**A day ago. Valley prison**
Two figures entered a room, having just infiltrated this highly secured space.
In the center, a large man stood restrained to various chains and Bonding magic.
He had a heavy, metal bite protection mask on his face from the nose down, and even as he sat, detained, he was already halfway to the ceiling of this dimly lit place.
Gorran, a large man in respect, paced his steps as he strode forward, observing a man even larger than himself.
"He doesn't seem conscious," he spoke to someone who followed near behind.
The sound of a screaming mage knight filled the space for a moment, but was abruptly stopped by the sound of a crunch; the silhouette of an ungodly beast had torn him in half.
When the man entered, he hiccupped and began itching profusely. "Oh, he will… Especially if we tell him he can get promoted above Arthur…"
As if the words were his saving grace, the man awoke in a violent rage.
"See?"
Gorran huffed, and then spoke up to the giant, "What he says is true. And all you have to do is kill a Rooster."
Drakthor calmed himself, breathing savagely. "Hawk."
"Aye."
"That is all?"
Gorran turned around and walked off, passing by the Rabbit as he said, "There. Now tell him, Flinch."
The Rabbit, Flinch, stopped itching as he glanced at Gorran sidelong, and a dreadful expression overtook him like a bother. The two clumps of hair atop his head that resembled rabbit ears seemed to twitch at the sight of him.
He faced the larger man before them and stared for a long while before saying, "That is all, Drakthor."
Drakthor smiled wickedly, the chains that bound him groaning to his delight.
"You need this more than we do. After all, you have been stripped of your Head Officer title, per Master Wrath."
It took a moment for Drakthor to register what Flinch had just said. The look in his black void eyes was of utter bitterness, and his breathing became more intense by the second. Suddenly the place shook as his chains and the Bonding magic on him had begun to crack.
"What did I tell you?" Gorran spoke, back still facing as he remained by Flinch's side. "Tantrum."
"Give him a moment," Flinch asserted without facing him, amber eyes still studying Drakthor.
After a while, the trembling began to cease, followed by calm breathing.
Drakthor, stripped of his proud black armor, his title, and even his bandit crew, remained within the binds, merely rising as he reached the height of ten feet. He shadowed the only light of this place, and even in the dark, his pitch-black eyes managed to glow, still.
And at last, he spoke again, "Release me."
***
**Present. A cliff near Tahoe Lake**
A man with a black and red mohawk watched from afar through a pair of binoculars.
He wore drifter's clothes as he laid on his stomach, first scanning the Wolves Den, which was nicely perched within the mountain bowl of Tahoe Lake, slowly lapsing to a polar opposite distance.
There, he found Mountain Knights camped, who were watching the Black Wolves as well.
And with there being a new addition to the group—the Valley's princess, Belle—he kept close eye on what the Mountain Knights would do… if anything.
"Interesting," he said as he observed the casualness of the Mountain mages. "It's like they don't even know that the princess of the Valley is here…"
He whipped his view back to Tahoe Lake, and tapped his binoculars twice, chanting, "Reveal."
The binoculars glowed dimly for less than a second, and instantly, his view changed.
"So that's how…" He paused to think before saying, "Damn, that's cool."
On the outside, is an Alternate Space type magic. One that is able to blend into the surrounding area, he pondered as he removed the binoculars from his face. And since Tahoe Lake is a natural mana field, it's not like the random surge of mana is seen as suspicious. On top of that… Even if a Sensory mage were to peer down at them, within the Alternate Space… is a Nullifying barrier.
He pumped his fist to the side as his red eyes sparkled. What an utterly genius strategy! All to preserve the innocence of a peaceful moment with a loved one from literally Kingdoms away! Tears formed in his eyes as he continued to fangirl over what the Black Wolves had done to evade the Mountain's strict conditions.
It was then that he got an alert from his beacon from his beat up convertible nearby—a stuffed, cartoon rooster necklace that hung like a charm on his rearview mirror.
He glowered at it as it rang, his expression changing to that of solemnity as he merely watched.
"Unfortunately, good days never last long," he said as he dusted himself to a rise, walked over to his convertible, and hopped in the driver's seat. "But fortunately, bad days never do either."
He revved the engine and the vehicle hiccupped before sounding off a resounding vroom.
