The roads ran red with blood, the metallic scent thick and heavy as the ocean's deepest currents.
The dying gasps of warriors echoed like distant whale songs, filling the silence between the clashing of steel.
This was no longer war.
It was pure, merciless slaughter.
And moving through that crimson tide—the Ansortin Tribe.
Untouched. Unmoved. Unstoppable.
Their warriors did not stumble or hesitate.
They moved like predators of the abyss, slipping through the chaos, orchestrating not survival—but domination.
In the veiled arms of night, Ansortin Mortis—the executioner woven from shadow—descended into the Xing Tribe's stronghold.
Each strike was an elegant cruelty, guided by Ansortin Michael's unseen hand.
No drumbeats of warning.
No ripples of escape.
By dawn, the Xing Tribe would be caged—their fate sealed in blood-chained submission.
---
Apex Region—
Far above the mortal tides of war, where sunlight fractured into radiant shards, a chamber of gold trembled with a breathless tension.
There, a woman with wings of light and sorrow stood frozen, her golden irises flickering like a disturbed reef.
"This isn't right…" she murmured, her voice a barely contained wave.
She turned sharply to another winged figure, who wore celestial robes heavy with unspoken dread.
"The Supreme…" she whispered, as if speaking his name alone might bend the world, "he can alter fate itself."
The silence stretched like the endless deep between stars.
"We cannot wait," she declared, her voice solidifying like coral stone.
"We must move now—before the tides turn beyond our reach."
---
Beneath the blood-soaked land—Ren Tribe's Sacred Chambers—
Flames licked the cold stone walls, shadows dancing like lost souls.
The air was thick, heavy, aching with fear.
At the center, an elder of the Ren Tribe gripped the stone table with hands weathered by battles too many to name.
His face, carved by time, betrayed a rare and chilling truth.
Fear.
"The Ansortin Tribe is beyond what we imagined," he said, voice hollow as an ancient shipwreck.
"And Mortis—the Reaper—is among them."
A shiver passed through the gathered warriors.
Even the bravest hearts could not help but feel the cold pull of death.
But the elder straightened, forcing steel into his voice.
"We will not drown without struggle," he said. "Prepare for battle."
---
Neo Region—The Council of Clans
In a towering hall carved with ancient marks of power, twenty tribal leaders gathered.
Voices clashed like waves on jagged rocks—until Nexus Crimson stood.
Instantly, silence fell.
"The Ansortin have already moved," he said, calm and inevitable as a rising tide.
"They seek the Fated One."
Murmurs stirred.
"We must act," Nexus continued.
"Every clan. Every strongest. Losses are certain. Many will perish. But compared to the Galactic War..." He paused. "It is but a grain of sand swallowed by the sea."
The Ansortin's representative stepped forward, voice grave.
"Prepare for the worst. No region will remain untouched."
Another voice rose, urgent, desperate:
"Then we must claim him first."
---
Elsewhere—
Xenos and David ran.
Breathless. Desperate.
But the world twisted around them—space itself convulsing like the deep ocean folding into itself.
One step—and then stillness.
Not by choice.
By force.
Surrounding them—dozens of warriors, weapons bared, their eyes like frozen tidal pools.
Xenos felt the shock pulse through his veins, cold and paralyzing.
Beside him, David tensed—ready to defy.
But Xenos—Xenos felt something different.
Panic.
Followed by something deeper.
A glimmer of calculation.
Then—a voice.
Strong.
Commanding.
Beautiful.
She emerged.
A woman clad in golden armor, every step she took sending ripples through the stagnant air.
Her presence was a tide in itself—pulling eyes, pulling hearts.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice a clear, cutting current.
Her eyes locked onto Xenos—and lingered.
Just a second too long.
A faint blush rose, visible even beneath the cool command of her words.
"Why were you running? Speak. Or face consequences."
Xenos' mind raced through layers of fear, calculation, and the cold memory of survival.
He stumbled at first, letting panic leak through his voice like ink into water.
"Please—we've done nothing! Let us go!"
David's voice sliced through the air, sharp and defiant.
"Brother," he growled. "Don't beg. Let them try to kill us. We won't fall easily."
The soldiers shifted, one stepping forward, blade gleaming like a shark's fin.
But—she raised a hand.
"Enough."
Her voice alone could still a battlefield.
She turned back to Xenos.
And again—her eyes betrayed her.
It wasn't just suspicion anymore.
There was a crack in her armor.
Something softer.
Something real.
She was not immune to him.
"I am Zenith," she said, smiling faintly. "Princess of Regaldo, from the Pyrethorne Region."
Her voice carried an amused lilt—but it couldn't fully cover the tremor underneath.
"I came for a different purpose... but you," she stepped closer, so close Xenos could feel the warmth of her presence, "you are rude to me. Yet somehow…"
Her lips curled in a smile that tried to be coy—but fell just a little short.
A vulnerability hidden beneath strength.
A woman taught to lead, to command, to be obeyed—but not taught how to hide her heart when it wavered.
---
Xenos inhaled sharply.
In that moment, the battlefield vanished.
There was only her gaze—and the power it almost gave away.
He shifted his expression—deliberately.
From panic… to something desperate but cunning.
A survivor's mask.
"You want the Fated One?"
He spoke softly now, with a current of promise flowing through his words.
"I can help you.
Because I... am from the Xing Tribe."
---
Zenith's gaze caught on him like a shipwreck snagged on hidden coral.
Her warriors stirred, unsure—but she… she hesitated.
Her heartbeat quickened, her cheeks warming beyond her control.
She wasn't just looking at an opportunity—she was feeling something else.
Attraction.
Curiosity.
A dangerous blend of emotions she had been trained to suppress.
But emotions, like the tides, care nothing for command.
---
Even David, watching silently, felt the shift.
Something unseen had cracked open.
And as Xenos wove his deception deeper and deeper—
David thought, grimly:
Something is about to happen.