The dust settled like ash after a battlefield fire, curling low around the cracked stone beneath Sakamoto's feet. He stood in the open, shoulders rising and falling, each breath ragged like his clothes torn at the sleeves, chest streaked with dirt and dried blood. His sword was gone, His left hand trembled at his side.
In front of him poised like the eye of a storm stood Princess Egle.
No illusions now, No shadows or mimics. The real one.
She stood barefoot on the fractured ground, unmoved by the wind or the heat, her stance regal and sickeningly serene. Around her, coiled in restless loops, was the serpent Saharan its black-and-gold scales glinting as if they were forged from sin itself. The beast's head rose high above Egle, tongue flicking in and out, scenting the air with a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Its pupil-less eyes glowed a venomous violet.
"What's your name, boy?" she asked, her voice as casual as if she were choosing from a dessert menu.
Sakamoto's brow furrowed. "Why would I tell you my name?"
Princess Egle tilted her head ever so slightly, as if surprised by his resistance. "Because I asked. What level of stupidity are you, exactly?"
His jaw clenched. "Call me Sakamoto."
Her lips curled upward in a grin that didn't reach her eyes. "Well, Sakamoto," she said, drawing out each syllable as if tasting them, "that's the last thing you'll ever say. Today is the last day you breathe on this planet."
She vanished.
No footfall. No flicker. No build-up. She simply disappeared from where she stood and that instant silence was more terrifying than a war cry.
Sakamoto's eyes widened, scanning frantically, but there was nothing no sign, no shimmer.
Only Anuman, who was next to him, saw her.
The great monkey's expression shifted from curiosity to raw alertness. "Fast…" he murmured. "Too fast."
Below, Sakamoto's breath caught in his throat.
Then
A blur of gold and crimson closed in.
————
The blur materialized a heartbeat later Princess Egle reappearing mid-strike, her fist cocked back with bone-snapping intent, aimed straight for Sakamoto's gut. He barely had time to flinch.
But something flashed between them.
A polished obsidian staff, ridged with battle scars, slammed between Egle's knuckles and Sakamoto's torso.
CLANG!
The impact was brutal. Not the punch Egle's fist had connected with solid wood but the force behind it still reverberated like thunder. Sakamoto stumbled backward, breath knocked from his lungs, even though the strike never touched him directly.
Standing before him was Anuman.
The Great Monkey's feet were planted, tail curled into the air like a whip ready to crack. One hand clutched the staff, the other drawn behind him in case he needed to follow up. His dark eyes locked with Egle's.
"You're quick," he said, his voice even. "But not faster than truth."
Egle didn't respond. Instead, her eyes narrowed slightly, as if impressed but only for a moment. Her movements softened, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly.
Then she pivoted.
In one fluid motion, her right leg snapped up in a vertical arc faster than blinking and connected with Anuman's jaw.
THWACK.
The sound echoed. A red arc spun into the air blood.
Anuman flew backward like a puppet severed from its strings. His body twisted mid-air before slamming into a jagged boulder behind him. The rock cracked, then shattered under the force. Splinters of stone rained around him as he crumpled into the debris.
Sakamoto didn't even get a word out before she was in front of him again.
A pale hand clamped around his throat.
He choked, legs dangling, struggling to breathe. Her grip was precise not crushing, but controlled. His windpipe spasmed against her fingers.
Princess Egle leaned in close, her golden eyes scanning his face like a scientist inspecting a failed experiment. Her tongue slithered out unnaturally long, split at the end and slowly traced her lips.
"You look so weak," she said. "So…disappointing."
Her voice had changed. No longer mocking. Something colder had settled in curiosity.
Behind them, the stone Anuman had smashed into began to shift.
———-
A boulder rolled from the top of the fractured mound with a hollow clatter.
Anuman stood slowly, back arched, breathing heavy through clenched teeth. Dust and blood coated his fur, but his eyes those sharp, ancient eyes remained focused.
Princess Egle's head tilted sharply toward him. She released Sakamoto without looking, letting him crumple like dropped cloth. Her voice came out low and almost amused.
"You don't know how to stay down, do you… monkey?"
Her right hand moved in a blur.
Shing.
Her golden-tipped sword was suddenly in her grip, unsheathed in silence. The blade, slender and barbed near the base, glowed faintly with an amber sheen. She stepped forward and vanished again.
