Daxon, Lyria, and Cassynne moved swiftly through the dark, narrow hallways—silent but resolute, cutting down any black-masked bastard they came across.

Each room they opened held fragments of nightmares.

Some rooms were filled with trembling victims chained to blood-soaked tables, others were half-filled with screams that stopped the second the door opened… and some had only silence.

The silence was the worst.

They entered one such room—a massacre.

Bodies lay scattered across the floor. Human children, beastman children… lifeless, cold.

Lyria's steps faltered. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and her body moved on its own toward a small kid—a tiny, frail body with matted hair and a still, peaceful face that should've been squirming with life.

She knelt beside the kid, her breath shaky, her hands trembling. Tenderly, she held the child's small frame in her lap.

"This…" she whispered, voice cracking. "How could they do this to a child like this...?"

Her eyes were burning with tears now. The heat of grief turned to rage. Her mana flared sharply—hot, unstable, suffocating the room with her fury.

"Lyria," Daxon called, firm but pained. "We need to move. We… we'll mourn later. There are still others to save."

Cassynne looked away, jaw tensed, fists clenched so tight her knuckles went white. She couldn't look at the carnage long.

A moment of silence passed—then Cassynne broke it.

"Guys…" she said, voice low. "The shaking and shockwaves… they're gone. But I still feel that sinister presence."

She swallowed, glancing anxiously at the ceiling.

"Did that Zayne guy… lose?"

Meanwhile — outside, where Darron and Zayne were locked in battle...

The ground was shattered and broken in a wide radius, rubble and dust clouds still settling from their earlier exchange.

Darron stood in his fully transformed state — body enlarged, veins glowing faintly beneath the skin, jagged claws, and eyes burning like a feral beast. His breath fell heavy, rage lingering in each exhale.

Across from him, Zayne rose from a mound of cracked debris, brushing off dust from his long, now slightly dirtied black coat. His expression was calm, his light purple eyes practically glowing—more amused than irritated.

"Look, man," Zayne said, glancing down at the smudges, "you made my clothes dirty. That's just rude."

Darron's mouth tightened. Anger flashed in his reborn, blood-red eyes—he'd expected fear, or at least awe. Instead the man before him joked.

Darron's jaw clenched in fury. Still joking. Still mocking me.

Without another word he lunged.

A fist like a battering ram shot forward. Zayne caught the blow as if it were a child's tap, fingers closing around the wrist. For a breath they locked—muscle against muscle, corrupted flame against calm ember.

They pushed. Darron ground his teeth, forcing pressure like a crushing tide. Zayne only smirked, steady as stone.

Then Darron tried to change the angle. Using that momentary grip, he heaved—aiming to throw Zayne skyward, to use momentum and weight. Zayne didn't falter.

With a snarl, Darron's hand blitzed forward-faster, wilder this time-and grabbed Zayne by the coat, hoisting him off the ground with a single arm. Then, with raw brute strength, he swung Zayne upward, intending to slam him back down and grind him like dust.

But mid-swing—Zayne stopped falling.

He floated there. Weightless. Smirking.

Confusion flickered in Darron's eyes, but it was too late.

Zayne suddenly pulled on the arm still clinging to him and spun—dragging Darron off-balance, the air around them swirling as they twisted together in an unexpected arc.

"Round and round you go," Zayne murmured, voice light, almost playful.

Darron's feet left the ground as he was yanked higher, manhandled by someone half his mass.

Then—

BOOM!

Zayne's spinning momentum twisted into a burst of force as he launched Darron away like a broken cog in a machine. The brute sailed through the air, crashing violently into the ground just a few feet from where his machete-saber lay embedded in the dirt.

The earth cracked beneath him. His body was mostly unscathed, but the insult burned deeper than any injury.

Zayne landed softly, dust swirling around his boots.

He pointed casually at the blade buried in the ground.

"Go on. Fight me with your saber."

His lips stretched into a grin.

"Your so called warm-up isn't cutting it."

Darron pushed himself up, trembling—not from pain, but from the rising boil of humiliation and fury twisting inside him.

This guy... this annoying bastard... I'll kill him.

Darron ripped his machete-saber from the dirt, the metal hissing slightly as the heat of his rage bled into it.

Across from him, Zayne lowered into a relaxed stance — both palms open, lightly angled, a flickering red-orange flame wreathing each hand. He looked almost casual, like a street brawler just waiting for the bell.

"Come on," Zayne taunted, flame mana swirling like living fire around his palms.

Darron lunged.

He spun mid-step, saber carving a vicious circular slash that sliced the air right where Zayne stood. But Zayne had already moved — a burst of mana lifted him upward in a quick dash, causing the blade to cut nothing but wind.

But Darron wasn't done.

He roared, jerking his machete upward in an arcing counter-slash — the blade now wrapped in a blood-red inferno, flame licking like a predator hungry for flesh.

