The air in the corridor crackled, a battlefield of opposing elements. Agent Sterling moved like a dancer in a storm of his own making, his fiery saber a blur of orange light against the explosive growth of dark green vines. The wood-type cultist was skilled, raising walls of tangled thorns and lashing out with whip-like branches, but Sterling's flames consumed them all, relentlessly pressing forward.
Across the hall, Agent Croft's fight was one of deadly silence. His opponent, the air-type, stood perfectly still, yet the space around him was a tempest. Invisible cannons of compressed air slammed into Croft's defenses, each impact like a sledgehammer blow. Croft flowed around the attacks, his hands weaving intricate patterns as razor-sharp ice thorns materialized from the moisture in the air, shooting towards his foe. They would fly true for a moment, only to shatter against an unseen barrier of solid air just a meter from their target.
"You two," Croft's voice was a low, urgent command that cut through the chaos, "protect yourselves! Stay back!" He knew this was a battle between equals; he and Sterling could spare no attention to protect the children.
The low-ranked cultists, seeing their masters engaged, turned their hungry eyes toward the two "easy targets." Marcus saw the shift, the predatory glint in their eyes as they began to surround them. He and Seraphina exchanged a single, grim look.
"No choice," Marcus growled, his voice a low rumble. "Let's do it!"
He activated his psionic gear. A surge of Aura flowed into the giant, spiked gauntlets on his hands, making them hum with power. Beside him, Seraphina's two jagged rock blades felt solid and heavy in her grip, a familiar weight. This was no school competition. This was for their lives.
Seraphina's Aura flared, and a dual layer of her defensive buffs—the shimmering Defensive Aura and the solid Bedrock Armor—enveloped them both. Then, the cultists charged.
Though they had never truly killed before, the raw, desperate instinct of a life-or-death moment took over. Marcus became a roaring juggernaut. He didn't just punch; he annihilated. The crunch of his spiked gauntlets meeting flesh and bone was a sickening, wet sound. Seraphina, in stark contrast, was a whirlwind of deadly grace. She used her training, her agile footwork dodging a clumsy attack before her rock blades sliced across a throat or into the soft spot under an arm. The cultists, their bodies enhanced with grafted monster parts, were physically strong, but their technique was sloppy, brutish. They were no match for the trio's refined combat skills.
From a distance, the three remaining Rank Two cultists watched the slaughter with growing impatience. They had been holding back, respecting the duel between their own Rank Three masters, but seeing two mere Rank One children tear through their subordinates was an insult they could not stomach.
"Fall back, you fools!" one of them, the mental-type captain, shouted. "Let us deal with them!"
The weaker cultists scrambled to obey, retreating from the two teenagers who had become terrifying blurs of destruction. The three Rank Two masters stepped forward. One was the captain, his eyes cold and calculating. Another's body seemed to vibrate with an unheard frequency—the sound wave psionicist. The third, a beast-tamer, smiled cruelly and summoned his partners. With a shimmer of psionic energy, a massive Rank Two Direwolf and a sleek, powerful Rank One, Level Eight Fierce Tiger appeared beside him. The Direwolf's presence was a wave of pure feral energy, far more potent than the lone creature they had faced in the wilds.
The captain sneered, his gaze locking onto Marcus and Seraphina. "Are you ready to die, children?"
AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
From deep within the hidden complex, a howl suddenly erupted. It was not the bark of a normal wolf, nor the cry of a simple monster. It was a sound of pure, primal rage, of immense power and soul-crushing sorrow. It was a sound that stopped everyone—agent and cultist alike—dead in their tracks.
Suddenly, a majestic and terrifying creature burst into the corridor from a side passage. It flew through the air, landing with a ground-shaking thud, and then stood up on two powerful legs like a man. Its eyes were burning blood-red, staring intently at the beast-tamer and his Direwolf, filled with an endless, focused killing intent.
Ten minutes ago, in the solitary confinement cell, the agony had become Ethan's entire world. For three days, every minute and every second had been spent in the throes of a pain that was rewriting his very being. He was on the verge of being driven mad, his human thoughts drowned out by a rising tide of animalistic instinct. He had already completely transformed into the likeness of a Direwolf. Not a single trace of his human appearance remained.
But deep within him, the Omnitrix was still fighting.
[DNA modification progress 89%... 90%...]
[Host's original DNA has been stabilized. New transformation conditions have been met.]
[CRITICAL ALERT: Host is detected to be under immense, soul-crushing pain. Activating Host Protection Function.]
The Omnitrix, because it detected that Ethan was in great pain due to the volatile potion, had initiated its host protection function. In an instant, Ethan's Direwolf body gradually began to change. The quadrupedal form twisted and contorted, pulling upward. He didn't change back to his original appearance. Instead, he turned into something new. A perfect fusion. A werewolf.
His body became majestic and powerful, his muscle lines distinct and corded, filled with a palpable sense of strength. His skin was a dark gray, and his fur was dense and hard as steel wire. His head had transformed into the sharp, intelligent shape of a wolf's head. The sharp fangs and pointed ears made him look even more ferocious. His eyes flashed with a burning red light, revealing a cold and merciless aura. He was a Loboan. He was Blitzwolfer!
But at this moment, his sanity was gone, completely submerged by the wild, primal nature of the wolf, amplified by three days of non-stop torture.
He lifted his new, powerful head and howled—a savage, cruel, heart-stopping sound of pure rage.
The two guards outside, bored and playing cards, heard the sound. One of them stood up with a grumble. "Grrr! What are you yelling about in there! Be quiet for me!" He walked over to the reinforced cell door, ready to deliver a psionic jolt to shut the specimen up.