The whisper came before the sound.
Not loud.
Not commanding.
Just close.
Go… help him.
Harun froze mid-step.
The words did not echo in the air. They did not vibrate through the ground. They appeared inside his head the way a memory does—sudden, intimate, undeniable.
"What…?" he muttered under his breath.
For a moment, he thought it was his imagination. The night had already done enough damage to his senses. Raj. The ruins. The silence. Maybe his mind was finally cracking under the weight of it all.
Then the whisper returned.
Clearer.
Closer.
Go and protect him.
Harun's eyes widened.
This time, there was no doubt.
He didn't ask who.
He didn't ask why.
His body moved before his thoughts could catch up.
"Up," Harun snapped, spinning around. "All of you. Now."
Kunal barely had time to register the urgency in Harun's voice before Harun was already moving. Mira pushed herself off the ground despite the pain shooting through her leg. Ishan gritted his teeth and forced his body upright. None of them asked questions.
They didn't need to.
Harun was already running.
The ruins blurred past him as he sprinted toward the outer edge of the village, his boots striking broken stone and ash. His pulse hammered in his ears, syncing with the echo of the whisper still lingering in his mind.
Omair.
That had to be it.
By the time Harun reached the clearing, he saw him.
Omair stood with one knee slightly bent, one hand gripping his side. Blood darkened his shirt, but his posture was steady—alert. The massive serpent from before was gone, its presence erased as if it had never been there.
"Where is it?" Harun demanded, skidding to a stop.
Omair exhaled slowly. "Retreated. Slithered back into the jungle."
Harun scanned the darkness instinctively. "That voice," he said. "Did you hear it?"
Omair didn't answer immediately.
Before he could—
The ground trembled.
Not violently.
Not yet.
It was subtle. Like the earth shifting its weight.
Then it happened.
The ground broke.
Stone and sand erupted as massive shapes burst through the surface—one after another. Walls collapsed. Rooftops split apart. From alleyways, from beneath broken buildings, from the darkness between structures—
They came.
Not one.
Not ten.
Hundreds.
Python-like creatures surged into the village, their bodies scraping across stone, their scales grinding against debris. Their sheer size varied—some barely larger than the one Omair had fought, others thicker, heavier, more grotesque.
They destroyed everything in their path.
Homes were crushed. Wooden structures snapped like twigs. Fire ignited where venom met old fuel lines. The village screamed—not with voices, but with collapsing stone and shattering ground.
Harun felt it then.
This wasn't an ambush.
This was extermination.
"We don't retreat," Harun said, his voice cutting through the chaos. "We protect everyone."
He extended his hand.
Light condensed.
Not blinding.
Not explosive.
Focused.
The air around his palm fractured as spectral energy gathered, weaving itself into a blade that did not reflect light—it absorbed it. The Spectral Sword formed fully, humming with restrained force.
Its surface shimmered with layered hues—faint whites, pale blues, fragments of gold—like light filtered through broken glass.
"This blade," Harun said quietly, "cuts everything."
He moved.
The first strike was his.
Harun stepped forward and swung.
The slash didn't explode. It didn't roar. It traveled as a thin crescent of compressed spectral light, slicing through the air with surgical precision.
It struck one of the charging Pythons square across the torso.
For a fraction of a second—nothing happened.
The creature continued forward, its thick scales holding.
Harun narrowed his eyes.
Then the cut opened.
Starting from the point of contact, the Python's body segmented violently—hundreds of razor-clean divisions ripping outward. Its massive form collapsed into a storm of pieces, crashing to the ground in wet, heavy fragments.
Kunal whistled sharply. "That… was clean."
He didn't wait.
His metal limbs shifted with a mechanical hum, reshaping into dual waving swords, their edges vibrating faintly as energy flowed through them.
Omair glanced at him mid-motion. "You're using Kali Arnis?"
Kunal grinned. "Yeah. Which technique?"
