Winston's Office
The air was still.
Winston stood amid the eerie silence of his office. Across from him, Saturn lounged against a bookshelf with the casual grace of a cat, his silver eyes gleaming with amusement. White Fang held his ground near the spot where the rift had just closed, twin blades loose in his grip, his visible eye cold and patient.
Winston straightened. He adjusted his cuff. Then he did something neither of them expected.He walked to the sidebar, picked up three glasses, and set them on his desk.
"Join me for a drink?"
Saturn's eyebrow rose a fraction. White Fang's stance didn't change, but his eye narrowed.Winston poured. Amber liquid splashed into crystal. He slid one glass toward the edge of the desk, another toward the empty space where a chair used to be.
"Please. Sit."
Saturn's smile widened. He pushed off the bookshelf and drifted forward, movements liquid grace. He took the glass, swirled it, inhaled.
"Exquisite. You have excellent taste, Principal." He sipped.
White Fang didn't move. Didn't touch the glass.
Winston's gaze rested on him—heavy, ancient, weighing. Saturn wore his casual smile like armor, but White Fang's stillness was a different kind of threat.
"Sit," Winston said again. Not an invitation this time. A command.
White Fang's lip curled. "You're stalling. Waiting for help that isn't coming. Duron saw to that."
Winston chuckled.
The sound was low, warm, and utterly wrong coming from a man whose office had just been breached by terrorists.
"I knew that sly snake was a traitor," Winston said simply. "But you're wrong about the stalling."
Saturn's smile flickered—just for an instant. Then it returned, broader.
"No," Saturn said softly. "You're stalling for the students. Evacuation protocols. Getting them clear of this area before the real fight begins."
Winston sighed. He raised his glass, took a slow sip, and set it down.
"You got me."
White Fang's visible eye narrowed further. "Pathetic. A King, hiding behind a moral compass."
Winston looked at him. Directly. When he spoke, his voice was quiet.
"It's you that should be stalling for help, boy. Two Dukes against a King?" He shook his head slowly. "Absurd."
Then his aura erupted.
Blue light exploded from Winston's frame—not violent, not uncontrolled, but absolute. It flooded the office in a tide of crushing pressure, poured through the shattered windows, and expanded outward until half the academy trembled under its weight. The ground quaked. Stone groaned. Students hundreds of meters away stumbled, clutching their heads.Saturn's casual posture vanished. His eyes widened—genuine surprise breaking through his mask for the first time.
"He's strong," Saturn said quietly. "Be careful, White Fang."
White Fang didn't answer. Both swords came up. His right eye ignited—glowing blue, matching Winston's aura.
Winston moved.
One step. One punch.
The impact didn't just hit White Fang—it launched him. He tore through the office wall, through the outer barrier, a blur of white and blue arcing across the night sky before crashing into the Aetheric Lake below. The water exploded upward in a geyser.
Saturn was already gone—a rift swallowing him an instant before Winston's fist arrived. The portal snapped shut.
Winston didn't pause. He leaped through the hole his punch had made, plummeting after White Fang.---He landed in the lake.Water surged around him, already churning from White Fang's impact. Winston stood on the surface as if it were stone, his white hair fuller now, almost mane-like, his eyes burning with the gold-flecked intensity of a predator.
White Fang rose from the depths, water streaming from his white hair. One sword was gone, lost in the crash. The other remained, still glowing.He looked at Winston—at the transformed figure before him—and something like respect flickered across his scarred features.
"I see why they call you the White Lion."
Winston said nothing. He simply raised one hand, blue aura condensing around his fist.
---
The Gate
Garlack's chest heaved. Blood dripped from a cut above his eye, but he was still standing. Behind him, his Sentinels held formation, their faces pale but their weapons steady.
Before them, Falkore stood with that same mocking grin, Medusa humming softly at his side, Code and Dreco watching like patient predators.
Backup, Garlack thought. Where is—
A streak of fire crossed the sky. Vanessa.
But she wasn't here yet. And Falkore was already shifting his weight, ready to move.
Garlack moved first.
[Kinetic Spear: Rending Thrust]
His yellow aura blazed as he lunged, all his stored potential converting to explosive forward momentum. The spear tip aimed for Falkore's throat.
