The silence after the battle was almost sacred. The jungle still trembled with echoes of Riven's fall, and the air smelled of turned earth and contained tension. To one side, tied and still unconscious, Riven lay like a silent reminder of the threat they had overcome.
Ian stood up, shaking off the dust, and looked at Tezca with a light smile.
"You're very strong, Iansito," she said, her eyes shining with admiration.
"And you're very impressive too, Tezkita," Ian responded, with a soft laugh that broke some of the moment's gravity.
Aurora and Kyran watched them, smiling at the evident connection between them, while the young woman stepped closer, ready to join in. Suddenly, a sharp hum cut through the air: a drone flew overhead, recording every movement.
Tezca raised her hands to the sky, playful and bold:
"Hey! Hello! Hello!"
The drone turned gently, focusing on her laughing gestures, and Tezca, satisfied, lowered her hands. Then she turned to Ian, her voice soft but firm:
"Iansito, you were truly incredible."
Kyran seized the moment and looked at Ian seriously:
"Tell me… why do you want to become an Archangel?"
Ian took a deep breath, his eyes fixed in the distance, remembering every step of his life:
"I have a goal. A dream I've pursued since childhood."
Tezca tilted her head, curious. Aurora and Kyran leaned toward him, expectant.
"Yes?" Tezca asked. "What's your goal?"
Ian breathed deeply, letting each word come out with weight and truth:
"To free all the people of the Dark Zone from slavery. I know Tiberius has always fought for this, but the Imperial Senate opposes it. He can't act with full force, because it would unleash a civil war and even more people would die. That's why… I must become strong. So strong that I can defeat the entire Imperial Senate and fulfill that dream. Free all the people of the Dark Zone."
A reverent silence fell over them. Kyran looked at him, eyes wide, impressed but not entirely surprised; he intuited the depth of his determination. Tezca, with a mixture of admiration and enthusiasm, exclaimed:
"Oh! Iansito, you really are amazing… then I'll help you."
Ian didn't realize it, but at that instant, the drone recorded every word, every gesture, transmitting the conversation live to the stadium in the Celestial Gardens. From there, Tiberius burst into laughter with a broad and sincere guffaw:
"Well, well, Alistair… your son is truly amazing and impressive."
Auron smiled with silent pride, while, in the Dark Zone Bunker, Vektor murmured:
"It was to be expected… he was always like that."
Velira smiled slightly. Merak tried to hide his smile for being an imperial soldier, and Noa, with shining eyes, sighed:
"Oh! He's so handsome… and so amazing… I love you, Ian!"
Velira, unable to avoid a gesture of exasperation, replied:
"There you go again with that, you perverted brat! You're not old enough for those thoughts."
Meanwhile, Riven remained at their side, tied and unconscious, a silent reminder of the strength Ian had displayed and the path that still awaited them.
The group advanced through the jungle. Ian walked firmly, and Tezca sat on his shoulders, light and confident. They laughed and shared glances, like lifelong friends.
Kyran watched them with a slight smile.
"They seem like they've been friends forever," he murmured.
Aurora looked at him incredulously.
"You mean they really didn't know each other?" she asked. "They're already inseparable."
Kyran nodded.
"No, but they're already best friends."
The jungle enveloped them as they continued walking, silent witness to their unexpected friendship.
And so the transmission's focus changed.
Now they showed Makia and her team: Atahualpa, Brenda, and Eldar.
Their fifth companion had been murdered hours before, devoured by Amazonia's savage humanoid creatures.
Despite the loss, they advanced at impressive speed.
The jungle didn't stand in their way.
Neither treacherous roots, nor sentinel trees, nor beasts hidden in the undergrowth dared touch them.
It was as if Amazonia itself protected them.
But then, the wind changed.
A low roar shook the earth.
A gigantic wolf emerged from the jungle's shadows:
a titan covered in dark gray fur, with three eyes shining on its forehead.
The team stopped abruptly, their bodies tense, instinctively on guard.
For an instant, they thought their luck had ended.
The wolf growled, its jaws could split trees like dry branches.
Makia took a step forward.
While the others retreated slightly, she advanced, serene, calm.
With a tenderness impossible to understand amid so much hostility, she raised her hand.
The wolf looked at her.
Its three eyes flickered, as if measuring the soul of the young woman before it.
Then, against all logic, it lowered its head, submissive.
Makia gently caressed its forehead, grazing the scar that crossed one of its lateral eyes.
The wolf sighed, closing its eyes, and lay at her feet, like a gigantic puppy.
Almost… smiling.
