When the dust finally settles, shattered wood and broken stone slide away from the centre of the collapse, revealing two figures locked in brutal stillness.
The lightning eagle's massive claws press downward with crushing force.
They are blocked.
Not by a weapon.
Not by a shield.
But by claws.
Clive's hands are no longer human.
Black fur spreads along his arms.
His fingers elongate into curved talons hardened by condensed disaster energy.
The forbidden exercise burns violently inside him.
Blood and vitality ignite like oil fed into a furnace.
And with that ignition, concealment shatters.
His true bloodlines can no longer remain hidden.
The seal suppressing his Disaster Wolf bloodline trembles under the strain.
The two artificial bloodlines within him, Spectacle Owl and Shadow Cat, react as well, their imprints surfacing beneath his skin.
Yet hierarchy asserts itself.
The Disaster Wolf stands higher.
More ancient.
More dominant.
His bones crack and shift.
Muscles expand.
Teeth lengthen.
A muzzle pushes forward from his face.
His spine arches as coarse dark fur erupts across his back.
He does not fully transform.
The seal restrains him.
But he becomes something in between.
Half human.
Half wolf.
And then,
As before,
Clive's consciousness sinks.
His pupils turn feral gold.
The Disaster Wolf takes the lead.
The lightning eagle screeches as lightning explodes outward from its wings.
Disaster energy surges from Clive's body in response.
The two forces collide with each other.
Lightning against calamity.
Yellow brilliance against dark crimson-black ruin.
The collision rips apart what remains of the building beneath them.
Debris is hurled in all directions.
Nearby structures crack as shockwaves hammer their foundations.
Windows shatter across the street.
Guards on the wall stagger from the force.
The ground caves under their locked struggle.
Then the pressure peaks.
The energies detonate outward in a violent burst.
The lightning eagle beats its wings with explosive force and tears itself free, launching back into the air amid spiralling arcs of electricity.
Clive, no longer Clive, throws his head back and releases a low, rumbling growl that shakes loose dust from broken beams.
The beast within refuses to let prey escape.
Disaster energy flows downward.
Not toward the sky.
Toward shadow.
The eagle's shadow stretches long across the fractured street under the firelight.
Darkness within that shadow thickens.
It swells.
Then erupts.
Vine-like tendrils of condensed shadow and disaster energy burst upward like the roots of a black tree, tearing from the earth.
They wrap around the lightning eagle's legs mid-flight.
The bird had once been caught by Clive's Shadow Hold spell.
It recognises the sensation too late.
The vines tighten with savage force.
With a violent jerk, they drag the eagle downward.
The spirit beast crashes into the ground with devastating impact.
Stone explodes.
Lightning surges wildly across the surface.
The eagle thrashes, wings beating, arcs of yellow energy slicing through the shadow vines.
With a furious shriek, it detonates a concentrated burst of lightning.
The shadow vines disintegrate.
The air smells of ozone and scorched stone.
Without pause, the eagle gathers power in its chest.
Lightning condenses into a blinding sphere.
Then it releases.
A column of lightning slams toward the wolf-shaped figure below.
Clive raises both clawed arms.
Disaster energy condenses into a barrier before him, a curved wall of swirling crimson-black force.
The lightning bolt crashes into it.
The impact does not shatter the barrier.
But the force behind it is monstrous.
The ground beneath Clive fractures.
His feet dig deep furrows as he is driven backwards.
Stone liquefies under the pressure.
He is pushed through debris and into the earth itself.
The barrier holds.
Barely.
Then the lightning dissipates.
The eagle beats its wings and rises again, climbing higher into the night sky.
Below, the ground trembles.
A burst of debris erupts upward.
Clive explodes from the crater.
Disaster energy erupts from his back.
It spreads outward, shaping into massive wings formed entirely of swirling calamity.
They are not feathered.
They are storms given form.
When they flap, the air detonates in compressed bursts.
The force lifts him violently upward.
He shoots into the sky after the eagle.
Above the town, under a dark sky lit by distant fire and lightning, the two spirit beasts clash again.
The eagle moves like a bolt of living thunder.
Clive moves like a rising catastrophe.
Lightning spears downward.
Disaster claws tear upward.
Shockwaves ripple across rooftops below.
Tiles shatter.
Walls crack.
Citizens cower indoors as thunder roars repeatedly overhead.
The eagle dives, talons extended.
Clive meets it mid-air.
Claws clash.
Beak snaps against disaster-forged forearms.
Lightning arcs across his fur, burning flesh, but disaster energy devours part of the current before it reaches his core.
He bites into one wing.
The eagle screams and retaliates with a point-blank lightning burst that tears flesh from his shoulder.
They separate briefly.
Circle.
Then collide again.
Above the town, streaks of yellow and crimson-black carve violent patterns across the sky.
Minutes pass.
The forbidden exercise continues burning.
Inside Clive's body, blood evaporates.
Vitality drains rapidly.
But without consciousness, he cannot regulate it.
He cannot stop it.
The fire grows unstable.
Dangerous.
Below, within the town, a figure stands upon the roof of a tall building.
Her eyes are sharp.
Focused.
