Continuation...
LEONARD
Queen Naomi leads us through the palace courtyard, her pace steady, her face unreadable. The sky is bruised purple, heavy with clouds, and the wind carries a sharp chill. We cross the stone path that leads toward the far end of the empire—beyond the royal chambers, beyond the gates—into the open plains where something ancient stirs.
Then I see them.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of warriors of the Oyo Empire lined across the field, preparing in silence. A sea of motion. Men and women moving with purpose and strength. They carry blades and weapons crafted from something rare—metal that gleams with a soft, deep-red glow under the darkening sky. Swords, spears, arrows, cutlasses, daggers, axes, and hammers… every edge forged from Quiver, a legendary resource known for its resilience and power. It hums in the air like it's alive.
Their armor is lean but strong, made for both speed and endurance. As they fasten gauntlets and strap quivers to their backs, the ground suddenly rumbles beneath our feet.
We all stop.
Above us, the clouds split apart like a wound in the sky.
Massive ships descend from the stars—dark, sharp-edged, and humming with eerie silence. They don't roar. They fall.
Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
One after another, they crash-land far ahead at the empire's edge. Dust and fire rise in columns.
Each ship splits open…
And then they come.
The creatures prowl out of the shadows—low, deliberate, armored in black, jagged scales that shimmer like burnt obsidian. No fur. Just plates sliding over lean, rippling muscle. Their claws clack against the steel landing bays, sharp and precise.
Bone-white eyes lock onto us—pupil-less, glowing, merciless.
Their snouts flare as they taste the air. Their jaws open slowly. No growl. No sound. Just rows of crooked, dripping teeth and a flicking forked tongue. Steam rolls from their breath.
Sawblade ridges twitch along their backs, tensing with each step. They circle the crash sites, slow and measured. Predators reading the battlefield.
Queen Naomi's voice rises like a blade unsheathed:
"Raise the shields."
A hum surges across the plain.
From nowhere, translucent walls of shimmering energy rise—massive invisible barriers forged from the Quiver's core essence. The creatures slam into it, clawing, biting, testing… but they can't pass. Not yet.
Behind us, the Ventures begin to prepare.
Menace is already suited up, his hood over his head, mask pulled tight over his nose. He slides more arrows into his quiver and checks his compact, tech-powered bow. Two Oyo warriors bring him a pair of newly-forged Quiver swords. He accepts them silently, strapping them to his back.
Jessica is already in her suit, adjusting her gun holsters. Two warriors step forward, offering her twin Quiver blades—sleek, balanced, beautiful. She hesitates.
"I—"
But the Alaafin steps forward from the Forge Tower entrance. His voice is firm.
"Accept it. It is a gift of honor."
Jessica nods once. Respectfully. She takes the blades, slides them into her back sheath, and locks her guns into place.
Calvin tightens the belt on his armored suit, his mechanical wings folded behind him. He doesn't have his helmet on yet—just his gauntlets, which glow softly with charged energy.
Desmond powers up his armored frame, standing tall in heavy exo-gear. Weapons lock into place across his shoulders, thighs, and arms. His helmet rests in his hand for now.
Captain Jack, always the silent sentinel, wears his shield on his left arm, blade handle strapped across his back. He draws the handle and presses a button—shhhht—a glowing blade ejects with a fast hiss. He slides his tech visor down across his eyes and steps forward.
Samuel, John, and I are the only ones who haven't suited up yet.
The Alaafin, Bashorun, and other key figures retreat quickly into the Forge Tower—also known as the Vibrator Large Hall—to safeguard the remaining Quivers and the Time Crystal. The tower gates seal behind them.
Now it's just us—the Ventures—and Queen Naomi.
We stand at the battlefront.
The Oyo warriors line up behind us, a living wall of strength and spirit, weapons drawn, glowing with Quiver light.
Captain Jack plants his feet and readies his stance. He presses his blade against his shield—metal hums through the air. Jessica draws both her swords and spins them into a reverse grip. Calvin flexes his gauntlets and glances toward the sky. Menace pulls an arrow and sets it on his bowstring. Desmond locks his helmet on, and small cannons snap into place over his shoulders.
Samuel steps forward, taps his wristwatch.
It chirps once.
Then—whooom!
