The battlefield freezes.
No one moves.
No one breathes.
The thing standing over Soris's body is no ordinary Terror.
Terrors don't plan. Terrors don't wait.
And yet—this one had.
Its skin is a twisted lattice of crimson muscle and black crust, its body riddled with holes that steam faintly in the cold air. Dreadlocks whip around its head like living cords. Teeth glisten—sharp, wet, and carved with five letters: M.E.L.L.I. The same letters are etched into the thick, rectangular cuffs bolted around its wrists.
Kuzai moves first—a streak of green pants and red sandals, all the power of his stored kicks unleashed—
CLANG!
Melli catches his leg mid-swing. The cuffs take the full force without even a dent.
Koji's voice is tight.
"Get them out of here!"
The remaining Guardians rush forward, forcing themselves between Moto's group and the monster.
Sheu watches closely, heart pounding. Every attack they throw is met with the same response—Melli blocks with his cuffs. Always the cuffs. Like he's waiting for them to break.
Koji expands his massive staff, the weight of half a tonne in his hands, and swings with all his strength.
Sheu shouts—
"Koji—no!"
Too late. The blow shatters the cuffs.
The air detonates.
A gale howls outward, flattening the grass, throwing dirt into the sky. Melli straightens to his full height, dreadlocks thrashing. His grin is wider now, hungrier.
And then—his eyes find Moto.
Recognition.
Moto's pulse spikes. He forces himself not to step back.
Melli crouches. In a blink, he's airborne, arm stretching far beyond normal reach.
Koji throws his staff into the way—CRACK!—it splinters in two.
The fight becomes chaos. Freed from his restraints, Melli's limbs stretch and whip like serpents, his reach impossible to predict. His speed has doubled. His blows hit like falling boulders.
"Andzani—" Najo's voice cuts through the din, but he's already sprinting toward the capital, the fastest of them all.
Moto and Sheu refuse to stand back. Smoke gushes from Moto's burned hand, curling into dense clouds that blind Melli's vision before he ignites them in sudden bursts of flame. Sheu's Nirvana blade slashes through the haze, wind screaming along its edge.
For a moment, they make ground—forcing Melli to defend, dodging his whip-like arms. But one by one, the Guardians fall. Koji hits the dirt, coughing blood. Kuzai is thrown so far he doesn't get back up. Sheu's cry is cut off as she's smashed to the ground.
And then—Moto is alone.
He rips the white bandage from his hand. The scar tissue beneath is raw, charred, ugly. Smoke bleeds from his palm, thicker than ever.
Melli's shadow looms over him.
Moto breathes hard. There's no other way.
He floods the air with smoke, compressing it, heating it until it trembles on the edge of ignition. His arm shakes from the pain.
"Don't do it, Moto!" Sheu's voice is ragged.
"It's our only hope."
Melli's arm coils back like a spring—ready to strike.
A hand grabs Moto's wrist.
"Put that biltong away, kid."
Andzani.
He pushes Moto behind him, scanning the fallen Guardians. His gaze lands on Melli, and for the first time, his expression is pure hatred.
"You'll pay."
The air cracks as he moves—every weapon he touches turning into an extension of himself. Melli swings, arms stretching wide, smashing the ground into craters. Andzani dives low, slashing at the red flesh between the black crusts. The blade sinks in—Melli's scream is a jagged thing. The crust snaps shut, shattering the weapon.
Andzani doesn't hesitate. He slaps a small explosive to Melli's face, takes a brutal counterpunch that sends him skidding back, and detonates it. Smoke and dust swallow the monster—but it bursts through, roaring.
A whip-arm catches Andzani in the ribs. Something cracks. He grits his teeth, unbuckling one shoulder strap to reveal four knives. Two in each hand.
"Moto—watch."
Melli spins his arms into a vortex, ripping the air itself apart. Andzani hurls both front blades—shattering them on impact—then uses the distraction to slide in low, stabbing again at the red flesh. This time he pulls the blade free before the crust seals.
Over and over, he strikes the weak spots, faster than Melli can close them. The monster slows, each stretch more sluggish, each roar weaker—
And finally, with a last, vicious slash, Andzani drives him to the ground.
Silence. Only ragged breathing.
Andzani straightens, chest heaving.
"No way this was random."
Koji, one eye swollen shut, spits blood.
"Then who... who would do this?"
The answer isn't here.
The view pulls back—past Zen's battered walls, across the jagged ruins, over the Terror-infested valley of Gehen.
Into a city.
Into a shadowed room.
A figure sits there, shirtless, muscles carved like stone, red hair falling over his face. His presence alone fills the space with weight.
He looks to the men beside him.
"Looks like they don't have an army."
A smile cuts across his face, sharp as a blade.
"Well then, our next stop is set, after Pasi, of course."