Jacob stood tall, his face blackened with ash, the flames on his spear flickering like a dying heartbeat.
"She's syncing with the battlefield," he muttered. "Every hit fuels her. She's not adapting—she's evolving."
Connor wiped the blood from his mouth, eyes narrowed. "Then we stop feeding her."
Rowan gritted his teeth, rolling his shoulder back into place with a sickening pop. "Six soul beacons left. I can rig them into a trap net—but she's too fast unless we pin her down."
Jacob's gaze sharpened, his soulflame burning anew. "Then we give her a reason to stay still."
He stepped forward.
Eternal Flamer Soul Link – Mode Shift: CRIMSON COIL
His aura surged—but not with fire alone. The flames turned cobalt, interlaced with arcs of cold, unstable soul energy. The ground beneath his feet froze and shattered with each step. Frost and fire spiraled around him in volatile fusion, pulsing wildly between the three connected souls.
Connor's eyes widened. "Jacob, that mode's unstable—"
"I know," Jacob said, and launched himself forward.
Across the field, everything was crumbling.
Genevo was overwhelming Markus and Finn, his Emberward form tearing through their defenses with terrifying precision. Lyle's arrows hissed through the air, each one dodged or deflected with contemptuous ease. In the backline, Aria pushed her limits, casting rapid-fire heals, her energy burning low—but it was the only reason Jacob and Connor still stood.
And still, it wasn't enough.
They were losing.
Lyle was next. Genevo turned toward him, arm cocked back to throw a Coreburst punch. Jacob and Connor saw it. The helplessness. The certainty. That moment snapped something.
Connor saw Lyle—not as a comrade, but as his way home.
Jacob saw Lyle—as his friend.
That emotion became flame.
Not ordinary fire. Soulfire. It erupted from within, burning with purpose.
A sudden surge blasted through the battlefield.
Ethereal Soulflame Link — Soul Synchrony: Resonant Overdrive
The flame leapt from Connor and Jacob—linking to Aria, to Rowan, to Finn, to Markus, and even Lyle. A lattice of ethereal light connected them, like veins of living fire stitched through space. Every soul pulsed in sync. Thoughts, instincts, intent—all shared.
Unity forged in desperation.
Jacob's charge became a storm. He collided with Geneva in a shockwave of fury, his strikes now too fast, too erratic to predict. His attacks bent timing and rhythm—random yet deadly. Geneva blocked one, dodged another—
Then Connor struck her blind spot.
Then Rowan blinked above her, hurling twin axes like falling stars.
Then Finn appeared behind her, unleashing his Soul Skill—Soul Reaper—a crushing blow meant to end the fight. But it was useless. Geneva was already adapting.
Ramsey understood what was needed. His Soulknuckle Drive flared to life, forming an ethereal shield over his fists, each strike carrying explosive momentum. Meanwhile, Connor and Jacob orchestrated the battlefield—teleporting allies with perfect timing, predicting movements before they even happened. They weren't fighting alone anymore.
They had become a network.
A single soul.
Jacob and Connor tapped into each of their allies' soul skills:
—Rowan's Soul Drift, allowing instantaneous teleports.
—Finn's Soul Reaper, amplifying every strike based on total hits landed.
—Lyle's Soul Scribe, predicting enemy actions just moments ahead.
—Ramsey's Soulknuckle Drive, granting shielded impact blows with each punch.
Together, they flowed—blinking, striking, shielding, feinting—reading each other's intent with soul-deep clarity. Every movement was part of a larger pattern. Even the future, grim as it was, couldn't stop them. They chose the least deadly path from Lyle's predictions and pressed forward.
They had one hope: to place a hand on Geneva or Geveno's head and rewrite their soul. But they couldn't reach them. The Emberward helms flared with heat, rejecting every approach, their flames a living barrier.
And Aria—her Soul Skill was held in reserve. A secret. A last resort. If used now, it could expose everything. Give their opponents a glimpse of their final card.
The team moved as one—a living organism of war.
Strike. Fade. Teleport. Heal. Engage. Flow.
They overwhelmed Geneva, a relentless tide of soul-forged violence. It looked like she might finally fall—
But then the shift came.
Genevo entered the storm, stepping through with molten calm. He met Markus' blade with a flaming gauntlet, crushed Finn with a molten backhand. Geneva spun behind him, recovering in perfect sync.
Their eyes ignited—glowing the same.
Soul Skill: Mirror Synapses – Dual Imprint Activated
Their souls didn't just link—they mirrored.
Every move they made became one.
They dodged Rowan's teleport paths before he even reappeared.
They evaded Aria's spells as she cast them.
They countered Jacob's strikes before his sword left his shoulder.
It was a harmony older, deeper—two halves of a perfect whole.
And so, soul-linked collectives collided:
Flame against flame. Rhythm against rhythm. Soul against soul.
But the deeper the battle raged, the more precise Geveno and Geneva became. Their counters tightened. Their movements compressed into devastating efficiency. Every arrow was dodged. Every blow was anticipated.
Until, finally—
The storm crashed down on Connor.
Cornered.
Again.
Connor staggered back, blood smeared across his chestplate. Lyle's predictive pathlines were collapsing, overrun by the precision of Mirror Synapses. Jacob's flame was flickering, his strength drained from anchoring so many soul links at once. Finn couldn't get a clean strike in. Ramsey's fists were slowing. Rowan's teleportations were being predicted.