Nanotech flows from his wrist, climbing up his arm like liquid fire. Blue, red, and gold plates fold over his chest, back, arms, and legs in a smooth cascade. His face vanishes beneath a sleek, angular helmet as the nanotech seals into place.
In seconds, he stands transformed—Time Manipulator—shining and powerful, like the future wrapped in armor.
John cracks his knuckles, eyes glowing faintly. He starts to pull off his shirt and shoes.
I raise a hand.
"Not yet," I say. "Save it for the final fight."
He nods reluctantly and steps back.
I take a breath.
And run.
The wind wraps around me, and in the blink of an eye, I shift—suit forming over my body in streaks of green lightning. My mask slides over my face, the world sharpening in vivid detail.
Queen Naomi lifts her arm.
"Drop the shields."
The barriers vanish like smoke.
The creatures—hundreds of them—snap forward and charge.
"Ultimate Ventures!!" I shout, my voice cutting through the air like thunder.
"Roll out!!" the others echo—
—and we launch forward.
The wind tears past my ears. My feet don't touch the ground so much as kiss it—one flash after the other, my body a streak of green lightning darting through the battlefield. Every movement is pure instinct. Controlled. Focused. Unstoppable.
The strange creatures charge like a wave of muscle and shadow, their glowing red eyes locked forward, claws raking into the dirt, spitting embers from their jaws. I don't wait for contact. I cut through them.
I sprint around the outer edge of their swarm, building momentum, calculating the angle—then strike.
My leg swings low—a blur—sweeping under a beast the size of a rhino. Its limbs fly out from under it. I loop back before it even lands. Another leaps at me, mouth wide. I duck and drive a crackling bolt of green lightning straight into its gut. The creature jerks mid-air—then explodes in a violent burst of black ash and flickering bone.
I zip through the pack—tagging pressure points, tripping legs, blasting skulls. I'm not trying to kill. I'm trying to divide them. Disrupt the swarm before it crashes into my team.
As I ricochet between shadows, I catch a glimpse ahead—
Queen Naomi… already gone full beast.
I don't stop to watch. The others are moving in—
And it's time to hand this off.
---
ERIC
The roar of war is all around us now.
But I don't flinch.
My boots pound the earth in rhythm. My shield hums on my left arm, sword gleaming in my right. I'm not built for speed. I'm built for impact.
Ahead of me, Naomi is already tearing across the battlefield. She's a blur of power and purpose. She moves like wind wrapped in thunder—fast, fluid, merciless.
The Hellhounds come into focus. Twisted creatures with cracked bones for spines, muscles warped beneath skin stretched too thin, teeth too many and too long. Some crawl like apes, others gallop like bulls. All of them sprint toward us—snarling, shrieking, hungry.
Naomi doesn't hesitate.
The ground shatters under her steps. Black filaments crawl along her spine mid-run, blooming into nanoweave armor—slick, seamless, forged to her skin. Her tank top dissolves, morphing into kinetic layers of living mesh. Gold pulses trace down her limbs like molten veins.
Her suit molds with every stride. Hexagonal plates slide over her ribs, clicking into place. Her boots rise from her ankles like liquid metal, stabilizing in milliseconds. She leaps—ten, twenty feet into the air.
Mid-flight, her helmet blossoms around her head, folding like petals into place. Panther ears. Glowing violet eyes. A predator reborn.
She spins once.
Tucks tight.
Drops like a thunderbolt.
BOOM.
Her fist hits first.
The earth buckles.
The shockwave detonates outward—not just a ripple of dust and force, but a devastating burst of kinetic energy that rips through the front line of Hellhounds.
They don't just fly—they shatter.
Skulls explode. Limbs disintegrate. Ribcages collapse inward like brittle shells under a hammer. Flesh tears from bone as the wave slams into them, launching what's left into the air in broken, burning fragments.
The battlefield is a blur of black smoke, flying debris, and dismembered creatures.
Then silence—just for a breath.
She rises through the settling dust.
Black. Gold. Amethyst.
Breathing calm. Eyes locked.
The warrior has arrived.
MountainLion is here.
---
The field erupts.
The Ventures don't wait.
Desmond's gauntlet cannons light up the evening sky, sending precision blasts into the body of oncoming beasts. Metal and fire dance around him. He's a storm of destruction, steady and tactical.