Inferno Blade: Abyssal Flame Slash

a jagged, blazing arc burst from the blade, surging toward Zayne with demonic force.

In answer, Zayne simply inhaled, gathering mana into his core.

Then he released.

Crimson Ember Style: Scorch Pulse Breaker

A pulse of flame-mana burst from him — not a shield, not a wall, but a spherical shockwave of heat surging in every direction. The slashing inferno shattered on impact, its flames snuffed out instantly.

Darron was blown off his feet, body blasted backward by the explosive wave.

A pulse of flame-mana burst from him — not a shield, not a wall, but a spherical shockwave of heat surging in every direction. The slashing inferno shattered on impact, its flames snuffed out instantly.

Darron was blown off his feet, body blasted backward by the explosive wave.

But Zayne didn't wait.

His eyes flashed, and the air cracked beneath him as he shot forward — legs blazing with bright red-orange flame mana, each stride leaving scorching trails like burning comets streaking behind him.

Crimson Ember Style: Inferno dash.

Zayne twisted mid-air and dropped — heel-first — into a brutal, flame-clad dropkick that struck Darron square in the chest.

The force sent Darron flying, crashing him into the hardened stone boundary of the massive underground space. Stone cracked, dust fell.

And then—movement.

With a guttural growl, Darron burst back out, steam rising from a scorch mark on his torso. The shallow injury healed before it even scarred, black vessels weaving the flesh back together.

He spat, frustrated.

"You… why are you so damn strong!? Earlier, I punched you in the face."

Zayne floated just above the ground, dust and embers swirling around his feet.

"Oh," he said with a shrug, smirk widening,

"Those attacks?

Yeah, that was charity only."

Darron's breathing grew ragged. Fury surged — but beneath it, fear.

He knew. He couldn't win. Not like this.

I can't defeat him… but I can still erase everything.

Every experiment. Every secret. Every trace of our organization.

And that smug bastard's overconfidence?

I'll use it.

Darron launched upward with explosive force, flames rippling off him like liquid shadow-fire. He shot toward the ceiling of the underground space — Zayne watched, but didn't move.

Instead, Zayne crossed his arms, eyes sharp.

"He's about to finish this. All right," he smirked. "I should do the same."

Up above, Darron hovered near the ceiling, gripping his machete saber tight. The blade screamed with dark mana, swallowing all light around it.

He raised it high — an executioner's strike.

Corrupted black and blood-red flames surged violently, twisting into a spiraling storm of destruction.

With a roar, he swung down:

Inferno Blade: Cataclysmic Oblivion Slash.

It looked the world split.

A massive, massive arc of corrupted fire screamed downward, ripping through the air in a devastating wave. Its heat could melt steel, its power erase life — it was annihilation itself.

---

Meanwhile,

Daxon, Lyria, and Cassynne — , exhausted, but determined — led the survivors out of the building. Some limped, some carried others. Some barely clung to life. But they moved. They escaped.

And as they reached the outside and looked up—

Their hearts froze.

A vast tidal wave of corrupted black-red fire was raining down upon them.

"It's over," someone whispered.

"We worked so hard…" Daxon muttered, numb.

"In the end…" Lyria said, her voice hollow, "it doesn't even matter."

" That Zayne guy really lost."

Hope flickered out from every face.

Then—

"LOOK!" Cassynne shouted.

They followed her gaze.

There, rising in front of them, stood Zayne — surrounded by a blazing red-orange flame aura, flowing like molten gold.

He looked up. Smiled.

"Let's finish this."

---

Above, Darron laughed bitterly through his exhaustion.

Even if he lives… he can't save them. And with them gone, so goes all evidence.

Zayne moved.

He concentrated his breath. Extreme of flame mana from his body folded — into his fist.

The temperature soared.

He launched upward like a rocket, leaving the earth scorched below — and then threw his fist.

A radiant, colossal flame sphere detonated from his punch, forming into the shape of a massive blazing and shining fist.

Crimson Ember Style: Inferno Starburst Fist.

It collided with the falling wave of blood red fire like a sun devouring a meteor.

A blinding light exploded. The victims shielded their eyes, many collapsing in pure instinct.

But Daxon, Lyria, Cassynne — they looked.

They saw.

The massive radiant fist tore through Darron's obliterating wave, shredding it like paper — then kept going.

Darron's eyes went wide with pure horror.

"No— NO!!"

There was no time left for him.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!"

The colossal fist consumed him whole, silencing his scream as it burst through the underground ceiling — blasting it open in a towering explosion of flame and light.

The entire base was bathed in the radiance of two red suns, as the orange red sky was revealed overhead.

And high above, in that blazing light — floated Zayne.

Fist still raised.

Smile still there.

A figure of impossible power.

Invincible.

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