"In the clash of fangs and swords, victory belongs not to the sharpest blade, but to the bravest heart."
The Adarna Above
The Adarna surged through a tempest of storm clouds, its brass-feathered hull shimmering violet beneath intermittent flashes of lightning. Runes glowed along its wings, intricately etched into bronze plating that had witnessed both war and legend. The weapon bays remained sealed this evening—runic missile pods, arcane Gatling turrets, and glyph cannons silent in their housings. The mission demanded stealth.
Inside the deployment bay, Agosto Santos adjusted the final straps of his parachute. The Kampilan ni Lam-ang pulsed faintly at his side, its baybayin scripts and storm glyphs glowing like a quiet ember, yearning to cleave through the storm, yet he restrained it.
Commander Joaquín Santillan stood before him, arms crossed. His words were weighty and deliberate, tempered by the ravages of conflict.
"Thailand, particularly Bangkok and the northern border provinces, is the focal point of a dire situation. Phaya Khamdee leads the Venom of the Naga (พิษนาค, Phít Nāk), a militant group pursued by their own government. This organization operates the void-poison forges, notorious for kidnapping children. The strong among the captives are transformed into Naga Warriors, while the weaker individuals are forced to labor in the forges, succumbing to the toxic fumes until their bodies can no longer endure.
Your mission is to infiltrate their ranks, dismantle the Fang, and rescue as many individuals as possible.
No salute passed between them, only a solemn nod.
The hatch opened. The storm howled. Agosto stepped into the void.
The Dive
Air tore at his face, rain battering his skin raw. Lightning carved brief glimpses of clarity—the submerged ruins of Ayutthaya sprawled below, temples jutting like broken teeth, green glyph obelisks pulsing arcs of energy across the storm.
Each pulse reverberated through his bones. One relic surge, and they would discover his presence.
He flattened his body, controlling his descent with practiced precision. Seconds elongated as the storm engulfed all thought.
The parachute deployed. Agosto angled toward the mangrove cover, battling crosswinds until roots reached up to meet him. He struck mud, rolled, severed the cords, and concealed the parachute beneath the roots.
Training flowed instinctively:
Silk folded and dragged deep.
Mud brushed over drag lines.
Boots scraped against bark, then buried under layers of leaves.
A trail marked only by a subtle notch in a trunk, carved so discreetly that only he would recognize it.
When he rose, he was nothing but storm and mud.
Jungle Survival
Agosto melded into the jungle.
He smeared mangrove ash along the Kampilan's sheath to mask its relic scent. He stuffed galangal root into the seams of his gear, concealing human sweat with the musk of the jungle. His boots were caked in clay, muffling sound against the roots.
For sustenance, he moved with the grace of a predator in shadow:
Frogs seized in silence, their throats slit with a thumb blade.
Cicadas roasted on heated stones, just long enough to crack their shells, devoured whole.
Fat larvae extracted from decaying wood, consumed raw.
Liana vines cut, their water siphoned into bamboo tubes, sealed with palm leaves
.
Each night, he left no trace—no embers, no bones, not a whisper of fire. Only silence.
He mimicked the night. Gecko clicks disguised his steps. Owl calls masked his breath. Thunder became his heartbeat—moving when it rolled, freezing when it fell silent.
When mud betrayed his footprints, he waded through water. When roots captured sound, he flattened to crawl. His body bore the memory of training and experience—disciplines refined to perfection.
Every sense heightened. Every error could cost a child their life.
Glyph Radars
The obelisks pulsed like lighthouses of the serpent, their green light sweeping over the ruins. Each pulse exerted pressure, vibrating through the relic marrow in his arm. The Kampilan yearned to tear open a rift, to collapse distance into nothingness.
But rifts meant relic surges. And relic surges meant death.
Agosto clenched his jaw, whispering to himself: Not yet. Not here.
The temptation nearly overwhelmed him as patrols passed close by. Yet he held his ground, crawling through the mud, heartbeat synchronized with the glyph's sweep.
Rings of Sentries
The Venom of the Naga maintained three layers of patrols.
First Ring:
Torches bobbed as soldiers marched in rhythm—three steps, cough, pause. Agosto slipped between shadows, freezing when a torch swung nearby.
Second Ring:
A bamboo bridge spanned floodwaters. Guards passed with lanterns, their voices thick with rice wine. Agosto submerged, reed between his lips, drifting beneath the surface. Lightning illuminated him for a heartbeat, but thunder cloaked the ripple.
Third Ring:
Here, glyph obelisks emitted beams like scythes. Agosto crawled beneath roots, his cheek pressed into the mud, waiting minutes at a time. Once, a guard's torch passed mere inches above him, the flame's reflection glimmering in his gaze. He did not blink.
When a sentry relieved himself, Agosto's vine garrote whispered around his throat. Another guard noticed a rustle—Agosto tossed a pebble to lure him away and slipped past unseen.