Calvin takes flight, weaving through air like a falcon, wings extended, gauntlets firing in short bursts. He twists mid-air, spins over a leaping Hellhound, and fires a round straight into its spine. It drops before it lands.
Jessica is already inside the chaos—blades drawn, body low. She slashes through one creature's jaw, kicks off another's head, spins, then stabs both blades into a beast's ribcage. Her eyes are fire. Her form, flawless.
Menace looses arrow after arrow—silent, surgical, deadly. He flips backward off a broken pillar, midair, loosing two arrows that collide mid-flight and explode in a shockburst that sends three Hellhounds rolling into each other.
Samuel—Time Manipulator—stands calm in the eye of madness. He summons a pulse cannon from his forearm, fires one blast—and freezes three Hellhounds mid-charge. He moves through them like mist. Unstoppable. Precise.
Tiwa leads her warriors with brutal grace. The Oyo Empire roars behind her—hundreds of them, wielding swords, spears, axes, cutlasses, daggers. Their war cries thunder across the battlefield.
Engineer Adepoju stomps forward in his massive reinforced suit—towering over most of us, his frame covered in plated armor, powered thrusters firing from his back. He smashes through a line of beasts with a shoulder slam, then spins and fires a chest-mounted repulsor that incinerates five more.
I spot a cluster of Hellhounds circling toward our right flank—fast, silent, crawling low like they're waiting to pounce.
I don't wait.
I hurl my shield—full force.
The Quiver disc slices through the air with a high-pitched hum, ricocheting off one creature's skull with a sickening crack, then slamming into a second's ribcage before bouncing off the third's spine and arcing back toward me.
I catch it mid-sprint.
The sword gleaming under the fading sky, edge alive with reflected firelight.
They charge.
I run toward them.
First one leaps.
I pivot, step under it, and drive my shield upward—hard. The impact caves in its jaw, lifts it from the ground, and slams it down like dead weight. Before it hits, I rotate and slash clean through another's neck. Blood sprays. The head rolls.
Two more come at my flanks.
I duck, roll between them, and as I rise—slam the edge of my shield into one's spine and impale the other straight through the chest with my blade. I twist the sword sharply. It lets out a gurgled scream before crumpling into ash.
Another lunges from behind.
I spin and throw my sword. It whistles through the air and punches through its throat, pinning the body to a fallen tree.
Three more circle me. Saliva dripping. Growling. Eyes glowing like embers.
I tighten my grip on the shield.
"Come on," I growl.
They charge as one.
I sidestep the first and crush its skull with a single shield strike to the temple. The second tackles me—I fall back into a roll, flipping it over my body, then drive the shield down like a hammer, splitting its head open.
The last Hellhound hesitates—then sprints toward me with a roar.
My sword's too far. I don't care.
I launch myself forward—grab the beast mid-pounce, twist mid-air, and slam it into the ground. It writhes. I punch once—twice—then rise and bring the edge of the shield down with all my weight.
Crack.
It stops moving.
I look up, breath heavy.
We're surrounded.
The Hellhounds keep coming—more than we ever expected. Dozens turn into hundreds, swarming from every shadow, every crack in the burning earth. They pile over each other like a tidal wave of claws, teeth, and darkness.
We fight back, tooth for tooth. Sword for fang. Punch for scream.
Leonard blurs past me, trailing green lightning as he rips through a cluster of them, but more take their place before he can turn.
Samuel lifts both arms—his nanotech suit firing pulses of crimson energy across the battlefield—but he's slowing. His breathing heavy. He's burning out.
Desmond swoops overhead, gauntlets blasting down, but the hounds leap after him like possessed beasts, one nearly snapping at his leg before he corkscrews out of reach.
Beside me, Mountain Lion—lets out a primal roar, her claws ripping through bone and hide. Tiwa is with her, blood on her blade, face grim. The warriors of Oyo fight like lions, but even they are faltering. Even Adepoju's armor—massive and towering—is dented now, his thrusters sputtering as he slams one monster into another.
We're holding the line... but just barely.
And then it happens.
A golden light tears through the sky like a meteor from the heavens. Bright—blinding. A sound like thunder cracking stone. The light crashes into the earth with such force it shatters the ground. A shockwave explodes outwards—throwing Hellhounds into the air like leaves in a storm. The closest of them don't even get the chance to scream. They disintegrate on impact—vaporized.
