The group burst through the tunnel entrance —and immediately, they were met by the waiting enemy.
Across the stadium's shadowed interior,
DuRand stood at the center, flanked by his Vatborn squad.
Without hesitation, DuRand and his forces opened fire.Blaster bolts, crimson and searing, filled the air —streaking toward Alexander's group in a storm of red plasma.
The energy shields that protected Freya, Griffin, Dante,Six, and Four flickered to life,
absorbing the incoming shots in brilliant ripples of light.Each impact sent shimmering ripples across the semi-transparent barriers —but the shields wouldn't hold forever.
Reacting instantly, Freya, Griffin, Dante,Four and Six retaliated —their own blasters flashing brightly, returning fire with deadly precision.
Meanwhile, DuRand hefted his heavy blaster rifle —an intimidating weapon that hummed with stored power,the vents glowing a deep, dangerous red.
With a snarl, DuRand unleashed a volley —
each shot pounding the ground with bone-shaking force, sending fragments of turf and concrete flying.
Alexander stomped his foot, channeling his power.From the stadium floor, columns of jagged earth burst upward —thick pillars rising to block the heavy blaster rounds,
the impacts sending cracks of light and dust through the barriers of stone.
But even that wasn't enough.
Freya decided to use her new legacy — Molecular Manipulation. At its core, she had the ability to control matter on a molecular level: She could push molecules tightly together, compressing matter into dense, nearly indestructible forms, perfect for creating barriers and shields.
She also had the potential to push molecules apart, unraveling physical structures at their very essence — that could to a physical level such as push people and objects away, or more devastating technique that could rip solid objects or living beings apart.
However, at this stage of her training, Freya had mastered only compression.
By focusing and compacting molecular structures, she could form shields of incredible durability.
Freya, focused and calm amidst the chaos, stepped forward. Her hands glowed faintly, fingers splayed wide.With a surge of concentration, she bent the molecules of the air and ground around her —compressing matter in an elegant, almost unseen act of force.
Before her, a force-field materialized —
a stunning construct of interlocking hexagonal cells,each one thick like polished glass, the edges glowing a vivid blue-white.
The shield pulsed softly, looking almost alive:
an organic yet geometric wall, like a crystalline honeycomb forged from semi-solidified light.
The enemy plasma bolts slammed into the barrier —but the shield held, the impacts causing the hexagons to pulse brighter,
dispersing the energy harmlessly outward.
Behind the shield, the group pressed forward,advancing toward DuRand and the monsters that awaited them.
DuRand was angry, Nine red-lit plasma cartridges pulse across his chest. His hand sweeps down with practiced precision, fingers brushing across the glowing cylinders.
He yanks it free. The glow intensifies as it's removed, like the cell senses it's about to be used.
He twists the undercarriage of the rifle with a sharp snap, ejecting the spent core—steam hisses as it clatters to the ground.
TCH-CHK!
The new power cell slides into the chamber. The rifle shudders, absorbing the charge. Red conduits flash alive, streaking down the weapon's spine.
DuRand exhales.
He stands, his silhouette bathed in that infernal red light. The blaster hums deeper now—charged, angry.
Snarling, DuRand raises the weapon and unleashes a volley of searing red plasma.
Each shot tears through the air like a thunderclap, the recoil kicking violently against his shoulder.
But once again, the blasts slam harmlessly into Freya's barrier.
Her shield, a lattice of glowing hexagonal cells, shudders under the impact — the edges flaring brighter for an instant — but it holds firm, defiant against the Mogadorian's fury.
The molecular structure flexes and absorbs the blasts, dispersing the energy across its web-like surface with shimmering ripples.
Behind it, Freya's eyes lock onto DuRand, cold and steady, her hands outstretched as the living wall of energy bends but never breaks.
Seizing the momentum, Alexander extended his hands,his energy rippling into the earth beneath their feet.
Roots exploded from the ground — thick, sinewy vines crackling with raw chlorokinetic power.
They snaked forward with terrifying speed, wrapping around several Mogadorians before they could react.
With a grunt of effort, Alexander yanked his arms downward —the roots slammed the captured Vatborns into the ground, the impact echoing with sickening cracks.
Dante was already moving. He drew his twin blasters, spinning them effortlessly, and opened fire —each bolt finding its mark.
The fallen Mogadorians shrieked briefly before crumbling into piles of ash.
