The battlefield was scattered now: cracked stone, collapsed altars, and pools of shimmering black where the Source fragments pulsed faintly, half-buried beneath rubble. The fragments bled light, humming like hearts desperate to beat again.
Sané stood in the shadows of a shattered archway, watching. His mask reflected the golden radiance that flared across the field.
In the center of the ruins, Mabel Maverick stood poised, her spear leveled, golden light rippling from her body in waves that shimmered like a living sun.
Opposite her.....was the ever calm, still, unreadable—Number 12.
Sanè ofcourse was watching closely to see the extent of Number 12 power
12's coat fluttered in the windless air. Her mask was black and silver, etched with runes that pulsed faintly blue. When she moved, the air trembles.
Mabel's voice broke the silence.
"You're the leader of the Masked Ones here, aren't you?"
12 tilted her head... chuckling softly. "Leader you say. Well, what do you think?."
"You wear blood." Her eyes narrowed. "And I'm here to end that."
As they moved the ground cracked between them.
The fight began with no signal, no words—only movement.
Mabel lunged first. Her spear shot forward like a bolt of light, the air rippling as it tore through space. 12's figure blurred, vanishing an instant before impact. The spear hit nothing—then met resistance.
She reappeared beside her, her hand already slicing downward in a crescent of blue flame.
The collision birthed an explosion of energy that rippled across the ruins. Dust and debris flew outward, crashing against the broken walls where Sané and the others crouched.
"Damn," 111 muttered. "That's not even her full power yet."
"Or hers," Sané replied quietly. His eyes never left Mabel.
The two figures moved faster than sound—gold and blue streaks weaving around each other, every clash bright enough to sear the eyes. 12 fought with precision, every strike deliberate, efficient, silent. Mabel countered with grace, her movements fierce yet fluid, every motion of her spear trailing radiant sigils that hung briefly in the air before fading.
Their weapons collided again—
A burst of force rolled across the ruins like thunder.
But the others didn't have time to watch.
Number 12's voice echoed in their minds, calm but commanding.
"Retrieve the Source fragments. Leave none behind."
That was their true mission.
The wormhole disaster had revealed something beneath Dravenloch—Source energy, raw and ancient. Fragments of it had been left embedded in the ground after the spatial tear. If collected, they could stabilize their teleporters…or become weapons powerful enough to level cities.
Sané turned to the others. "We move."
111 and 123 nodded. The remaining seven Masked Ones fanned out across the ruins, slipping through the smoke. Their black cloaks rippled as they moved like wraiths, their movements was silent but purposeful.
Sané's eyes flicked toward the far edge of the field, where several shards of the Source glowed faintly. "There," he said.
They sprinted.
The first to reach the fragments was 123. She knelt, pulling a containment cube from her belt and pressing it against the glowing crystal. It resisted, flickering like a heartbeat. "It's unstable," she muttered.
"Then stabilize it," 111 said sharply.
"I'm trying."
Sané crouched beside her, his shadow snaking forward to cover the fragments. His Vestige energy enveloped them, muffling their resonance. "That should help."
They were almost done—
When the air behind them trembled.
A voice, smooth but cold, cut through the dust.
"Touch that again, and I'll tear your hand off."
They turned.
Two figures stepped out of the haze—identical faces, twin auras burning bright enough to make the ground vibrate.
Zex and Sax Maverick.
Hellforged Realm.
The Maverick Heir's twin wardens.
Each held a curved weapon that glowed with condensed light—a crescent-bladed glaive etched with runes that pulsed like living veins.
Zex tilted his head. "You Masked freaks never learn, do you?"
Sax smirked. "Always crawling after power you can't understand."
111 straightened, drawing his own weapon—a jagged flaming broadsword . "We don't need to understand it. We only need to take it."
"Then you'll die trying."
In the same instant, both wardens moved.
Their weapons blurred, arcs of gold slicing through the air. The shockwave hit before Sané even saw them move. He twisted aside, barely avoiding a blade that split the ground where he'd been standing.
"Scatter!" he barked.
The others leapt away just as a wave of light energy crashed into their previous spot, vaporizing stone and sand.
Zex and Sax moved in perfect synchrony. Every strike from one was covered by the other. When Zex attacked high, Sax followed low. When one defended, the other countered. It was like watching a dance designed to kill.
111 met Zex head-on, their weapons clashing in a thunderous impact that split the air. Sparks rained. Zex's glaive howled as it met the shadow-forged sword, both energies grinding against each other.
Sax appeared beside him, swinging for 111's ribs—only for 123 to intercept, her crimson petals forming a barrier that deflected the strike. The air rippled from the collision.
Sané joined the fray, his Vestige forming tendrils of darkness that coiled around the wardens' feet, seeking to anchor them.
But the twins were too fast.
"Cute trick," Sax sneered. He flared his aura, and a blast of light vaporized the tendrils.
Zex pressed forward, his glaive spinning in a deadly arc. "You think you can fight us and live?"
Sané didn't answer. His mask hid his grin.
They didn't need to win.
They only needed to delay.
