The Waver cut across the skies like a blade, engines humming with steady power. Inside the cabin, the air was thick with silence — until a crystalline chime split the quiet.

  Pungence pressed a finger to his earpiece. His voice was cold steel.

  “Speak.”

  A man’s hurried voice rang out, crackling with static.

  “Sir Pungence… Striker’s Hell has been breached. Dreados, Omfry, katos and other unbounds have escaped.”

  The Titan of Hope stiffened. His voice thundered so loud the cabin trembled.

  “Whaaaat?! How did this happen?”

  “We don’t know, sir!” the man stammered. “It was them — the Orken Unbound. Somehow, they’ve gotten too strong.”

  Pungence’s fists clenched, his jaw grinding. “Impossible. I just saw their leader. He wasn’t even with them.”

  “We… don’t know how, but it happened. They’ve grown stronger than any report predicted.”

  Pungence’s face darkened, storm-shadow crossing his features. His massive hand crushed the armrest, splintering it.

  ---

  The Dark Chamber – Plunder Island

  Far below, in the bowels of Plunder Island, two titans of Yilheim sat across a chessboard carved of obsidian.

  The Mermaid Sovereig, her coral mask glimmering faintly in the firelight. She slid a piece forward, her voice cool, edged with amusement.

  “Sometimes your genius frightens me. How did you know he would come for them?”

  Across from her, the Orken Warlord rumbled with laughter. His tusked mask tilted as he pushed a massive pawn forward.

  “I have the best intel in the world. The moment those Elvheins applied for this competition, I traced their history. I discovered their tie to Pungence — he’s been like a father to them for three years.”

  He leaned forward, horns catching the firelight.

  “And I remembered the Beniek Ruin. Their run-in with Bumble. He failed to finish the job then… so I knew he’d return. If not himself, then through a Warbringer. Either way, the Elvheins were as good as dead.”

  The Mermaid Sovereign’s smiled faintly. “So you… orchestrated this?”

  The Warlord chuckled, the sound like boulders grinding.

  “Of course. I made sure the cameraman broadcast their fights more than any others. A lure. I picked this island because it was isolated — hours from rescue. Pungence would have no choice but to search blindly for hours.”

  He shifted another piece with casual precision.

  “And while he was busy… I tested our new drug. Three years of work. I ordered my men to strike Striker’s Hell, just to gauge its power.”

  The Mermaid Sovereign tilted her head. “But you said you ran out of raw material. That it was stolen.”

  “Exactly,” he said, tusks gleaming. “So I gambled. Created this competition in hopes the raw material would bring itself to us.” His tusked grin widened. “And it did.”

  The Mermaid’s mask tilted, her voice low.

  “…Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

  ---

  The Cameraman’s Den

  Elsewhere, in a chamber bristling with Seers and screens, the cameraman’s fingers flew across a console. Dozens of feeds played before him — Valerius, Bumble, the crater of ruin. His grin stretched as he slammed down a headline across a glowing screen:

  “Striker’s Hell Breached – Two Catastrophes Loose.”

  “Unknown Elvhein Battles Enforcer… and Survives.”

  “The Young Catastrophe is Born.”

  He leaned back, satisfied. “Yes… I like the sound of that.”

  ---

  Back in Pungence’s Waver

  The hum of the engines filled the silence. No one spoke.

  Valerius groaned, clutching his head. His body, freshly reconstructed, still ached with phantom pain. He sat up slowly.

  “Uuugh… man.” His eyes darted around the cabin. Then widened.

  “…My bag. Where’s my bag?”

  Ziraiah leaned back in her seat, arms folded. “Sorry, Val. You took quite the beating… must’ve been all torn up and dropped your bag along the way.”

  Valerius’s head snapped up, his tone sharp. “Not just any bag. It’s an artifact — it can’t get torn up.” His fists tightened on his knees. “Damn it. I had things in there… important things.”

  Ziraiah tilted her head, frowning. “Back where? What are you talking about?”

  Valerius’s voice dropped, heavy with frustration. “Where I’ve been these past three years.”

  He slammed a fist against his knee, teeth gritted. “Fuck… I failed my mission. And now I’ve lost my bag.”

  Valerius’s hand shot out. “My sword. What about my sword?”

  Her smile dimmed. “Sorry, Val. That guy took it.”

  Valerius shouted, “Fuck!”

  Eryndor’s gaze sharpened, his tone cool and admonishing. “Mind your tongue, Valerius. Such vulgarities ill befit you.”

  Valerius’s eyes narrowed, his voice low and edged.

  “Don’t piss me off.”

  Valerius’s jaw tightened. “Damn it… just when I thought I was finally getting stronger.” He looked around, voice bitter. “What happened to the competition?”

  Ziraiah leaned her elbows on her knees, chin resting on her hands. “Canceled. Thanks to Eryndor nearly nuking the entire island. We would’ve gone extinct like the dinosaurs.”