In the Celestial Stadium, the silence was absolute.
Thousands of spectators watched the screen without understanding.
No one believed what their eyes were seeing.
In the imperial box, Rhygar turned his head, looking at Alistair with disbelief.
"Alistair… Could it be that?"
Alistair didn't respond immediately.
His face, always so controlled, was now tense, severe.
His eyes fixed on Makia's figure, as if a forgotten shadow had returned from among the dead.
"It's impossible…" he finally murmured, almost to himself.
"Aria is dead.
Makia was born as an outcast."
Rhygar insisted, lowering his voice:
"But you yourself told me she has no slavery mark…"
Alistair's face hardened even more.
For an instant, his eyes showed something he never let show:
pain.
A deep, ancient, irreparable pain.
Rhygar, seeing that open wound, understood.
And fell silent.
He asked no more.
Returning to Amazonia, the image was worthy of a legend.
Makia mounted on the giant wolf's back, which offered no resistance.
Atahualpa, Brenda, and Eldar imitated her, climbing respectfully onto its back.
The creature, powerful as living thunder, began racing through the jungle.
They now advanced faster than any other team, carried by Amazonia's own savage will, heading toward the exam's center.
The jungle opened before them.
The wind whispered old songs.
And in some corner of the world, a forgotten echo seemed to awaken.
The wolf advanced through the undergrowth like a silent hurricane.
Mounted on its back, Makia and her team seemed like figures from an old epic.
Atahualpa, enormous, bronze-skinned, long-haired, remained upright, vigilant, his enormous energy spear ready for war.
Brenda, with fine, light golden hair and sharp gaze, held her rifle created from nothing with nanotechnology against her chest, her mind analyzing every corner of the jungle sliding around them.
Eldar, stocky, on the prowl, but with intelligent shining eyes, murmured formulas and alternative routes in case of attack, as if he could trace invisible paths in his mind.
Only Makia seemed completely relaxed, as if riding a mythical beast were the most natural thing in the world.
Atahualpa broke the silence:
"I'd never heard of a wild creature submitting, much less in Amazonia…" he murmured, glancing at Makia.
"Who are you really?"
Makia didn't respond.
She only smiled, looking at the horizon.
Not even she understood it.
A strange wind blew.
Brenda frowned, her senses sharpened:
"We're not alone…"
Eldar nodded quickly:
"There are aura presences… strong." He swallowed. "I don't know if they're hostile creatures… or something worse."
The wolf growled in a low tone, as if it had also sensed it.
Amazonia, which until now had allowed them to advance, closed again.
Shadows thickened.
Trees pressed together.
And the air became dense, electric.
Makia narrowed her eyes, serious for the first time.
"Get ready," she said softly.
"The true Amazonia… begins now."
The three-eyed wolf growled louder.
From the thicket, human shadows began to take shape.
They weren't beasts.
They weren't rebels.
They were other aspirants.
A group of five figures, dressed in different garments and armor, emerged silently among the trees, their faces half-hidden in the jungle.
Their movements were smooth, coordinated.
Too coordinated.
They watched.
Measured.
Calculated.
Atahualpa frowned, gripping his spear forcefully.
"They're hunting us," he growled in a low voice.
Brenda had already loaded her rifle, discreetly aiming toward the jungle.
Eldar murmured smiling:
"They're looking for a fight."
Makia didn't move.
Seated on the wolf's back, her gaze fixed on the hidden group, she smiled with unsettling calm.
"It doesn't matter if they watch us," she said, with a soft voice.
"They won't be able to stop us."
The beast's eyes flickered.
And the group, in perfect synchrony, continued advancing, ignoring their pursuers, like kings ignoring insects.
Amazonia swallowed them again.
But the sensation of stalking eyes didn't disappear.
The true hunt was just beginning.
The pursuers finally showed themselves.
Behind the group emerged an imposing figure: a young man with a stocky and athletic body, pale brown skin, with slanted eyes of a navy blue as deep as an ocean in storm.
His hair, dark with bluish reflections, fell in disarray, giving him a savage and majestic appearance.
Over his shoulders, he wore a jaguar's skin: the animal's head was his hood, while the rest formed a tunic that billowed as he passed as if the predator's spirit still lived in it.
Ocelotl Náhuatl.
Without warning, Ocelotl launched himself forward.
He ran on all fours, merging with the earth as if he himself were a jaguar made flesh.
Each stride was faster, more lethal, more voracious.
Suddenly, the air vibrated.
Thousands of roars began to fill the jungle.
