The Ignir forces soared in perfect formation, their five thousand soldiers gliding like a fleet of silver phantoms through the mountain sky.
Ahead lay the ruined entrance of the Baniek Ruin—its stone mouth still dripping with the blood of the fallen. A vast, steaming pool of crimson stained the earth, soaking into moss and ancient rock
Maloi hovered at the front, her eyes narrowing as they descended. "What… happened here?" she asked, her voice hushed.
Beside her, Arthur Suspain, the 7th Spellbound, scoffed, arms folded. "Just the Unbound doing what they do best… slaughter without reason. This is sport to them."
The King of Ignir, cloaked in flowing gold-lined robes, remained at the head of the formation, his gaze grim. His silver pauldrons gleamed in the dim light as he scanned the devastation below.
Then, without a word, he motioned forward—and the army resumed flight.
They flew low, weaving through the jagged canyon of shattered stone, until the darkness of the ruin swallowed them whole.
---
The moment they emerged into the massive underground expanse, the air shifted.
They saw it.
The city.
Even from miles away, its silhouette stole the breath from their chests.
Ancient towers pierced the cavern's artificial sky. Glowing rivers shimmered like veins of light. Floating plates hovered above crumbling roads. And far in the distance—barely visible—a vast, golden fortress loomed.
Heinzel Maigrain, the 10th Spellbound, blinked rapidly. "Whoa… this is..."
But the King's voice rang sharp across the air.
"Do not let awe slow your flight. My daughter lies ahead. The task remains unchanged—recover her at all costs."
His voice was regal, sonorous, forged in fire and duty.
"Our people await her return. The Unbound will answer for their crimes. I will see their bones broken beneath the fortress stones."
Maloi flew beside him, lips pressed thin. "Your Majesty… I sense heavy mana. The battle has already begun. We may be late."
Lizzy Dorfilia, the 5th Spellbound, hovered nearby, her skirt rippling in the wind. "Late or not, we still carry blades. If they've harmed her, I'll flay their minds from their skulls."
Maria Synclary (6th) looked down at the glowing river far ahead. "We may have missed the feast. But there's always blood left for dessert."
Jeron Hevier (4th), silent and calm, merely unsheathed his blade.
Anisa Belcruver, the 3rd, eyes glowing softly, said, "This place is ancient. The stones themselves are watching us. Move carefully. This ruin has teeth."
Elvis Grifion, the 2nd, didn't speak. He simply glanced skyward—at the enormous metal plates turning above them—and vanished ahead in a blur of light.
---
The army followed.
They flew over the ancient bridge—40 kilometers long—and marveled at the river beneath it, still red in places from the rain of corpses.
They were still several kilometers behind Dreados's team, but closing.
The Elf King clenched his fists behind his back, his thoughts a storm.
For my daughter… for the crown of Ignir… for the peace my ancestors carved with blood…
I will butcher these heretics. I will remind the world that kings do not beg—they command. And I will see their heads lined upon the gates of their ruin-born grave.
---
Meanwhile—
Dreados's team crossed the final span of the bridge.
Behind them lay a warzone of monsters, betrayal, and corpses.
Before them—the fallen city of Beniek.
It sprawled in every direction, 50 kilometers across, a circular grave of glory and moss. Towering structures leaned like rotted teeth. Streets were overtaken by vines and weeds. Some houses had crumbled to ash, others stood defiant.
The group moved at impossible speeds—leaping from rooftop to rooftop, launching off walls, streaking through alleyways. Each impact left craters behind.
From above, the crumbling towers seemed to watch their advance.
Dreados's voice rang out—firm, commanding, calm as thunder waiting to strike.
"We move for the fortress."
"Once inside—we divide."
He landed atop a collapsed dome, turning as the others halted.
"Three teams. Mine, Omfry's, and Jeriana's."
He pointed to each in turn.
"Beily. Silvie. The boys. With me."
"Omfry. You take Anuel, Ziraiah, Eliana, and Daiel."
"Jeriana. You have Lisa, Sumshus, Alcoos, and Spencer."
He turned his gaze toward the rest of the group—stragglers, warriors, volunteers.
"The rest of you… choose your path. No bystanders. Play your part."
His voice cut through the ruin like a sword's edge.