She draws back an arrow formed of condensed disaster energy.
She releases.
The arrow streaks upward, silent but deadly.
At the same moment, a mental hammer strikes Clive's mind.
A precise, heavy blow.
It crashes into his consciousness like a falling mountain.
The feral gold in his eyes flickers.
Then extinguishes.
The Disaster Wolf loses its grip.
Clive's body goes slack.
The disaster wings falter.
His form shrinks mid-air as fur retracts and claws shorten.
He reverts to human form.
Unconscious.
He begins to fall.
Tumbling.
Spinning helplessly toward the ground.
The disaster arrow strikes the lightning eagle's flank.
It pierces through feathers and detonates internally.
The eagle shrieks in agony.
Blood sprays across the night.
One wing falters.
Its rage surges.
Lightning gathers violently around it.
Then,
It senses something.
A presence.
Cold.
Watching.
Fear flashes in its intelligent eyes.
It abandons vengeance.
With a final shriek, it turns sharply and flees into the distant clouds.
On the rooftop, the woman who shot the arrow frowns deeply.
She prepares to leap into the sky.
But she sees Clive falling.
Sees the eagle retreat.
Her expression tightens.
And the night grows momentarily still except for the sound of a body crashing toward earth.
Wind whistles past Clive's unconscious form as he tumbles downward.
Before he strikes the street, a surge of force cushions his fall.
Not lightning.
Not a disaster.
A gentler current.
The impact that should have shattered bone instead cracks stone and leaves him embedded in a shallow crater, alive though unmoving.
On a distant rooftop, the woman who loosed the disaster arrow narrows her eyes.
She sees another figure already moving.
Larissa.
The woman's expression darkens.
She prepares to burst forward, energy coiling around her ankles, ready to cross the distance in a single leap.
But then her instincts sharpen.
She senses it.
Another presence.
Above.
Watching.
Protecting.
Her gaze lifts slowly toward the night sky.
There, perched against drifting clouds, a purple raven circles once before settling upon a broken spire.
Its eyes gleam faintly even in the dark.
Recognition flickers across her face.
She had noticed that raven before.
On Clive's shoulder.
When he fought the Shadow Monkey.
It had not acted then.
It had only watched.
Now it watches again.
Her thoughts move quickly.
That raven is no ordinary spirit beast.
It carries composure.
Calculation.
She thinks of Clive's master.
The raven must be related to Clive's master.
Her lips press into a thin line.
This is no small matter.
If Clive's Disaster Wolf bloodline truly awakens, forces will stir.
She thinks of the Pope.
The Pope can contact the Sand Temple.
Can request assistance.
As days pass, they are losing control over the church.
Authority fractures quietly.
Influence fades.
If a pure Disaster Wolf bloodline appears within this town, it will draw attention from factions far beyond Arlen.
She exhales slowly.
She does not move.
Instead, she watches.
Larissa reaches Clive first.
Another woman follows close behind.
,
Together they lift his unconscious body carefully.
They exchange urgent words.
Then they move swiftly toward the foot of the castle built upon the hill.
The raven remains silent.
Watching.
Hours pass.
The beast tide continues outside the walls.
Roars echo.
Metal clashes.
Occasional bursts of lightning flare in the distant forest, though the eagle does not return.
Within a guarded chamber near the base of the castle, Clive lies upon a reinforced bed.
His breathing is shallow but steady.
His skin was pale from burned vitality.
Larissa stands near him.
Lantern light flickers across Clive's face.
Larissa's gaze lingers on him, thoughtful.
Now she understands what she felt earlier.
Minutes before the beast tide began, something stirred in the air.
A pulse.
A resonance.
It had unsettled her.
Now she knows.
Clive's Disaster Wolf bloodline is awakening.
Not an artificial refinement.
Not implanted through ritual as hers had been.
His bloodline flows naturally.
Pure.
He was born with it.
That truth weighs heavily.
Various thoughts run through her mind.
The faction she belongs to has a singular doctrine.
Kill any pureblood descendant of their God.
Eradicate them before they grow.
Before prophecy unfolds.
Before the disaster spreads beyond control.
She closes her eyes briefly.
She had joined that faction unwillingly.
Bound by circumstance.
A seal was placed inside her.
Her life and death are not in her control.
One command.
One thought from above.
And her heart would stop.
Yet knowledge changes perspective.
If Clive's bloodline truly matures, his power may surpass the constraints placed upon her.
Perhaps.
Perhaps he could break her seal.
Perhaps he could sever her chain.
The thought lingers longer than she expects.
For the first time, she does not think of faction orders.
Not of duty.
Not of obedience.
She thinks of freedom.
A dangerous thought.
A forbidden one.
Her fingers tighten slightly at her sides.
If she will kill him.
If she will not do anything, she walks a narrow edge between betrayal and survival.
She studies Clive's unconscious face again.
His features are calm now.
Human.
Vulnerable.
Yet beneath that stillness sleeps something ancient.
Something feared.
Outside, another roar shakes the night.
Lantern light flickers.
Larissa's gaze hardens with a decision not yet spoken.
For the first time in her life, she considers choosing her own path.