SETTING: Dawn breaks over the Infernal Citadel, casting long shadows across its industrial spires and ancient stone towers that pierce a gray, smoke-laden sky. The atmosphere is heavy with the acrid scents of iron forges, soot from ceaseless chimneys, and the faint, lingering tang of old blood from battles long past. DYLAN's boots echo softly on the cold stone floor as he enters AXEL's sparse room. Morning light filters through a narrow window, glinting off the polished sheath of KINSLAYER, AXEL's legendary blade. Atop it lies a small, folded note in AXEL's precise handwriting. DYLAN picks it up, his hands steady but his heart racing, and unfolds it to read.
NOTE:
Dylan, if you're reading this… I've gone ahead. Trust your instincts. Keep Murphy informed. Stay alive. I'll see you when I return… or not. —Axel
DYLAN's chest constricts, a mix of worry and resolve flooding him. His foster brother, the one constant in his turbulent life, has vanished without a trace or farewell. Across the room, HAKARI leans casually against the far wall, one foot propped up against the stone, a perpetual smirk playing on his lips. His posture exudes effortless style, as if the weight of impending danger is merely an inconsequential detail in his otherwise carefree existence.
DYLAN (quietly, clutching the note, his voice laced with urgency):
He's gone. We have to move, Hakari. Axel wouldn't leave like this unless it was serious.
HAKARI (stretching languidly, flipping a kunai between his fingers with practiced ease):
Chill, Dylan. Murphy's called an emergency meeting. We go, get the intel, and track down our wayward friend. No need to rush into the unknown half-cocked.
DYLAN shoots him a glance, a familiar blend of frustration and reluctant reassurance washing over him. HAKARI's unshakeable confidence, while often infuriating, has a way of anchoring him in moments of chaos. Together, they descend the Citadel's scarred stone corridors, the walls bearing the etched scars of centuries-old battles—deep gouges from blades and blasts of energy. The air grows cooler as they emerge into the industrial district, where the hum of machinery reverberates like a distant heartbeat. Metal groans under the strain of production, and the cobblestone streets glisten with fresh rain, reflecting the dim light of oil lamps.
In the council chamber, a vaulted room lined with maps and relics of past victories, MURPHY stands at the head of a long oak table, his presence commanding quiet authority without a word. The other council members—seasoned warriors and strategists—fall silent as DYLAN approaches and hands him the note.
DYLAN (his tone steady, though his eyes betray concern):
He's gone. Left this behind. No explanation, just... this.
The council erupts in murmurs of surprise and speculation. MURPHY scans the note quickly, then raises a hand for silence, his voice calm and measured, cutting through the tension like a blade.
MURPHY:
This changes our priorities. Only Dylan and Hakari will pursue him. The rest of you will remain here to fortify the Citadel against potential threats. Axel is likely heading into Hakari Clan territory—it's the only secure passage leading toward the Espada lands, where our intelligence suggests escalating tensions.
HAKARI (grinning sideways at DYLAN, his eyes glinting with mischief):
Just you and me, Dylan. Hope you've been keeping up with your training. I'm not in the mood to carry dead weight through hostile ground.
DYLAN rolls his eyes, suppressing a sigh as he adjusts the straps on his kunais and reinforced gloves, feeling the familiar weight of his gear. As they exit the chamber, HAKARI leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
HAKARI (low, with a playful edge):
Stick close. Don't get yourself into trouble out there. And if you do... well, handle it yourself. I've got better things to do than play hero.
They step out into the gray morning, the streets of the Citadel shimmering with lingering mist and shallow puddles that mirror the overcast sky. The air is crisp, carrying the promise of uncertainty as they begin their journey.
The mist clings to the sheer cliffs and winding forested paths like a shroud, muffling their footsteps and dampening the world around them. DYLAN wipes a bead of sweat from his brow despite the chill, his senses attuned to the treacherous terrain—every precarious ledge, every gnarled root that could send a careless traveler plummeting. The path demands unwavering focus, a test of endurance and awareness. Meanwhile, HAKARI lounges indolently on a broad stone slab, his boots kicking idly at loose pebbles, a dagger flipping absently in his hand as if the journey were a leisurely stroll.
HAKARI (nonchalant, his tone dripping with boredom):
Hurry up, Dylan. Don't strain yourself over every little rock. The path isn't going anywhere.
DYLAN (annoyed, his fingers gripping thick vines for balance as he scales a steep incline):
Hakari, this isn't a game. We're tracking Axel through some of the most dangerous territory outside the Citadel. One wrong step could end us both.
HAKARI (smirking, leaning back further):
Relax, little brother. If trouble decides to show its face, I'll... handle it. Eventually.
DYLAN mutters under his breath, pushing forward as he navigates the narrow ledges and secures makeshift ropes from sturdy vines to aid their progress. HAKARI follows at a leisurely pace, barely exerting himself, as if the world itself should accommodate his laziness. Hours stretch on under the canopy of fog-shrouded trees, with DYLAN taking the lead—scouting ahead, sensing subtle disturbances in the earth through his plant resonance, and maintaining their course. HAKARI, in contrast, hums a soft, tuneless melody, twirling his dagger with rhythmic precision, occasionally interjecting with advice that borders on mockery.
HAKARI (casually, without looking up):
Watch your step there, Dylan. Don't let those vines trip you up. Would hate for you to take a tumble and make me actually work.
