Chapter Title: "The Fifth Seal"
"The Fifth Seal Unleashed"
The air above the central command battlefield had become still not with calm, but with consequence.
Julius hovered midair, wrapped in an unnatural stillness, a glimmering crown of red energy flickering above his head like an unstable halo. His body twisted slightly, bones cracking as if forced into alignment with a higher plane.
From the ground below, julius looked up, arms crossed. "They cleared and sealed the red walkers. Huey… what now?"
Huey's eyes glowed faint crimson as a slow grin curled on his face. "We finish here. Then we join the Lord for the final phase."
Huey nodded. "Clear them out."
Julius's voice dropped into an ancient cadence. "Open… Fifth Seal."
His body arched backward. A surge of pure red energy burst upward from his spine like a geyser, reaching the heavens in a single bolt. The light was blinding. For a moment, it wasn't a man in the sky—it was a force. The energy twisted, then descended like a divine thread, reabsorbing into Julius's form.
The ground detonated beneath him, cracking into a crater under his hovering presence.
Andrei's voice was tight. "We need to get serious now. If he hits the Sixth Seal… they say he becomes untouchable. Almost god-tier."
Above, Julius spread his arms like wings. Huey, still on the ground, nodded slowly. "He's about to do it."
Julius exhaled.
"Seven Heavens: Fifth Seal… Eight-Tailed Dragon."
The air shimmered—folding, stretching—until the wind itself roared into form. From behind him, eight massive, semi-translucent dragon heads burst forth, each one formed entirely from pressurized atmosphere. Their eyes glowed with invisible heat. Their mouths curled with hunger.
Then—they launched.
The dragons spiraled down toward the three presidents—Mujin, Zichen, and Andrei—dancing through the air with unnatural grace. The instant the dragons approached, an invisible weight crashed into the ground. It was more than gravity. It was compression.
Andrei couldn't move.
Zichen's body locked in place.
Even Mujin's breath caught in his chest. "The air… it's holding us—"
Three of the dragons converged directly on Mujin.
CRASH.
They struck like living meteors.
Mujin vanished into the dirt, then erupted back into the air, slammed again, and again—his body hurled like a ragdoll through the rock and snow. His bones cracked audibly on the final impact.
The other two presidents disappeared—only to reappear a moment later at a safer distance.
Zichen and Andrei, saved by Mujin's Tobu.
But Mujin had taken the cost.
He lay on the broken earth, one hand crushed and useless, chest heaving, torn fabric soaked in blood.
Zichen shouted, "Mujin—why? I would have sealed it!"
Mujin coughed, crimson spilling from his lips. "It's not Shen-based. It uses nature energy. Your bell wouldn't have worked. There was no counter… except to take the hit."
Huey chuckled from afar. "Well, I guess I'm not needed after all."
He stepped back—then dissolved, returning to his base form, fading from the battlefield for now.
Julius descended gently to the ground, his energy now crackling silently around him.
"That little one is a problem," he muttered, glancing at Mujin. "Teleportation Shen… a pain."
Zichen moved quickly to Mujin's side, but stopped as he saw his comrade's eyes spinning in his head.
Mujin clutched his skull. "My world's… spinning. The technique isn't just power—it's synchronized with earth rotation. My mind's… trapped in motion…"
"Shit," Zichen growled.
Andrei's eyes sharpened. He slammed both feet together. "Armament Shen: Iron Grippers."
Crackling lightning surged down his arms, forming into massive gauntlets that hissed with compressed electricity. Zichen gripped his bell-handle and raised it.
DONG.
The bell chimed once, then again—each pulse expanding its size and length. Zichen pointed it forward.
"Expand."
The bell shot forward, cutting through the battlefield like a divine spear. Julius side-stepped just in time. Huey flipped backward, avoiding it too.
But Zichen pulled.
The bell bent midair—twisting like a serpent, re-aligning in midflight and chasing Julius from behind.
Even in Fifth Seal form, Julius had to work to dodge.
From the left—
Andrei blitzed forward.
The exact moment Julius prepared to sidestep the next bell strike, Andrei appeared in his blind spot.
BAM.
A full-powered punch laced with lightning, struck Julius's spine.
CRACK.
The sound of bone breaking echoed as Julius was sent flying into the dirt, crashing with seismic force. His body sparked with residual energy—lightning licking at his limbs.
For the first time, Julius did not rise immediately.