Omair slashed through another Python's neck in a fluid arc. "Dancing Sword."
He pivoted, parried, then added, "Not the strongest."
Kunal's grin widened. "Then this must be it."
He stepped in, twisting his body as his blades moved in synchronized arcs.
Waving Style Technique 4.
The blades passed through the Python's head so smoothly that it didn't even realize it had been cut—until its body collapsed, cleanly separated.
Mira was already airborne.
She had stored her dash energy into her legs, compressing it until her muscles trembled under the strain. When she released it, she vanished in a blur, reappearing mid-spin.
Her spiked shoe connected with a Python's skull.
Dash Roundhouse Kick.
Blood exploded outward as the creature screeched, its eye rupturing instantly. Mira landed, pivoted, and launched again—never staying in one place long enough to be hit.
Ishan slammed his hands into the ground.
Sand surged upward, wrapping around his forearms, solidifying into heavy gloves. They weren't stone—not yet—but they were enough.
He brought his arms down.
Hammer Arms.
A Python's head shattered beneath the impact, its body convulsing before going limp.
Omair moved through them like a blade in human form—Karli Arnis in full effect. Short, efficient cuts. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
The swarm thinned.
Then the voice returned.
Calm.
Amused.
"You think this is enough?"
Harun turned just in time to see the Python in front of him change.
Its body expanded grotesquely, scales thickening, its form swelling until it towered over him.
A totem.
Its tail lashed out, striking Harun across the chest and sending him skidding backward through debris.
Harun forced himself upright, blood trickling from his mouth.
"That thing was barely taller than me," he muttered. "How the hell did it get that big?"
He raised his sword and swung again.
"Slash Beyond Earth."
The attack landed.
It barely scratched the creature.
Fire ignited along the Python's jaws.
Harun's eyes widened.
Fire?
Before he could react, the creature launched him upward, its massive mouth opening wide beneath him.
In that suspended moment, Harun saw it.
Other Pythons were changing.
Totems.
Different elements.
Poison.
Electricity.
Sound.
This wasn't random.
This was designed.
Harun twisted mid-air and swung downward, his blade slicing along the creature's jawline. The cut opened instantly, splitting the Python clean in half before it could close its mouth.
He landed hard.
Around him, the battle intensified.
And it did not slow.
The battlefield did not slow.
It multiplied.
The moment the first totem fell, the remaining Pythons reacted—not in panic, not in rage, but with coordination. The ground trembled again as more bodies surged forward, their movements no longer erratic. They spread out, flanking instead of charging head-on, forcing Team A into separation.
Harun noticed it instantly.
"They're adapting," he shouted.
A poison-laced Python lunged at Mira from the side. She twisted mid-dash, barely avoiding its fangs as venom splashed across the ground, eating through stone with a hiss. She landed, skidded, and launched again, but this time the creature didn't chase.
It waited.
Then another Python emerged behind her.
Totem.
Its scales darkened to a sickly green as the air around it thickened with toxic vapor. Mira's lungs burned instantly.
"Tch—!"
She vaulted backward, coughing, her dash energy already draining faster than before. Her kicks still landed, still hurt—but the poison dulled the impact. The Python absorbed the blows with growing resistance.
Mira clenched her teeth.
If speed isn't enough… then placement is.
She darted sideways, letting the creature strike where she had been a heartbeat earlier. Its head smashed into a broken support beam, splintering it. Mira grabbed the opportunity, springing upward and driving a spike-heel directly into its eye again.
The creature roared—but didn't fall.
It slammed its body forward, smashing her into the ground.
Pain exploded across Mira's back.
She rolled instinctively, just in time to avoid another venom spray. Her hand brushed against something sharp—jagged wooden debris from a shattered structure.
Her eyes flicked upward.
The Python opened its mouth.
Mira moved.
She sprinted straight toward it, accelerating mid-step, leaping just as its jaws widened. She twisted her body and drove the wooden spike directly into the creature's mouth, forcing it between its jaws.