Backing out, he left the scene to handle things elsewhere. Though, he never strayed too far…
***
As he drove, he passed by a mountainous area full of groves and gloomful terrain.
Hiding within the shadows, bandits shifted about, darting from tree to tree.
The mohawk man glanced at them as he drove onward, keeping tabs of their whereabouts, or if they might attempt to attack.
After all, there was now a bounty on his head…
He drove into a denser part of the mountainside, unfortunately, the only access point to where he needed to go, so as to wrap around a nearby area of Tahoe Lake.
Damn it… he thought as he burst through a gate of thick boughs. It's all right… It's only half a mile…
The atmosphere changed. It was as if he had stepped into an entirely different space from where he once was. The clouds were darker here, and the air felt heavy, like there was something big hiding within this part of the mountainside grove…
The shuffling of the bandits nearby grew more intense as he was forced to drive at a curve on the dirt road.
And then one of them jumped out.
His eyes darted to him as he pulled out a rusted gauntlet, and faced its fist in the bandit's direction.
Before even making contact, the gauntlet burst, and a pulse wave blew the bandit back into the trees.
The gauntlet dismantled afterward.
"Not how I wanted to use that item, but oh well…" Speaking to himself. That bandit's attire, he thought. Seemed familiar… It couldn't be…
He stepped on the gas, and sped faster. The shifting bandits in the trees closed in regardless.
How are they keeping up with me? Do they all have speed based magic?
He had to have been going at nearly a hundred-twenty miles an hour, but yet the mage bandits continued to draw near as if he wasn't moving at all…
He then flipped open a cover near his gear stick, and underneath there was a button.
Not yet, he thought as he trekked onward, gaining higher speeds than his speedometer could calculate.
The sounds of the mage bandits neared dreadfully closer all the while.
And once the arrow on the speedometer reached graciously into a blank area, that's when he pressed the button.
Now!
The rusted convertible bolted in a flash, reaching speeds that a vehicle of its condition should not be able to go.
And yet it did.
He blazed through, trees becoming blurs of light with each pass.
"Come on, girl! You can do it!"
The mage bandits grew further and further away, until he reached the end of this forever grove at long last.
He burst through another gate of thick vines, but as he flew in the air in what seemed like slow motion, his expression changed, realizing where he was…
What?
The vehicle slammed into the dirt, tires bouncing and hitting the undercarriage violently; a motion that should have totaled it, but didn't.
However, despite the vehicles divine durability, and that extra nitrous oxide he made it ingest, the heaping metal was simply out of gas…
"Fuck!"
It powered down as he stepped out to retrieve a portable fuel container from the trunk, but before he could refuel, he sensed the presence of three powerful mages, along with the bandits that were following him just moments before.
He was surrounded.
A focused expression overtook him as he placed the fuel container in the backseat of his vehicle, walking forward ever slowly.
"Long time no see… Head Officers," he said firmly.
The one in the middle spoke, "Aye." He was large, and wore a plumed hat with massive horns adorned on it. "It seems someone doesn't respond to their beacon. I thought, perhaps its broken… but it looks perfectly fine to me."
He looked at the rooster charm that hung on the mohawk man's rearview mirror.
"I don't answer calls from unknown caller ID's."
"Funny…" another said from his right. "Coming from the one who made these beacons… Hawk."
This one had white hair with two clumps that resembled rabbit ears, along with an unruly itch about him.
The mohawk man, Hawk, glanced sidelong in that direction, seeing only the man's silhouette and haunting amber eyes.
"Yeah, well, once an object has been made, only the ones in possession can destroy it. Hence why all of yours are still active," he replied.
"So then, why didn't you destroy yours?" the large man in the middle asked, his deep violet eyes beaming from his silhouette as well.
"Seems you forgot how these work… If I didn't, I wouldn't know when you're all moving. Even if I don't answer, it leaves a remnant message for me to listen to later. It's how I was able to infiltrate your plans for the Chimerabroods to assist attack in Pardem." He faced the large man ahead of him. "When you teleport a large group of people, you have to teleport them to the nearest beacon, otherwise you'd have to go back and forth to get them in smaller groups. Isn't that right, Gorran?"