Overhead, the sky shifted. Number Six, eyes glowing fiercely, called upon her Sturma Legacy.
Clouds gathered with unnatural speed, dark and heavy, swirling into a focused vortex above the battlefield.With a crack that shook the stadium, lightning lanced downward —
forks of white-hot energy tearing through the Mogadorian ranks.
Several were struck directly, their bodies exploding into ash and smoke before they even had time to scream.
Meanwhile, Freya, fueled by adrenaline and focus, unleashed a trick Alexander had taught her. Her shield, once stationary and protective, now shifted with deadly intent.
She manipulated the molecules within it, accelerating their motion,spinning the hexagonal cells into razor-edged projectiles.
With a fierce cry, Freya hurled the rotating barriers forward —the shimmering, glassy projectiles slicing through the air like spinning sawblades made of light.
Two Vatborns tried to dodge — but it was too late.The projectiles sliced clean through them,tearing them apart on a molecular level,
leaving behind only falling ash that drifted across the battlefield.The Mogadorians were faltering.
For the first time, fear flickered in their red eyes.
Above the school grounds, dark shapes slithered through the clouds — three Pikens, the last of their pack, circling like vultures. Their membranous wings stretched wide, catching the moonlight as they rode the turbulent night air.
From their vantage, they heard it: the echoes of combat, the dying roars of their kin.
With a chorus of guttural screeches, the Pikens folded their wings and dove—
plummeting from the sky like living missiles.
They crashed onto the rooftop of the stadium building with a thunderous impact, talons digging into the steel frame. The structure groaned under their combined weight, loose gravel and debris scattering in every direction.
Perched atop the stadium, the monsters scanned the grounds below, their beady, glowing eyes burning with primal fury.
While DuRand gritted his teeth, feeling the pressure mount. Blaster fire roared from his weapon again and again — furious, relentless — but each blast was either crushed by Alexander's rising earth columns or absorbed into the shimmering hexagonal weave of Freya's barrier.
But suddenly from behind a rain of plasma blasts arrived hitting the Mogadorians, it was Henri, Hilda, Conrad, Sam and Malcom. All of them with there blasts rained fire on the last of Vatborn Mogadorians.
Frustrated, DuRand gave a sharp, shrill whistle, signaling for the Pikens.
With guttural roars, the three monstrous Pikens launched into the air, their leathery wings tearing through the smoke and dust.
They soared high, banking to strike from above — but before they could dive, shadows swept over them.
The air itself seemed to tremble as Leon came diving down in his battleform —
A monstrous creature of power and grace:
His head elongated and angular, ending in a sharp, beak-like snout.
Golden-yellow eyes flared with precision and bloodlust.
Rows of jagged teeth and a pair of aerodynamic horned crests crowned his skull.
His colossal wings beat once, twice, a booming thunder that rattled the stadium walls.
Leon slammed into the Pikens like a living missile. In a single, devastating move, he seized one Piken in his talons — crushing its ribs with a sickening crack — while his jaws snapped around another, tearing through its neck and sending its lifeless body spiraling downward.
The third Piken shrieked and banked sharply, trying to escape by skimming low over the stadium floor.
But it wasn't fast enough.
Panthero, charging across the battlefield, began to shift mid-stride.
His form grew massive and monstrous, plates of deep purple and golden-bronze armor cracking through his skin:
His tigrine head elongated, taking on the shape of an oni mask, a blend of primal terror and demonic wrath. His eyes, once sleek and feline, burned a molten yellow, piercing through the dark like twin embers from the depths of hell. Jaws widened, revealing serrated fangs, thick as daggers, protruding even when his maw was closed.
Massive, curved horns jutted from his skull, arching back like a wicked crown, his body clad in battle-scarred armor, deep purple and golden-bronze plating lining his shoulders, back, and limbs. Down his spine, razor-sharp ridges bristled, each movement making them rattle like the warning of a predator before the strike.
In one powerful bound, Panthero hurled himself into the air —His massive jaws clamped around the fleeing Piken's neck, slicing through scale and bone in one brutal bite.
The Piken's body went limp instantly, its wings folding as it crumpled to the ground.
Above, Leon let out a victorious screech and hurled the limp body of the Piken he'd captured, slamming it into the earth with thunderous force. The ground trembled from the impact.
With all three Pikens destroyed in a matter of seconds, the battlefield grew still —for just a moment —before DuRand's enraged roar echoed through the ruined stadium.