A hand closed gently over Ziraiah’s wrist just before the knife could strike Eryndor’s heart.

  She froze.

  Crouched beside her was an old man. His skin was a deep red, his long hair and beard white as frost. He wore nothing more than slippers, shorts, and a faded T-shirt patterned with flowers — an absurd garb for the battlefield, yet the air itself bent under his presence.

  He sighed, his voice tired but heavy.

  “Poor girl…”

  With casual ease, he plucked the knife from her trembling hands. His eyes lifted, locking onto Bumble.

  “You enter my island without permission. You interrupt the game I sanctioned. And now… you stoop to this.”

  Then—

  A wave erupted from him.

  It wasn’t wind. It wasn’t magic. It was pure, crushing will. CRY.

  Bumble’s men collapsed instantly, screaming as blood gushed from their noses and eyes. They writhed, clutching their heads, then fell still across the crater floor.

  Even Pytho — one of the Five Warbringers — dropped to his knees, teeth rattling. What?! Me…? How… how am I affected? I’m a Warbringer!

  But Bumble remained unmoved.

  As did Valerius, Eryndor, Ziraiah, Eliana, and Irisa.

  The old man stroked his beard, his tone quiet but sharp as a blade.

  “All you Binding Hand dogs. Get off my island.”

  Bumble’s eyes narrowed, his grip releasing Valerius at last. He stepped forward, scarlet aura smoldering.

  “And who exactly do you think you are?”

  The old man gave a weary smile.

  “You want to fight an old man past his glory days? No. I’ll let my children handle you.”

  BOOOOOOM.

  The sky tore open.

  Figures descended like meteors, the ground quaking with each impact. Dust storms howled outward, swallowing the battlefield in choking haze.

  When the smoke cleared, they stood — vast, immovable, masked.

  The Titans of Yilheim.

  The Kottors.

  ---

  The Eternal Pharaoh

  At the center loomed the Eternal Pharaoh, twenty-one feet of rigid majesty. His golden serpent mask glowed faintly with shifting hieroglyphs, twin slits radiating light that pierced straight into the soul. Still as a statue, yet his presence sealed the world like a tomb.

  The Orken Warlord

  To his right thundered the Orken Warlord — thirty-one feet of brutal muscle, iron mask plated over a jaw like a fortress. Tusks jutted upward in a monstrous grin, four horns stabbing from jawline and brow alike. His arms crossed, but his body vibrated with restrained violence.

  The Mermaid Sovereign

  Across the crater stood the Mermaid Sovereign. Her massive tail was gone — replaced by towering legs that planted her twenty-two foot frame firmly in the earth. Her coral-encrusted mask shimmered like a relic dredged from the deep. Pearlescent fins fanned from her head like a crown of the abyss.

  The Hemoid Matriarch

  Beside her waited silence incarnate. The Hemoid Matriarch, twenty-four feet tall, her mask a void of black glass. Only a single vertical red slit glowed at its center, unblinking, suffocating. She did not move — and that stillness weighed heavier than thunder.

  The Green Masked Predator

  A smaller figure crouched several feet away. The Green Masked Predator, thirteen feet, clad in emerald lacquer carved like a beast’s snarling face. His glowing eyes stalked the battlefield, his aura prowling around Bumble like a wolf circling prey.

  The Gluttonous Baroness

  The ground shook as the Gluttonous Baroness landed. Twenty-five feet of immense flesh wrapped in jewels and silks, her pink porcelain mask painted with mocking lips. She fanned herself idly, the sheer size of her body suffocating the air even as she feigned laziness.

  The Woman in White Silks

  Last came the dancer. Twelve and a half feet tall, wrapped in flowing silks, her white ceramic mask bore a serene smile. She stood perfectly still, yet her aura was the sharpest of them all — a blade poised to draw blood at the faintest motion.

  ---

  Together, they encircled Bumble and the old man.

  The old man’s voice carried, calm yet absolute.

  “So… dog of the Binding Hand. Do you wish to die today?”

  Bumble’s jaw clenched. His aura surged, scarlet fire burning in the smoke. This is insane. All the Kottors… gathered in one place?

  Pytho trembled where he knelt. No… no no no. This is the worst outcome possible. He can’t fight them all. Not even him.

  The old man’s eyes narrowed.

