Amazonia's jungle trembled under the weight of the sky. Leaves whispered names. The earth smelled of blood and death.
In different clearings and slopes, warriors of the Imperial Army and Archangel Fortress had descended like unholy shadows. Deserters and traitors, relentless, had cut down the lives of hundreds of aspirants before they could even raise their weapons. Some more skilled still resisted, fighting through the undergrowth, clinging to life while screams mixed with the jungle's roars, a macabre chorus announcing that no one would be safe.
In the middle of one of these torn fields of Amazonia, Sofia, Brenda, and Eldar held the line. Their bodies, wounded. Their souls, firm. Their hearts, defiant.
Before them, death had names and wings: Godric, bathed in fury and confusion; Thorgar, a colossus of steel and blood; Zophiel, whose presence was a sharpened prayer; Aralim, a throne with wings of fire.
And Arjun Senapati, the lieutenant of Elena Malatesta's squadron.
Silence became a blade when Arjun took a step forward.
And then another.
And one more.
His feet made no sound. But the world heard him.
He stopped before Sofia. She gritted her teeth. Her entire body trembled, not from fear, but from not knowing what came next. Brenda loaded her nanoparticle rifle. Eldar showed his fangs under his bestial form. None blinked.
Then, Arjun raised his arm.
And with the same delicacy with which the sun grazes skin at dawn, he placed his hand on Sofia's shoulder.
The world held its breath.
Sofia could barely breathe.
Her heart beat like a tribal drum. Her mind screamed orders her body didn't obey. Arjun's energy passed through her like a sacred river. Brenda gripped the rifle tighter. Eldar growled… but didn't attack.
Then Arjun smiled.
A calm, ancestral smile. As if in the middle of war… he had found what was worth protecting.
"Don't be afraid." His voice was warm, iron, deep as a solar temple chant. "You're doing very well."
Sofia opened her eyes, surprised.
"I'm here to protect you."
He turned his face, observed Brenda with clean respect. Then Eldar, and nodded with gravity, recognizing the beast and the man.
"But I ask you…" he added, with a spark of fire igniting his amber eyes. "Fight alongside me."
The words embedded themselves in their chests like banners. Like hopes.
Arjun turned halfway. The breeze lifted dust at his feet. His black braids billowed like golden serpents in the wind.
And then, brow furrowed, raising his voice toward the imperial figures watching from judgment's shadow, he proclaimed:
"Thorgar! Godric! Zophiel! Aralim!" Each name was an arrow. "In the name of the Empire and under the command of my Monarch General Elena Malatesta!"
His arm rose, and from his back, the Khanda—the sacred sword—emerged like a sun born from steel. The runes crossing its blade sparkled, alive, changing color as if reading the air, tension, and destiny.
"I, Arjun Senapati, proud lieutenant of her squadron!" Spiritual heat undulated around him like a burning aurora. "I'm here to keep these young people's flame lit."
He spun his sword. He held it before his chest like a promise.
"And I bear her Khanda ready for battle."
The wind howled.
Because in that instant, something changed.
War's lines blurred.
And those destined to die discovered that someone in the sky was still willing to fight for them.
Thorgar clicked his teeth, without lowering his fist. His voice sounded like fracturing stone:
"Since when do we protect puppets in the Empire's name?"
Aralim, with his flaming wings deployed, remained silent, evaluating the situation with a gaze of tempered fire.
Zophiel, showing no emotion, slightly turned his face toward Arjun and spoke with serene tone:
"Then we'll finish you off too."
Godric looked at Arjun with sharp eyes, but his lip barely trembled. He wasn't sure what he hated more: the betrayal he couldn't punish… or the fact that someone of his rank was acting with principles.
Arjun didn't challenge them with violence. He did it with conviction.
And in that instant, in Amazonia's living jungle, where skies roared and ground bled, something changed. Because one of the giants had chosen to protect the small.
The balance of power began to tip. And it was no longer just about strength…
But about truth.
Just when balance began to tip, when the air seemed to yield to minimal hope…
The sky roared again.
A crash tore through the atmosphere. A figure descended like a meteor wrapped in shadow and glory. The impact shook the earth, raising columns of dust and fire. Leaves shuddered. Auras trembled.
And then emerged…
Lyssander Fitzgerald.
His black armor gleamed with unfathomable brightness, carved in sharp lines like promises of death. A white cape billowed behind him like the heavens' judgment. His pointed ears marked him as part of the superior lineage. Bright blue eyes. Blond hair, long, almost white, falling like a frozen cascade over his back.
He was warrior royalty.
Monarch Captain of Kurt's squadron.
Everyone was in shock. Especially Brenda. She couldn't believe it.
Even Godric.
"Cousin?" he whispered, his eyes open like moons in panic. "What are you doing here?"
Lyssander raised his gaze, implacable, cutting, and responded with a voice cold as imperial marble:
"I came to finish the job you can't do."
His gaze settled on Brenda. "I'll take this rebel to punish her."
And then it fixed on Sofia. "And eliminate this other bastard. If it were up to me, I'd finish off both."
Godric's eyes trembled. A crack of insecurity ran through his armor. His hands clenched into fists. He tried to control his breathing. To maintain composure.
"That…" he swallowed. "That's my task…"
He turned toward Lyssander. As if something had escaped his control.