He embodied absence. He was shadow.
The Cobra's Hiss
The rhythm of the storm fractured.
Rain no longer fell straight. Echoes multiplied, distorting his balance. A hiss coiled within his mind, fragmenting sound into sharp blades.
Three assassins emerged, their cobra-hood masks gleaming, sabers inscribed with sigils.
Their relics sang: เสียงงูเห่า (S̄eīyng Ngū H̄̂ā) — Cobra's Hiss.
POV: Assassin
"เสียงคือความจริง…สะท้อนจะโค้งงอเพื่อเรา…เหยื่อจะถูกหูของเขาทรยศ…ความตายของเขาได้ถูกเขียนไว้แล้ว."
("The hiss is truth… Echo bends to us… The prey's ears will betray him… His death is already written.")
The jungle warped. One step echoed as ten. One whisper thundered like drums. Agosto's senses faltered.
The first struck from "behind." The blade grazed his shoulder. Venom seared his flesh. He grunted, smeared mud into the wound, and snapped the man's neck.
The second blurred in mirrored arcs. Sound deceived him—Agosto ducked incorrectly, splitting his ear open. Blood flowed. He jammed mud into both canals, deafening himself. Pain steadied him.
He fought now by breath and sight alone. He observed chest movements rather than relying on sound. He broke a knee, crushed a jaw, and drove the Kampilan through ribs.
The third assassin shrieked a high hiss, sharp as glass. Agosto staggered, blood streaming from his nose, vision multiplying fivefold.
He collapsed deliberately. The assassin lunged. Agosto rose, his blade thrusting through the throat, splitting the mask in two.
The hiss ceased. Rain returned to its true form. Cicadas resumed their song.
Agosto dragged the bodies beneath the roots, smearing mud over the blood. He pressed his wounds and staggered onward.
The Fang of the Naga
The courtyard blazed with torches.
Phaya Khamdee stood at its center, tattoos alive with serpent coils. In his grasp: เขี้ยวนาค (Khîaw Nāk) — Fang of the Naga. Venom dripped in a steady rhythm, each drop searing into stone.
Behind him, the longhouse echoed with children's chants, some wielding wooden glaives, others coughing smoke, their hands blistered from forge work.
Agosto stepped forward.
"รัชสมัยของเจ้าสิ้นสุดลงคืนนี้," he declared.
("Your reign ends tonight.")
The Kampilan ignited crimson.
Enter Khamdee Phaya
Khamdee laughed, his teeth glistening with venom.
"เจ้า…ผู้ที่ทำให้กาลวิธพ่ายแพ้."
("You—who defeated Kalawit.")
"เจ้า…ผู้ที่สังหารดิมัส."
("You—who slew Dimas.")
"เจ้า…ผู้ที่ทำให้จักรพรรดิงู ราชา ต้องล่าถอยที่วิหารลกาปติ."
("You—who forced the Serpent Emperor Raja to retreat at the Temple of Lakapati." His eyes gleamed with a sickly green light.)
"คืนนี้ ข้าจะเป็นคนที่หยุดเจ้า."
("Tonight, I will be the one to stop you.")
Duel of Fire and Venom
The glaive struck like a serpent's snap. Agosto blocked, flames hissing against the venom spray. Sparks melted into poisonous steam.
Khamdee's style was sudden and precise—fangs targeting arteries. Agosto countered with flowing arcs inspired by Yaw-Yan - the Sayaw ng Kamatayan (Dance of Death) , relentless, fire carving impossible angles.
But venom struck. A graze on his arm blistered. A nick on his thigh swelled black. His breath rasped. His left eye blurred.
POV: Child captive
"ถ้าเขาตาย…ฉันจะถูกส่งไปที่โรงตีเหล็ก…ถ้าเขาแพ้ งูก็จะชนะ…ได้โปรดเถอะ คนแปลกหน้า…ได้โปรดชนะ."
("If he dies… I go to the forge… If he loses, the serpent wins… Please, stranger… Please win.")
Agosto pressed on, roaring, altar stone cracking beneath his strikes. Khamdee spun venomous clouds, laughing through blood.
Prasert Enters
Then, gold erupted from the storm.
Prasert Rattanachai (ประเสริฐ รัตนชัย) stepped forward, blade ablaze—the พระแสงขรรค์ชัยศรี (Phra Saeng Khan Chaiyasi — Sword of Victory).
A golden aura surged, crescents slicing outward. Militants fell in halves. Venom mist was torn apart.
Khamdee spat.
"คนของรัฐบาล…เจ้าทรยศเลือด!"
("Government dog… you betray your blood!")
Prasert's voice was iron.
"เราไม่ทรยศแผ่นดิน."
("I do not betray the land.")
"ทำไมคุณถึงใช้เวลานานขนาดนี้?!"