Snow fell in thin, drifting sheets across the southern gate—but the ground beneath was steaming, soaked in the blood of Red Walkers and cracked with footprints of divine weight.
Silas stood at the center of it all—rigid, bloodstained, and grinning like a warden at his own execution. His coat, still dripping from earlier violence, clung to him like armor. And across from him, wind slicing through her long braid, stood Asger—sister, traitor, Suha loyalist.
"You survived," Silas said with an icy grin. "And chose to carry on disgracing the Moraku family… fighting for them."
Asger's jaw clenched. Her fingers flexed. "Look around, Silas. You're the disgrace. You fight for a butchered ideology—kill the weak to preserve the strong? That's not a family belief. It's a sickness."
Silas's eyes twitched. "Shut the hell up."
Without another word, Asger shifted her stance. She brought one hand over the other, and her right arm began to tremble—not from fear, but from internal transformation. Shen rippled beneath her skin. Muscles twisted. Tissues multiplied. She was reinforcing every layer, building weight and density beneath the surface.
Tissue bending. The Moraku family's rejected technique.
Silas snarled. "Still playing with meat puppets, I see."
His eyes rolled red—deep, blood-rich crimson that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
"I prefer the real Moraku art… Blood Bending."
He snapped two fingers.
Asger's body jerked violently—her feet leaving the ground.
A seizure surged through her veins.
She gasped—eyes bulging as her blood boiled within her. Steam hissed from her skin. She choked, her mouth spilling hot, red liquid onto the snow.
Silas stepped forward, twisting two fingers slowly.
"Feel that?" he hissed. "That's pride. Our family's pride, running hot in your traitorous veins."
But something moved in the blood.
The crimson on the snow began to swirl—gather—respond.
Before Silas could react, the pooled blood twisted upward, forming a massive limb—a fist, amorphous and scarlet—and it punched him directly in the gut.
BOOM.
Silas went flying, tumbling into the ranks of the Red Ice Walkers, scattering them like chess pieces.
From the puddle of blood, Asger emerged, whole again. Her regenerated body shimmered, still steaming.
Nearby, Osiris's eyes widened.
That… wasn't normal.
He turned to engage—but was caught off guard. A Red Walker lunged at him from the side, sword of ice raised.
Before it could strike—CRACK.
The walker froze solid mid-swing and shattered.
Madagascar stood nearby, hand extended.
"Stay sharp, Osiris," he said coolly. "You're carrying too much power to be this unaware."
Osiris exhaled. "Right."
Madagascar moved quickly toward the rising chaos where Sir Caelum was already engaged with Jabari, one of The TEN's hidden Omegas.
Jabari stood quietly, a small stone in one palm, his stance casual—almost monk-like.
Caelum's chain-sword gleamed.
"Extend—Chainsmile."
The blade shot forward like a serpent, slicing through the air toward Jabari.
Jabari didn't flinch.
"Stone Creation: Six Terracotta Army."
Six colossal stone warriors exploded upward from the ground, forming a half-circle barrier in front of him. They bore spears, shields, and silence and created a formation to block out the incoming attack from Caelum.
CLANG.
Chainsmile bounced off their armor like paper on iron.
Caelum caught his sword on the rebound, eyes narrowing. "Couldn't cut through…"
Beside him, Madagascar landed, cloak whipping. He studied the constructs. "He's using foundational Shen—rooted in geological mass."
Caelum didn't respond. His eyes were locked on Jabari. The Omega's lips curled slightly.
Elsewhere, Osiris stood surrounded.
Red Walkers approached from all sides, blades and limbs raised.
He took a breath.
"I've been cleared," he whispered.
He closed his eyes.
"Armament: Ankh & Scepter."
Smoke exploded outward—and when it cleared, he stood transformed.
In his right hand: the Scepter, long and dark, humming with arcane force.
In his left: the Ankh, radiant gold pulsing with history.
In that moment, memories crashed into him. Faces. Generations. Fathers. Grandfathers. Lives he never lived but somehow remembered.
This Ankh connects me to every ancestor who's ever held it…
His eyes opened, burning gold.
The Red Walkers surged.
They fell on him like wolves.
Asger screamed. "Osiris!"
Too late.
They covered him—clawed, tore, bit.
And then—
LIGHT.
A pillar of divine gold erupted from where Osiris stood.
The walkers didn't burn. They didn't melt.
They dissolved—as though the light had erased their right to exist.
Every head on the battlefield turned.
The Ankh pulsed once more in his hand—calm, shining, eternal.