Chapter title:The Shadow, The Fang, and the Flame."
The wind whispered low across the jagged rocks.
Somewhere in the fractured foothills of the outer frontline, Asger stirred.
His body was wrapped in taut bandages, tight around his torso, shoulder, and across one side of his face. Blood still seeped in patches beneath the wrappings, but it had dried into rust-colored stains. His one remaining eye blinked open slowly—dull at first, then sharpening with memory this was Madagascar.
Next to him, Asger knelt, her black hair tangled by the breeze. Her light skin was streaked with dried blood and ash. But her eyes—bright, focused—watched him with steady warmth.
"You're awake," she said gently.
Madagascar roaned, his head rolling slightly to the side. "Barely."
She leaned in. "How are your eyes now? I healed them "
He raised his hand slowly—fingers trembling—and touched the bandage over the left socket.
"It hurts," he muttered. "But… it's still good. I can't move my eye the way I want yet. But it's fine."
His voice darkened.
A shadow crossed his expression as the memory struck—visceral and brutal.
The Blood Moon.
The screams. The twisted chaos. And the pain—so severe, so primal—it had driven him to claw his own eye from its socket.
His hand trembled slightly.
That memory would never soften.
Behind them, a new voice broke the silence.
"Thank you… for saving me earlier."
It was Osiris.
He approached quietly, hands low, movements careful. His armor was cracked, the right shoulder visibly burned, but he bowed lightly to Madagascar.
He looked away. "I wasn't much help anyway."
"No," Osiris said, shaking his head. "You were amazing."
Asger let out a dry laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"He really was," she said, her voice rasping. "Those red ice walls… the control, the timing. You were a masterclass, Maddy."
Madagascar blinked. "You saw all that?"
"You saved us," Asger said, sitting up slowly, his bandages fluttering. "Until Sakamoto arrived."
His eyes widened. "Sakamoto is here?"
Asger nodded. "Yeah. He moved ahead… toward the central front. There was an explosion. He didn't wait."
Madagascar stared for a breath. Then braced both hands against the ground and began to rise, slowly but with force.
"Then we go," he said. "Now."
Asger blinked. "You're still bleeding and not recovered fully"
"So are you."
SHe smirked. "Fair."
Osiris stepped closer, offering an arm, but he waved him off. "Lead the way, Asger."
He paused—just long enough to steady his balance—then turned toward the distant plume of smoke where the central front burned in the sky.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's go."
And they began to run.
⸻
The western flank was quiet now.
Smoke still curled from smoldering husks of machines and craters, but no more screams echoed, no more enemies surged forward.
Cain stood over a mound of debris, cloak rippling in the heat. His blade was still sheathed. Blood stained his gloves, but his breathing was steady. Every move he made was precise, measured—his calm expression masking the ferocity he'd just unleashed.
Beside him, Dakun sat cross-legged on a scorched log, rubbing his eyes.
"I'm dizzy," Dakun muttered.
Cain didn't respond.
"I'm serious," Dakun said, flopping onto his back dramatically. "You know when you haven't slept in like… eight battles and then there's this guy screaming about plasma knives and spiritual debt and then someone explodes next to you?"
Cain looked down at him. "You didn't do anything."
Dakun raised a finger. "Exactly. That's what's exhausting."
Cain shook his head once and turned eastward, eyes narrowing.
"Time to move."
He reached down, touching two fingers to Dakun's shoulder.
A pulse of energy—clean, blue-white—flared beneath them.
In the next breath, they rose upward, bodies lifting into the air like smoke on wind.
"Whoa—whoa, wait!" Dakun flailed mid-air. "Give me a second—my guts are still organizing themselves!"
Cain ignored him, adjusting course mid-flight.
They angled toward the horizon—toward the jagged rise of the SUHA headquarters, where smoke poured from the inner wards.
"Where are we going?" Dakun asked, spinning lazily through the air like a leaf.
"HQ," Cain replied. "We need to check on Marcus. And Boris those two guys we sent off earlier."
Dakun groaned. "Right… Boris and his mystical exploding spleen. Can't wait."
But even through his groaning, his eyes scanned the terrain. He felt it—something deeper, heavier, stirring far ahead.
Neither of them knew what was growing beneath the concrete floors of the HQ.
But they would.
Soon.
⸻
The sky cracked.
Not with thunder—but with the sound of flesh being swallowed.
