:Chapter 2
The cloaked man moved first.
The moment the life pod tore through the clouds, he was already running.
The forest stretched endlessly before him—ancient trees towering like watchful giants, their bark scarred by time and war. Roots twisted across the ground like veins, slick with moss and damp soil. His boots struck them with controlled force as he and his men raced through the undergrowth, cloaks snapping behind them like living shadows.
Above the canopy, the sky screamed.
Metal burned through atmosphere, trailing fire as if the heavens themselves were being torn open. The sound followed seconds later—an unholy shriek that rattled bone and shook the ground beneath their feet.
A life pod.
Close.
An explosion thundered behind them, distant but powerful enough to send birds screaming into the air. Leaves rained down from the branches. The cloaked man raised his arm sharply, signaling his unit to increase speed.
They obeyed without hesitation.
Seven figures flowed after him, dark shapes weaving through brush and shadow. Their armor bent light and swallowed sound, designed for war in places where silence meant survival. Weapons remained drawn but low. No one spoke.
They didn't need to.
Another explosion echoed.
Then another.
The cloaked man did not slow. He listened—counting distance, angle, timing. His voice cut through the chaos, low and resonant, vibrating with a depth that felt wrong, as if it came from somewhere deeper than lungs.
"Don't worry about the noise," he said calmly. "Those explosions have already woken everybody. Be on guard."
Almost as if the world answered him, seven more detonations erupted in the distance—scattered, uneven, tearing across the horizon. Different impacts. Different clearings. The forest groaned, ancient trunks creaking as the ground trembled.
Something large shifted far away.
Something that had been sleeping.
The unit slowed as the terrain ahead opened.
The cloaked man raised his fist.
They stopped instantly.
Smoke drifted through the trees ahead, thick and bitter, carrying the scent of burning metal and scorched soil. The metallic tang coated the air, sharp enough to sting the throat. Through the haze, he could hear voices now—harsh, confident, familiar.
Umbural voices.
Enemy Umbural voices.
But beneath them—
Something else.
High-pitched. Broken. Panicked.
The cloaked man frowned beneath his hood.
He wasn't sure what it was.
He moved ahead alone, signaling his unit to follow quietly. Each step was measured, controlled, his presence barely disturbing the ground. The forest seemed to part for him, shadows clinging to his form as if recognizing something older than fear.
The clearing opened before him.
Trees lay shattered outward, trunks split and smoldering, soil burned black and glassy from impact. At the center of the devastation rested the life pod, cracked open like a broken shell, its hull glowing faintly red as steam hissed from ruptured seams.
Enemy tribesmen surrounded it.
Weapons raised.
Armor marked in Blue Iron.
And standing among them, unmistakable even at a distance—
Commander Rodrick Athens.
The cloaked man stopped.
Rodrick Athens, Fourth Commander of the Blue Iron, stood with his arms crossed, posture relaxed, confident. His armor gleamed faintly with energy runes, untouched by ash or flame. He looked like a man who believed nothing in this forest could harm him.
Before him knelt a group of creatures.
Small.
Too small.
The cloaked man studied them carefully.
They looked similar to us, he thought.
But smaller.
Very, very smaller.
Their bodies were soft and unarmored, wrapped in torn fabric that offered no protection. Their hands shook as they clutched one another, eyes wide and glassy with terror. Their movements were clumsy, desperate, untrained.
Whatever they were, they were not made for this world.
Rodrick gestured sharply.
"On your knees," he barked.
They were already kneeling.
One of the creatures lifted its head anyway, eyes meeting Rodrick's for a brief, defiant second. A Blue Iron soldier struck it down with the butt of his weapon, sending it face-first into the dirt.
The cloaked man felt something tighten in his chest.
Not anger.
Not pity.
Recognition—without context.
The moment stretched, thick and heavy.
Then a vibration pressed against his side.
A device.
The cloaked man frowned. No one should be calling him. Not here. Not now.
He accepted the call.
A woman's voice screamed through the line, sharp and furious.
"KURAYAMI!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"
The cloaked man stiffened.
"Who dares speak to me like that," he said quietly, his voice edged with warning.
Silence swallowed the line.
Then another voice replaced it—measured, controlled, absolute.
"Your queen."
Kurayami exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving the clearing.
"How did you get this number?" he asked. "And more importantly—how did you get any of my subordinates' numbers?"
"Don't mind that," the queen replied. "Where are you?"
"Behind enemy lines," Kurayami answered. "Me and my men are observing where those burning stars came from."
"What did you find?"
Kurayami watched Rodrick Athens raise a hand, his soldiers shifting in anticipation.
"We're overlooking an open section of treeline," Kurayami said. "Fourth Commander of the Blue Iron—Rodrick Athens—is here. He appears to be preparing to execute or enslave an unknown species that arrived from the fallen stars."
"Unknown creatures…" the queen murmured.
Kurayami could hear the realization forming.
"That signal," she said quietly. "It matches what I received this morning."
Her voice hardened.
"Stop them. Prevent the killings. Bring the lifeforms to The Bastion."
Kurayami was silent for a moment.
"And my reward?" he asked.
The queen sighed heavily.
"You never change."
"You never pay enough," Kurayami replied.
A pause.
"One billion," she said sharply. "Now move."
A slow smile formed beneath Kurayami's cloak.
"Understood."
He ended the call.
Kurayami lifted his hand.
His unit leaned in, awaiting command.
He released a small drone. It unfolded midair, lenses dilating, glyphs glowing faintly red.
"Broadcast," Kurayami said quietly.
Then he lowered his hand.
The forest answered.
The first enemy died without sound—his head leaving his shoulders before he understood he was dead. Another was dragged upward into the canopy, his scream ending in a wet snap as bone shattered.
Kurayami stepped into the clearing.
Chaos erupted.
Blue Iron soldiers turned, shouting warnings too late. Shadows moved among them. Blades flashed. Blood struck the dirt in heavy arcs.
Kurayami moved with terrifying calm—decapitating one soldier, stabbing another through the throat, pulling a third close and opening his abdomen with a single practiced motion.
Organs spilled.
He hung the body from a tree using its own intestines.
Then he branded it.
The Black Sun burned into flesh.
Around him, his men worked just as efficiently—hanging, stabbing, dismembering, marking. No wasted motion. No unnecessary sound.
Rodrick Athens roared, drawing his weapon. "SHOW YOURSELF!"
Kurayami appeared in front of him.
Rodrick barely had time to react.
Steel pierced helm and skull in one clean motion.
Kurayami leaned close.
"This was never your hunt," he said.
Rodrick fell.
Silence followed.
The kneeling creatures stared in frozen terror.
Kurayami turned to them.
They flinched.
He tapped his communicator.
"Mission complete," Kurayami said. "Calling in a flying monument."
"Already inbound," the queen replied. "There will be humans aboard."
Kurayami paused.
"So that's what you're called," he murmured.
Interesting.
Above them, something massive descended through the clouds.
The hunt had ended.
But the echoes of it would last far longer.