They were losing.
"Jacob—" Aria called out, her voice steady despite the chaos. "It's time."
He turned to her, nodding once.
She closed her eyes. Her soulflame surged violet.
Soul Skill Activated: Soul Itch
A pulse rippled out from her, invisible to the eye but potent to the mind. Geneva and Genevo flinched—not from pain, but confusion. Something itched in their perception. A disconnect. A delay.
Jacob, Connor, Lyle, Finn, Rowan, Markus, and Ramsey all froze—and then split. To Geneva and Genevo, the battlefield fractured: five Jacobs, three Connors, six Rowans, more Aria duplicates than they could count, each casting, running, swinging, bleeding.
The illusion was flawless.
Genevo's eyes darted. "That's not real."
"Which one?" Geneva hissed, spinning to counter an illusory Finn. Her blade passed through smoke.
They tried to coordinate—but their synced souls began to desync. Their perfect unity twisted into chaos as their brains fought to process a thousand false threads.
And behind the blur—
The real team slipped past.
Rowan blinked them through illusion after illusion, Aria amplifying each misdirection. Connor laid false pathlines. Lyle littered predictive echoes across the field. Finn even let himself be struck, only for his body to vanish in mist.
And Jacob?
Jacob turned back, eyes glowing cobalt.
He whispered, "You itch the mind—I'll burn the path."
He cleaved a line of blue fire across the earth—a wall of real flame masking their retreat.
Behind it, the battlefield twisted in illusion: phantom warriors still fighting, still dying, still screaming.
And Genevo and Geneva, masters of synchronization, were now dancing with ghosts.
They didn't have time to breathe.
The moment they broke free of the illusion and veiled flame, Jacob summoned it—a shape surging from molten azure fire and soul-ice mist.
Strifelion: Azure Mane – Scarred Form
The beast roared, steam pouring from its cracked joints, patches of its ethereal hide scorched and peeling, baring ancient soul-burns. Its mane shimmered with flickers of heat and frost, a dying yet defiant war-mount barely clinging to form.
Jacob and Connor leapt atop it, helping the others climb on as the ground behind them trembled.
Geneva's voice rang out across the battlefield, calm but venom-laced.
"Whistle."
Genevo raised two fingers to his mouth and blew.
A piercing tone shot skyward. Moments later—Varzan stirred in the clouds above, diving down from the high ridge with glowing wings of branded soulflame. The hunt had begun again.
"They're moving fast!" Aria shouted.
Jacob spurred the Strifelion forward, its paws crackling with steam as they thundered through a broken ravine. The distant, mossy spires of an ancient temple loomed ahead—The Temple of Roots: The Thundering Choir.
They had no choice but to enter.
Behind them, shadowy silhouettes emerged—an army. Branded soldiers, civilians, beasts—twisted by soul-rage. Their flames were jagged, unstable. Their eyes burned with crimson madness.
Geveno's voice echoed behind them, amplified by his soulflame.
"Lyle is the source!" he declared to his following. "He's Rage Branding innocents, turning them into weapons! He's already corrupted dozens—we have to stop him before he brands more!"
Lyle's eyes widened. "What?! That's not true!"
But it was too late. The seed had been planted.
They could already hear the whispers. The army behind Geveno wasn't just chasing—they were hunting.
Jacob turned to Lyle briefly. "They've made you their excuse."
"And now we don't run," Connor growled. "We survive."
The Strifelion burst through the cracked wooden gates of the Temple of Roots. The sanctuary trembled with ancient hymns vibrating through the stone.
Ahead of them—the unknown.
Behind them—a horde.
And above them—Varzan, descending with ethereal wing and and what looked like a hand with claws trying to slash and they dodge into
They burst through the jagged fissure, the jungle swallowing them whole. Twisting roots surged from the walls, forming an arched corridor lined with bioluminescent moss and glistening puddles of soulwater. The Temple of Roots – The Thundering Choir had no doors, no sentries. Only silence, pulsing with breathless warning.
The Azure Strifelion Doll, battered and scarred, growled low as it limped forward—its once-proud azure flames flickering with exhaustion, icy white cracks webbing through its ethereal hide.
The Azure Strifelion Doll, though cracked and bleeding soul-ice, responded. It pressed low against the cliff wall and held still, muscles locked in complete stillness.
From the smoke behind Mister, more horrors emerged—rage-branded beasts, snarling and twisted, drawn by the trail of soul-energy left by the fleeing group.
But none of them moved.
They couldn't.
A single twitch would mean death.
Aria's breath caught. Through the soul-link, Jacob felt her panic surge—then sharpen into focus.
Soul Skill Activated: Soul Itch.
A ripple passed through the link. The air shimmered like heat haze. The jungle shifted.
Illusion. The enemy would see only vines and stone and mist.
But the cost was steep: the caster had to remain perfectly still. If Aria moved, the illusion shattered. If any of them moved, the Thundering Choir would answer.
Jacob, Connor, Ramsey, Finn, Rowan, Lyle, Markus—all of them froze.
They were statues.
Only the Howlers' song moved now—deep and vibrating through their bones, judging.
Above, Varzan hovered, eyes scanning. The branded horde prowled just yards away. Mister sniffed the air, confused, soulflame dimming as the illusion wove around them like a living mirage.
They waited.
Seconds stretched into eternities.
But no vines struck.
No claws came.
Not yet.