From all directions, jaguars emerged—first dozens, then hundreds, then thousands—overflowing the undergrowth, the roots, the trees.
It was a living tide of fangs, claws, and golden pelts that pursued, relentless, the three-eyed wolf.
On the titan's back, Makia's team observed the relentless advance.
The jungle, formerly an ally, now seemed to become a maddened enemy.
Atahualpa frowned.
He dissipated his energy spear in an electric blue flash, and without a word, walked resolutely toward the wolf's rear.
He stopped at the edge of its spine, planting himself facing the horde coming like a living tsunami.
Without fear, without hesitation, Atahualpa raised both arms to the sky.
The light changed.
The clouds swirled violently overhead, covering the firmament in an instant.
Then, as if answering his call, hundreds of thousands of energy spears began to materialize in the sky, emerging like stars born from thunder.
A rain of spears fell on the jaguars.
Each impact was thunder that shook the earth.
The struck jaguars disappeared in flashes of light or dissolved like smoke, while the tide retreated momentarily under the celestial barrage.
In the midst of the devastation, in a close-up, Ocelotl's face showed:
a fierce smile adorned his lips, his navy blue eyes shone with savage excitement, his eyebrows furrowed in a gesture of pure defiance.
He shouted with a hoarse voice that split the air:
"ATAHUAALPAAAA!"
From the wolf's back, Atahualpa responded with equal fierceness, his voice like thunder:
"OCEEELOOOOTL!"
Both names rumbled in the air, laden with an ancient, brutal, almost sacred rivalry.
Without thinking, both shouted at the same time, as if a primitive instinct guided them:
"COOOOME AAAND FIIIIIGHT!"
Ocelotl didn't slow his speed.
Atahualpa didn't wait either.
He jumped from the wolf's back, leaving behind the astonished gazes of Makia, Brenda, and Eldar, who could barely process what they were seeing.
Atahualpa ran like a bullet fired from a human cannon.
His feet struck the earth with such force that the ground trembled under his advance.
And when they collided—when Atahualpa's bulk met the unbridled fury of the jaguars—the impact was like the clash of two mythological beasts.
A roar rumbled throughout Amazonia.
The battle had begun.
The clash was brutal.
Atahualpa, wrapped in living energy, threw the first thrust: a spear of light that broke in the air, transforming into a halberd.
Ocelotl, fast as lightning, dodged crouched, roaring like a real jaguar.
The feline horde fell on Atahualpa like a tide.
Without stopping, Atahualpa invoked blades in the air: dozens of floating blades, spinning like mortal stars.
With an ancestral shout, he launched them in all directions.
Jaguar after jaguar dissolved in explosions of light, but others kept coming.
Ocelotl jumped among the bodies with impossible agility, his claws shining with savage energy.
Atahualpa created a double spear, spun it, sweeping enemies, breaking fangs, cutting invocation flesh.
Ocelotl roared, crossing space like lightning, and crashed against Atahualpa.
Claw against energy steel.
Edge against instinct.
Atahualpa changed again: his spear broke into a curved sword, then into a scythe of searing light, then into a heavy hammer that crushed the ground beneath his feet.
But Ocelotl was an unstoppable gale.
With a roar that froze blood, he leaped on Atahualpa.
Ocelotl's claws opened in bestial fury, and, in a flash of pure brutality, slashed Atahualpa's chest from shoulder to hip.
Blood gushed like a torrent.
Atahualpa, staggering, felt life escaping him.
His knees faltered.
In the Celestial Stadium, the giant screens showed every movement in real time.
The crowd roared excitedly, shouting the names of Atahualpa and Ocelotl, prey to savage euphoria.
Each blow, each slash, each energy clash tore shouts and cheers as if the sky itself were about to break.
But in the last breath of strength, as he fell backward, he extended his right arm to the sky.
From his palm, an axe of pure energy emerged, brutal, hungry.
Ocelotl, blinded by blood and fury, didn't stop.
And then the edge found its target.
A perfect, ascending slash.
Ocelotl's left arm flew through the air, severed at the root.
The human jaguar roared, a roar of pain that made the entire jungle vibrate.
Atahualpa fell heavily to the ground, his blood staining the undergrowth.
Ocelotl retreated, staggering, his face unhinged between rage and shock.
And just when both colossi, wounded, faced each other in that eternal second…
A whistle cut the air.
A shadow emerged from the jungle.
A tall figure, dressed in rusty red armor, covered in dried blood and cruel smiles.
Kraven.
His presence paralyzed the jungle.
No jaguars.
No spears.
No roars.
Only death approaching, smiling Machiavellianly.