The blast hits us too. My shield absorbs the worst of it as I hit the dirt, tumbling. My ears ring. My ribs scream. But I'm alive.
When the light clears, we see him.
The Burning Light.
The Golden Prince
Belteshazzar.
He rises from a crater in the middle of the battlefield—His new suit gleams in deep red and royal blue, molded to his frame like a second skin. A golden starburst blazes on his chest, pulsing with energy, like his heart is made of light. Gold-lined gauntlets and boots shimmer—not flashy, but regal and precise. Every piece feels built for battle and glory. His belt, a sharp golden V, ties the whole look together with the authority of a prince and the presence of a god. And those eyes—they burn. They don't just see me… they cut through me. He doesn't look like a hero. He looks like judgment made flesh.
On his right and left stand two new warriors.
One tall, light-skinned, draped in dark green and deep red with a gold "M" burning at his chest. The other—dark-skinned and broad-shouldered—wears dark blue and black with gold lines and the same golden "M" emblazoned on his chest. One radiates raw strength and focus. The other… elastic power surges through his frame, his arms already coiled like whips.
We barely catch our breath before they launch.
Golden Prince is the first to move—blasting forward like a comet, carving a golden streak through the Hellhounds. Every pulse of light from his fists turns beasts into ash. He tears through the battlefield with rage and precision, his body glowing brighter with every impact.
The elastic hero stretches an arm twenty feet and slams a hound into another, then whips a leg around to trip four more in a blur. He laughs while fighting—confident, unstoppable.
The other new warrior moves like a force of nature. He punches one beast and caves in its entire chest. Another leaps at him—he doesn't flinch. It breaks itself on his skin. He hurls bodies with devastating strength, his eyes locked, focused.
And just like that, we begin to win again.
Until…
Two shadows descend into the chaos like serpents from hell.
Agrona.
The Goddess of Death. Pale. Fierce. Cold.
And a male alien stands silent and deadly before us like a god forged in war.
They don't speak. They don't need to.
Agrona raises her hands, and obsidian blades burst from the ground. The alien simply lifts his foot—and the earth bends beneath him.
JESSICA
She comes for us.
Agrona moves like smoke and fury, blades forming and shattering with every step. I duck, sidestep, slash upward—our swords clash in a storm of steel and sparks.
Menace flanks her from the right—his dual blades spinning like windmills. Mountain Lion attacks from the left, claws sharp, strikes faster than sight.
We surround her.
But Agrona doesn't panic.
She smirks—then unleashes.
Five blades spiral toward me. I knock down three, dodge two—feel one graze my shoulder. She spins and parries Menace's strike, then summons a wall of knives to block Naomi's charge.
We move like a unit.
Swords clashing.
Kicks flying.
Screams rising.
I slash, elbow, spin, stab—Agrona blocks each strike with unnatural grace. Menace's sword nearly finds her side—but she melts into shadow, then explodes upward with twin daggers.
Naomi roars, her claws finally slashing across Agrona's back—but Agrona retaliates, conjuring a massive obsidian axe that sends Mountain Lion flying into the dirt.
We bleed. So does she.
We don't stop.
Neither does she.
The fight draws on—longer than I expected. We don't win. We don't lose. We're stuck in a storm of rage and fury. Until all of us—swordsmen and goddess—are breathing hard. Wounded. Still standing.
Eyes locked.
Waiting for someone to make the next move.
---
ERIC
The other alien—he's already moving. His armor is blackened steel laced with crimson veins, sharp and ancient, molded to his form like it grew from his flesh. Every plate is etched with symbols I don't recognize—runes that feel older than time, pulsing faintly with red energy.
His eyes? Glowing embers, locked on me and Peregrine Falcon. Not blinking. Not human. Just raw, merciless power.
A deep crimson cape billows behind him, dragging across ash and shattered bones, shoulders crowned with spiked pauldrons that hum with restrained force. His helm splits down the middle like a blade, horns curling back with brutal elegance. His arms rise, palms wide—clawed fingers.
Metal screams.
Pipes, rods, scaffolding—everything—rips free from the rubble, floating like a storm of knives. The ground groans beneath us, stone tearing upward in jagged slabs. Bullets Peregrine just fired? They stop midair. Reverse course.
