SCREEEECH!
The Iron-Beaked Vulture was bloodied all over, one of its massive, metallic wings nearly torn apart. Its ferocity, however, had only grown.
Its wings shone like mighty blades from heaven, moving at impossible speeds, sending multiple energy slashes toward both Kerchak and the Archaic Water Crocodile. Though they were allies in this hunt, they were rivals for the Primordial Blood. Only one would ascend.
The Rank 7 Crocodile roared in fury, but it fared better than the battered bear.
The Thunder-Breathing Bear was splayed in the middle of a thirty-meter crater, bright red blood mixing with the mud. Lightning flickered across his rough skin. Kerchak invoked a forcefield, flickering with blue lightning, fending off the Vulture’s blades.
That was the opening the Crocodile needed.
Contrary to its colossal size, the beast was lightning-fast and cunning. Its tail descended like divine punishment, spikes shimmering with Natural Energy while water from the waterfall coiled around its length like living serpents.
“Разрушение воды (Razrusheniye vody - Water Destruction).”
CRASH!
The waterfall nearby changed its flow, surging violently upwards. Kerchak’s forcefield shattered. One of the Crocodile's spikes impaled Kerchak deep in his chest.
Blood sprayed from Kerchak’s mouth, but his feral grin widened. “Finally, you came close.” He seized the Crocodile’s tail and pulled.
TEAR!
The Crocodile bellowed in catastrophic pain as its spine-thick tail ripped free from its body in a mountain of gore.
This was the Vulture’s opportunity. It started shining like molten iron.
“Большая железная дрель (Bol'shaya zheleznaya drel' - Great Iron Drill)."
The Vulture descended at close to twice the speed of sound, a meteor from heaven aimed right at Kerchak’s head. The Bear saw it with reddened eyes, becoming only more manic.
“Сошествие Бога Молний (Soshestviye Boga Molniy - Descent of the Lightning God)”
The sky answered.
Lightning fell in a pillar of white fire over the Thunder-Breathing Bear. Kerchak grew—six metres, seven, eight—skin crackling, wounds cauterising in blue arcs. He seized the severed tail like a club and swung.
BOOOOOM!
The impact was deafening. Kerchak was blown backwards thirty meters. The Vulture was sent reeling almost two hundred meters. Both Titans bled rivers: Kerchak now sported a new hole in his abdomen, while the Vulture's iron-like beak cracked, dripping blood like melted metal onto the earth.
Kerchak spat lightning-charged blood and grinned through broken fangs.
“Okay… I guess it’s time for round two,” Kerchak rumbled, his voice now a massive roar that eclipsed the storm.
The Crocodile and Vulture howled in unison. The rain started pouring down. The fight for ascension had just begun.
The Rhodar Frontier was not a line of defensive walls but a vast, untamed landscape mirroring the spirit of its people.
The Red Phoenix Army’s main camp was a sprawling, magnificent display of tribal power, its thousands of tents, made of cured, blood-red leather and bone, clinging to the scarred earth like a predatory blossom.
Rhodar’s presence here was a stark contrast to the distant, civilised might of Ansara; here, the very air hummed with a wild, almost anarchic energy.
Every soldier was a hardened survivor, their armour a patchwork of metal, bone, and beast-hide, their gazes as fierce as the war hounds that paced the perimeter. This was the Red Phoenix Army
On a high, jagged ridge overlooking the edge of the Radon Woods, High Commander Felitia Du Venteria
Below, the sprawling, apocalyptic scene of the battle for the Primordial Blood pulsed with flashes of light and the deep, dying thrum of residual Qi. Lightning still tore through the cloud cover, illuminating the chaos that had been Kerchak's hunting ground.
Three of her lieutenants, all hardened TAO Legates, stepped forward, their faces etched with concern.
“Commander,” began a man with a severe, scarred face, a tiger tail coiled around his waist, his voice barely audible above the gathering storm. “The fallout from that last blast is immense. This is no mere fight, but a contest for an apex rank. We must intervene, or at the very least, investigate. This borders our territory, and those energies could…”
Felitia cut him off with a single, slow raise of her hand, never taking her gaze from the chaotic scene.
“You would rush into a fight between three high-ranked Beasts, Lieutenant Brel?” Her voice was not a shout but a low, resonant murmur, carrying a cutting authority that silenced the man instantly.
From a hidden pocket within her exquisite armour, she drew out a small, obsidian dodecahedron crystal. It was plain, save for a single needle of golden light that pulsed steadily, pointing not toward the fray of the Radon Woods, but subtly angled toward a position near the heart of the ongoing disaster. A location Felitia knew was far too close to Kerchak’s position for comfort.