From the other flank, Brenda gritted her teeth hard, her rifle already between her fingers. She cursed under her breath.
"Damn…" she spat. "He's my cousin."
She looked at Sofia with anguish. "Lyssander Fitzgerald! Monarch Captain but he already has the level of a Monarch General. He's just waiting for a position to open up."
Her voice broke for an instant. "He's as powerful as a Monarch General or a Seraphim. Lyssander is the strongest of all the Fitzgeralds."
A few steps away, Arjun Senapati narrowed his eyes, his jaw tense.
"Damn… this just got even more complicated…"
Suddenly, a voice broke the air:
"Arjuuuun!" Godric shouted.
"Lieutenant… to lieutenant…"
Godric jumped and launched himself like a projectile of rage.
Arjun frowned, his khanda shining as it intercepted the blow.
CLANG!
The clash shook the air. Auras collided like storms.
But Arjun's eyes opened for barely an instant…
As if Godric had told him something amid the blow.
As if a secret truth had surprised him.
And then… they continued fighting.
Edges crossed the air, sparks fell like stars, and steps were thunder.
A few meters away…
Lyssander walked.
Each of his steps was a sentence.
Each gaze, a judgment engraved in steel.
Before him, Sofia remained firm. She breathed forcefully, specters vibrated around her, black flames undulated like serpents between her feet.
Lyssander stopped a few steps away.
"Sofia, the bastard of my uncle."
His voice had no hatred. It had verdict.
"The stain on our family."
His hand rested on the hilt of his still-sheathed sword.
"Your judgment and execution have been approved."
Sofia didn't respond. Her violet gaze burned, her lips sealed like a promise of resistance.
The specters growled.
The wind seemed to bow.
But the danger… was absolute.
Meanwhile, at another point on the battlefield, Makia looked at the sky. The Celestial Stadium's floating screens projected the scene. She saw Sofia. She saw Lyssander.
Her eyes hardened.
"Ian…" she said, with tense voice. "I have to help Sofia, she's in danger."
Ian nodded, his eyes fixed on hers, firm and confident.
"Go."
His voice was soft, but powerful. "Remember…"
His hand briefly touched hers. "You're strong, Makia."
She nodded.
And in a snap…
She disappeared.
Like a whisper in the wind.
The battle had just changed shape.
And Lyssander's shadow was only the beginning.
Sofia didn't tremble.
Before Lyssander, the most powerful of the Fitzgerald children, judgment's shadow itself… she raised her arms with a serenity that defied all logic.
Her voice emerged firm, determined, fearless:
"Twelve percent, Garreth… increasing to fifteen."
And then, Garreth Fitzgerald, the specter wrapped in black fire, the first Fitzgerald bastard, responded. But not only with action… but with word.
His deep, warm voice roared like a living memory:
"Calm down, my girl… I'll protect you."
Everyone froze.
From the battlefield to the Celestial Stadium stands, passing through the imperial boxes… thousands of eyes opened with astonishment.
A specter… had spoken.
And it wasn't just a silhouette.
It was him. Garreth Fitzgerald. Alive in black fire, though carrying only a small percentage of his real power, he bore the consciousness of the real one—he wasn't an empty specter.
With an elegant movement, he raised his two long-barreled revolvers, the same ones that once marked history. He fired burst after burst, energy projectiles crossing the air like dark comets.
Then, with impossible fluidity, he joined both rifles.
And what was born wasn't a weapon…
It was a missile forged in spectral rage.
He fired it straight at Lyssander.
The impact rumbled like thunder that made the ground vibrate.
But Lyssander resisted.
He crossed his sword in front of the missile and deflected it in an explosion of light.
He raised his voice, still wrapped in smoke, his gaze sharp as blades:
"The rumors I once heard were true.
Our family pride Garreth was a bastard."
He spat with contempt. "If he had more than thirty percent of his power, I'd be lost…
But with that percentage, I can defeat him."
He advanced. Without fear. Without pause.
"And you, bastard, I don't deny your great talent and capabilities."
He cracked his neck. "But right now you're nothing more than an aspirant."
Garreth interposed himself between both. A roar of black fire exploded between them. The impact was brutal. Lyssander barely dodged… but not before receiving a direct blow to his side, a crack crossing his armor.
His brow furrowed.
And he disappeared.
When he reappeared… he was before Sofia again.
The sword was already descending.
Ready to pierce her stomach.
Sofia had no time to react. Neither did Garreth.
Everything happened in a blink.
…
Meters away, Arjun and Godric still crossed edges. But Godric had stopped fighting with his heart. His gaze was fixed on her.
"NOW!" Godric shouted.
Arjun understood.
He didn't ask.
With an imposing turn, he channeled his strength and launched him like a comet toward Sofia's direction.
…
Lyssander's sword descended.
Sofia barely raised her arm.
The edge touched her skin.
But at that instant… something pushed her backward.
A body interposed itself.
A back.
A familiar blood.
The sword sank into Godric's abdomen.
The silence was absolute.
Lyssander's eyes opened, surprised. Not by the act… but by who had done it.
Godric spat blood.
But smiled.
"Forgive me…" he whispered, barely a breath. "For everything… little sister…"
Sofia caught him just as he fell.
Her arms trembled.
The black fire stirred as if Garreth's soul wept.
Godric… fell.
And the jungle… became sepulchral.