Sakamoto, kneeling, barely managed to suck in one full breath before her afterimage blurred from the space beside him. His eyes darted up and saw her already mid-strike, blade raised high, descending toward the still-recovering Anuman.
"No—!"
But time folded inward for him. Vision fractured.
A figure stood beside him now silent, invisible to all but him. It was a replica his own form, identical in every way, standing calm and ghost-like.
The replica's mouth moved.
"Shadow Swap."
The world snapped.
In an instant, Sakamoto was gone.
Princess Egle blinked and found herself standing where Sakamoto had just been.
Sakamoto, now in her place, dropped in front of Anuman, hands raised in a defensive stance.
Egle's pupils flared. But something was off.
She moved to turn but too late.
From the empty space behind her, the replica Sakamoto's shadow clone stepped into the light, expression unreadable. He held both hands extended, fingers tense, forming a precise needle-point gesture.
He struck.
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The blows came in rapid precision, nearly invisible. Thirty-two strikes, each hitting a critical Shen flow node in her body neck, back, shoulders, wrists, ribs, ankles each one sealing her energy channels with surgical efficiency.
Her body locked.
"Shen… blocking?" she whispered, as the realization hit.
The final strike struck her stomach dead-center, and her body shot backwards, crashing through dirt and wind before slamming into the ground and rolling once… twice… before landing atop Saharan's coiled form.
Sakamoto landed in front of Anuman, panting again, his voice hoarse but proud.
"Shen Blocking Technique: Thirty-two Pressure points.
————-
Princess Egle slowly raised her head from where she lay, eyes wide not in fear, but in amusement.
Princess Egle lay draped across the dark coils of Saharan like a high priestess resting on a living altar. Her spine arched slightly as she lifted her face toward the serpent's gaze. A faint trail of blood traced down her chin. Her breath caught in a soft laugh.
"What a technique…" she murmured, her voice airy and bemused. "Couldn't see it… not even once. But at the end… I could feel it."
Her eyes narrowed cat-like. Hunting.
"Boy," she called out to Sakamoto across the broken field. "You've got another version of yourself hidden somewhere in this field… don't you?" Her tongue flicked between her lips again, slow and lazy. "I can smell it."
Sakamoto took a step forward, body tense, unsure if she was bluffing.
Then her voice turned cruel.
"Saharan. Bring me their souls."
The serpent didn't hiss. It breathed.
With a thunderous inhale, Saharan's massive body began to expand its muscles bulging, coils thickening, the ground cracking beneath its ever-growing mass. Its glowing purple eyes flared, bright as twin stars ready to collapse into black holes.
The air changed.
Electricity coiled inward, drawn toward the serpent's mouth like iron filings to a storm. Then—
The beam charged.
A swirling vortex of purple energy pulsed at Saharan's fanged maw. With a terrifying mechanical shriek, the serpent launched a high-velocity beam across the battlefield. It tore through the air like a cosmic blade, shredding trees, earth, and space itself.
Sakamoto didn't hesitate.
He reached out and grabbed Anuman's arm. "We're out."
And in a blink they vanished.
The beam exploded where they'd stood, ripping a crater into the earth the size of a warship hull. Smoke and fire roared skyward.
Sakamoto and Anuman landed at a safe spot , But even before the smoke cleared Saharan was behind them.
Massive. Silent. Unstoppable.
It inhaled again.
This time, the pull wasn't physical—it was spiritual.
Sakamoto staggered.
His knees buckled. His hands trembled.
And then he saw it thin, ghostlike threads of silver-blue light stretching from his chest. From Anuman's chest. Drifting upward. Their souls.
"What the hell—!?" Sakamoto gasped.
Pain hit.
It wasn't sharp. It wasn't even entirely real.
It was worse a thousand years of agony compressed into a single moment. A memory that hadn't happened yet. He screamed, falling to his knees as the sensation of being peeled alive, soul-first, tore through him.
"My soul is… leaving me," he croaked. "God dammit—!"
His vision blurred.
Saharan loomed above them, the void in its eyes wide, swallowing light, thought, and identity.
————
The war room inside SUHA Headquarters was bathed in low red light emergency protocols engaged. A massive screen covered the far wall, depicting the live satellite feed of the battlefield. The image jittered under electromagnetic strain from Saharan's presence, but the horror was still clear.