The jaws snapped shut.
The spike lodged deep.
The creature thrashed, choking, venom spilling uselessly from the sides of its sealed mouth. Mira landed hard, breathing heavily, but alive.
Nearby, Ishan was struggling.
The Electric Totem crackled violently, arcs of blue-white energy tearing across the ground. Each discharge scorched the earth, sending shockwaves that rattled nearby buildings.
Ishan slammed his sand gloves into the ground, pulling up a thick wall just as electricity ripped through the air. The wall absorbed the blast, sand vitrifying into glass under the heat.
"Damn it—!" Ishan growled.
He charged forward, swinging his hammer arm.
The Python dodged.
It moved faster than before.
The creature recoiled, then reared back, electricity building again in its core.
Ishan's eyes narrowed.
If it fires again, the wall won't hold.
He slammed both hands into the ground.
"Ground… tsunami!"
The earth responded violently. Sand surged upward in a massive wave, flooding toward the Python's open mouth. The creature tried to snap its jaws shut—but Ishan was already there.
He grabbed the creature's jaws with both hands.
Muscles screamed as he forced them open wider, sand pouring in relentlessly, clogging its throat, its lungs, its core. Electricity flickered wildly, then cut out.
The Python collapsed.
Ishan staggered backward, gasping for breath, his arms trembling violently.
Kunal wasn't having an easier time.
The Sound Totem's presence warped the air itself. Every movement came with a pressure wave, invisible vibrations slamming into Kunal's skull again and again. His vision blurred. Blood trickled from his ear.
He gritted his teeth and slammed one sword flat against the side of his head, pressing the metal tight.
The vibration dampened slightly.
"Annoying," he muttered.
The Python reared up and screamed—not sound, but force. The wave shattered nearby windows and flung debris through the air.
Kunal slid backward, boots carving grooves into the stone.
One opening, he thought. That's all I need.
The creature lunged, mouth opening wide.
Kunal stepped forward.
Forbidden Waving Style.
He drove both blades straight into the Python's mouth, wedging them between tongue and palate, then twisted.
The slash ran straight through the creature—mouth to tail—in one continuous motion.
The Sound Totem collapsed silently.
Harun barely had time to notice before another fire-lit shadow loomed over him.
The fire-element Python lunged again, flames roaring from its jaws. Harun raised his Spectral Sword, blocking the bite just enough to deflect it, heat searing his arms.
He was already tired.
Each swing demanded focus. Each cut drained him slightly—not physically, but mentally. The Spectral Sword was precise, unforgiving. Any mistake would be fatal.
The Python struck again.
Harun ducked, rolled, and countered with a horizontal slash that took off half its head. It still moved.
"Persistent bastard," Harun growled.
A sudden impact slammed into his side.
Another totem.
He was sent flying through a ruined wall, crashing into stone.
Harun coughed, forcing himself upright as dust rained down around him.
He could hear it now.
Not whispers.
Laughter.
Not loud.
Controlled.
Satisfied.
They weren't being overwhelmed.
They were being tested.
Omair noticed it too.
"This isn't a swarm," he shouted, slicing through a smaller Python with ruthless efficiency. "It's a filter."
Harun pushed himself back into the fight.
He cut.
He dodged.
He blocked.
Around him, Team A fought with everything they had, adapting on instinct alone. No one was clean. No one was untouched.
But they were still standing.
One by one, the remaining Pythons fell—some split apart, some crushed, some immobilized beyond recovery.
The destruction slowed.
Then stopped.
Silence crept back into the village, heavier than before.
Smoke drifted upward. The ground was littered with shattered scales and broken bodies.
Team A stood amid the ruins, breathing hard, bloodied, exhausted.
No one spoke.
No victory cries.
No relief.
Harun looked around slowly.
They had protected the village.
But the cost was clear.
And whatever had sent those creatures… had been watching.