The large man stepped into the light and revealed himself at last. His plumed hat and large horns could be seen more distinctly, along with his black tattered cloak and the half doctor's mask he wore on his face.
"It's because I knew you were bringing them there that I was also stationed nearby, same distance as you, Flinch." He looked to the right where the one with white hair and amber eyes was. He, too, was wearing a half doctor's mask. "Thus, teleporting the other half of them to me—where I annihilated them all."
"Aye. And it's also how we found you," Gorran replied. "Once those I've teleported reach their mark with a beacon, I now have endless informs on that beacon's whereabouts, I bet you didn't think of that, did you?"
Hawk clenched his teeth awkwardly.
"That's what I thought."
It was then that the third of them stepped forward from his left.
His heavy footsteps shook the ground as he took his time to reveal through the trees.
When his silhouette was in view, it dwarfed the one of the large man in front of Hawk.
His eyes widened as he beheld him. Like a returning nightmare he thought he was long done with.
"Drakthor? But you were detained in the Valley? The Valley prison is hidden…"
"Seems you've forgotten how my magic works as well," Gorran responded at last. "Even if I haven't been to a place personally, if I know of the place, that's all I need to go off of. The rest was easy once we found the location."
When Drakthor made it into the light, his corpse colored skin glowed like a ghost. His pitch-black eyes looked like a deranged monster that had cornered its prey. He had on black armor that resembled scales of a dragon, his helmet forming horns from atop his head.
"The usefulness of your ability was what gave you your no.9 spot among the Head Officers. However, because you were so distant, you weren't placed any higher," Drakthor said. "You wanna know something ironic, Hawk?"
Hawk shivered when he spoke. Out of all the Head Officers, even though Drakthor was ranked the lowest among them, it wasn't due to strength… Something about his presence made his skin crawl to no end.
"It just so happens that I am only third in terms of power among the Head Officers." Drakthor stepped a heavy, armored foot forward. "Where are you on that threshold?"
His yellow daggered teeth grew from ear to ear as he left the darkness, fully revealed to Hawk now.
He was a monster of a man, standing at ten-foot-one, making Gorran's seven-foot-nine height nothing to gawk over.
Hawk readied himself, wary of the three of them and the bandit crew that leaked in like a spreading stain.
"You remember my crew, right? The Nightbanes?"
As Drakthor spoke, his crew bled in from all sides. They wore similar black armor like him, etched on their skin like they had grown it rather than put it on.
I knew I recognized that bandit earlier… But wait… they're wearing his armor, too? Last I checked, his ability didn't go beyond him… he glanced over to Flinch and came to a conclusion soon after. I see… That's why he's here as well… And it also seems he used Loop Domain magic to trap me in this mountainside grove.
He clicked his tongue as he broke down his situation.
Had it just been one of them, I might have been able to make it through… But with three—and a bandit group—against one… I don't think I can win this, unfortunately…
And then Drakthor spoke again, "Gorran. You said Master Wrath will promote the one who kills the Rooster, correct?"
Gorran nodded, curious as to why he was asking such a thing now.
"Good. Then you two may leave. My crew and I will handle this traitor."
"We have the strength in numbers, and yet you want to give our enemy an advantage?" Gorran replied.
"What? Do you think this Rooster is so strong that it needs three Head Officers to bring him down?"
"Two, technically…" Flinch corrected.
"Don't make me angry, Rabbit," Drakthor snarled. "You're right. I am no longer a Head Officer… And that is precisely why it must be me to bring his head to Master Wrath."
Flinch and Gorran said nothing, letting him continue.
"Let's say we fight him together, and one of you kills him. Only you will move up the ranks. But the other will still be a Head Officer. Whereas for me, that is not the case. I cannot risk you two taking my only shot to be back where I rightfully deserve…" His black hole eyes widened in declaration. "Next to Master Wrath."
Their eyes glared at him, but they didn't defy his words. After all, neither really cared about the promotion to begin with. It was also why Flinch wanted to free Drakthor, so he can handle their Rooster problem while they carried out their main duties without delay.
For once, Drakthor's words spoke true.
"And besides…" Drakthor spoke to Gorran specifically. "Aren't you busy with the main objective?"