Sakamoto and Anuman were on their knees, souls visibly being wrenched from their bodies by the great serpent.
Minister Tenzy stood frozen before the screen, jaw set, sweat slicking his forehead.
"Saharan…" he whispered.
General Soren paced behind him, fists clenched. "He's being devoured! That serpent what is that thing?!"
Tenzy didn't blink. "Saharan the Infinite Coil. The Great Serpent… they say it's older than time. A creature that predates names. Its power surpasses even Jörmungandr. Even the Leviathan."
Soren spun toward him. "I don't want a bedtime story! Send in a damn strike team! Air support! Jet bombers! Get them out of there!"
"We can't," Tenzy snapped. "No weapon mankind has developed will scratch that thing. Not even our plasma reactors."
"That's not your call," Soren said, storming toward the control panel. He grabbed the override speaker from the wall.
"All squads, scramble Jet Division. Lock coordinates on the central font. Authorization: Full Bombardment—Now!"
Technicians flinched. The room filled with overlapping alerts. A swarm of icons lit up on the map.
Behind them, Minister Alfred silent until now turned his gaze toward Marcus.
"Get Sir Varion. Bring him here so we can heal him, we need him on that field ."
Marcus didn't question it. He moved fast, vanishing through the corridor doors.
Alfred approached the command panel. His presence was cold, surgical. Unlike Tenzy, his mind was still steel.
He placed one hand on Tenzy's shoulder.
"Minister Tenzy," he said softly. "You'll be taking a rest. Now."
Tenzy's eyes twitched.
Then his body slumped.
He collapsed onto the nearest chair, hands trembling, eyes wide and staring. His pupils had contracted vacant.
General Soren turned, startled. "What's wrong with him?"
Alfred faced the screen, voice low and precise.
"Blood intent is stronger than water," he murmured. "It's affecting him. After all these years."
He exhaled sharply. "The war room is under my command now."
The technicians didn't argue.
On the screen, the serpent's glow pulsed like a dying star about to go nova.
———-
Far from the battle's core, the blackened ground cracked under twin landings Cain and Dakun, both armored in layers of aura and wrath, touched down in a ripple of scorched wind. The air smelled of static and rage.
Dakun glanced at the sky. "He's already in it," he muttered.
Cain didn't respond. His fists clenched, knuckles white through the gloves. A vein in his temple pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Let's move."
At the same time, deeper into the outer ridges of the central font, a small unit sprinted through shattered ruins Asger, Osiris, and Madagascar leading the way. Madagascar's mismatched eyes scanned the winds, focused on something unseen. His left eye twitched no, spiraled as if mapping pressure points in the air itself.
"Everyone down!" Madagascar barked.
Without question, they dropped. A breath of stillness passed. Nothing came.
They rose cautiously. Osiris smirked. "False alarm, genius?"
Madagascar frowned. "No. It's still—"
SSSSHHHHHRRRAAAAAKKKKKK.
From behind them, the air split open.
A colossal blade of red energy wider than a cargo freighter sliced downward in a vertical arc, carving through the earth like butter. But before it could reach them, an enormous wall of red ice rose from nowhere, exploding outward from Madagascar's extended hand.
The wall stretched 700 meters across, towering and dense an ancient defense born of instinct.
The energy blade hit.
BOOOOM.
The wall cracked. Then it shattered—cleaved cleanly in half, the pieces crashing to either side like falling mountains. The blast radius blew dust and debris into a cyclone.
Asger leapt to his feet, shielding his eyes. "What the hell was that?!"
Madagascar said nothing, his mouth slightly open, ice still steaming from his fingertips.
Then a shadow moved above them.
Everyone looked up.
Floating just overhead, suspended in the dead wind, was a figure.
A long, tattered robe fluttered around him, etched with cryptic circuitry and blood-red glyphs. His hood hung low, a curtain of woven shadow, completely obscuring his face. Black smoke coiled from his form as if his body breathed poison.
In one hand, he held a sword a monstrosity of steel and machine, glowing with red runes and old-world hatred. Every inch of the blade whispered stories of forgotten worlds and unpayable debts.
He said nothing.
But his presence alone pressed against their lungs.
Asger stared up at the figure, jaw tight. "Who the hell is—?"
Madagascar exhaled.
"That," he said, voice quiet, "is Zuolin."
The Third Warlord of Lord Arcade had arrived.
And the field just changed.