The old folk clenched his fist, and the very air inside the grand palace of Granadarator seemed to groan under the weight of his fury. A low hum reverberated from the walls—no, from within the walls—as if the building itself feared what might come next.
"You are all pathetic fools," he growled, voice like a rumble of thunder cracking through the domed ceiling. Above, beams shivered violently, loose dust trickling down like anxious sweat from the rafters.
Raw power oozed from the Tier-1 King's form, rippling across the obsidian-tiled floor in waves of heat. Dark blood—thick and sluggish—welled in his eyes and slid down his weathered cheeks like blackened tears of rage.
Canbayoo's knees threatened to give out as he knelt beside the throne dais, forehead pressed so low it brushed the cold marble near the ceremonial trough. He's slipping beyond fury into something darker... this palace won't hold much longer. By the gods, he might raze it with his mind alone.
"My king is too upset," Canbayoo thought. If this continues... I don't know what happens next. Will this end with blood or rubble—or both?
"And you, Canbayoo," the king snapped, his voice warped with disgust, "you dare bring me these useless assassins? Incompetent. Unreliable."
With each word, the pounding of the Tier-1 King's heart became more audible—like war drums reverberating through the foundation stones. The torches flanking the throne flickered and nearly extinguished, threatened by the pulse of his fury.
"My Lord," Canbayoo rasped, lifting his head just enough to meet the tsunami of power crashing down on them, "if you don't restrain your anger... this palace will explode."
But the king was beyond listening.
The air thickened like congealed fog, swallowing sound and breath alike. Panic seized the room. Every participant—soldiers, advisors, and generals—trembled beneath the silent roar of raw energy. Breathing became a struggle. The oxygen tasted of iron and smoke, as though war had already arrived.
"I am super disappointed with you all," he spat, glaring through the blinding red of his fury. "You lost the greatest treasure I could have possessed. I would have modified her... reshaped the destiny of this wretched world." His voice cracked, laced with manic hope and bitter loss. "And tell me—how did a fifteen-year-old create a portal?"
None dared speak. No one dared move.
In an instant, he slammed his fist into the arm of his obsidian throne. The stone shrieked and shattered, shards skidding across the glossy floor. Everyone flinched.
"Look at me and speak," he thundered.
No one met his gaze.
Ten long minutes passed, or perhaps it was only one, stretched thin by terror. The only movement was the swirling of ash-like dust in the shimmering torchlight.
Anger does not solve the problem, the king reminded himself with slow, deliberate thought. But I cannot let this go. I have to have her. She's the key... the last light of power unbound.
His shoulders slackened slightly as the inferno cooled within. The walls stopped vibrating. A haunted silence settled again, the kind that follows catastrophe narrowly avoided.
"She must be on another planet in the Mysterious Galaxy," he said coldly. "That is your mission. Find her. Bring her to me."
He turned toward Canbayoo with a look sharp as a comet's tail.
"In fact," he added, each word a hammerfall, "raise the bounty to ten billion U.S. dollars and broadcast it across the intergalactic media."
The silence fractured as Canbayoo inhaled through clenched teeth, forcing his voice out.
"Dead... or alive?"
The king coughed—once, twice—then narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "No. Are you serious? I don't even think you can kill her now." His voice faltered, disbelief and awe mingling. "If what I read in the Diary of Athens is true... she must have begun manifesting her powers. Killing her now would be nothing but a waste of supreme energy."
Should I tell him? Dongosanya debated in his mind, heart thrumming beneath his ceremonial robes. If I don't, Gwen Monkonda surely will. And she won't be gentle about it.
Shaken by the king's earlier eruption, he found his hand lifting before he fully decided to act. The Tier-1 King's gaze locked onto him, now calm, his eyes returned to their normal glowing bronze. "Speak, Dongosanya," he said, his voice carrying more weight than steel. One hand gestured lightly as he crossed his legs, but the power behind the throne had not lessened—it had simply been leashed.