"Let the ruin decide who's worthy to walk its bones."
Cracks echoed as the team launched forward once more—into the belly of the city, into a past long buried, and a future none would leave unchanged.
---
The rest of the Unbound and Raiders poured into the city like a living tide, screaming with greed and laughter. Their boots shattered ancient stone, their blades tore through crumbling doorways.
The river had been conquered. The hunt had begun.
They scattered through the ancient streets in every direction, kicking down doors, blasting through walls, and looting every ruin they could find. Houses and towers cracked open under the weight of desperation.
Inside the homes of a lost civilization, they found relics—swords and bows forged from metals no longer mined, crystals humming with dormant energy, gold packed in ceremonial chests, and minerals that shimmered with inner light.
Some carried spatial bags, enchanted with fold-space technology—small as pouches, but large enough to hold a dragon's hoard.
And the deeper they pushed into the city, the rarer the treasures became.
That's when the fighting began.
At first, just shouts and shoves.
Then drawn weapons.
Then blood.
Greed turned allies into predators.
The sound of clashing steel and ruptured magic began echoing across the city as factions turned on one another, claiming ruins, barricading alleys, and swearing death over spoils not yet lifted.
---
But far ahead, above them all—the Lycans had reached the fortress first.
They soared through the air, leaping from tower to tower, their massive forms howling as they launched at the walls with claws drawn and muscles tensed.
But when they struck—
Boom.
The impact sent them flying backwards.
Every Lycan was hurled violently away, their own force rebounding against them like thunder against a mountain.
They spun through the air, smashing into buildings, crashing through abandoned homes, bouncing across rooftops like cannonballs.
Dreados's team watched them arc through the sky like black comets.
Sumshus blinked. "What… what happened to them?"
One of the Lycans groaned from within a smoking crater, his body twisted unnaturally. He struggled to rise.
"Wh… what was that…?"
Dreados's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, the light of the fortress glinting in his irises.
"We won't brute-force our way in. We'll find the door, and we'll enter through it."
Beily grunted. "Why waste time doing that?"
Dreados didn't turn.
"They hurled themselves at the wall and failed to leave so much as a blemish. It did not so much as quiver. That isn't stone—it's something else. Older. Stronger. This place has its own will… and we'll enter where it permits."
He scanned the fortress ahead—his perception weaving through stone and silence—until his gaze locked onto something to the right.
"This way."
---
They turned as one and took off again—bullets of flesh and light, weaving through shattered alleys, leaping over broken rooftops, dodging fallen towers.
The speed was dizzying.
Walls blurred. Streets cracked behind them. Air warped.
Then—
"Stop."
Dreados's voice echoed like a command from the gods.
The team came to a halt so fast, the pressure from their momentum blasted outward—a sonic gust that tore through nearby windows and rippled through the street.
Behind them…
Vomit.
Everywhere.
The Warframes worn by the siblings hissed open just in time.
Valerius bent forward. "I… I can't take much more of this—"
HURL.
Ziraiah clutched her mouth, then turned and let it fly.
Eryndor coughed once—then leaned to the side and let his dignity drain out.
Even Silvie, slumped in Beily's grip, erupted with an undignified gag.
Beily blinked. "Hey—" He looked down, stepping aside as Valerius emptied his stomach again.
With a casual motion, he dropped Valerius and Eryndor onto the ground.
Eryndor hunched over, his cheeks flushed with horror.
To think I—a student of logic and lineage—should find myself reduced to such indignity. My form desecrated. My stomach… insubordinate.
Anuel rubbed Ziraiah's back gently, holding her hair. "It's okay, it's okay… You'll be fine."
She smiled. "Though, last time you didn't throw up. What changed?"
Ziraiah wiped her mouth, eyes teary. "Last time… you didn't… move so fast…"
Anuel chuckled. "That's fair. You feeling better now?"
---
Beily turned and looked at Silvie, who was hunched over, still retching.
"Oh right," he said, voice flat. "Forgot you were also weak as hell."
He gave her a sideways glance and then looked to Ziraiah.
"But seriously," he added, "good call on giving them the Warframes. None of us thought of that. If you hadn't—honestly—I don't think they'd have made it here in one piece."
He gave Silvie a nod and a small, genuine smile.