Sakamoto skidded to a stop, dirt trailing beneath his boots, as he saw it.
Sir Caelum's head—gone.
Saharan's golden jaws clamped shut, a sickening wet sound echoing across the warfront.
Sakamoto's chest rose once.
Twice.
"Sir Caelummmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!"
His voice tore through the battlefield like a blade of its own.
And then—rage.
He vanished.
"Shadow Swap!"
One moment, he was twenty meters away.
The next—behind her.
Princess Egle stood still, her attention focused on where Sakamoto had been just a moment ago. She hadn't registered the movement.
Not yet.
Sakamoto's right hand rose.
From the shadows behind her, his blade materialized—Luton, long and pitch-black, pulsing with silent malice.
He tightened his grip.
Swung.
A perfect arc—silent, swift, aimed straight for her neck.
"You will pay… for killing Caelum."
The sword neared her skin—
—but she moved.
Instantly.
A blur of motion, she leapt sideways with impossible speed. Saharan followed, a golden streak, both separating from the path of the blade just as it landed.
BOOM.
The sword hit the ground.
The earth split.
A fissure cracked outward for dozens of meters, halving the terrain beneath them from the sheer force of the missed swing.
Sakamoto exhaled hard, fury radiating from his aura.
From her new perch, Princess Egle smiled.
"Thank you, Saharan," she said softly, petting the great serpent's head as its forked tongue flickered. "If it weren't for our shared vision…"
Her eyes shifted back to Sakamoto.
"I'd be headless."
She tilted her head.
"What was that… instantaneous movement? Mmm… Boy, I love your speed."
Her fingers flicked outward like a salute.
But the motion wasn't for Sakamoto.
It was a command.
Saharan moved.
Zigzagging—its body a golden blur, pulsing with serpentine rhythm, crossing the space between them in seconds.
Sakamoto's eyes widened. "So fast—!"
Before he could react, Saharan had pivoted right and struck with its massive head, Sakamoto quickly using the luton sword to hold against the strike but it failed.
The impact sent Sakamoto flying backward, his body hurtling through the air like a broken arrow.
But the snake wasn't finished.
Before he even began to fall—Saharan was there, mouth wide, fangs gleaming.
And from within its jaws—Princess Egle emerged.
Tight golden leggings, tribal patterns glowing faintly, her body coiled mid-leap.
In her raised hand—her sword, its hilt a carved golden serpent.
The blade pointed directly at Sakamoto's backside.
Still airborne.
Still helpless.
And falling straight into a killing blow.
Her voice echoed.
"Die, you little brat."
⸻
The blade was seconds from impact.
Sakamoto's eyes locked onto its tip—unable to pivot, unable to brace. His body was still caught in freefall, the air rushing past him, the ground distant.
Her words rang out, sharp and cold:
"Die, you little brat."
His lips moved.
"Shadow Manifestation: Anuman… the Great Monkey."
The world cracked.
A burst of dark energy exploded from beneath him—violent, primal, barely contained.
Out of it surged a figure of chaos.
Anuman.
A towering simian warrior, cloaked in ragged cloth and ancient rage. His body was lean but muscular, fur black as the void. His wild mane flared like untamed fire, and from his mouth curled a grin—full of jagged teeth and mischief.
Clawed fingers curled around a tall, gnarled staff.
And in one fluid motion—
CLANG.
The staff intercepted the golden serpent-blade just before it struck Sakamoto's backside.
Sparks erupted. Air pressure burst outward.
The impact shook the sky.
Then—Anuman moved.
With a blur, he flipped the staff beneath his right arm, spun it downward, and thrust it hard into Princess Egle's chest with strong force.
CRACK.
Her body twisted backward, and for a moment—split in two.
A hiss.
From the wound, a thick, sickly toxic gas began to spill—purple and alive, writhing like smoke that wanted to bite.
Anuman snarled. "Too slow."
He grabbed Sakamoto under one arm, spun the staff once in his palm, then slammed its base into the earth below.
"Bang."
The staff elongated, growing in a blur of motion, hurling both of them back—away from the toxic fog—toward safety.
They landed softly on a crumbled hilltop.
Sakamoto gasped, wide-eyed. "Thank you… Anuman."
The monkey turned, tail twitching, grin sharp. "We need to be careful. She's strong."
Sakamoto wiped blood from his lip. "Yeah I know she is and You can use the staff like that?"