Falkore sidestepped—casual, almost lazy. His counter came fast: a brutal backhand wrapped in raw strength.
Garlack didn't try to dodge. He redirected. His spear twisted, catching the blow at an angle, deflecting most of the force while he spun with the momentum. Then, in the same motion, he whipped the spear around and drove it forward with everything he had.
[Kinetic Spear: Hundred-Year Return]
Every scrap of energy Garlack had stored since his awakening—every fight, every training session, every moment of patient accumulation—converted in a single heartbeat.The blow caught Falkore square in the chest.
He flew.
Not just back—past his fellow Hands, a blur of scarred muscle and surprise, until he crashed into the concrete barrier beyond the bridge. The impact shook the ground. Dust and debris geysered upward.
Behind Garlack, the Sentinels erupted.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?""HE HIT HIM! HE ACTUALLY HIT HIM!""CAPTAIN GARLACK!"
Garlack didn't celebrate. His chest heaved. That attack had cost him—decades of stored energy, gone in an instant. He was breathing hard, watching the dust cloud where Falkore had vanished.
The laughter started low.
Then it grew.
Black aura began leaking from the impact crater—thick, viscous, wrong. It crawled across the concrete like living oil, and with it came a pressure that made Garlack's knees want to buckle.
A Duke.
Falkore rose from the crater.His greatsword was in his hand now, coated in that same abyssal black. His grin was wider than
before—wounds already closing, bones already knitting. He rolled his shoulders, and the air around him screamed.
"That," Falkore said, "was fun. My turn."
Garlack's mind raced. He had nothing left. No stored energy. His body was tapped dry.
But he was still Captain of Security. And behind him were men who were cheering his name.
He reached deep.
Not into stored energy—that was gone. Into something else. The potential of his life. Every moment he hadn't yet lived. Every fight he hadn't yet fought. He converted it all.
[Kinetic Spear: Life's Dividend]
His spear blazed yellow-white, so bright it hurt to look at. His body screamed in protest. His cells were literally burning.
Falkore's grin widened.
"Here I come!"
He moved.
Garlack saw it—barely. A black blur. The greatsword descending.He brought his spear up. Channeled everything into the block.
CRACK.
The spear shattered.
The greatsword sheared through it like paper and kept going—through Garlack's right arm, severing it at the shoulder. Blood sprayed. The arm spun through the air, still gripping the broken spear haft.
Garlack didn't scream. He didn't have time.
Falkore's other fist, coated in that black aura, crashed into his chest.
Garlack flew. Past his Sentinels—their cheering turned to horror—past the bridge approach, past the inner gate. He slammed into the main gate itself with a sound like a funeral bell. The metal groaned, dented inward.
Silence.
Falkore withdrew his fist, examining the black residue on his knuckles.
"Short," he muttered. "Disappointing."
Then—movement.
Garlack pushed himself up.
His right arm was gone. Blood poured from the wound, from his mouth, from a dozen internal injuries. His legs shook. His vision swam. But he stood.
He walked forward.
Past his own guards, who parted in stunned silence. Past the crater where he'd landed. Across the broken bridge, leaving a trail of blood with every step.
He stopped before Falkore.
His stance was weak. Wrong. His remaining hand was empty. He could feel it now—the black aura on Falkore's fist had done something to his core. He couldn't channel Aether. Couldn't fight.But he stood there.
Falkore tilted his head.
"Brave," he said. "Stupid. But brave."
He raised his greatsword for the final stroke—
—and a meteor of fire and fury crashed into him from the side.BOOM.
Vanessa Blaze, wreathed in crimson flame, drove Falkore through the bridge and into the lake below. The water exploded into steam. The shockwave cracked the remaining stone.
She landed on the bridge's edge, breathing hard, her eyes blazing.
"Sorry I'm late."
Barracuda descended in a cascade of pressurized water, landing beside her. His tattoos gleamed.
His expression was utterly calm.
"I was told this would be a quiet assignment," he murmured.Vanessa snorted.
Behind them, Medusa tilted her head. Code remained still. Dreco's fangs gleamed.
The bridge had become a battlefield.