The sky above the Shambhala Borderline simmered with ash-colored clouds. The ancient wall—hundreds of feet high and layered with shimmering spiritual metal, engravings, and old languages—rose like the backbone of a lost civilization. Broken flags fluttered, symbols faded, but legacy intact.
Ahan stepped ahead, boots cracking the gravel as his eyes lifted toward the towering battlements. Three silhouettes stood above, distant but unmistakably watching.
"They're up there," Aryan murmured, tightening the strap of his gauntlet.
Abhi cracked his neck, already impatient. "Yeah, yeah. Let them wait. First, let the lambs come out."
From atop the wall, drums echoed—deep, rhythmic, warlike. Then came the flood.
Gates split open with metallic groans, and from within stormed battalions of AlphaDraid units—hybrid soldiers infused with altered bloodlines, organic augmentations, and half-metal limbs. Their armor gleamed black-violet, each unit screaming the same mechanical war cry.
"OUTFIT-X WILL ERASE YOU!"
Ahan didn't flinch. "How nostalgic. Remember what Vigil once screamed?"
Aryan replied with a faint nod. "He screamed worse. But that era's gone."
"And so is he," Abhi finished, tone flat.
The ground vibrated under marching feet. Lines after lines formed:
War-spearmen, shield bearers, flame-bolt shooters, and airborne auxiliaries.
A commander in reinforced mask stepped forward.
"Identify yourselves," he spat.
Abhi blinked. "…Seriously?"
"If unidentified, you will be exterminated—"
Ahan lifted a finger.
A single crackle of spirit energy burst.
BOOM.
The commander was thrown back twenty yards, armor dented.
"That's the identification," Ahan said calmly.
THE WARM-UP
With one shared breath, the trio stepped into the advancing wave.
The armies roared.
And the battlefield tore open.
Abhi moved first.
Like lightning splitting in air, he darted into the front line. Spears thrust; he was behind them before they completed the motion.
A punch.
A sweep.
A heel strike.
Bodies flew like shredded fabric.
He caught a spear mid-swing, spun it, and hurled it—impaling three soldiers to the ground in a single line.
"Warm-ups should at least make me sweat," he muttered.
Aryan was different.
He did not move fast—he moved deliberately.
Every strike he delivered was final.
Every motion meant collapse.
A blade-arm enemy lunged. Aryan sidestepped and struck the ribs—steel dented, bones shattered, the soldier dropped silent.
Two shield-guards rammed toward him.
He didn't block.
He simply walked forward.
Their shields crumpled as if made of paper.
Abhi whistled. "Man of finesse."
Aryan shrugged. "Man of boredom."
Ahan's power didn't move—it expanded.
One wave of his aura pulsed—
And dozens froze.
Literally.
Their bodies locked, eyes twitching, muscles paralysed mid-motion.
Ahan touched his chest and muttered,
"Collapse."
A tide of force expelled from his palms and cracked through them like shock-glass shattering.
In less than two minutes…
Hundreds lay motionless.
But the wall kept bleeding soldiers—thousands now, marching, roaring, forming formations.
Ahan frowned.
"That's a lot."
Abhi smiled widely.
"Thank God."
Aryan raised an eyebrow.
"You're finally happy?"
"I'm happy when people challenge at least 1% of my existence."
THE SECOND WAVE
From above, metallic horns blasted—different pitch.
This wasn't infantry.
This was artillery.
Heavy-class AlphaDraid emerged—three-layer plated, cannons embedded at their backs, hydraulic reinforcement on limbs.
They dropped to ground impactfully.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
One knelt and launched a plasma-charged bolt.
Abhi lifted a hand.
Caught it.
And flicked it upward.
It detonated mid-air, shockwave swallowing its own formation.
Aryan carved through them with single-hit executions, each impact echoing like cracking pillars.
Ahan lifted his arm, palm open. Air inverted, and the artillery-class units imploded inward, like gravity collapsed only for them.
Abhi exhaled.
"Too light."
Aryan nodded.
"And too loud."
Ahan smiled softly.
"We're ready now."
A SHIFT IN THE AIR
Silence rippled from above.
A presence—not visual, not audible—settled over the field.
The trio stopped walking.
The soldiers froze, retreating unconsciously.
From atop the wall…
Three figures finally stepped into clear view.
Not silhouettes now.
Personalities incarnated.
They stood lined at the edge of the wall—no dramatic stance, yet supremacy radiated.
Zane
—white mantle, posture like royalty
Eyes cold as carved moonstone
Hands behind his back
"You killed my battalion. I commend the efficiency."
His voice was smooth, emotionless.
Hiro
—coat sleeveless, hair tied behind
No expression
A sword resting on shoulder
Breathing like someone bored of existence
"You look small from up here."
Kairo
—lean, slightly hunched, grin stretched
Licking his thumb
Eyes vibrating with thrill
A presence resembling asymmetrical insanity
"I like cutting open people who think they're strong."
Abhi muttered, "…okay then."
Ahan smiled faintly, respectful and amused at once.
"A structured welcome."
Aryan tilted his neck.
"Finally."
Zane raised a hand.
And the wall split open at their feet, forming a descending path.
"We will not fight from above. That would imply you're beneath us."
Hiro walked forward, silent.
Kairo didn't walk—he skipped down laughing.
"You killed so many. How lovely! It warms my body."
As they reached ground level, pressure thickened.
Grass wilted. Dust lifted. Loose metal fragments bent.
The three stood facing them now.
Not armies.
Not underlings.
Just them.
Zane stepped ahead, voice measured.
"We shall test your existence."
Kairo grinned wide.
"Or erase it."
Hiro looked up at the fading sky.
"Begin whenever."
Abhi cracked his knuckles.
"Oh, we'll begin."
Ahan positioned himself slightly forward.
Aryan exhaled slowly.
"Finally… something real."