Behind them, two of the other Masked Ones were already moving toward the fragments, pulling out containment units.
Zex saw it and snarled. "Sax—stop them!"
Sax broke off, dashing toward the collectors. Sané intercepted him, shadows bursting from the ground in a wall of black flame. Sax's blade cut through, but it slowed him just enough.
"Persistent little rat," he hissed.
"You talk too much," Sané replied—and lunged.
Their weapons met. Light and shadow exploded outward, pushing both backward.
---
Meanwhile....at the center of the ruins, the duel between 12 and Mabel raged on.
The ground beneath them was no longer solid—it was molten. Each strike carved new craters.
12 moved like a phantom, her body flickering in and out of visibility. Every time Mabel's spear thrust forward, it met air, followed by a counterblow from nowhere. But she adapted fast, reading her rhythm, predicting her next flicker.
"Spatial displacement," she murmured, blocking another invisible strike. "So that's your trick."
12's voice was calm. "Not a trick. A habit."
Mabel smiled coldly. "Then I'll break it."
She spun her spear, and the runes etched along its shaft flared—Heavenpierce Activation: Second Sequence.....a secret skill of the Maverick House.
A ring of light formed around her, growing brighter with each spin until it detonated outward.
The blast tore through 12's afterimages, forcing her true body to appear a few meters away. Mabel didn't hesitate—she was already there, her spear thrusting straight for her chest.
12 caught it between her fingers.
Energy screamed between them, the clash shaking the entire field.
For a moment, their eyes met....12 eyes were calm and empty, while Mabel's... fierce and burning.
"Your power burns brightly," 12 said. "But brightness fades."
She twisted her hand. The spear bent under her grip. A pulse of dark blue energy rippled outward, hurling her back through a wall of shattered stone.
She hit, rolled, and rose again instantly, her armor cracked but her eyes were blazing with renewed fury.
"You're not human," she hissed.
"Neither are you," she replied softly.
And they charged again.
Back among the ruins, Sané and the others were barely holding on.
Zex drove 111 backward, every strike a miniature explosion. 111's armor was cracked, smoke rising from his shoulder where one of the glaive arcs had bitten deep.
123 fought beside him, her Vestige blossoms swirling defensively, but the light energy kept burning through them.
Sax, meanwhile, clashed endlessly with Sané. Each movement was brutal—raw speed and precision against unpredictable shadow. Sané's style was adaptive, fluid; every missed strike became an opening, every dodge an attack. But Sax's sheer power overwhelmed him, forcing him to retreat again and again.
"Still alive?" Sax taunted.
"Barely," Sané panted, smiling beneath his mask. "You?"
Sax laughed—and then stopped abruptly. His eyes flicked upward.
The sky above them shimmered.
Mabel's spear had pierced through another of 12's energy veils, and the resulting explosion tore a hole in the clouds. Lightning forked downward, crackling across the field.
Even the wardens hesitated to look.
And in that single breath of distraction—Sané moved.
His shadow split, forming six identical clones. They darted toward the Source fragments, snatching the containment cubes.
Zex roared. "No you don't—!"
He lunged, his glaive flashing, but 123 threw herself in front of him, her crimson aura exploding outward like a blood-flower storm. The shockwave drove him back a step—just long enough for Sané to grab the remaining fragment.
"Got it!" he shouted.
Zex's eyes went wide. "Sax!"
But it was too late.
The Masked Ones regrouped. 111 limped forward, clutching his weapon. 123 stumbled beside him, her petals flickering weakly. They had the Source fragments—and that was all that mattered.
Behind them, 12's voice echoed faintly across the battlefield.
"Retreat."
They obeyed instantly.
The Masked Ones activated their cloaks' resonance fields, dissolving into streaks of shadow. The Maverick twins lunged after them, but Sané turned and unleashed one final surge of his Vestige—dark mist expanding outward, blinding everything in its path.
When the light cleared, the ruins were empty.
Only Mabel remained standing amid the wreckage, her spear buried in the ground, chest rising and falling slowly. Blood streaked the corner of her mouth. Zex and Sax appeared beside her, battered but alive.
"Lady Mabel," Sax said, kneeling. "They escaped."
Mabel didn't answer immediately. She stared into the darkness where they'd vanished, her expression unreadable.
Then she whispered, almost to herself,
"Sané…"
---
Far away, in the depths of the Masked Ones' stronghold, Sané finally let himself breathe. The Source fragments pulsed faintly within the containment cubes, bathing the chamber in eerie light.
111 slumped against a wall. "That was insane."
123 smirked weakly. "You say that like we didn't win."
Sané didn't answer. He just stared at the fragments—and then at the faint golden dust still clinging to his armor.
That same light. Her light.
He could still see her—Mabel—standing there amid the flames, her gaze fierce and unwavering even after facing 12 herself.
Making him wonder.....how strong the first upper numbers were.
But ofcourse his mind was still in Mabel.
He shouldn't have cared.
But he did.
And deep down, he knew this wasn't the end.
Because next time…
they wouldn't be fighting for fragments.
They'd be fighting for answers.
---
TO BE CONTINUED..