Chapter 15 – Shadows of the Royal Hunt (Expanded)
The silence that fell over the underbelly of Shinya was unnatural, suffocating. The murmurs of the city above—the bells, the chants, the laughter—vanished as if the world itself had been muted. Even the vermin that scurried along the cracks of the stone seemed to have fled.
Moro tightened his fists, his chest rising and falling with unease. Kaya's blades gleamed faintly under the dim torches, ready to taste blood. Herbet's shadow lingered behind, quiet, predatory, as though the dark itself had claimed him.
Then came the sound.
Boots.
Dozens of them, marching in unison, a rhythm so precise it made the tunnels vibrate. It was not the march of soldiers who had been ordered to fight. It was the march of predators who knew their prey had already been cornered.
They appeared slowly, as if the darkness itself gave birth to them. Ten figures, armored in obsidian black threaded with veins of gold. Their helms were sculpted into snarling lions, jaws half-open as though to devour. Silver cloaks rippled behind them like ghostly banners.
The Royal Guards.
The spearhead of King Hanks' will. The most disciplined killers Shinya had ever bred.
They halted in perfect formation, shields snapping together, spears angled like the fangs of some mythical beast.
Herbet's voice was barely a whisper, yet it slithered into Moro's ear.
"When they kneel, kingdoms tremble. When they march, cities fall."
One Guard stepped forward, helm marked with twin silver crests. The captain. His voice was cold iron—without hate, without mercy.
"By order of His Majesty, King Hanks of Shinya, you are to be seized and brought before him. Lay down your arms. Resist, and your bodies will be carried instead."
Kaya spat on the stone between them, her voice venom.
"Carried? Try dragging me."
Moro's spark twitched in his chest, blue flickers dancing faintly across his fists.
"If your king wants me, he can ask himself. I don't kneel for shadows."
The captain tilted his head ever so slightly.
"Then you kneel by force."
The tunnel exploded into violence.
---
The Clash
The Guards surged as one, shields braced, spears thrusting forward in perfect rhythm. Their movements were not chaotic but choreographed—each strike flowing into the next, like an endless tide.
Kaya roared, blades flashing as she spun into the assault. A spear grazed her ribs, another she knocked aside with a savage parry. Sparks showered in the dark. She ducked low, her dagger slicing through the haft of a spear before driving her knee into the chest of its wielder, sending him crashing into the wall.
Two more closed on her flanks, relentless. She gritted her teeth, spinning her daggers in her grip. "Come then!"
Herbet was already gone, slipping into the shadows as though the darkness itself had swallowed him whole. A guard turned—too late. A dagger slipped through the slit of his helm, crimson spraying. Before the body even fell, Herbet had vanished again, a phantom whispering between walls.
Moro's chest burned. His fists blazed faintly with the blue glow of the Matrix spark. He caught a descending spear in his bare hand—the steel screeched as it ground against the glow on his palm. With a furious shout, he shoved the weapon back, the impact throwing the guard into his comrades.
The Guards, unshaken, tightened formation. Shields locked, spears thrusting in synchronized fury.
One spear sliced across Kaya's arm, blood splattering the stone. She staggered, her vision blurring, but her blades lashed out in defiance, drawing crimson from her attackers.
Moro lunged forward, the spark flaring brighter, his body glowing faintly blue. He punched into the shield wall, his fist colliding with steel. The sound cracked the air like thunder. Three guards stumbled back, shields dented. The tunnel trembled as dust rained from the ceiling.
Still, they did not falter.
The captain advanced, spear spinning in blinding arcs. He clashed with Moro, each strike hammering against the Matrix glow. Sparks burst with every impact, steel shrieking against light.
Moro grunted, sweat dripping down his temple. His movements were raw, untamed—powerful but uncontrolled. The captain, by contrast, was precision embodied. A sweep of the spearhead carved across Moro's chest, nearly cutting deep had his glow not flared in time.
"Impressive," the captain said flatly. "But wild power is wasted power."
Moro roared in reply, driving his fist against the spear, shattering its haft in a burst of blue fire. He surged forward, shoulder crashing into the captain's chest, throwing him back. For a heartbeat, the Guards faltered.
---
Kaya's Rage
Kaya screamed as another spear jabbed into her side. Blood sprayed, but she twisted, using her own wound as leverage, trapping the spear between her ribs and snapping it with sheer force. Her eyes blazed with fury. She became a whirlwind of blades, tearing through a guard's armor, slashing another across the helm.
"You'll never take us alive!" she roared, her voice echoing like thunder through the tunnel.
Herbet emerged once more, dragging a guard into the shadows with him. The sound of strangled screams ended as quickly as it began. When he reappeared, his blade dripped red. "They bleed. But they don't fear." His voice was unnervingly calm.
---
Moro's Spark Awakens
The Guards pressed harder, their discipline unbreakable. Moro's chest heaved, the glow around his arms flickering. He thought of his father, of the lessons beaten into him with blood and patience.
Strength is not rage. Strength is control. Remember that, Moro.
The memory struck like lightning. His glow flared again, brighter than before, crawling up his arms like living flame. The air quaked around him, stone vibrating, torches sputtering.
Moro charged, his fist a comet of blue fire, slamming into the shield wall. The impact shattered shields, sending Guards sprawling. The captain himself staggered, his helm dented, his spear knocked away.
The tunnel thundered with the echo.
For the first time, uncertainty flickered in the Guards' movements.
---
The Interruption
Then came the voice.
"Enough."
It cut through the chaos like a blade.
The fighting froze. The Guards straightened, Kaya halted mid-strike, even Moro's glowing fists dimmed.
A figure emerged from the far shadows, each step deliberate, unhurried. His cloak shimmered like raven feathers, his mask carved into the sharp visage of a hawk. His presence bent the air itself, a gravity no one could ignore.
Erick Hawks.
The Guards immediately fell back in disciplined silence.
Hawks walked forward, boots echoing against the stone, his gaze fixed on Moro. "You've made quite the noise in this city, boy. Too loud. Too reckless. And noise…" His voice was calm, almost soft, but it carried like a storm. "…noise attracts predators."
Moro glared, fists still faintly glowing. "If you're here to kill me, then step forward."
Hawks tilted his head. "Kill you? Not yet. A corpse is only a story. But alive—alive, you're leverage. And leverage bends kingdoms."
He glanced at the Guards. "The king wants him alive. Alive, he is a question without an answer. Dead, he becomes a myth. And myths spread faster than fire."
Silence stretched in the tunnel, heavy, suffocating.
Hawks stopped a few paces away from Moro. His voice dropped, low and final.
"You will come. By your will, or by ours."
The torches flickered, the air thick with anticipation.
Moro's spark dimmed, but his jaw tightened. Kaya bled, yet stood with blades raised. Herbet melted deeper into shadow, watching, calculating.
The hunt had only just begun.
---