"Good thinking, Silvie."
Then he swaggered toward the siblings sprawled on the ground, pointing casually.
"You kids are so lucky. I picked those suits up from the Baskavar Ruin. You're welcome."
---
At the gate, Dreados knelt and picked up a fallen branch, then gently passed it through the air in front of the massive gate—testing it.
No reaction.
No glyphs.
No traps.
"It's safe," he said.
"We move."
The team passed through the titanic gate together—this time running. At normal human speed.
No super speed. No carrying.
The siblings followed on their own two feet—shaky, but determined.
The path ahead would not forgive them.
But it would accept them.
---
Ziraiah glanced ahead and thought, "Thank God we're running normally this time."
The fortress loomed like a wounded beast—worn down by time and war. Parts of it had crumbled, statues lay toppled and broken, walls cracked and marred by deep scars. They stepped through the shattered gates and into the desolate halls. Cobwebs hung like drapes across doorways. Dust whispered beneath their boots. Skulls and bones littered the floor—silent remnants of something violent and final.
Valerius narrowed his eyes at the desolation. What happened here? A massacre? he wondered silently.
They reached a vast chamber. At its heart, a shattered throne sat slumped, broken, surrounded by massive craters gouged into the stone floor—like scars left behind by giants.
Dreados stepped forward. His voice echoed, calm and commanding.
"We part ways here. Another bridge lies to the east—we'll regroup there. If trouble finds you, launch your flare skyward. We will answer. Now move."
Three groups formed, each led by one of the three pillars: Dreados, Omfry, and Jeriana.
They scattered into the bowels of the fortress. Room after room revealed long-lost treaures—golden tomes, arcane relics, weapons older than empires. But something unseen watched them from the shadows. The air grew heavier.
In Omfry's group, they discovered a chamber glowing faintly blue. Hemite. Walls veined with it, floors glittering with it—raw, unrefined, untouched. Hemite: the rarest magical mineral known to modern mages. A single shard could buy a kingdom.
Eliana's jaw dropped.
"I've never seen this much Hemite," she whispered. "If only Grandfather could see this..."
Omfry gave a low whistle, grinning.
"Hey Daiel. Do your thing."
Daiel nodded, then tapped the floor with the tip of his shoe. A black portal opened beneath the hemite. The mineral tumbled silently into the void.
Eliana turned, alarmed.
"What did you just do?"
"I sent it to our base," Daiel replied casually.
She frowned.
"That wasn't teleportation magic. Its different—the mineral, they passed through some kind of portal."
Daiel looked at her, smiled.
"That's because I can't use teleportation magic. I'm a Seed user."
Her eyes widened.
"What?" She followed after him, stunned.
"How can you be a Seed user?"
"I just am."
"Where did you even get it?"
"Somewhere."
Omfry chuckled.
"Daiel is one of the luckiest bastards I know. You wouldn't believe how he got his Seed. In fact, he—"
He stopped. His expression shifted. Eyes sharp, senses tightening.
Something moved.
Something fast
A blur, the size of his palm, shot at his face. Omfry tilted his head, dodging it by a hair's breadth. His thoughts flared.
What was that? How is it that fast?
Another blur came—he dodged again.
Then a third. This time, everything slowed.
The world froze.
Only Omfry moved, and the creature. His vision locked onto it—a rat-like beast with a long, pointed nose. But the nose wasn't flesh—it was bone, sharpened like a blade. It shimmered as it passed inches from his face.
Omfry turned his head, tracing its flight. It wasn't aimed at him.
It was aimed at Ziraiah.
In that frozen sliver of time, Omfry moved—faster than thought.
The moment the creature reached her, he was there. His hand closed around it with terrifying precision. The creature burst in his palm like rotted fruit.
Time snapped back.
Blood splattered Ziraiah's helmet. The shockwave from Omfry's sudden burst of motion flung her across the hall. She crashed into the wall, then crumpled to the floor. The wall, oddly, remained intact.
Eliana staggered against the blast wind, shielding her eyes.
Anuel and Daiel stood firm, completely unfazed.
Another blur shot toward Daiel's face.
Omfry didn't even move his feet.
He simply raised his arm sideways, calmly, and crushed the second creature inches from Daiel's eyes—without looking.
To be continued...