Gorran stared blankly at Drakthor, and then glanced over to Flinch, who merely shrugged, already preparing to walk away.
"It is true. I'd rather be dealing with the Master's main goal, than handling a loose end."
"There you go. Then hurry up and leave me to my duties."
Gorran was silent for a moment but then obliged, nodding to Flinch as they both walked off from whence they came, teleporting instantly from the site.
To Hawk's relief, Drakthor had ironically become his saving grace. "Phew!" he uttered as it was just them now.
Drakthor couldn't help but feel taunted. Like the time Greed appeared before him that day…
"I really thought I was gonna have to fight all three of you… I was already saying my prayers to the Keeper! But since you want to take me head on by yourself…" Hawk looked around to the Nightbanes all around. "More or less… I feel a lot more comfortable. Thanks, pal!"
The echo of his last word rang in Drakthor's ear.
Pal… Pal… Pal…
"How dare you," Drakthor surfaced a rumble of rage from within. "How dare you treat me so lightly, Rooster!"
The Nightbanes charged altogether. And Hawk fended off their consecutive attacks.
From his knuckles, four blades protracted as his weapon of choice.
He slashed one vertically, then flipped over one who rammed, sending him to another to collide. One came from behind and grappled him as another from above swung down a black mace.
Hawk leaped, arms still bound, and twisted, releasing himself from the Nightbane's hold. And simultaneously using the bottom of his steel boots to block the incoming overhead attack.
Another set of Nightbanes came, and he spun, slashing them away with his claw blades.
But more charged him on all sides as Drakthor raised an ironclad fist, and opened it.
Just as he did, the black armor on all the Nightbanes erupted in black spikes, engulfing Hawk to his demise.
The birds flocked away as a massive ball of armored spikes pierced outwardly like some giant sea urchin.
"I'm not done yet," Drakthor bellowed as he layered his scales, morphing himself into a black dragon as he chanted,
"Dragonscale Magic: Hellfire's Beam!"
He shot a purple beam from his dragon-like mouth that absorbed sound itself, blasting onto the collection of black spiked armor, sacrificing a group of his Nightbanes, all the while.
An explosion erupted, hints of purple and gray mixing to form the aftermath.
Smoke plumed upward past the trees, and Drakthor cackled hideously to himself as his goal had been met.
"First, a get out of jail free card. Then the lottery… My luck knows no bounds!"
Then his eyes darted toward the smoke.
"No," he uttered.
The silhouette of Hawk emerged, stepping forward as he held the helmet and an arm of two fragmented Nightbanes. And he was completely unscathed.
One difference about him, however, was the headphones he wore, with a certain song playing from them.
He mouthed the lyrics and bopped his head, releasing the pieces of the shattered Nightbanes to the ground.
"How? How are you alive after that!?" Drakthor roared, still in his dragon-like form.
Hawk lifted an earpiece and replied, "Huh?"
"You fucking punk… All right then. I've got more where that came from—"
"Oh, come on, Drakthor!" Hawk interrupted, slapping back the earpiece as his voice grew louder. "You didn't think I was that weak, did you?"
Drakthor paused. Though younger than him, Hawk was still a Head Officer of Riot Gang for a reason…
"You don't know my magic ability, do you?" Hawk added, still bopping to the music in his ears, with the faint lyrics, ~Tonight's the night that we run~ sounding off in his ears. "You think I just make magic items, and that's it, huh? It's crazy how a lot of you don't even know each other's abilities… well… I thought I knew Gorran's, but I guess his magic has more layers than I thought… Anyway, like… do you even know Arthur's or Lilith's? Hell… Do you know Wrath's?"
Drakthor spat in a rage. "How dare you address the Master so informally! How dare you think I don't even know him!"
"But do you? I bet you think 'Master' Wrath uses magic…" Hawk spoke as if he were mocking the title.
"Shut the hell up, maggot!"
Drakthor charged another beam; his armored wings flared, making him larger as he readied another attack.
"Dragonscale Magic: Massive Hellfire's Beam!"
And in Hawk's ear, the continued chorus rang, ~The hunter becomes what he hunts~
"What a damn shame…" Hawk muttered as the beam unleashed, casting out the shadows from his face.
He let the beam come and envelope him from head to toe as he retracted his claw blades.