She let the crystal vanish back into her armour with a flick of her wrist. A mysterious, almost cruel smile curved her lips, a look of sublime confidence that quelled the fear in her lieutenants’ eyes.
“Stand down, all of you,” she ordered. “The Red Phoenix Army does not chase shadows. We are observers in this moment, nothing more.” She paused, her eyes glinting with a dangerous amusement. “I have already assigned an agent to this particular problem. Our only mission is to ensure no outside force, be it Ansara’s nobles or some upstart mercenary band… Or even a Rhodarian force attempts to interfere with his operation. The woods are his hunting ground for now.”
She turned, the movement of her powerful, armoured form demanding their attention.
“Prepare the vanguard. We will observe until the result is clear, but we will not move one step closer.”
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As her lieutenants turned to relay her orders, Felitia Du Venteria remained alone on the ridge, the first heavy drops of rain spattering on her wild black hair. She looked back at the lightning-split woods, her smile fading into a cold, imperial glare.
, she thought, the unspoken threat aimed across the dark miles, toward the person tracking the battle’s chaos.
The dark clouds over the Radon Woods started encompassing the Frontier, the heavy air obnubilating the senses. The Natural Energy of Heaven and Earth filled the Woods with a shimmer that made its beauty a promise of death, sorrow and chaos.
The Woods themselves pressed in, a silent, suffocating fortress of ancient trees. Major Serena, Ansara’s will given form, disciplined, pragmatic, and unyielding, stood on a knot of gnarled roots, her movements as sharp as her sabre. The air was turning frigid, smelling of wet, iron-rich earth.
Serena
“Corporal,” she commanded, her voice cutting clean through the silence. “Scout team deploys. Gather data on the craters, primary objective. Secondary is any sign of the Tigers. Stick to high ground. No unnecessary engagements. Just eyes.”
Her men, veterans scarred by the unending frontier war, melted into the undergrowth. Serena, leaving her corporal as a silent anchor, pulled a sleek, rune-etched communication crystal from her pouch.
A flicker of violet light, and the familiar, round face of Raye, Lieutenant of the Night Crows, appeared. Raye was a vision of rumpled comfort, broad and jovial, a people’s person whose easy smile and mercantile eyes belied a formidable intelligence and the killer instinct of a seasoned mercenary. He was a friend, a reliable shadow in the darkness.
Raye began, a puff of cigar smoke curling around his image.
“Cut the nonsense, Raye. Craters, Tigers. What do you have?”
Raye’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes grew sharp. He leaned in conspiratorially.
Serena listened, tapping a gauntleted finger against her saddle. "We are already here, Raye. But I need the location. Anything. A whisper, a rumour, an old grudge."
A long silence followed, punctuated by the static and the drumming rain. —our leader—he doesn’t forget enemies. Years ago, he suspected Sagat had found a hideout. A cave, deep in the mountains, near the… . Said it was hidden by some kind of ancient, natural trickery.” Raye’s voice came back, sharp and distinct.
“Good enough.” She clipped the crystal back. “Prepare your gear. You’re guiding me.”
Raye’s image winked out as the first heavy drops of rain began to fall. It was not the light, predictable drizzle of the eastern plains, but a sudden, soaking deluge. Serena glanced up, her gaze sweeping westward, where the sky was a bruised, ominous purple above the dense, western part of the Radon Woods, where the Rhodarian border lay.
Serena could feel it now: an overwhelming saturation of raw, chaotic Natural Energy in the atmosphere, powering a storm far too vast for any mortal mage.
She wheeled herself, abandoning the slow investigation. She didn’t need patrols; she needed speed. Her intuition told her this was bigger than anyone suspected.
“Corporal, gather three men,” she commanded, her voice slicing through the rain. “We move immediately towards the Rainbow Roses Lake, where we’ll meet Raye. We will take the fastest known route. The rest of the regiment continues the search patterns.”
The pouring rain couldn’t hide the smell of blood and death in the atmosphere of that fateful morning.
The air in the cavern was thick, a volatile mix of dust and the crushing, unseen force of two powerful wills. A female Beastman over two metres tall stood before a short man, auras clashing like opposing storms.
The incredible thing was that the small man’s aura was superior, generating crushing pressure that forced the giant to brace every few heartbeats.
These were Malla and Ocelot.
Malla was noticeably tense. The power radiating from Ocelot made the strength she had always prided herself on feel insufficient. Her physical might rivalled a true Centurion’s, but the rest of her abilities lagged. This would be the most dangerous battle to the death of her life.
Yet the fierce fanaticism of a Rhodar Warrior burned away every trace of fear.
