Chapter Title: Veins of Power, Webs of Fate
Theme: Crimson Moon Waltz (Instrumental)
The golden shine of limousine headlights washed over the marble pavement of Washington D.C.'s airport, where the red carpet rolled out not for politicians—but for warriors.
The hatch of the SUHA-designated aircraft hissed open with a pressurized breath. Descending the stairs was the Seoul reinforcement team,Madagascar, his frosted breath nearly matching his icy composure; Tito and Chiro, eyes sharp and alert; and trailing behind them with a bored smirk, Asger, her black hair tied back as if daring anyone to recognize the blood on her name.
Waiting for them at the foot of the steps was a man clad in black and crimson—Marcus, the elite American hunter and personal bodyguard of President Cecelia. A long coat flowed behind him like smoke. A gloved hand rested on the hilt of a sheathed blade strapped across his back. A thin scar ran down his eye, the only break in a face carved of pure focus.
"You're late," Marcus said, voice flat but laced with intensity. "The gala begins in thirty minutes. Follow me. We have less time than you think."
No greetings, no handshakes. Just war in the making.
Washington Gala – Event Hall
The heart of the capital glimmered. Chandeliers as grand as fallen stars hung above glimmering suits and sparkling gowns. Politicians, tycoons, celebrities—all gathered under one roof in an evening of luxury, excess, and veiled tension.
Asger scanned the room with narrowed eyes. "It's been a while since I saw the world wear its mask of civility," she muttered. "All this glamour—shiny cages for rich fools."
Madagascar, hands in his pocket, smiled faintly. "Even frozen cities have cracks. Let them dance. We'll handle the shadows."
The team was swiftly led into a side room—military officials, monitors, and maps laid out like a chessboard across a steel table. General Park, sharp-jawed and silver-haired, greeted them with a nod.
"Thirty minutes," he began. "That's all we've got before the gala officially kicks off. The Ten might not strike tonight—but if they do, it'll be fast and loud."
He tapped on a digital projection. "We've secured the perimeter. Snipers, drone surveillance, EMP nets. Your job—keep the interior safe. That includes protecting President Cecelia. If anything happens, eliminate the threat—no hesitations."
Then, with a wave, an officer stepped forward with a box.
"Suits for the gentlemen. A gown for you," he said to Asger. "Try not to destroy them."
She smirked. "No promises."
Greenland — Frozen Peaks, Crane Family Training Grounds
Snow fell gently across the tundra, coating the cliffside in crystalline silence. In the clearing, Sakamoto stood doubled over, panting hard. Steam hissed from his shoulders as sweat melted the ice beneath his boots. Across from him, calm and immovable as a statue, was Sir Varion, hands folded behind his back.
At Sakamoto's side stood Anuman, the primal monkey-warrior from his shadow realm. His staff trembled in his fingers, a toothy grin stretched across his cracked lips. "Damn, that old man's fast and strong…"
Sir Varion stepped forward, finally speaking. "You move well, Saka. But physical prowess alone won't carry the burden you were born with."
He looked out over the mountains, the wind tugging at his cloak.
"You have three essences within you—three rivers fighting to flow through a single vessel. The Crane Bloodline. The Hybrid Spirit of Jushin. And your mother's cursed heritage—The Sun Lord's Divine Mark. You carry something we would call an abomination." Anyways he asked "have you ever accessed your mother's sleeping powers inside of you?"
Sakamoto blinked, unsure. "I… Rajesh mentioned it once, but I've never really—"
"You have," Varion interrupted. "You simply weren't aware. That… will change soon."
Egypt – Cairo City Central
Perched atop a sky-rise, with dusk casting a golden glow across the minarets and domes, Knight Óðr sat cross-legged. His stitched white mask faced the horizon, where flocks of ravens circled and glided like silent sentries.
Behind him stood Cain, his monstrous six-armed frame partially cloaked, eyes glinting like moonlight off daggers. "Master," he said, "still observing?"
Óðr's voice was a whisper, almost lost in the desert wind. "They will strike. Not today. But soon. And when they do… we'll be waiting."
Undisclosed Location – The Ten's Sanctuary
Inside the sanctum beneath the earth, carved in black stone and stitched with crimson veins, Lord Arcade—still housed in Draven's body—moved with slow, deliberate steps. Each breath trembled with restrained power.
Before him stood the Shen Coffin, still sealed in ancient chains laced with runes. He placed a hand upon it, eyes dim.
"I will sleep now," he said.
Huey, kneeling, responded softly, "Rest, my lord. When you awaken, the pieces will be yours. All of them."
Arcade's voice rumbled as he turned. "Failure is not an option. I have waited too long for this world to burn again. See that I wake to fire."
Huey bowed deeper.
And the screen faded to black.
End Chapter.