High above the world, where clouds curled like sleeping serpents and the wind howled with ancestral fury, Clark SanJose knelt at the edge of the peak. His chest rose and fell as lightning danced above him in a haunting ballet.
He finally allowed himself a breath of reprieve.
I've bought myself time… enough to regroup.
The cold air whispered against his skin. For a moment, it felt like the mountain had granted him sanctuary.
But peace was a lie.
Down below, the Elders halted their pursuit as Clark vanished from their senses. The forest grew quiet, unnaturally so.
"He's gone," murmured Elder Kanzo, clutching his bruised ribs. "His speed and techniques… even with our experience, we were no match."
Elder Yu frowned, "We should regroup. Report to the Hall of Judgment and—"
A crack tore through the air like reality itself had been ripped.
A violent gust slammed into the mountain as the sky above split—and a figure appeared midair, descending like a god from legend.
Robes of obsidian. Eyes like burning suns. His mere presence made the world tremble.
The SanJose Clan Leader had arrived.
"…L-Lord Aetherius…" Elder Yu immediately dropped to one knee, voice faltering.
The others followed, kneeling without hesitation. Terror and relief danced across their faces—the awe of loyal hounds before a wrathful king.
"You chased one boy," Aetherius said, voice calm and cutting like a blade drawn across silk. "And let him humiliate the name of SanJose before the world?"
"Forgive us, Clan Leader," Ragnor stammered. "He was faster… more powerful than expected. His techniques—"
"—Were not taught by us," Aetherius finished for him, his tone colder now. "Meaning they were stolen."
He turned his head toward the peak. His gaze pierced the clouds like a spear.
"We move. Now." His cloak snapped in the wind. "He has defied his blood. He will answer with his bones."
At the Summit
Clark stood atop the final precipice, the world unfolding beneath his feet. The stars shimmered above, and the storm's edge curled around him like a crown. He pulled his coat tighter, drawing in the air—thin, cold, unforgiving.
Then—he felt it.
The world shuddered.
The clouds split again—and descending like judgment itself—
Aetherius SanJose.
Clark's heart froze as his father's older brother—the man once heralded as the "Dragon General of the Eight Wars"—hovered above the peak, flanked by the returning elders.
"…No…" Clark breathed, stepping back.
Elder Ragnor's voice was smug. "You thought you'd escaped. But this mountain has always belonged to us."
"CLARK SANJOSE!" Clan Leader Aetherius's voice echoed across the heavens. "You stand at the edge of your fate. Surrender, and relinquish the techniques you've stolen. Do so—and your death will be painless."
Clark's fists tightened. "You're wrong."
Aetherius raised a brow. "About what?"
Clark's eyes ignited once more with red spirals—Red Demon Eyes, now glowing brighter than before.
"I didn't steal anything. I created them."
A pause.
The air grew thick.
"You dare speak defiance?" Aetherius's tone darkened. "You insult the bloodline that raised you. That gave you power."
"You mean the one that feared me the moment I surpassed your expectations?" Clark's voice trembled—not with fear, but with rage. "The one that called me 'family' and then turned me into prey?"
Aetherius waved a hand.
"Kill him."
The elders moved instantly—flashes of power igniting the night.
Clark didn't hesitate.
Sonido. He vanished into motion, dodging three strikes at once, appearing above Yu and slamming his foot onto her shoulder, sending her crashing into Kanzo.
Aetherius moved.
Faster than light.
Clark barely twisted to the side as a punch laced with crimson flames grazed his cheek and exploded the rock behind him.
"You think your new tricks can challenge me, boy?"
Clark spit blood, eyes narrowing. "Let's find out."
He extended his hand—a crimson glyph swirling into life. Runes etched in blood-red light spun around his forearm.
"Crimson Circle: Fourth Gate — Sensory Overload!"
The elders staggered—gripping their temples as their senses exploded with blinding light and sound, disrupted by Clark's psychic pressure.
He darted toward Aetherius, blades of condensed spirit energy forming at his fingertips.
He swung—
But Aetherius caught it with a single hand.
"You've grown, Clark."
He squeezed. Clark's energy blade shattered like glass.
"But not enough."
Aetherius drove his elbow into Clark's chest—sending him hurtling backward into the cliff wall, stone cracking around his impact.
Clark groaned, blood pouring from his mouth.
Still, he stood. Still, he burned.
He raised his gaze, eyes glowing like dying stars.
"This is just the beginning," he said softly. "Even if I fall today—this truth you're burying… will rise again."
Aetherius said nothing—but for the first time, his gaze was… cautious.
"…Then die with your truth."
And the battle raged again—thunder crashing, fire roaring, and a single young man defying fate at the mountain's peak.
Chapter Ends.