  “My children wished to pick out new talents. I let them host their little competition here. You…” His voice turned cold. “…were not invited.”

  Irisa stood frozen, sweat dripping down her brow.

  All of them… together? Her heart raced as the overwhelming aura of the seven crashed over her like a storm.

  The Orken Warlord grinned beneath his mask.

  “Bumble. Bumble. At last. I think it’s time for our rematch.”

  Before Bumble could answer, a firm female voice cut through the storm.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  The crater shook as an old Dragoon woman walked calmly into view. Eight feet, five inches tall, dressed in slippers and a simple robe. Her silver hair was tied back, her every step heavy with quiet authority.

  The old man smiled faintly.

  “You didn’t have to come. We were handling things.”

  She shot him a sharp glare.

  “If I let you ‘handle things,’ I’d have no place left to sleep tonight.”

  Ziraiah’s breath caught. Who are these people…?

  The woman stopped before Bumble, looking up into his eyes without a shred of fear. Her voice was cold steel.

  “Do you want war with us, boy? Because that’s where this is headed. You don’t have your Gymatrix. You came alone. Which means you had no permission to fight us. You know the consequences if you don’t walk away.”

  The old man stepped forward, his voice softer but heavier.

  “Out of respect for Pungence, I’ll grant you one mercy. Enter our territory again without leave… and I’ll be your end.”

  The Orken Warlord chuckled darkly.

  “I really do want to fight him…”

  The Dragoon woman snapped back.

  “No. He doesn’t even have his Gymatrix. Would you be proud to beat someone not at their best?”

  The crater fell silent.

  And Bumble, for the first time, was surrounded.

  ---

  Bumble’s hand snapped outward, gesturing toward the siblings. His voice cut the air like a blade.

  “I’m taking them.”

  The old man’s beard twitched as he smiled faintly. His voice was calm, yet each word weighed like an avalanche.

  “You’re taking no one. If leaving here alive does not satisfy you… we can always change that.”

  The two locked eyes, silence brimming with the threat of annihilation.

  Bumble’s jaw tightened. His thoughts burned with rage. I should have killed them when I had the chance. Why are they protecting them? Do they know they understand the ancient tongue?

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Finally, he exhaled sharply, turning on his heel.

  “Let’s go!” he barked.

  With one mighty leap, he shot into the sky. His men followed instantly, scattering like shadows as the fleet began to retreat from the ruined island.

  The old man stroked his beard again and turned to the crater’s edge.

  “Well… looks like the competition is over. Now…” he looked at the shattered land stretching for miles, “…how are you planning to fix my island again?”

  The Green-Masked Predator stepped forward, his eyes glinting beneath his beastly mask.

  “We have someone with the Land Seed. He can mend the island, good as new. It’s the only reason you allowed us to host this farce here, remember?”

  The old man chuckled lightly, his wrinkled face crinkling with amusement.

  “Ahhh, yes, yes… must’ve slipped my old mind. I've really gotten old.” His eyes slid toward Ziraiah, still pale and trembling. He stroked his beard again, voice lowering.

  “Now… what to do with you.”

  ---

  Bumble stood at the edge of the shattered battlefield, his chest heaving. Around him his fleet had docked along the shoreline, Binding Hand banners snapping in the sea wind. His soldiers gathered in rigid lines, awaiting their Enforcer’s command, but none dared breathe too loud.

  “Daaaamn iiiiiiit!”

  His roar split the sky.

  Bumble whirled and drove his fist into the base of a nearby mountain.

  BOOOOOM—!

  The entire peak disintegrated in one blow, rock and earth blasting outward into the sea. A cloud of dust and molten stone rolled across the shoreline, the shockwave rattling even his own ships at anchor.

  He straightened, shoulders broad. His voice carried across the ranks, merciless and cold:

  “First Pungence. Now these old geezers. You won’t get this lucky a third time. Mark my words!”

  He raised one scarlet hand and pointed toward the horizon, fury radiating like heat.

  “GO. Capture the criminals!”

  His men snapped to motion instantly. Orders barked. Guns primed. Cushion barriers flared as his elite fanned outward, Binding Hand troops surging across the scarred island like a tide of steel and fire.

  ---

  Hours passed. The sun bled into the horizon, painting the ocean crimson. His ship was at sea. Bumble sat in his quarters, silent, eyes cold.