"Who are you?" I ask
"Jabez, god of Metals and Earth, assistant of Emperor Erebus." The alien responds
Jabez owns the battlefield.
This isn't combat.
It's a massacre in waiting.
"Split him," I breathe.
Falcon hears it. No words wasted. He veers left—wings slicing through wind, gauntlets blazing.
I charge head-on—shield raised, sword humming blue in my right hand.
The first wave hits.
CLANG!
CLANG!
CLANG!
I block three incoming spikes—barely. The fourth whistles past my face, drawing blood across my cheek.
Falcon lights him up—high-velocity rounds pepper the air.
Jabez doesn't blink.
He snaps his arm to the side—and the bullets whirl back, multiplied, sharpened.
"DOWN!" I shout.
I launch my shield overhead. It catches the shrapnel like a magnet—metal pings and ricochets like a rainstorm.
Falcon grunts midair, wings wrapping around himself like armor. Sparks explode against his armor.
And then—
Jabez snatches my shield out of the sky.
Effortless.
His lips curl into a wicked grin.
WHAM!
He flings it straight at my chest like a cannon round.
Without hesitation, I hurl into a front flip—clean, sharp, fast.
The shield screams past beneath me.
KRRAACK!
It rips clean through the stone wall behind me like it's made of paper.
Inches from death.
I glance at the crater and snarl under my breath, "You really want this to get ugly?"
I lunge forward—sword cocked back—and swing with everything I've got.
Jabez raises a slab of concrete to block me.
Bad call.
I blow through it.
Stone explodes on impact, and I'm already swinging again before the dust clears.
Our blades meet—his formed from warped rebar, glowing with heat. Mine forged steel and plasma.
The clash sends tremors through my bones.
He's strong. Freakishly strong.
Falcon hits him from behind—rockets roaring from his boots—BOOM! Jabez stumbles, footing broken.
Now.
I press forward, blade aimed for his ribs—
But his body shifts.
Flesh becomes stone. Muscle becomes metal.
My sword buries deep—but doesn't cut. Just sinks.
His grin grows wider.
Then—BAM!
His fist crashes into my chest like a wrecking ball.
Pain erupts. I fly backward, bounce once, tumble hard. Gravel tears into my armor. I taste blood.
"NOW!" Falcon screams behind him.
THOOM!!
Point-blank repulsor blast.
It rocks Jabez off his feet—sends him crashing through two steel beams. Sparks burst. Smoke trails.
I gasp and drag myself upright, ribs screaming.
Jabez rises from the wreckage. Limbs torn. Face bruised. Still grinning.
He spreads his fingers.
From the ground—the same bullets rise again.
Crushed. Twisted. Scorched. Doesn't matter.
They hover. Spin. Multiply.
The air trembles around him.
Then they launch.
A full-on bullet storm.
"TAKE COVER!" Falcon barks.
I raise my left hand—
THWIP!
The shield answers instantly—slamming into my grip. I twist my body, deflecting a spray of rounds. The impact shakes my bones.
I dive behind a broken girder.
TING-TING-TING-TING-TING!
It's relentless. Sparks fly everywhere. The heat is insane. My shield vibrates like it's going to crack.
We're heaving now. Battered. Wounded. Pinned.
And Jabez?
He knows.
He starts walking toward the Tower. Confident. Slow. Like we're already dead.
"I'm taking those Quivers," he growls.
I spit blood into the dirt. "Then you'd better kill me now."
He stops.
No words.
Just silence.
Then—he drops to one knee. Presses a palm to the earth.
RUMMMMMMBLE.
A pulse rolls out from his hand, warping everything around him.
Dust spirals into the air.
Wind howls.
And the ground beneath him—splits.
The stone folds inward like a mouth swallowing a secret.
And then—
He's gone.
Gone.
Vanished into the earth like it welcomed him home.
---
Falcon touches down beside me, smoke curling off his armor. His helmet peels back, revealing his sweat-slicked face.
"What now?" he asks, his voice low and urgent.
I wipe the blood from my mouth, eyes fixed on the hole Jabez vanished through. My jaw clenches.
"I need to inform the people in the large hall to protect the resources at all costs…" I mutter, my voice tight with urgency. "…he must not take what he wants."