It blasted through the grove and hit the mountain nearby, rumbling it so intensely that it could be heard and felt all the way through to the other side, right at Tahoe Lake—had one been close enough to this side, that is…
It lasted for fifteen seconds, petering into a thin line as the birds had finally migrated away.
Drakthor waited, his rage still eating him from the inside, as conflicting thoughts began to surge.
Do I truly know my Master?
His black scales shriveled, morphing him back to his base armored self, letting him recharge for a moment until he was able to morph again.
No. Why am I letting this punk get to me? None of that matters. What matters is loyalty, and being among the strong. That is Master Wrath. That is why I follow him!
"Lost in thought?" Hawk's voice stabbed Drakthor's ears.
Are you shitting me!? He's not dead!?
"Hmm… Maybe it's a good thing I didn't just outright tell you what my magic is. After all, it's your own fault for not being prepared."
"Come out and face me, coward!" Drakthor shouted into the smoke.
He saw a shadow from his left, and whipped his head to face it.
Then again from behind, and from all around, his motions too slow to follow.
From behind he came, Hawk leaped in the air to jab him in the head, but Drakthor reacted just in time with an armored fist to his side.
His fist slammed into him, and he flew to the nearest tree.
He charged back without needing to recover, meeting Drakthor back at his side.
Drakthor back-fisted him, sending him flying once again. He dashed. Large as he was, he was quick to meet Hawk from behind and clenched both armored hands to slam him upward.
Hawk flailed as Drakthor protruded black armored wings, and bolted to meet him in the sky.
As he arrived, he layered his fist with black scales, and smashed it into Hawk's face.
Hawk zoomed back down with a mighty crash, cratering the ground. But Drakthor didn't let up, even if he might have been dead, he landed over him as his massive, armored legs were like two tree trunks to Hawk's sides.
He threw a devastating punch down. And then another. And another. Over and over upon Hawk like some deranged beast.
The ground shuddered—quake after quake as the cracks grew from each fist landed.
And Hawk smiled, all the while…
As Drakthor raised his fist, he studied him.
No blood. No wounds. No bruises. Not even a single scratch.
"What the hell are you?" his guttural voice trembled as Hawk held that wicked smile that sent shivers down his black scales and corpse-like skin.
"You… You can use it, too?" Drakthor uttered again. "You can use Tantra!?"
"Nah…" Hawk spoke at last, and Drakthor sent down a roaring fist in response.
The impending fist was different. This one was Tantra infused…
Hawk saw this, and tilted his head, avoiding the strike as it shattered the ground. He then threw a fist at it, shattering Drakthor's armor from his wrist up.
Drakthor's eyes widened as his proud armor had been eradicated all the way up to his shoulder.
Hawk then repositioned himself with both legs, heading upward to Drakthor's jaw, freeing him as he shot upward.
As they both flew back, he allowed the momentum to carry his hands onto Drakthor's head, leading it to the ground, crashing it there, and shattering his helmet.
Now standing upright, he twirled in the air and led a kick down onto Drakthor's chest, shattering its scales, too.
Drakthor spat as the kick landed, and about forty percent of his armor effortlessly shattered like it was some cheap metal.
How? Drakthor thought. How is he beating me all of a sudden?
"I've always had a weak affinity for Tantra, so unlike some of you Head Officers, that wasn't exactly my area of expertise," Hawk said as he rose to a stand, and the lyrics from his headphones repeated that same chorus… "But if there's something I learned, it's that there's always a give and exchange in order to use it. Suppress all magic, gain full Tantra. Suppress half, gain half. Meaning, your armor's weaker when you decide to use your Tantra. In return it reinforces your strikes—allowing you to reject other's magic and deal an unhindered amount of damage without magic in the way."
Drakthor's rage built as he spoke. He wasn't even listening with all the boiling anger that was brewing within him.
"Thing is, if your mastery of it is weak, it doesn't matter if you can use Tantra or not. The better fighter will always win."
Drakthor fumed, and his Dragonscales engulfed him and the surrounding area like an uncontrolled organism.
