away from your members."
Following this was a long stare between Alvis and Yún Lóng.
"Join me, Evan." After Alvis said this, a guy over 6 feet tall walked out from behind the statue of Atlas. He was also in black corporate attire, shabbily dressed like Yún Lóng.
As Evan approached Yún Lóng, Yún Lóng remained unfazed. His hands still pocketed while his brows furrowed, and his facial expression was that of a smile and a frown at the same time.
Evan stood chest to chest with the 5-foot-9 Yún Lóng, whose hands were still in his pockets.
"Why so cl—"
Before Yún Lóng could finish his words, Evan threw a light-speed jab at Yún Lóng's face, sending him skidding backward.
He had blocked the punch with his two palms at the last second.
"You didn't even let me land!" Laughing, Yún Lóng dusted the pain off his hands.
Evan charged at Yún Lóng, throwing a right uppercut, which was dodged. Without relenting, Evan continued, throwing two strong right and left hooks that barely touched Yún Lóng. It appeared as though Yún Lóng had deliberately dodged late.
Noticing this, Evan paused for a second, confusion and disbelief slightly etched on his face. He threw a right hook once more, but to no avail. Yún Lóng had watched the punch fly past his nose.
"Is that all?" Still smiling, Yún Lóng asked.
"What's the meaning of this?" Ignoring the question, Evan asked, his voice calm and deep.
"If you're wondering why you haven't touched me, it's nothing much—you just aren't fast enough. Why don't you try that sonic jab from earlier? That's your fastest attack, no?" As Yún Lóng said this, he slid smoothly into a low Bow Stance, his front leg bent and his weight firmly grounded.
"Watch carefully and remember this, Alvis. I'm about to show you one of the finest forms of power."
Taking it as a chivalrous challenge, Evan took his own stance. His legs were firm on the ground, his right hand strongly tensed, pointing toward the ground. The muscles on his straight right arm hinted at a charged attack crying to be unleashed.
After about ten seconds of deadly focus from the two, Evan unleashed the stored-up power as a jab. Yún Lóng's eyes followed the jab, reading its speed in an instant. With a slight pivot, he brushed it aside with his back hand and surged forward, a counter-strike already snapping from his leading hand, like a snake striking out from its coil.
He hit Evan on the chest with a brutal palm strike that ultimately stopped his heart at once.
Evan, in shock, fell forward to the ground. His eyes widened as he held his chest.
Paying no respect to Evan, Yún Lóng walked past his unconscious body, standing before Alvis.
"Join me, Herman." After Yún Lóng said this, a tan-skinned guy in a blue jean jacket and black combat trousers walked out from the shadow of the nearby building and stood next to Yún Lóng.
Smiling even more, Yún Lóng opened his arms in pride and elegance as he looked at the unfazed Alvis.
"What do you think, Alvis Gleeman? Do you still want to resist me? Do you regret not involving your members? Have you snapped back to reality?" Emboldened by his newest victory, Yún Lóng asked the boss of Seraphic Summit.
"You're a fool to think you've won just by usurping me. This is merely the beginning. A revolution is bound to happen. And you'll be swept away with these days." Alvis said as he slowly dipped his hands in his pockets.
"You still have a big mouth!" Yún Lóng yelled in frustration and confusion.
"Watch out," Herman's deep voice resonated in Yún Lóng's ears as he watched Alvis throw two large-sized Deterix at them.
Stepping in front of Yún Lóng, Herman hit the first Deterix back, which collided with the one behind it, pushing it back toward them and the other toward Alvis.
"BOOM!"
The instantaneous explosion sent them flying backward. Alvis was sent flying to the leg of the statue of Atlas, hitting it with so much force that blood and brain matter from his crushed skull splattered on it like a watermelon. His body fell like a ragdoll.
Yún Lóng and Herman were sent flying in the direction of a nearby building that would collapse from the force of the explosion.
The explosions caused large, slightly deep dents in the ground despite it being covered in asphalt.
The sun finally set completely, reducing the temperature of the atmosphere below 5°C as the foggy skies hung above the boarding world.