The dropship rattled violently as it pierced through the upper atmosphere, shaking with every gust of Veil turbulence.
Inside, three figures stood against the side walls—arms crossed, gear strapped tight, their expressions silent and focused.
Unlike the enemy's flying fortress, this was no war machine.
> This was a strike pod. Small. Fast. Untraceable.
Built for insertion, not intimidation.
And at the center of it—
Daeho.
---
Eyes half-lidded. Breathing steady.
His black jacket billowed slightly in the wind coming from the vent port.
A matte, reinforced whip coiled along his right arm like a serpent—pulsing faintly with violet energy.
> Blackwhip Veil: Activated.
His weapon wasn't loud.
It didn't glow like fire or crack like thunder.
But it moved with purpose.
It listened to him.
Daeho didn't shout orders.
He didn't hype up his squad.
He simply said—
> "Two minutes till drop. Ayen, you're lead-left. Juno—high blind spot."
> "Copy," Ayen grinned, checking his twin daggers.
> "No mistakes," Juno added, voice calm, sliding his Veil cards into his sleeves.
---
The doors of the pod exploded open midair.
Daeho jumped first.
As he fell, he extended a single arm behind him. The Blackwhip snapped forward—
CRACK.
It latched onto a passing floating stone.
He swung down like a comet, building momentum.
> "Engage," he whispered through comms.
Juno and Ayen followed, dropping with smoke trails behind them.
---
Below them, the warzone stretched for miles:
Collapsed monuments floating in the sky
Burned-out villages crawling with soldiers and beasts
Patches of unstable Veil fog, ripping holes in space like broken glass
The Wailing Faction's frontline was holding.
But barely.
Veil energy crackled between strikes. Screams echoed between cliffs.
Daeho landed on a ruined temple roof with barely a sound.
Six enemy scouts noticed too late.
---
The moment their eyes met his—
WHIP.
The Blackwhip extended in a flash—splitting into multiple tendrils like branches.
One wrapped around a man's leg—yanked him midair—another lassoed two blades—snapped them into pieces.
A third tendril spiraled behind him in defense.
> "One," Daeho counted.
He crouched—then jumped.
The whip anchored into the wall and launched him like a slingshot.
He twisted midair, wrapping an enemy's neck with a spiraling motion—spinning him into the other like a meteor of bone and armor.
> "Two."
---
> "Coming in hot!"
Ayen burst from above—flipping midair and dashing down into two more soldiers. His daggers flashed like lightning strikes, rapid and clean.
> "Hey, Daeho, save me some!"
> "Fight faster," Daeho replied dryly.
---
From behind a broken pillar, Juno threw down a glowing card.
The ground pulsed.
> [CARD: Shatter Field]
A small radius erupted with gravitational backlash—pulling nearby enemies into a dense center where their movement slowed.
Juno walked forward calmly, releasing sharp projectile cards like needles into their weak points.
---
The trio moved like a system:
Ayen: Offense and distractions
Juno: Field manipulation
Daeho: Control, eliminations, and defense
The enemies were stronger, maybe even outnumbered them.
But they were disorganized. Angry. Loud.
And these three?
They were precision.
They didn't waste movement.
They didn't panic.
They cut through chaos with silence.
---
> The war's changed.
Everyone's scrambling. Nobody trusts the Council. Nobody trusts each other.
But something worse is coming. I can feel it. Every time I breathe, it's like the air's bracing for impact.
> And that dream…
He paused atop a fallen statue, watching as fire raged in the distance.
> That boy... drowning. He's real. I know it now.
He adjusted his whip—Veil sparks flickering along the edge.
> And if he's out there... we're not ready.