Dongosanya, high priest and practitioner of dark magic, stepped forward with caution. He was more than a servant—he was a loyal acolyte to Gwen Monkonda, the galaxy's most enigmatic seer. That morning, he had stood within her blood-tinged fortress.
"Come in, Dongosanya."
Her voice slid into his skull before he knocked. He flinched. Witches... can you ever sneak up on them? he grumbled inwardly.
"I heard that," Gwen said flatly. "And I'm not a witch."
Great, he winced. Can't even think freely in here.
He stepped into her sanctum. Shadows clung to the vaulted ceilings like cobwebs. A headless dove lay still on the altar before her, its blood feeding a carved Calabash. She sat regally on a velvet chair, crimson cloth draped across her lap like a second skin. The candlelight pulsed unnaturally—as though drawing breath.
She picked up the Calabash, drank deeply, and blood trickled over her lips. "You're going to just stand there?" she asked, voice velvet-soft and edged in mockery. "Sit beside me."
His muscles stiffened at the spectacle, but he obeyed.
"I have missions for you," she said. "One for your king. The other... mine."
Now, back in the throne hall, Dongosanya exhaled slowly and bowed low. This part had to be precise.
"Sire," he said, "the Seer has spoken. The child has been located."
King Abongondolo jerked upright as though struck. Energy surged from his frame like solar flares, shaking the air. His throne cracked slightly beneath him.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he roared.
Dongosanya winced. "The message just arrived, my king. My deepest apologies," he lied, spine taut with dread. Forgive me... but I feared your rage more than your suspicion.
The king studied him. For ten searing seconds, silence reigned. Then came the glow—his eyes turned twin suns, bathing the council chamber in red light.
"Whao..." he muttered under his breath. Then louder, "This is a huge development. Which planet?"
"Ventrander, sire," Dongosanya answered. "But... there's more."
"Yes?"
"The Banguzen are there."
A collective gasp shivered through the chamber.
Abongondolo's jaw tightened. "Damn it. That complicates things. They've had their eyes on Ventrander for ages. One of the Five Galactic Powers... what are they planning?"
He rose to his full height, taller than most men and thrumming with destiny. "No matter. We need that girl. She is our key to joining their rank. If it means war... so be it."
He spun toward his war marshal.
"Bangusa, ready the troops. And summon the Kanjangulu—remind them they owe me. It's time they paid their debt. This is our moment to ascend, to become a superpower in the Mysterious Galaxy."
His voice boomed through the hall like a cosmic verdict. "Now... leave my sight."
"Yes, Sire," the council and assassins echoed. Then, one by one, they slipped into the shadows.
On the golden-skied planet of Tomationy, where the light shimmered like liquid fire across the horizon, Alexaton moved with graceful precision. He circled his most trusted bodyguard, Pithos, beneath the twin suns that crowned the central training courtyard.
Let me finish him with that kick I've been refining... he won't see it coming this time.
Pithos, already breathing heavily, launched into a leaping spin kick—form sharp, energy crackling from the torque of his movement.
But Alexaton anticipated it.
With a swift backward flip, he dodged the arc cleanly, his boots skimming the dustless floor, and landed in a crouch, lips pulling into a teasing grin.
"That was good," he panted, sweat glistening on his brow, "but you're still predictable. Your body language gives it away. Feint first next time—maybe a shift in shoulder stance. Trick the eyes before you strike."
Pithos exhaled through gritted teeth, nodding. Every lesson with him is a chess match. He sees the moves before I make them.
Just then, Rashaad burst through the archway, dust trailing behind him. His eyes were wide, breath short.
"Boss," he called out, urgency bleeding through his voice. "King Abongondolo has sent a message—"
Alexaton froze.
Every inch of light around them seemed to dim as though the name alone had stolen the sun.
Even the wind paused.
Pithos took one slow step back, eyes flicking from Alexaton to Rashaad.
In the silence, a tension coiled in the air—one that no weapon could cut.
Alexaton didn't speak. He just stared at Rashaad, motionless. His body was stone, but behind his stillness, his mind raced.
Abongondolo... Why now? Has it begun?