Anuman smirked. "We all can. All of the higher-ups those chosen in our tribe ."
Sakamoto exhaled slowly, a fire rising in his voice. "Then that's a weapon worth having."
But then something shifted.
Back on the battlefield, the toxic gas still hissed.
But the body that Anuman had split?
It had completed dissolved
And yet, standing on the edge of the battlefield…
The real Princess Egle.
She hadn't moved at all. Her posture calm. Her hand still raised from the moment she had saluted Saharan to move,
She watched.
Eyes narrow.
Unblinking.
"A monkey of this state?" she murmured.
"I see."
Meanwhile The halls of SUHA headquarters echoed with tension.
Minister Tenzy walked briskly alongside Minister Alfred, their steps fast, deliberate. The distant alarms from the battle outside were nothing compared to what lay ahead inside the lab.
"Another problem?" Tenzy asked, his voice clipped.
"You'll see," Alfred said grimly.
They turned a final corner—and the medical lab door loomed ahead, twisted open, its lock systems melted through.
Inside—
Carnage.
Three doctors lay dead, their bodies frozen in strange, contorted shapes—ice spears impaled clean through their chests, necks, spines. Their faces were locked in silent screams, frost eating at their skin.
Tenzy paused.
"…What is this?"
Alfred gestured upward.
"Look at the walls."
At first, it just looked like cracking.
But then Tenzy saw it.
Red ice—webbing through the metallic surfaces, thin and spidery at first, then thickening into arteries. It pulsed faintly. Alive.
It was growing.
From the epicenter of the room—Boris's body, still locked to the operating table—ice spread in a fan of cursed frost.
Alfred whispered, "It's feeding on the lab. The walls. The power grid."
Tenzy stepped back slightly.
"This was inside him?"
Alfred nodded. "The same red ice that impaled his heart… it's replicating. And adapting."
From behind them, General Soren entered, his boots crunching on frost. He examined one wall, running a gloved hand over the cracked metal.
"This isn't a natural reaction," he said. "It's parasitic. The entire structure will collapse if we don't seal this."
Tenzy clenched his jaw. "And we can't touch Boris or remove the ice?"
"No," Alfred said. "We've tried. It fights back. Killed a nurse with a flicker of movement."
A screen on the far wall flickered—power failing. The red ice was already reaching the inner circuits.
The SUHA base was on a timer now.
Tenzy turned to Alfred. "Shut off every non-essential wing. Lock this lab down. And start prepping for containment breach."
Alfred nodded. "Understood."
But neither of them said what they were both thinking.
If this ice kept spreading—
The entire HQ would fall.
Inside the SUHA War Room, monitors buzzed with static and energy surges.
A young officer leaned into the main screen. "Sir, we've got incoming figures from the western approach."
Minister Tenzy turned. "Show me."
The screen zoomed, focusing in on two fast-moving shadows advancing across a hillcrest.
"Shaman Hunters…" the officer murmured.
The image stabilized.
One tall, cloaked, and still—Cain. The other, hopping every few steps like he might fall asleep mid-stride—Dakun.
Tenzy exhaled, relaxing just slightly. "They're allies. Let them through."
But a moment later—
CRACK.
A monitor sparked violently, glass splintering inwards.
The room jolted.
Another officer spun around, face pale. "Sir—!"
Behind him, a Shen indicator on the wall—an ancient piece of tech used only to detect cataclysm-level forces—shattered. The dial had spun straight into the red zone before bursting.
"Something outrageous has landed," the officer gasped.
The room went silent.
Tenzy's expression darkened.
Somewhere beyond the walls, across the wreckage and torn lands of Greenland—
A Shen pressure like a falling star was growing.
It felt old.
It felt cruel.
It felt ancient.
Out on the field, Cain came to an abrupt stop. His boots dug into the dirt.
Dakun stopped too.
His voice—deeper now, no trace of a joke—spoke only one word.
"…Shiva."
Cain's eye narrowed. "He's here."
The playful, lazy air around Dakun had vanished. His spine straightened. His mouth tightened. He was awake now.
Cain turned.
So did Dakun.
And together—they ran.
Straight toward the source.
Back in the war room, Tenzy stared at the broken Shen gauge.
His voice, low and cold:
"That's a man from your tribe, Cain…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…After all the abominations Shiva brought upon the Anumari Clan… I understand why you'd run to him but be careful boys be really careful ."
End of Chapter: "