("Why did you take so long?!" ), Agosto growled.
"ฉันไม่ได้รับการฝึกการรบแบบกองโจรเหมือนคุณ"
("I am not trained in guerrilla warfare like you."),
Prasert replied with a smirk.
Tri-Clash
Now three forces clashed within the courtyard.
Agosto: crimson fire, bleeding, staggering, yet still striking.
Prasert: golden waves, sovereign crescents cleaving through the storm.
Khamdee: venom glaive, clouds bursting black.
Stone shattered. Obelisks cracked. Torches extinguished.
Combination attacks flowed—Agosto striking high, Prasert sweeping low. Agosto parried venom thrusts with walls of fire, while Prasert's golden crescents shredded through venom clouds. When Khamdee lashed out with serpent arcs, Agosto absorbed the strike, locking the glaive to shield Prasert's flank, while Prasert countered with a golden wave that split the torchlight in two.
But Khamdee adapted. His glaive belched poison like rain, coating the ground until it hissed smoke. He spun arcs into shields, venom fangs biting into fire and gold, each clash resulting in explosions of stone and shattered walls.
Agosto lunged, blade raised high—Khamdee slid his venom glaive upward, sparks shrieking, pushing him back. Prasert struck in with a golden crescent, but the venom curved, deflecting into black mist that sprayed upon his armor.
Agosto switched tactics, adopting a defensive stance—sweeps deflecting glaive arcs while Prasert advanced with sovereign offense. Then they reversed roles, Prasert shielding with a golden dome as Agosto unleashed his feral fury, Kampilan arcs roaring.
The courtyard transformed into ruin—stone split, glyphs shattered, venom burns etched scars into the earth.
Kesara's Choice
Kesara: "เด็ก ๆ ร้องไห้…ดวงตาของพวกเขาว่างเปล่า…ฉันเห็นตัวเองในพวกเขา…ถ้าฉันยังเป็นงู ฉันจะเน่าเปื่อย…ถ้าฉันลงมือ ฉันจะมีชีวิต…คืนนี้ ฉันจะลงมือ."
("The children cry… their eyes hollow… I see myself in them… If I stay serpent, I rot… If I act, I live… Tonight, I act.") She whispered as she broke the locks:
"มาเร็ว เด็ก ๆ… ไปกับฉัน… อิสรภาพรออยู่."
("Quickly, children… come with me… freedom awaits.") One boy froze, staring at the battlefield. Kesara crouched, whispering:
"อย่ากลัวเลย… ฉันจะปกป้องเจ้า."
("Do not fear… I will protect you.") Another child screamed as a militant passed nearby. Kesara covered his mouth, murmuring:
"เงียบ… อีกเพียงนิดเดียว."
("Quiet… just a little longer.") She guided them through shadows. Twice, torches nearly revealed them. Once, a girl stumbled; Kesara lifted her, carrying her on her back, whispering strength as tears streamed down her cheeks.
"สูดลมหายใจ… เจ้าจะไม่เป็นทาสของเขี้ยว."
("Breathe… you will not be slaves to the Fang.")
Step by step, she led them to storm-dark safety.
Final Strike
Agosto opened multiple rifts, utilizing them to propel himself from one portal to another, significantly accelerating his advance at an astonishing speed.
Prasert, anticipating Agosto's next maneuver, began charging his Phra Saeng Khan Chaiyasi. Upon reaching its peak, he unleashed a powerful burst that propelled him toward Khamdee.
Both individuals surged forward, delivering a slash that was virtually undefendable.
Agosto and Prasert's blades collided.
Both roared in unison.
Crimson and gold slammed into the venom glaive. Stone exploded. Venom burst forth.
Khamdee was struck. He reeled, black blood spilling from his wounds. Yet he continued to laugh, dissolving into serpent smoke.
"The serpent never dies."
He vanished. Militants scattered.
Aftermath
Prasert lowered his blade, his aura fading. He cast a final glance at Agosto.
"ภารกิจเสร็จสิ้น."
("The mission is complete.")
Agosto staggered, the venomous wounds hissing.
Beyond, Kesara and the children awaited, fragile hope shining in their eyes.
The Adarna descended from the clouds, its runic cannons scanning the area surrounding Agosto and Presart.
Agosto placed a reassuring hand on Presart's shoulder. Drawing upon his remaining strength, he opened a rift and transported both of them to the extraction bridge of the Adarna.
Meanwhile, Kesara gathered the children and raised her arm high.
"ขอบคุณ…ขอบคุณจากหัวใจของเรา!"
("Thank you… thank you from all our hearts!")
The children, covered in soot yet beaming with joy, waved at the brass-feathered ship as it vanished into the stormlight. Their heartfelt cries of gratitude reverberated through the ruins, resonating into the night.
Below, Thailand trembled—scarred by fire, gold, and venom, yet still nurturing the fragile seed of hope.