Hawk leaped away, and readied himself. And from his headphones ~Black dog in my head~
The black scales whipped like tentacles, uprooting trees and earth. And then, with the sound of an echoing clang, it disappeared like it never existed…
~Guiding me to the end~
All that was left was an armorless man with a buzzed head and only a white muscle shirt, military green cargo pants, and black boots. He steamed an aura that was different than the dragon armor he was known for. Different than magic.
~Black dog in my head~
"You think you're better than me, don't you?" Drakthor muttered as he slowly rose his head. "Because you were ranked above me?"
~Guiding me to the end~
"You know something, Drakthor?" Hawk replied. "Unlike you… I never once cared for my title."
~Black dog in my head!~
They bolted toward each other and engaged in a sequence of close combat.
Punches were thrown, each were blocked or evaded. Hawk flipped himself, hands to the ground, twirling for far reaches of kicks. Each move predicted. Calculated. For Drakthor was now fully immersed in Tantra.
Excluding Wrath, out of the Riot Gang Head Officers, only four were able to use both Tantra and magic: Arthur, Flinch, No.8, and Drakthor (with the exception of the fifth being Evalyn, after she had undergone Death Pact).
Unlike traditional rankings, Riot Gang was ranked upon usefulness to Wrath. However, if it were based on sheer strength, Drakthor would have been third on that roster.
His strikes were more intense, shattering ground before it even made impact.
Hawk ran across the field, avoiding any direct contact by mere chance that if he let even one of Drakthor's attacks land, it would eliminate his magic.
As Drakthor fought to kill, Hawk fought for an opening.
He bolted with a chambered frontal kick, extending it as Drakthor blocked with a large forearm. Pivoting with that same leg, he then used the tip of his other boot to push himself under, catching himself with the leg he used to strike, and rotated himself into a spinning back kick.
His heel slammed against Drakthor's side, moving him only a bit. Drakthor then focused below, and sent a left hook. Hawk ducked, and grappled the giant's legs to maneuver to the other side. Once there, Drakthor threw an arm, dragging it over the ground to sweep him, but Hawk maneuvered again, using the flow of motion to swing under his arm, and over the top of it.
He ran upward, grabbed the back of Drakthor's head, and kneed him in the face.
Drakthor thrashed backward, spitting blood from the clench of his teeth.
I'm losing… Me—a dragon… losing… to a fucking rooster…
Hawk then rested a boot on his chest as the giant fell, craning an arm and fist behind him, catapulting it up and over, and then back down onto Drakthor's face.
The impact sparked a flash of aura that resembled yellow lightning, just as the song in Hawk's headphones repeated the lyrics, ~Tonight's the night that we run! The hunter becomes what it hunts! The escape and the chase is now one! Run! Run!~
In a breath, Drakthor's head smashed into the ground. caught off guard and with no protection to his head, he was left to receive this predestined concussion.
The pressure burst, and the trees swung backward, swaying for a time until the air settled.
When the dust cleared, all that remained was Hawk, standing over the giant, Drakthor.
A pool of crimson began to spread from his head; Drakthor, exhausted—defeated, managed to utter one last tired sentence. "All I… had to do… was kill you… and I would have been a Head Officer… again…"
Hawk wiped the dirt from his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, "That's the difference between you and me, Drakthor… You hold on to symbols that have lost their meaning, while I cast them away—rightfully so." He finally took off his headphones, which disengaged his magic, looking up to the gray skies and mountainside where—just on the other side—the Black Wolves were enjoying their much needed intermission.
"You wanna know what a true symbol is?" he went on as Drakthor neared death's door. "One that doesn't lose its purpose, even after you take it away."
A parting gift. And ironically, one that was too late to receive.
For once, the look on Drakthor's face was that of peace.
And in his last thoughts, a peculiar person came to mind.
Not Hawk. Not Wrath. Not even Greed.
Alice.
I wonder what would have happened had I never came back for you… Maybe then, things would be different for me…
Before Hawk left, he grabbed a necklace from Drakthor. There was a black scale on it symbolizing his personal beacon.
"Sorry about this. But I need more space in the inventory…" he said as a last parting before shattering the beacon in his hand.
He then headed back to his ride, refilled the tank, hopped in, and drove away from this Keeperforsaken grove, at last.
And the clouds thickened as white, silent flutters fell over this mountainside, burying the repented.