I tap the comms in my right ear. "John, I need you to stay focused. There's an alien in Forge Tower—he's tearing through everyone to get the Quivers."
Silence.
I wait, listening, but all I hear is his voice—talking to someone else. A woman, maybe on the phone, maybe a laptop.
"John, do you copy?" I call again, louder. "This is Eric Christopher. Do you copy?!"
Nothing.
"What's going on?" Falcon asks beside me.
I grit my teeth. "Why can't this guy stay focused for once?"
"Eric," Falcon presses, "what's happening?"
"He's distracted… probably flirting during a war," I snap.
Falcon's eyes widen. "What?!"
"Yeah. And we need to snap him out of it. He's the only strong one inside the building."
Falcon shakes his head. "What if I go in?"
I shake mine. "No. Your fight is out here. But get me inside."
"How?"
"I'm going to sprint and jump as high as I can. You carry me higher and throw me through the closest window—close enough to strike that bastard."
Falcon nods. "Alright, Captain."
His helmet closes. I take a breath and dash forward.
I call out again as I run, "John, suspend that call immediately and fight!"
The massive walls of Forge Tower rush toward me. I leap with everything I've got. Falcon swoops down, grabs my arms mid-air, and soars higher. Together, we crash toward a wide, reinforced window.
I raise my shield just in time.
CRASH!
Glass explodes as I burst through the window. I tuck and roll across the steel floor, my shield up to block the shards. I come to a crouch inside the blazing heart of Forge Tower—
—and what I see twists my gut.
INT. FORGE TOWER – LARGE HALL
Jabez stands in the center like a dark god of war, controlling everything.
With a single motion, he manipulates molten smelters, conveyor systems, stamping presses, boring drills, and fuel piping—all transformed into deadly weapons.
Oyo Empire warriors scream as metal arms crush their bones, drills punch through their chests, and boiling fuel rains from ruptured pipes. The floor shifts beneath them—a battlefield come alive, obeying Jabez alone.
He's merciless.
He's slaughtering them to steal the Quivers and Time Crystal—treasures meant to change the fate of the world.
I act fast.
I raise my arm and hurl my shield.
CLANG!
It slices the air and slams hard into Jabez's ribs. His body jolts, staggering back, metal groaning under his boots as he skids. My shield returns to my hand with a clean snap.
He steadies himself and turns, eyes narrowing at me.
"You again," he snarls.
I rise to my feet, breathing steady. "Yeah, that's right. Your worst nightmare."
Jabez lifts his hand—metal groans, and suddenly a massive boom arm swings toward me like a wrecking ball.
I dive under it. The arm smashes into a pillar behind me.
Another arm swings—I flip over it, twist mid-air, land behind him and charge.
He sends a series of power hammers and molten pipes hurtling my way. I slash with my sword—cutting through a drill, parrying molten chains with my shield.
We meet in the middle—steel against skill.
I strike—fast, sharp. My blade slashes, my shield bashes. But he's quick—he forms a gauntlet from raw metal, catching my sword and melting part of it.
He sends a burst of sharp piping from below—I jump, roll, and counter with a spinning back-kick. He absorbs the impact and swings a molten hammer—I block with my shield, but I'm sent skidding back.
I'm tiring.
He isn't.
Jabez twists his wrist and the floor beneath me explodes upward. I get slammed mid-air, bounce off a pipe, and drop to my knees.
Suddenly—
BOOM!
John tears through the side of the tower, half-shifted into his werewolf form—fangs bared, claws glowing.
"HEY, METALHEAD!" he roars.
He leaps onto Jabez, knocking him into a steel beam. Jabez recovers, but John is relentless—slashing, clawing, biting.
I struggle to my feet.
"You're late," I grunt.
John tosses a molten pipe aside. "My bad. I was... distracted."
He leaps again—this time smashing Jabez through a conveyor belt. Sparks explode everywhere.
I try to join the fight—sword and shield raised—but my limbs are shaking.
Jabez rises again. His arms spread wide—and an entire wall of molten steel lifts behind him.
He sends it at me.
WHAM!
It hits me like a truck.
Glass shatters. Air rushes past my ears.
And I go flying—
EXT. FORGE TOWER – EVENING
I crash through a high window and slam onto a container outside. My body crumples to the ground. I cough, dizzy, beaten.
The world fades.
To be continued....