The indistinct shadow cloaking Ocelot had no clear form, unlike a true mid-tier ranked Expert defined Will. Ocelot had only just crossed the threshold of Centurion; his Will was still coalescing. His Qi remained impure, his realm unstable. The ochre-yellow halo that should have been steady flickered like a candle in the wind. That was why, despite his advantage, he had not ended the fight quickly.
Now, with Elisha out of the picture, Ocelot could finally play.
He harboured a cruel taste for toying with his prey, a flaw Sagat had warned him about, yet he dismissed it now. Given the clear gulf in their abilities, Ocelot sincerely believed he had absolute control.
He vanished.
Tonfas struck Malla from every angle—high, low, left, right—then he retreated before her massive frame could counterattack. Malla's all-out blows carried the raw force of a regular Level 45 Centurion; one solid hit could seriously wound Ocelot. But his agility turned Malla’s fury into empty air.
He used the exact strategy Elisha had wanted: death by a thousand strikes.
Only Ocelot executed it with cruel ease.
His strikes were insidious—never exposing himself, always retreating. Individually, they did little against Malla’s defence, but they served two purposes:
A cumulative damage that would eventually collapse even her monstrous endurance, especially since her berserk state couldn’t be maintained for long. More critically, Ocelot’s strikes were a constant, irritating torrent that eroded Malla’s focus.
Her mind, already affected by her battle fury, would attack with less control, creating the opening Ocelot needed for the final blow.
Minutes passed. Bruises bloomed across Malla’s body like purple flowers. Muscle tears wept blood. Hematomas swelled beneath the leathery hide.
“DAMN IT, FIGHT LIKE A MAN, YOU CURSED RAT!” she roared, a moment of overflowing anger momentarily overriding her control.
Ocelot only sneered and kept dancing.
Malla knew death was coming.
Malla knew this path led only to death. As Ocelot darted in for another strike, she channelled all her remaining Qi into the horns adorning her skull, which began to glow with a blinding white light. She attempted a devastating headbutt.
A twin curved cone of pure destruction exploded forward—two metres wide, extending to the cavern wall and obliterating stone in a thunderous earthquake that shook the entire lair.
Dust billowed.
Malla paused, chest heaving.
Nothing.
She looked up.
Ocelot clung to the ceiling like a spider, one tonfa buried in rock. He let gravity take him, falling like a meteor, remaining tonfa haloed in flickering ochre-yellow.
Malla opened her arms wide, accepting the strike to her chest.
BAM!
Her sternum caved several centimetres. Blood erupted from her mouth in a crimson geyser.
But her lips peeled back in a bloody, mocking grin.
“I knew you’d take the bait, cowardly rat.”
Her hands filled with Qi. Phantom hooves materialised around her fists.
She slammed downward with all her berserk might, enough force to pulp a Centurion into paste.
Ocelot had no footing. He did not panic. His eyes shone with manic delight, the head of a black rat-like apparition barely manifesting beside him, his Will taking initial form.
His tonfa was already buried in her chest. With his free hand, he struck the exposed butt of the weapon, driving it deeper.
BAAAAM!
The tonfa punched through her heart and spine.
Dust rose in a blinding cloud.
When it settled, Malla knelt, palms on the ground, lifeless.
Ocelot stood beneath her, holding the corpse upright by the tonfa still lodged in her chest.
Ocelot tossed Malla's massive body aside and dusted himself off, his arrogance returning. A streak of blood was visible on his lips, and he had several cracked ribs, but he was otherwise uninjured.
“Cursed sub-human,” he spat. “Almost hurt me with that desperate lunge.”
He laughed, ragged and triumphant.
“This is the power of a Centurion. When I master my Will… Sagat’s shadow will mean nothing. The sects on Ansara’s edge will beg for me.”
FWUIIIIIISH!
A sword of pure blue-white light erupted from his back.
Ocelot looked down, eyes widening.
He turned—slow, disbelieving.
Elisha stood there, face pale as death, one hand clamped to his shattered side.
“You are definitely much stronger than the Beastman and me,” Elisha rasped, twisting the blade. “But I’m sure people have told you… You talk too much.”
He yanked the sword free.
Ocelot collapsed, mouth working soundlessly, blood pouring from the hole in his chest.
Elisha swayed.
“It’s not the most honourable route,” he muttered, a self-deprecating smile ghosting across bloodied lips. “But everything is valid in war. Besides… I’m the one who taught Nerion to play weak.”
He had taken the beating deliberately, pouring every drop of Qi into a hidden defensive shell, waiting for the moment both monsters believed him broken.
“I wonder if the kids are alright,” he whispered, staggering toward the cell corridor. “I have to reach them.”
Each step left bloody footprints.
The first victory in the Tigers’ lair belonged to the Orphanage.
The cost has increased… Soon… It might just be too much.