  Eryndor, pallid yet composed, released a measured breath. “I was compelled to intervene—Valerius was verging upon defeat. In that moment, I entrusted Irisa with our protection.”

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  Ziraiah snorted. “Mhm. And poor Val got mopped across the floor. Honestly, it was embarrassing.”

  Valerius glared. “Shut up.”

  Her smirk only widened.

  Valerius leaned back against the Waver’s steel frame, his body finally still. His mind, though, refused to quiet.

  The image of Ziraiah came to him — her tears, her helplessness. He clenched his jaw.

  I’m going to kill him one day… I’ll make sure of it.

  His gaze drifted across the cabin, landing on the giant seated near the helm.

  “Who’s that?” he muttered.

  Ziraiah’s lips curved faintly. “Pungence.”

  Valerius turned fully now, eyes locking on the man the had heard only stories of. His breath caught.

  That’s… Pungence. My god.

  An overwhelming aura pressed against his chest, thick as an ocean tide. His lungs fought to pull air. His skin prickled.

  And he’s not even trying to suppress it.

  As if sensing the weight of his stare, Pungence’s eyes shifted slightly.

  And then—

  Nothing.

  The suffocating Bravo vanished in an instant. Gone. As if it had never existed.

  Valerius blinked. What the… the hell?

  “Sorry about that,” Pungence rumbled, his voice calm. “I was a bit… annoyed.”

  Valerius’s eyes narrowed. “What… did you just do? Where’d all that Bravo go?”

  Pungence’s gaze returned to the horizon. “You seemed uncomfortable. So I sealed it.”

  Valerius’s mouth opened, then shut again. His thoughts raced. Sealed it? That’s possible?! I can’t feel a single thing from him. It’s like he doesn’t even exist.

  Ziraiah frowned. “Sealed what?”

  “Bravo stuff,” Valerius muttered distractedly, still rattled.

  His eyes wandered the cabin, desperate for something normal. “Sure has been a while since I’ve been inside a Waver.”

  Ziraiah smiled gently. “Pungence takes us flying whenever he comes home. You’d be surprised, Val — this world has some truly beautiful places.”

  Valerius’s attention shifted. Across from him, Eryndor opened and closed his newly restored right hand, flexing it slowly.

  “What’s up with you?” Valerius asked.

  Eryndor’s voice was calm, but his eyes gleamed with a scientist’s curiosity.

  “This faculty of regeneration is… extraordinary. Excruciating in its process, assuredly—but extraordinary nonetheless.”

  Ziraiah laughed, loud and unrestrained.

  “You should have seen him, Val. Screaming like a girl the whole time. I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  Eryndor groaned, his composure cracking for once. “I entreat you… do not subject me to such mortification. Spare me the indignity.”

  Valerius smirked. “Damn. A once-in-a-lifetime chance to hear that, and I missed it.”

  From the corner, Eliana’s brow furrowed, thoughts racing. Are they the only ones who can regenerate? Even Uncle Pungence looked surprised…

  She leaned forward, her voice soft but sharp. “You mean… you three can regenerate? Doesn’t that make you basically immortal?”

  Valerius shrugged. “I don’t know about that. It doesn’t happen instantly. Takes time.”

  Eryndor looked to Pungence, his expression finally serious. “This marks the second occasion that man has pursued us. What transpires when he comes a third? Even Valerius proved powerless before him.”

  The cabin went silent.

  Pungence’s voice filled it, deep and immovable.

  “I will handle it.”

  He turned slightly, eyes like stone.

  “But in the meantime, you’ll have to intensify your training. From the looks of it, you still haven’t recovered your mana. That’s because your Vitalis core is weak. Like any muscle, it must be trained. That way, you’ll recover faster.”

  He paused, his voice softening — ever so slightly.

  “I saw your fight with the Dragoon. I was impressed you managed to circulate mana like Bravo. Well done. You’ve made history, Eryndor.”

  Eliana’s eyes widened. “What? Circulate mana like Bravo? That’s not possible. Mana circulation is fixed — it can’t be changed.”

  Pungence nodded toward Eryndor. “Ask him yourself. Looks like he figured it out.”

  Eliana turned sharply. “Is that how you cast that ridiculous spell?!”

  Eryndor allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “If it hold your interest, I am willing to instruct you.”

  Her eyes lit up like fire. “Really?”

  “Hey!” Ziraiah cut in, glaring. “I asked first.”

  Eryndor chuckled. “Have no concern. I shall instruct you both.”

  Juvian leaned forward, frustrated. “Wait, wait — what’s this Bravo Pungence keeps talking about? You never tell us anything.”

  Ziraiah smirked. “Anyway—what happened to you two after you lost?”

  Isabela’s face grew pale. Her voice lowered.

  “…We were taken to this place. It was like another world. Thousands of people were there. All the ones who lost.”

  Her hands trembled slightly.

  “One man told us… if we wanted to qualify for the next phase… we’d have to play some kind of game.”

  ---

  To Be Continued...