  A communicator chimed. A woman’s voice purred through the line.

  “So… did you get what you came for?”

  Bumble said nothing.

  Her laugh was soft, knowing.

  “I’ll take your silence as a no. Well… I wanted to let you know I’ll be heading to headquarters soon. My Judge has business to attend to. Let’s meet when I arrive. It’s been years since I’ve seen you, after all.”

  The line cut. Bumble sat still, fists trembling.

  ---

  Evening. The Old Man’s House.

  Inside the wooden chamber, Valerius convulsed violently on the couch. His scream shook the walls, raw and guttural. His body arched as his bones cracked, his flesh tearing and knitting again.

  Then — silence.

  His chest heaved. His eyes shot open, wide, glowing faintly as his body forced itself to repair. Blood pooled beneath him, but still his frame endured.

  The old Dragoon woman sat nearby, sipping tea without flinching.

  “Oooh. This one’s taking it far better than the other,” she said, almost amused. “He only screams when he must. The other one…” she tilted her head toward Eryndor, “screamed so loud I nearly ended his life out of frustration.”

  ---

  Hours earlier.

  Eryndor had been pinned against the sand, his body thrashing violently. His veins bulged, his ice arm cracking as his body struggled to reconstruct itself. His screams carried across the shore.

  The old man had merely placed one hand on his back, holding him down as though restraining a child. His voice was calm, almost bored.

  “Stay still. I don't know what's happening to you but I can't have you destroying my house or my beach.”

  Eryndor’s screams had only grown louder, his fingers clawing at the earth as the agony consumed him.

  ---

  Present.

  Now, in the house’s living room, the siblings sat stiffly across from the old Dragoon woman. She lifted her teacup delicately, her silver hair gleaming in the candlelight.

  Her eyes fixed on Ziraiah.

  “So… your name is Ziraiah, yes?”

  Ziraiah bowed her head politely. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The woman’s gaze sharpened.

  “And what did he want with you?”

  Ziraiah’s throat tightened. “We… don’t know. He came after us three years ago. In the Beniek Ruin.”

  The woman froze. Her eyes narrowed.

  “…Wait. You were the Elvheins who opened that ruin?”

  Ziraiah hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

  The woman’s voice sharpened like a whip.

  “So you understand the ancient tongue.”

  Ziraiah’s lips parted, but no sound came. She looked away, trembling.

  “Don’t you dare lie to me if you know what’s good for you,” the woman hissed.

  “Yes,” Ziraiah admitted quietly.

  The old man rubbed his beard. His tone was patient, but the weight behind it was immovable.

  “Where did you learn it?”

  Ziraiah lowered her head. Her lips trembled.

  “Ziraiah,” the old woman snapped suddenly.

  She flinched, startled into speech.

  “My family… we speak it in our home.”

  The old woman leaned back, crossing her legs. Her eyes flicked to Valerius, still lying on the couch as his wounds sealed shut before their eyes.

  “So… all of you understand it. Interesting.”

  She tilted her head, her tone softening into curiosity.

  “And this one… regenerates. Fascinating. I didn’t think Elvheins could heal like that. Are you truly what you claim to be?”

  Ziraiah bit her lip, silent.

  The old woman sighed, swirling the tea in her cup.

  “So then… what shall we do with you?”

  The room fell quiet.

  Ziraiah’s heart pounded. She lowered her head, her voice faint.

  “…What’s going to happen to us?”

  The old woman’s serene mask of calm twisted into something sharper. Her eyes glittered dangerously as she leaned forward.

  “That,” she said softly, “is what I’m still deciding.”

  BOOOOM.

  The ground quaked with a thunderous detonation. Dust rattled from the beams of the old man’s house, and the windows shook violently.

  Ziraiah’s head snapped up, eyes wide. Her voice trembled.

  “What was that? Is… is it him?”

  Her heart clenched at the thought of Bumble returning.

  But the old man simply turned his head toward the horizon, his white beard swaying in the faint breeze. His gaze sharpened, ancient eyes narrowing as though peering through mountains themselves.

  His voice was calm, almost too calm.

  “No. Not him.”

  He stroked his beard once, his tone heavy with meaning.

  “…Someone else.”

  ---

  To Be Continued...