DYLAN, muscles straining as he hauls himself over a particularly unstable ledge, forces a tight laugh to mask his growing irritation. Deep down, he knows HAKARI's abilities—his mastery over sound manipulation—could turn the tide in any confrontation, but for now, the contrast in their efforts grates on him. As the mist thickens, DYLAN spots signs of AXEL's passage: broken branches snapped at unnatural angles, scuffed stones bearing faint boot prints. The air carries a faint metallic tang, the residual echo of expended Metah energy. DYLAN pauses at what appears to be the remnants of a recent skirmish—scorch marks on the ground, scattered debris—and a wave of dread mingles with respect for whatever AXEL faced here. The path ahead grows more perilous, AXEL's trail faint but persistent, urging them onward.
Chapter: The Wolf in the Mist
The path constricts further, weaving through dense underbrush choked with thorns and jagged rocks that jut like silent sentinels. Mist curls sinuously around twisted roots, creating an ethereal veil that distorts distances and hides potential hazards. DYLAN's boots crunch against the uneven ground, his senses heightened to every rustle and shift in the fog. The forest feels alive, watchful, as if holding its breath. HAKARI, true to form, sprawls across a nearby boulder, his dagger spinning lazily between deft fingers, eyes half-closed in apparent disinterest.
A low rumble reverberates faintly through the mist, akin to distant thunder or a suppressed growl. DYLAN freezes, his plant resonance detecting subtle vibrations rippling through the earth—heavy, deliberate footsteps approaching from the shadowed depths ahead. The air thickens, infused with a musky, predatory scent that pierces the dampness, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Twigs snap in the distance, the sounds escalating in rhythm, suggesting a large entity stalking closer, methodically assessing the terrain.
DYLAN (whispering urgently, his hand instinctively reaching for his kunais):
Hakari, something's coming. It's not small—feels like it's hunting us.
HAKARI (yawning expansively, barely opening his eyes):
Probably nothing worth the effort. Chill out, Dylan.
The sounds amplify—harsh guttural breaths intermingled with the scrape of claws against unyielding stone. The mist swirls unnaturally, parting just enough to unveil a pair of glowing amber eyes cutting through the gloom like beacons of malice. Shadows coalesce into form, revealing a tall, hunched figure stepping deliberately into view. Metah energy coils visibly around him, dense and pulsating like molten metal infused with raw, animalistic fury. This encounter feels no accident; the figure's deliberate approach suggests he's been shadowing them, biding time for an opportune strike.
EBOKA (growling, his voice a deep, resonant echo that vibrates through the fog):
Who dares tread the wolf's path? This territory claims the weak and spares none.
Before DYLAN can fully respond, EBOKA's body undergoes a grotesque contortion—bones cracking audibly as they elongate, muscles bulging beneath skin that rips and reforms, dark fur erupting in waves across his frame. He metamorphoses into a colossal wolf-like monster, towering and feral, his claws excavating deep gouges into the stone beneath him. The overwhelming stench of iron and untamed power assaults DYLAN's senses, causing his vines to twitch involuntarily in defensive readiness.
DYLAN (raising his kunais, his voice steady despite the undercurrent of fear):
Hakari, wake up. This is Metah-infused—far beyond an ordinary beast.
HAKARI responds with another yawn, remaining unmoved as if the horror unfolding is a trivial interruption. DYLAN's frustration surges, but survival instincts prevail. EBOKA lunges with explosive velocity, his claws slicing through the air with a whistle. DYLAN dodges nimbly, summoning vines from the earth to anchor his position and propel himself laterally. He retaliates with a precise slash of his kunai, grazing EBOKA's flank and drawing a thin line of blood. Yet EBOKA twists mid-leap, his wounds already knitting closed under the regenerative surge of Metah energy, snarling with undiminished ferocity.
Undeterred, EBOKA presses the assault, his swipes relentless and calculated. DYLAN counters with a frenzy of lashing vines, attempting to ensnare the beast's limbs and restrict his mobility, but EBOKA shreds through them with brute, supernatural force, sending shards of verdant matter scattering. DYLAN stumbles backward, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the mist irritating his eyes as he narrowly evades a snapping bite aimed at his throat. A shallow gash opens on his arm, blood trickling warmly, the sharp pain honing his focus amid the realization that he's outmatched in sheer power, surviving only through agility and intimate knowledge of the terrain.
EBOKA's piercing amber eyes shift abruptly, locking onto HAKARI's lounging form, perceiving him as vulnerable prey. With a thunderous roar that shakes the surrounding foliage, he bounds forward, claws extended to rend flesh from bone.
DYLAN (shouting, panic sharpening his voice):
Hakari, move! He's targeting you!
At last, HAKARI sits up with deliberate slowness, brushing imaginary dust from his coat, a lazy smirk etching his features. As EBOKA's massive silhouette descends upon him, HAKARI raises his hands in a casual gesture. A cataclysmic wave of distorted sound erupts forth, the air itself vibrating with the force of an invisible sledgehammer. The sonic blast connects unerringly—EBOKA's head detonates in a visceral explosion of bone, blood, and fur, the resultant shockwave propagating outward and hurling DYLAN backward against his taut vines, which strain but hold.
The beast's decapitated body crumples to the ground, convulsing once before stillness claims it. An oppressive silence descends, punctuated only by the gradual settling of the mist.
HAKARI (stretching languidly, his tone mock-reproachful):
See? Easy. You worry too much, Dylan. Next time, try not to interrupt my rest. Now axel where are you. As Hakari's aura covers the forest it was metah something strange to dylan